Marack put the point of her sword under Llyron’s chin. Llyron lifted her head but didn’t take her eyes from Takaar.
‘And he’s unbalanced,’ said Marack. ‘Prone to sudden changes of mood and unpredictable actions. So, cascarg, you had better speak.’
‘Speak?’ Llyron dragged her eyes away from Takaar. ‘You aren’t here to kill me?’
‘You flatter yourself. We’re here for the man in charge, not the iad who betrayed us. Not yet. Consider this a stay of execution.’
‘The people of Ysundeneth need their priest of Shorth,’ said Takaar.
‘Like they need their champion of the harmony?’ said Llyron.
Takaar frowned. ‘She isn’t right. But I am not here to lead. Only to help. Never to lead. Only a pair of hands. It is not convenient in any way. Wrong again. But I can strike like a taipan, kill like a panther. Useful. Yes.’
Auum watched Llyron lean back gradually from both Marack’s blade and Takaar’s muttering. Marack cocked her head.
‘Kill like a panther,’ she repeated. ‘Ready to speak?’
Auum focused on the other iad in the room. Silent for now and staring at the unfolding scene with open mouth and blank eyes. Sildaan looked beaten down. Gone was the cocksure expression and the arrogance of growing power. Replaced by a dull morbidity. Not triggered by the arrival of the TaiGethen either.
‘Where’s Garan?’ demanded Auum.
Sildaan looked up at him. She wasn’t about to say anything. Next to her, Llyron managed a dry laugh.
‘Garan? He’s down at the barracks. That’s where the soldiers live. Why on earth would you care?’
‘Like I said, we’re here for the man in charge?’
Llyron laughed again and Marack pushed her blade a little closer. ‘And you’re looking for Garan? He’s not in charge. You poor fools, why did you come here? You really have no idea of the power that has arrived on our shores, do you? It’s over for the elves of Ysundeneth and so it will be for those of Tolt Anoor and Deneth Barine.
‘All you can do now is run to the rainforest. Hide in the darkest parts of the canopy and wait for the inevitable end. Men are here. Magic is here. And you can do nothing to stop it.’
Auum saw Marack hesitate. Now he understood Sildaan’s desolation. And his hatred of her deepened.
‘So who is the man in charge?’ he asked. ‘We don’t care who he is. We want him. No human is fast enough to beat a TaiGethen.’
Sildaan caught his gaze, and Yniss preserve him if there wasn’t pity in her eyes.
‘O Auum. So right about so much but so wrong about this. Please run while you still have time.’
Something in her chilled Auum to the core. ‘What have you done? What have you allowed into our lands?’
‘We are all of us only alive until our usefulness runs its course,’ said Sildaan.
‘Sildaan!’ snapped Llyron. ‘Enough.’
‘Why?’ asked Auum. ‘What aren’t you telling us?’
Sildaan didn’t get the chance to respond. Takaar groaned. He stumbled back clutching at his head, doubled over and fell to the ground on his side, vomiting bile onto the timber floor and convulsing.
Both Llyron and Sildaan leapt up and backed away from him as he writhed and tried to cry out through jaws locked in pain.
‘What’s happening?’
‘Magic,’ said Auum. ‘That’s what. Lots of it. Either here or down at the dockside.’
Outside the windows, echoes of light could be seen flashing across the sky. Marack ran to the door and pulled it open. Auum, crouched by Takaar, could see down the corridor. It was empty but there were the sounds of fighting echoing up from the hall below. Katyett was inside the temple.
A door opened halfway down the corridor and an ula stumbled out, crashing into the wall opposite before turning his back to lean against it and jab a finger back towards the chamber.
‘I will never bow to this. This is not what we planned. How can you countenance this genocide?’
The ula ducked. An arrow bit into the wall where his head had been. He looked left and right, saw Marack at the door and began running towards them. Auum growled and stood.
Hithuur.
The traitor priest dived headlong into the room.
