Erskan seemed unimpressed. 'They are free to make their choices, as am I. Take care on your path, Selik. The emotion of the people might be with you now but it is fickle. And no matter how much magic is feared and despised now, most of us count mages among our friends.'
'But while they conduct a war, you are nothing to them, believe me. You only have to see Arlen to understand that.'
Selik turned and followed the squire back to the courtyard and his horse. He was irritated but not surprised at Erskan's reaction. But he couldn't let it bother him. He had to focus on what he could rely on right now. The speed of his horses on the open road.
After all, a day wasn't so much to make up. Not if you knew how. Yron looked out over the fires into the impenetrable shadows of the rainforest and felt at ease for the first time since he had set foot on Calaius. His men had returned from the base camp reporting some improvement in the condition of the fever and snake bite cases and they'd all enjoyed a relaxed meal an hour or so after midnight.
Guards stood at the edge of the ring of fires in front of the temple, but with the stores tent built and everything edible off the ground and sealed, he didn't feel the need to post a permanent guard there. With wood enough to keep the fires going for two nights stacked in the stores tent and in the temple he even felt sanguine towards the rain, which fell periodically and with enough force to douse flames and send his men scurrying for cover.
He turned and wandered back inside the lantern-lit cool of the temple, allowing the canvas flap to fall back and hide the night. After failing to attach it to the stone, they'd hung it over a log balanced on the wide stone lintel.
There was a healthy buzz of conversation as his men unwound and began to believe they might make it back to Balaia alive. The hardest part was done now. All they had to do was wait for the various stone doors to open. Irritating but bearable.
Smiling, Yron walked up to the pool and trailed his hand through its cold pure surface. He'd stared at it a great deal during the day, imagining himself jumping into its cleansing embrace. He reckoned it was somewhere around eight to ten feet deep, and wide enough to accommodate a quarter of the men at a time. It was a gift and they'd earned the right to use it.
Standing up, he began to unbuckle his belt.
'Ben, the time has come,' he announced.
From his right, a man cheered and a ripple of laughter ran around the circular room, echoing faintly.
'Divide up the group into four, first group to join me about as fast as you can strip!'
Another cheer, taken up by more of the men and accompanied by desultory handclaps, lightened the mood further. Yron pulled his shirt over his head, unbuttoned his trousers, dragged them and his loincloth off and, leaving them in a heap, jumped into the pool.
It was icy, invigorating and beautiful. He broke the surface and whooped, running his hands across his face and through his hair. He ducked under again, feeling the water edging grime from every inch of his body. Opening his eyes, he swam down a little, seeing the intricate mosaic of fish, plants and a single swimming figure at the bottom come alive in his shifting vision. He wondered briefly where the pool drained back into the earth but a slapping sound above him told of others joining his bath.
'Gods falling, but this is wonderful!' he exclaimed, joining the excited clamour.
And it was true, he'd never felt so good so quickly. As if the waters had cleansed not just his body but his spirit, his whole being. He felt lifted. Alive. He lay on his back and floated towards the statue and the water outflow under its outstretched hand. Drifting beneath it, he could see a main pipe made of stone and fired clay, which split into two, directing the flow to where it emerged from under thumb and forefinger.
There was a third branch too, a little further back, which led away towards the base of the statue. Strange that they should bother to limit the flow into the pool, he thought, but then he was sure they had their reasons. But lying where he was, he saw an easy enough way to get more of this beautiful water into the pool.
Yron swam to the side and dragged himself out, beginning to dry immediately in the relative cool of the temple. He fetched his loincloth and put it on but ignored the rest of his clothes. Looking down into the pool, he could see the waters already muddied by the filth he and his men had accumulated. Yet another reason to increase the flow.
'Ben, where are you?' he asked.
'Here, Captain.' Ben-Foran appeared from the opposite side of the statue.
'Fetch me a pickaxe would you, I'm going to make the odd adjustment here.'
Knowing enough not to question him, Ben trotted outside to the stores tent, reappearing a short while later, pickaxe in hand.
'Not thinking of dressing, sir?' he observed.
Yron looked at his pile of clothes and shook his head. 'Once you've been in there, you'll know why.'
'What is it you're going to do?' asked Ben-Foran, handing over the tool.
'Well, they've diverted half the water away back into the ground, as far as I can tell. And looking at the mess we're making in there, I think we could do with all of it.' He walked round behind the pool and edged his way around the statue until he stood as close as he could get to the outstretched hand that fed in the water. 'If we get rid of the hand, it'll take the pipes with it and give us what we want. What do you think?'
Ben-Foran frowned. 'Honestly?'
'Of course.' Yron frowned.
'I think it's a shame to damage the statue. It's a beautiful piece of sculpture.'
'But needs must,' said Yron. 'And I don't think it'll be getting too many more visitors after we've left, do you?'
'Have you asked Erys? It might be trapped in some way and I've had enough wards to last a lifetime,' said Ben-Foran.
'Fair point. Erys?' Yron looked about and quickly saw the mage in the pool, his red hair darkened by the water. 'Any reason why I shouldn't lop the hand off this thing?'
Erys shook his head. 'It's aesthetically harsh but there's no magical reason, no. Seems a pity to spoil it.'
'Sod the pair of you,' said Yron. 'Right, clear away from here. Don't want any injuries from flying marble.'
He took aim, raised the pickaxe and brought it down on the wrist of the statue. Shards of stone flew in all directions, spattering into the pool and across the floor. Some of the men moved further away. Yron could see a few cracks emanating from the point of impact. He struck again and the cracks widened. All eyes were on him, all conversation had ceased, the sound of the pick striking the marble slapping off the walls of the temple. A third blow and he was sure he felt it give. A fourth and the marble sheared, the hand, some four feet long, toppling into the pool.
It had the desired effect. With the pipes broken beneath, water poured with much greater intensity into the pool, the noise of the trickle gone, to be replaced by one akin to a jug being emptied into a bowl.
'Gentlemen,' said Yron from his vantage point, 'I give you the waters of life!'
He dropped the pickaxe and jumped back into the pool, the cheers muted as the water closed over his head. Rebraal groped his way towards agonising consciousness. He was being dragged over the forest floor. It was full dark and the nocturnal denizens of the rainforest were all around him. He could sense their scuttling, their movement through the canopy and myriad wings of every size beating. Almost more alive than during daylight hours, the forest buzzed with activity.