Elfsorrow

'Tell you when we land.'

The Raven were being left behind, refusing to sacrifice their discipline for a headlong charge. Not that it mattered. The TaiGethen and Al-Arynaar were outpacing everyone else.

Denser saw a TaiGethen come alongside a fleeing warrior, snap out an elbow and send him crashing to the ground, hands over his nose and mouth. The elf stopped and spun gracefully like a dancer, then stepped in to finish the man off, skewering his brain through an eye.

But they weren't quite fast enough. Boats were already being pushed out into the bay, desperate oarsmen pulling hard, arrows fired at them sending the blue of HardShields flaring into the night. The Raven could see it all and slowed as one. Denser landed behind them and let Erienne out of his arms. Hirad, feet ankle-deep in estuary water, threw his sword down into the silt.

'What did they think we were doing, fighting for the good of our health?' he said, and directed a contemptuous gesture at the elves on the right bank.

All the boats were away now and the fugitives who hadn't made it into one were plunging into the water and swimming out after them. Only a couple of bodies could be seen floating with arrows protruding from back or neck.

'They aren't used to fighting like this,' said Ilkar. 'It isn't their way. SpellShield down.'

'No? Well they'd better learn fast if they want their precious thumb and writings back,' said Hirad.

'Assuming those who escaped had anything.'

'I don't care about bits of parchment,' said Ilkar. 'I just want one of those we've killed to have the thumb in some inside pocket.'

Hirad nodded. 'Me too, Ilks, me too.'

'What now?' asked Darrick.

The Raven began to walk back towards the Al-Arynaar, searching for Rebraal. Behind them, they could hear the cheers of the enemy as their boats neared their ships and safety.

'Let's see what my brother has to say,' said Ilkar.

Denser felt weary. He followed behind his friends in silence, hand in hand with Erienne. She wanted to know the cause of his anger but he ignored the questioning look on her face. All of them had to hear it together.

They found Rebraal in conversation with Auum, his fierce expression telling them all they needed to know about the results of the fight. They were standing by the bodies of the four strangers who had been running cloaked. Hooked from the swamp before the piranhas could do much damage, they'd been stripped and every stitch of clothing searched and torn to shreds before being scattered on the ground around them. Ilkar asked the question before reporting back to The Raven.

'Parchment and texts only, I'm afraid,' he said. 'The thumb is on one of those ships.'

'How can we be sure?' asked Erienne. 'Any of them could have dropped it anywhere between here and the temple.'

'Pray that's not so,' said Ilkar.

'Put it this way,' said The Unknown. 'The men that escaped are the only clues we've got. Whether they have the thumb or not, we have to catch them.'

'So we need our ship very fast,' said Darrick.

Ilkar nodded. 'And the elves are coming with us. The message will be sent. Every elf with a sword or bow is going to be heading north to Balaia.'

'They're going to invade?' asked Hirad.

'What choice do they have?' Ilkar shrugged. 'They don't want to die. We don't want to die.'

'Right,' said Denser, coming to a decision. 'I'm flying back to Ysundeneth. Starting tonight. Jevin can sail round here, it'll be quicker that way.'

'Done,' said Ilkar. 'But I'm coming with you. You might just need a friendly elf.'

Denser smiled rather sadly and felt the blood pounding in his throat. 'Friendly, eh? Well here's a new test of our friendship, Ilkar. You want to know who it was attacked the temple?

'It was Xetesk.'

Chapter 33

Jevin had confined his crew to the ship for the last three days and had paid two mages very well to travel with the Calaian Sun back to Balaia, whenever that day came. Like all elves Jevin wasn't given to rushed action but the situation overtaking Ysundeneth was quite without precedent. For eight days he'd watched as first unease, then anxiety and finally panic had engulfed the city.

At the first signs of the plague being anything more than a localised infection, he had sent his crew out to hire the mages and to provision the ship. Water, cured meat, rice, grain, biscuit and root crops were the order, as well as apples and unripe grapefruit and lemons; anything that would keep longer than a few days.

Below deck, his cargo holds had already been converted to accommodate passengers. Conditions were cramped and public but neither Protectors nor Xeteskian mages had made any complaint. He wasn't sure exactly how many mages Ilkar expected to make the trip. Over a hundred if he could get them, and Jevin had provisioned for that number.

But as he watched the disaster unfold in Ysundeneth and heard rumours of similar events in other cities, he wondered if Ilkar and The Raven would be back at all. It was unutterably depressing having to watch helplessly as the elves of Calaius's largest port turned from calm private individuals into an angry mob in so short a time. Not altogether surprising, though.

The plague, and such it had to be, had gorged itself on the population, but at random. There were no patterns of contagion, just as there was no cure. It struck at eight members of a family and left a sole survivor with nothing but grief as a companion. No areas were immune, but in the middle of a street one house would be free, while in the next street it would be the opposite: one household annihilated, the rest untouched. The randomness inspired hope and hatred in equal measure but far more destructive to Ysundeneth society was the latter. Survivors in devastated areas had been persecuted as carriers of the plague, some beaten, some even killed for the crime of living.

But elsewhere those free of the disease pooled their eroding strength and demanded help from city authorities quite unable to provide it. Food had been looted and hoarded, rubbish had started to pile up in the streets. And so, latterly, had corpses. Businesses, inns and shops were closed and boarded up. Markets were empty.

Jevin, like all the skippers at the dockside, had moved to anchor offshore. It wasn't just disease that concerned him; it was the mobs roaming the docks wanting out of the city by the quickest means possible. Already Ysundeneth was empty of every non-elf. They had been the first targets of suspicion but, being primarily merchants and seamen, they had simply hauled anchor and sailed back to Balaia, not that the Northern Continent was exactly stable. But a dozen ships had no cargo and therefore no financial means to sail.

And for elves to leave would be desperate, even futile. The plague was not contagious; it did not spread through the air or in food or water. It was something far deeper than that and it attacked elves at their core. There was no escape.

At a meeting on board the Calaian Sun, the remaining twelve skippers had agreed to monitor the situation and play the waiting game for as long as they could. Eventually, someone would have to sail north and beg for help. Jevin had said that he would go, but only when The Raven reappeared. Until then, the dozen ships would remain anchored in a defensive formation, protect themselves from attack by boat and magic and wait for the inevitable. For if one thing was certain, it was that one day, probably very soon, they themselves would begin to die. Jevin stood with one of the mages at the port rail, gazing out at Ysundeneth on a perfect sunlit morning with the mist dispersing and the first clouds rolling across the mountains far to the south. From where he stood, the city was a tiny interloper in the mass of lush verdancy that was the rainforest. But his keen eyes could penetrate the quiet streets and see the catastrophe that had overcome it.