‘Close it. Bar it. Please.’
Other figures were emerging from the room. Marack slammed the door, ran to a heavy chair and dragged it across. Auum pounced on Hithuur.
‘Cascarg. You killed my Jarinn. You murdered our high priest. Welcome to your execution.’
‘No. What are you talking about? It was men. Men and magic. I loved Jarinn.’
Hithuur tried to scrabble away but Auum was too strong. He clamped a hand on Hithuur’s throat and squeezed.
‘Liar. Olmaat saw. And Olmaat lives.’
Hithuur’s eyes widened. He gurgled, trying to force words out. Auum tightened his grip a little more. Marack pulled another chair in front of the door. Behind him, Takaar was moaning but his body was back under his control.
‘Please,’ croaked Hithuur. ‘Or many thousands more will die.’
‘And if I am one of them it will be worth it to see your soul to the wrath of Shorth,’ said Auum.
‘I. Deserve. It. Please. You can help them.’
There was an impact on the door. Marack braced herself against it and yelled for Sildaan to help. Sildaan did not move.
‘Say nothing, Hithuur. Nothing,’ said Llyron.
Auum heard her, spared her a glance and relaxed his grip.
‘Speak. Speak now. Llyron cannot hurt you. I can.’
‘Hithuur,’ warned Llyron.
‘Shut up. Shut up. Trying to save your own skin. Too late for that.’
Llyron rose to her feet but Takaar was in front of her and shoved her back down. There was another impact on the door. Heavier this time. The chairs moved. Marack pushed them back hard.
‘There is a very powerful man in charge. A mage lord. He’s sectioning the city. Dividing the threads.’
‘Huh,’ said Auum. ‘You should be delighted. That’s just what you wanted, wasn’t it? The old order restored.’
‘Ystormun, the mage lord, he isn’t sectioning the city to bring back the old order. He’s doing it because he’s going to exterminate the threads he feels can’t benefit him.’
Auum swayed back from Hithuur and looked at Marack to be sure he’d heard right. Hithuur had made flesh a fear that burned in every elf. To lose a thread is to lose a god.
‘Apposans and Orrans he assumes will be useful. Ixii, Gyalans, Ynissul. Not so. And not just here,’ said Hithuur. ‘Across Calaius. Every city, every settlement. We… we saved the archives. He has everything he needs.’
Door, chairs and Marack were flung aside as if tossed by the hand of Yniss himself. Marack fetched up against the wall under the windows. The chairs broke against stone and beam. Auum was on his feet, his swords out. Hithuur lay where he was and let out a feeble whine. His crotch grew dark.
A man strode into the room. It could only be Ystormun. Tall. Gaunt like a corpse on whom the flesh has weathered like leather. His head was shaved. Eyes sunken into dark-rimmed sockets. They were a stunning emerald green and brim-full of malevolence. He wore plain clothes. Grey and cream shirt and trousers. On his feet were light-brown boots. Beside him was a human with a bow. And just behind him was Helias. The final traitor.
Ystormun surveyed them all briefly. He reached out a hand. Black lines, like lightning, sprang from it and speared into Hithuur’s body. The priest jerked and his tongue jutted from jaws that clamped down on it. Blood poured from his mouth. His clothing began to smoulder and his eyes flashed flame briefly before a shriek was dragged from his mouth and he lay still.
Ystormun moved further into the room, sniffing the air. He spared Sildaan and Llyron the briefest acknowledgement before focusing on Takaar, who had gripped the sides of his head and sunk to his knees when Hithuur had suffered his fate. Auum looked at Marack. She was moving but still down. Helias had positioned himself behind the archer, whose bow was trained on Auum.
‘In my city, we call this an awakening. Painful is it not?’ Ystormun’s voice was barely more than a whisper yet it contained such force that Takaar raised his head to see. ‘Often fatal if mishandled. Curious that one of you should be so blessed.’