‘Wait here.’
Telian opened the door, on which was carved the embracing symbol of Shorth, and walked inside, closing it behind her. Whatever the tenor of the conversation, it was very brief. The door opened and Telian gestured them inside, closing it to leave the three Al-Arynaar alone with Llyron, high priest of Shorth.
Llyron was seated behind a wide wooden desk covered completely with parchment, book and scripture. She was using a magnifying glass to examine a passage involving delicate, faded images.
‘Such magnificent work,’ said Llyron. ‘You must all examine this text. There’ll be plenty of time before you leave, I’m sure.’
She raised her head and favoured them with a broad smile that made her eyes sparkle and warmed the otherwise chill and austere chamber. Llyron was a particularly tall Ynissul, with soft features somewhat at odds with those typical of her thread. Her ears were tiny and flat against her head, her nose slender and long and her eyes less angled. She was beautiful but severe. An artist’s ideal of the two faces of Shorth.
Pelyn led Methian and the terribly nervous Jakyn in opening her arms and bowing her head. She spoke while studying the faded rug on which she stood.
‘I am honoured and grateful you have agreed to talk to us,’ she whispered.
‘Come, Pelyn, these are not days for protocol. The Al-Arynaar are revered here. You can look at me when addressing me. Always.’
Pelyn looked up. Llyron was moving from behind her desk, her plain white robes caressing its gentle edge and wafting air beneath a few of the papers on its pocked and scarred surface.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘Speak, child of Tual. Tell me of your plans.’
Pelyn took a deep breath to prevent herself from gabbling.
‘We still have an opportunity to stop this conflict before damage to the harmony becomes irreparable. There is a fleet heading this way. I’m certain traitors within the city will meet it. I aim to stop them. Find them and kill them. We know Hithuur is one such and we will uncover others if you back us.
‘Use your voice. The threads will listen to you and act on your words. You can loosen tongues. Make fingers point. If they do, I can do this. Even with the few Al-Arynaar I have, I can do this. Will you help me? Help us?’
Llyron inclined her head. ‘You come to me in the role of saviour of Ysundeneth. But Ysundeneth does not need saving. Nor yet the wider population of our great people. Salvation is all around us.’
Pelyn glanced at Methian to make sure she had heard Llyron’s words correctly. Methian’s mouth was moving soundlessly as it did when he was confused.
‘I don’t understand. The threads are disintegrating. They are ripping each other apart out there. Literally in some cases. And they have murdered every Ynissul not taken to safety by the TaiGethen. Forgive me but this is not salvation, it is slaughter.’
Llyron’s smile had faded.
‘In his heart an elf is still a predatory pack animal. It is in his blood and in the basest of his desires. He only vaguely understands the necessity of a fair and equable society or the need for tolerance of others.’
Pelyn’s heart skipped painfully and her body cooled. Beside her, Methian was rigid. Jakyn was trying not to breathe at all. Llyron continued.
‘You cannot spread a timber floor upon the crater of an active volcano. Takaar’s thousand-year experiment is a failure. There are those of us who prayed fervently for the day he failed. The day the threads turned against him. And now they have. Elves have voted by word and action. They do not need the closeness of other threads. They do not need the abhorrence of inter-thread union. Only Shorth can save those innocents born of such filthy depravity. They need order. They need authority, not idle chatter in the beetle. They need the old order restored. As it was before the War of Bloods. As it was when we enjoyed our longest period of peace. Enter.’
Pelyn glanced behind her at the door. It opened and Telian came in followed by three of the Senserii, by Sildaan the scripture priest from Aryndeneth, Hithuur and six men. Some of the men wore armour. Others did not.
Pelyn felt something inside her give. She snatched out her short blade and rushed at Hithuur.
‘Bastard! You murdered my priest. Bastard!’
Pelyn was fast. Hithuur was ahead of the six men and vulnerable. Pelyn slid in, just like Katyett had taught her, keeping her sword in front of her face. Her feet slammed into his ankles, bringing him crashing down. Pelyn drove back to her feet, bringing her sword back to strike.
Every man had drawn a weapon but Pelyn didn’t care if she was struck down. She was in the right place for her soul to pass after all. The foot of an ikari slapped into the back of her knees, twisted and lifted. Pelyn felt herself tumbling back. A second staff struck her chest, accelerating her fall. She hit the ground heavily, the wind knocked from her body. Before she could take a breath, all three ikari blades were at her throat.
‘Cease!’ Llyron’s voice carried complete authority. ‘Senserii, hold. Never has an elf been slain within the boundaries of this temple. Men, sheathe your weapons. Your acts are blasphemy. Get up, Pelyn. How stupid.’
Pelyn stormed to her feet, rounding on Llyron. ‘He murdered my Lorius. He murdered your Jarinn. How can you stand with him?’
‘He was acting on my orders,’ said Llyron. ‘Who else’s do you think?’
‘Yours?’ Pelyn saw two Senserii ghost to stand by Llyron. ‘Then it is you I seek.’
‘Well, of course it is,’ snapped Llyron. ‘Who else can lead the elves now that Jarinn and Lorius are gone? The high priest of Shorth was ever the ruler of the elves. Ever an Ynissul until Takaar meddled. Only within the walls of a temple to Shorth are the threads treated with equality. Only the high priest of the order can correctly govern those whose souls pass through their hands. And only in the Ynissul is the intellect keen and the strength of blood present in order to bestow the correct level of benefit upon each thread.’
Pelyn felt her body sag. Such words should have been buried in history for ever, only hauled out as an example of how unjust the lives of most elves used to be. She stood with her brothers, a Gyalan and a Cefan. She feared for them as she must now fear for herself.
‘You have spent your whole life preaching the harmony,’ said Pelyn. ‘Why do you turn against it?’
‘My whole life? Hardly. I have had to pay lip service while Jarinn continued to preach his flawed beliefs.’ She turned her attention on Methian and Jakyn. ‘You two. Mouths open like piranhas in search of a feed. Nothing to say in support of your lord?’
‘What will become of us? Of the Al-Arynaar?’ asked Jakyn, his voice admirably calm.
‘Have no fear,’ said Llyron. ‘The Al-Arynaar are perhaps Takaar’s greatest creation. A force drawn from every thread, trained to work as one. The perfect army for the defence of Shorth, no? For me. It is a shame the TaiGethen will not have a role but you’ll understand that would be difficult.’
‘And if we refuse?’ said Methian.
Llyron’s tone was even. ‘That will of course be your choice. And wrapped in your cloak you will be delivered to the feet of those with less mercy than I for the products of Takaar’s failure.’
‘You will have to kill all of us. None will join you,’ said Pelyn.
‘Now that is just naive. Many already have. My knowledge of your plans is far more complete than you imagine. As for you three, I will give you time to cool your passion and your hatred. I will return to you at dawn. Just before our fleet docks. Then I will have your answer. Senserii, take them to a contemplation and remembrance chamber. That seems appropriate.’
Chapter 19
I can grieve for those lost in battle. Or I can ensure their sacrifice has worth. Pelyn was silent for a good long time. The contemplation chamber encouraged as much. It was filled with plants. Natural light flooded in through a skylight grid that covered the entire roof space forty feet above their heads. An ornamental pool fed by hidden pipes trickled happily. Large white and black fish lazed within it.