Erienne nodded, swallowing back the sobs that threatened to overcome her.
'Please don't let them all be dead,' she said. 'Please.'
'I'll do everything I can,' said Ilkar softly. 'Now go. Get outside and get some fresh air.'
Erienne ran back through the ballroom, desperation welling up inside her.
Ilkar looked into the dining room and could see what had driven them to come here. It was dry. Probably the only room in the house that was. There was a fireplace opposite which still put out residual heat and the windows had been battened shut, shutters over fractured glass.
The dining room table had been pushed most of the way to the left and in the centre of the room, four beds, all occupied; at least one of which had to contain a corpse. He walked into the room, the stench almost overpowering. His eyes watered and he gagged suddenly.
He had to get some air through. Hurrying to a door to his right, he pushed it open and found another bedroom, its single small window torn from its frame. He took in a huge deep breath, wedged the door open with a sofa and walked quickly over to another door which swung on creaky hinges, letting him into some kitchens. He was halfway back with a chair to wedge open the swing door when he stopped, straightening and frowning.
He put down the wooden kitchen chair and walked back to the ovens. They were hot, flames flickering inside the grills. There was no food ready for preparation and no water ready to place on the hot plates but unless he was mistaken the ovens had been fired up recently, the flames were bright, and the grates looked full.
'Hello?' he called, walking across the kitchen towards a pair of doors opposite the entrance to the dining room. 'Hello?'
He drew his sword and put a hand on the leftmost door, pushing it open. A cold store. Empty of life. He let the door swing back and paced right, turning the handle of the other door which swung in. He took half a pace back.
'What, by all the Gods, do you think you're doing?' he asked in low, plain elvish, not believing what he was seeing.
A male voice came out of the mass of huddled bodies; he could count six and there might be more.
'Waiting for the end. Praying for deliverance.'
'From who?'
'Lyanna.'
Chapter 36
Ilkar persuaded the group of elves to leave their hiding place and move into the kitchen. He had been forced to explain exactly who he was and what he was doing here before any of them would so much as look at him, let alone do his bidding. There were eight of them. He hadn't seen the two small children. While one of the young elf males put on water for hot drinks, Ilkar sat the others down, all the time mindful that in the next room, the Al-Drechar were dead and dying. He had to get these people moving.
'I'm finding it hard to understand what's going on,' he said, addressing himself to a couple who seemed the most willing to speak. They were an old pair, had probably been with the Guild two hundred years or so and yet their confidence had been completely shattered.
'You haven't been here,' said Arrin, the husband. His wrinkled face held piercing blue-green eyes and his hair, once black, was thin, grey and straggled. 'It's all happened so quickly.'
'But what? You're the Guild of Drech,' said Ilkar.
'And no power of this magnitude has ever visited us,' said Arrin's wife, Nerane, a slim elf, hair long and silver grey, tied back in a pony tail. 'Or become as uncontrolled.'
'Ah,' said Ilkar. He'd had visions of Lyanna terrorising them somehow, a malign force bent on their destruction.
'She's just a little girl,' said Arrin. 'And that's the problem. She doesn't understand what she's doing. She should still be enduring her Night under the Al-Drechar's shields.'
'But she's come through it, obviously,' said Ilkar.
The water began to steam on the hot plate. An elf moved to fill some mugs. He looked weary, like he'd been awake three days. Perhaps he had.
'No,' said Arrin. 'She broke the shield three days ago. She walks, talks and eats but she has no real concept of acceptance or control, though her subconscious is more than capable of shaping mana. And she certainly has no idea what her mind is creating. Or destroying, to be more accurate.'
'I'm not sure I get this,' said Ilkar. He looked up as a mug of leaf tea was placed at his right-hand. 'Thank you.'
'It's like this,' said Arrin, sipping at his drink. 'Her Night has been different to that of other mages. She's too young to accept the forces within her and assume responsible control without damaging herself and others. So there's an element of the mana controlling her. Every feeling or reaction she has carries an echo of expression in the mana she's holding.
'When she's angry, lightning strikes the island; when she's sad, it rains; when she's happy, the sun shines. Simple metaphors. Just as you might expect of a five-year-old.'
'In a perverse way, I suppose so,' agreed Ilkar. 'There's a "but" in here somewhere, isn't there?'
Nerane nodded, almost smiling. 'There are a couple. Most predictably, the mana events are more violent as the depth of the emotion increases. But with one or two exceptions, we can deal with those. Our main problem is that her subconscious shapes mana in very dangerous ways in order for her to get her way. She manipulates it and us and her anger, for instance, hasn't just been limited to lightning since she awoke.'
Ilkar nodded. 'Mental attacks?' he suggested.
'Yes. If her target is an individual. But you've seen the west wing of the house. That was a tantrum that manifested itself as an earthquake which cost the lives of seventeen Guild elves. We're all that's left,' Arrin said, looking away to his companions. Nerane put an arm around his shoulders.
'I'm sorry,' said Ilkar.
Nerane shrugged, a gesture expressing her despair. 'And right now she's using the Al-Drechar as a conduit for that beacon she's placed in the orchard though she doesn't know it, of course. We don't dare ask her to remove it. That makes her so angry.'
'And you were hiding from her just now?' said Ilkar.
'Yes,' said Nerane. 'It's silly, I know, to be so scared of such a
small child but she can't deal with being told no and she wanted to wake Ephemere. When we wouldn't let her into the room, she flew into a rage and brought down half the roof in the ballroom. That was yesterday. We're lucky she hates the kitchen or I don't think we'd be here.'
None of them would catch Ilkar's eye, their embarrassment was acute. But he didn't blame them or think any less of them. Non-mages had absolutely no defence against magic and there was little else they could do but hide. Responsibility was a critical element in a mage's training. Lyanna had a great deal to learn.
'And none of you have been through that door since?' He indicated behind him.
'No,' said Arrin. 'We know Aviana's dead. She's been gone for two days but Lyanna didn't want us to move her.'
'All right,' said Ilkar, holding up a hand. 'Now look, there's things we really have to do now. Lyanna is with Erienne and out of the house. You have to get the dead mage out of there and tend to the ones still alive. Then you have to show me the state of this house. I've got more friends coming, about thirty, but there are Dordovans coming too and they want Lyanna dead. You have to help me make sure that doesn't happen. What do you think?' Ilkar felt like he was addressing children. 'Please, you have to trust us. Erienne will persuade Lyanna to disperse the beacon and maybe the Al-Drechar can recover. I need to know if they'll be able to help at all'
Arrin frowned. 'Why would they want her dead?'
Ilkar sighed. 'What you've experienced here has been visited on Balaia for seventy days and more. Thousands are dead, so many more homeless and the country is coming apart. Some think Lyanna's death is a way to stop that. Erienne and Denser think there's another way.