The hard facts of an enemy fleet approaching, an Ynissul betrayal and men walking tall on city streets. Empathy with those who had a common enemy but needed direction to see it. It would be a small miracle if any of them was allowed to open their mouth to do anything other than scream in agony.
Pelyn would have shrugged but there was no room for such an extravagant movement. Her limbs were cramped and the pain in her left calf was constant and deep. Her back was bouncing against a spur of metal in the back of the cart and she had the most excruciating itch in her scalp.
She looked to her left, watching the buildings pass by as she sat, back to the direction of travel. She noted the spires of the Gardaryn away to the right, climbing above the sculpted buildings of the Glade, Ysundeneth’s most wealthy residential district. Close now, then.
The Glade thinned into the artisans’ district, nicknamed the Mural. Next it was the central fine goods market and that small and beautiful square bordering the Park of Tual. Pelyn could smell ash and burning meat. They mixed with the scent of the sea and the more unpleasant odours of rot and mould. A good downpour would dampen them all but it seemed she was to be murdered before the sun rose on a stultifyingly dry morning.
The carriage and cart rattled across the market square. Senserii and priests closed in around Pelyn. Words were barked. Threats were made by the hooded guards. The following crowd, now numbering well in excess of five hundred, stopped as one. Pelyn watched them fidgeting and looking anew at one another. Beethan moved away from Gyalan. Apposan from Cefan. She almost pitied them but felt instead the stickiness of saliva on her face and wished instead for a riot.
‘Shorth take you all,’ she muttered.
The cart came to a jarring stop. She felt the driver and his mate jump down. From the park she could hear a good number of voices and the crackling of a fire. The driver and mate appeared at the back of the wagon and unchained the tailgate. They grabbed the bottom of her sewn cloak and pulled. Her head bumped hard against the timbers of the wagon bed and scraped over the iron rivets above its axles.
They stopped short of letting her drop straight to the muddy churned grass and picked her up one side each, marching her upright to where Llyron was standing before a now-silent group of Tualis. The sight of her brought a storm of abuse and a surge forward only curtailed by the mirror move of five Senserii.
Llyron held up her hands for quiet, the only Ynissul who could walk unhindered in Ysundeneth, let alone issue orders that would be obeyed.
‘Shorth’s blessing be upon you all, denizens and worshippers of Tual. My temple is open and welcoming to all at these times of conflict and anger. I am desolate for the pain unleashed by the denouncement of Takaar and pray hourly for its swift and peaceful resolution. Resolution I feel is close, though I doubt any of you can see it. And I bring to you a gift as night gives way to dawn and Shorth gazes down with relief on those still walking our land. While he rests, I of course may not.
‘Shorth blesses every thread, and in his temple all are equal and loved. Shorth takes to his embrace the souls of all who fall, the good and the wicked. It is he who judges the dead. And it is I who must judge those who defy the will of Shorth. Such defiance has been shown by Pelyn, Arch of the Al-Arynaar.
‘And, as is allowed under my powers, I hand her back to you, her people, to dispense the justice you see fit for heresy, for traitorous actions against her own thread and for the simple murder of those merely wanting food for the bellies of their children.’
Pelyn barked a laugh. ‘She will betray you! She is in the thrall of men. She-’
The foot of a staff slammed into her gut, doubling her over. Her minders kept her standing.
‘She ordered Lorius’s murder. She is the cascarg. Please.’
The driver’s fist took her full in the mouth, splitting her lip. The crowd cheered. Llyron raised her arms and cocked a smile at them.
‘Defiant to the end, eh? Now, where is the leader among you? Pelyn will be handed only to a recognised authority.’
The crowd quietened. Elves looked over their shoulders. A gap was made and one stepped forwards. Pelyn stared at the face of her executioner.
Helias, Speaker of the Gardaryn. Less than a mile into the rainforest and the complaints had reached such a pitch that Katyett called a halt to the march, which had only ever been slow to grinding. She tried to sympathise with them. She tried hard. But walking up and down the ridiculously long, straggling column of the unready, the unfit and the frankly unworthy, she could see the damage to her forest increasing and the will of her charges bleeding away like a slash to the jugular.
‘Graf. Give the order to make comfortable. Or as far as possible anyway.’
Katyett turned at a muttered curse and saw a couple cling to each other as one stumbled over a root. The ula’s face was swollen and deep bruising was coming out across his cheeks and neck. His nose had been comprehensively smashed and had been field-reset by one of the TaiGethen. The iad was crying quietly, had bruising all around her neck that looked like an attempted strangulation and a bleak look in her eyes from a memory that would never fade.
She knelt beside them as they flopped to the ground, supporting each other with the desperation of those who know they have absolutely nothing else left. At the sight of her so close, painted and camouflaged, the iad flinched away reflexively. Katyett’s heart missed a beat.
‘You never have to be scared of me,’ she whispered. ‘I am here to protect you. And I promise you this too. As Yniss is my lord and my life, when this is over, you will never have to fear anyone ever again.’
‘But why out here?’ asked the ula. ‘She has suffered so much. Now you’re asking us to walk through the rainforest for days. Is there really nowhere else safe other than Aryndeneth?’
‘Trust me,’ said Katyett. ‘All will become clear to you. I am sorry for every reluctant footstep you have to take because it is not your fault. But we have to ensure your safety. We have to ensure no one can get to you again to do you harm.’
Katyett leant towards the iad and drew a piece of clean cloth from a pocket. The iad took it to dab at her nose, which was bleeding a little.
‘Thank you.’
‘The TaiGethen hunt those who seek to destroy all we have built. Those who do not belong and those who would take us back to the War of Bloods. This we do in Yniss’s name.’
‘I don’t want you to kill for me,’ said the iad.
Katyett gazed at her. Humble and ordinary. Dressed in clothes from the rag and make market and with hands that had only ever held a quill, never a spade or a weapon. Inside, though, she was pure-bred Ynissul.
‘Yniss guides my soul, Tual my hands. We do what we must.’
‘You enjoy it,’ said the iad. ‘Don’t you? The TaiGethen way. Killing to make things right.’
Katyett frowned. ‘I enjoy the beauty of the rainforest and I enjoy the honour of being TaiGethen. Enjoy killing? No. But our enemies leave us no choice. And they learn that though I might not enjoy it, I am very, very good at it.’
The two iads shared a brief smile. Katyett kissed the other’s eyes before trotting away to the head of the column, whispering through the dense undergrowth. It began to rain. Hard. Thunder cracked across the sky
‘Now that, Gyal, is poor timing.’
Her Tais were trying to help any they could. They fielded questions and begged for patience. Katyett brushed past them all and found Pakiir kneeling next to Olmaat. Merrat was close and Katyett whistled her over. They dropped into the patter of the TaiGethen. Part ancient tongue, part click and chitter borrowed from Tual’s finest.
‘We’ve come far enough. Look at the damage they’ve done,’ said Katyett. ‘Merrat, what of the Ultan?’
‘We aren’t followed. All of them returned to the city.’