‘It isn’t working!’ screamed Ystormun and now he stopped. ‘You’re telling me these elves are a different class of fighter to anything we’ve seen, yet you’ve set up a defensive perimeter to keep back Wesmen and Rache barbarians. Ridiculous. Must I point out to you that differing enemies require differing tactics?’
‘We could lay more wards,’ suggested Keller.
Ystormun’s gaze drilled so hard into Keller he backed up a pace towards the lord mage’s guards, who were trying very hard not to show their amusement at the tormenting of their seniors.
‘Did I really pick you for your perceptive qualities? If so I resign my place in the ring. Differing. It means other, not the same. You have to stop these bastards wanting to get in because it is already clear you won’t stop them getting in if they so choose. And once you have done that, you have to go out and drive them away. How are you searching? A couple of mages in the sky and a few scared soldiers in the fringes of the forest?’
Neither Garan nor Keller said anything.
‘Then listen,’ said Ystormun. ‘Here is how you deal with these people.’
And they listened. And when Ystormun was finished he walked away with just his guards for company, the spires of the temple piazza his guide. Keller looked at Garan.
‘Do we have any choice?’ he asked.
‘Not if we want to stay alive,’ said Garan.
‘It’s just going to make them angrier,’ said Keller. ‘He doesn’t understand.’
‘He will. Probably by the end of the night, or if not tonight, then tomorrow night, when their rage has had a chance to bake.’
‘We have to tell him his error.’
Garan looked askance at Keller. ‘Right. Well. I’ll buy you a drink when you get back.’ The guards were all gone. There were X-frames hammered into the earth at regular intervals and hanging from each one was an elf. Ordinary civilians. It was this way at the Ultan bridge, at the Apposan crossing, the Ix south bridge and every other entry point.
Forty elves in all, slashed at the gut to let their intestines trail on the ground for animals to feast on while they still lived. Their eyelids removed so that they faced the fierce heat of the sun and the stinging lash of the rain. Their limbs bound tight against the frames, bloodied at wrist and ankle from their desperate, futile struggles to escape. Each had a parchment pinned to the chest. Each parchment carried identical wording.
Katyett led prayers at the Ix bridge before sending her elves to remove all the bodies. They were to be laid out for reclamation. Prayers were to be spoken throughout the night. There would be no attacks. Before she read the parchment she knew that to be the intent of the demonstration. It could be nothing else.
Katyett read the words to Merrat and Grafyrre as they walked back towards the forest and disappeared within, their elven dead dragged behind them until they were beneath the canopy proper. They paused like every night to ensure they weren’t being followed.
‘This is the hand of an elf,’ said Katyett. ‘Their betrayal is complete. No mercy for the cascarg when this is done. These words are evil.’
‘Do we want to hear them?’ asked Merrat.
‘No but you must. This is what we are up against.’ Katyett cleared her throat and read. ‘ “Elves of the TaiGethen, the fight for Ysundeneth is over, and with it the fight for Calaius. You will make no further incursions into the city. The blood of these forty dead is on your hands. Set foot in the city again and forty times forty will suffer their fate. Kill another soldier or mage and forty times forty times forty will suffer their fate. The life of every elf in this city is yours to save or sacrifice.
‘ “Furthermore, you will surrender the Ynissul civilians you are protecting and the Al-Arynaar in your midst. Lastly you will surrender yourselves. You have two days. If you have not presented yourselves at Ultan-in-Caeyin at dawn on the third day, we will kill forty elves at every bell and at every fresh drop of rain that falls. Executions will take place outside the temple of Shorth. We are not without mercy. The souls of the dead will have just a short distance to find embrace.
‘ “There will be no negotiation entered into. You are so warned.” ’
‘Is it signed?’ asked Merrat.
‘What do you think? And they call us uncivilised. Come on.’ Dawn had come but it was bloodied and sick. Hithuur had barely slept. The sounds of the innocent being dragged from their homes and eviscerated at the borders of the city would haunt him the rest of his life. It was not so much the screams of pain. It was the pleading. And they hadn’t been pleading with men for their lives. They had been calling out to Llyron.
Hithuur put on his clothes with deliberate care, hoping to still the nausea he felt throughout his body. He had committed crimes. But they had been for the good of elves. To advance the nation by returning to the way of life they all knew instinctively was the best one. Yes, it had inequality but it had certainty and security. It worked. Yniss knew it worked. But this. This was hideous. And he had helped perpetrate it. It had to stop. It had to.
Hithuur walked from his room and walked the short distance to the panoramic chamber where he hoped to find Llyron and Sildaan. He could hear Llyron’s voice before he put his hand on the latch. He paused to listen. Helias was in there. Sildaan too. So were men. Garan. And the gaunt mage lord who despised them all and who smelled so very dangerous. Hithuur took his hand from the latch.
‘… but you could not give me the TaiGethen,’ said Garan.
‘I needed time,’ said Llyron. ‘And I would have delivered them to you.’
‘Time is irrelevant. Action produces results, as I have proved,’ hissed the mage lord, Ystormun. His elvish was very accurate, if a little accented. ‘I have removed their capacity to strike.’
Sildaan choked back a laugh.
‘You have done no such thing. They will not surrender, as you believe. They will worry about how to get to you without you murdering thousands of their people, but if they have to sacrifice every elven soul in Ysundeneth to get to you, that is exactly what they will do. The only difference now is that they won’t just kill you, they’ll rip out your heart and show it to you while it still beats.’
The room fell silent. Hithuur fancied he could feel the chill through the closed door. Fear oozed through the timbers and into his heart. He shuddered, forcing himself not to back away.
‘You exaggerate,’ said Ystormun eventually, his voice cold and malevolent. ‘And your melodrama does you no credit. The TaiGethen will be eliminated. No elf, however quick, is immune to magic. And I am very, very good at magic.’
‘I merely wanted to warn you that they will come for you,’ said Sildaan.
‘Then let them come,’ snapped Ystormun. ‘And let them burn. Enough. Why am I wasting my breath talking to you? Now then, Helias, isn’t it?’
‘My lord Ystormun,’ said Helias. ‘What is your wish?’
Hithuur shook his head. ‘Snake,’ he whispered.
‘Your proposals have merit and we will discuss them at greater length. The fewer the moments I must remain here, the better my mood will be. But there are more pressing matters. Tell me, Helias, which of your… threads, is it? Threads, yes. Which of your threads are of use to me and which are not?’
‘I beg your pardon, my lord?’ asked Helias.
‘It is a simple process,’ said Ystormun.
Outside in the corridor, Hithuur felt a slick of cold sweat over his body.
‘I don’t-’ began Llyron.
‘I am addressing another,’ said Ystormun. ‘Be seated. One by one, Helias. Let’s begin with the, ummm, Ynissul, they call themselves. Priests and warriors, I understand. What about the rest? Do they work? Can they create wealth and produce resources for Balaia? For me?’
There was a silence. Helias weighing up his words. Hithuur prayed he spoke wisely. He did not.
‘They are traditionally the ruling class. Most are business owners. Employers. Not labourers. A very strong priesthood and warrior ethic.’