The Bound elves moved in behind Serrin. One moved to block Malaar and Elyss. The other two launched horribly effective attacks. A mage screamed as sharpened teeth sank into his shoulder and he was borne to the ground. The lash of a claw silenced his cries. Another tried to cast but nails slashing into his face and eyes blinded him and ripped through his flesh.
Panthers howled bloodlust. Auum heard a skull crush under the pressure of immensely powerful jaws, and then the delirious shrieks of Bound elves admiring their handiwork. They licked blood-drenched fingers and palms and smeared the dark red of human life across their faces.
‘Stop! Stop!’ screamed Auum.
It was frenzied, more akin to a pack of animals descending on helpless prey than the precise attack of an elven elite. Beyond the brief orgy of bloodletting, Malaar and Elyss stared on open-mouthed. Auum seized Serrin by the shoulders and pulled him back.
‘Stop! Serrin, for the love of Tual, for the sake of your soul before Shorth, stop!’
Serrin spun round and bared his teeth. Blood streamed from his mouth and was smeared across his chin. His expression was blank, his eyes showing no recognition of Auum. The TaiGethen pushed him away, heedless of the risk he might be taking.
‘The Serrin I knew would never stoop so low. This slaughter is not elven. We are all equal in the eyes of Shorth.’
Serrin growled.
‘The Auum I knew would never hide in the rainforest while his people were enslaved by man. Perhaps you are the one who is no longer elven.’ He placed a bloody hand on his chest above his heart. ‘Perhaps, in here, you no longer have the will to fight.’
Even the panthers fell silent at his words. Auum’s eyes never left Serrin’s. Neither of them would blink. Auum considered their proximity, their relative speed of hand and he calculated the time it would take them both to draw sword or dagger. It was too close to know for certain.
Another time.
‘Call the TaiGethen to muster at Aryndeneth.’ Auum tapped his head. ‘You do remember how to do that, don’t you?’
For a century and a half, the call of the ClawBound had summoned the TaiGethen to muster in the gravest of times. Without them, Auum did not know how long it would take to gather his people together or if he even could. Serrin stared at him a moment before inclining his head.
‘It will be done.’
Auum ran from the scene of slaughter, his Tai at his back.
Chapter 7
When I first visited Garan, he thought I was there to kill him. He was wrong. I was there to kill Ystormun and had climbed into the wrong room. It was an error which saved my life in more than one respect.
Takaar, First Arch of the Il-Aryn
Takaar scaled the wall and climbed through the small window left deliberately ajar for him. Night was full, clouds were gathering to disgorge new rain and the city was pitch black but for the torchlight illuminating the entrances to key buildings. He could smell the filthy conditions of the elven slaves even more clearly than the stench of man.
His eyes pierced the night, giving him a clean view of the bedroom he entered. It was large. One door led to a washroom, another to a landing where guards and helpers stood. Within the room, a plain single bed and a large threadbare armchair stood in the centre of a wooden floor covered in thick rugs. Tapestries hung on the walls to keep out the draughts, but the room was otherwise without furnishing or decoration, barring a pewter chamber pot and a mug of water at the bedside.
The man in the bed watched him drop lightly to the ground, his eyes shining wet. Takaar heard a gravelly clearing of the throat and a dry chuckle.
‘I wondered how long it would take you to get here,’ said Garan, his voice a rasping whisper that Takaar could barely hear. ‘I’m sorry about what happened.’
Takaar sat, as he always did, somewhere Garan could see him without having to raise his head.
‘Really? Is that why you forgot to warn me last time I was here?’
Garan sighed. ‘You have a rather exaggerated view of my influence and knowledge.’
‘You are not yet deaf.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Nor are you a comedian.’
‘Spare me one thing in my ridiculously endless life.’
Takaar smiled. ‘Friendship with an elf?’
‘I guess that’ll have to do.’
Takaar knew that Garan could barely make him out, the natural human inability to see in the dark combined with Garan’s poor eyesight. In some ways it was a shame they could only meet during darkness. To Garan, Takaar was little more than a silhouette.
‘So? No need to be shy,’ said Takaar. ‘Tell me which new part of your body has stopped working or else dropped off entirely.’
Garan’s eyes closed for a few moments before he spoke. ‘Sadly, I am slightly recovered. A couple of days ago one of Ystormun’s researchers tried a new technique for cleansing my kidneys and it appears to have worked.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Bullshit. If I died who on earth would you talk to?’
‘No, I meant it. But you’re right of course.’ After all these years, he still couldn’t reconcile his feelings towards this human. ‘And don’t deny you love being a paradox.’
‘I want to be dead,’ whispered Garan.
Takaar felt a squeeze on his heart. ‘Then let me kill you. Such a gift, to send you to Shorth’s embrace.’
‘I can’t let you. After all, then who would you have to talk to?’
‘Now who’s talking bullshit?’
Garan was silent for a while and Takaar wondered if he’d fallen asleep. But his eyes opened presently and when he spoke again, his rasping voice was softer.
‘Why are you really here, Takaar? Not to chastise me for the attack on your people, I’m sure.’
Garan gasped and Takaar tensed, but he knew better than to mop his brow or clutch a hand.
‘I thought you said you were improving?’
‘They haven’t quite sorted out my gut yet. Still dissolving in its own acid, or so it feels. So. Why are you here?’
‘I’m sure your mages have been able to detect the Il-Aryn and its principal location for decades. So this attack is… a change in strategy, isn’t it? It’s provocative. I expect humans across the rainforest are already dead as a result. And none of your temple attackers survived.’
‘Oh? I thought you always let one go to spread the fear.’
‘I changed my mind.’ Takaar shrugged. ‘I was going to, but I didn’t hear what I needed to.’
‘Which was?’
‘An answer to the question I just asked you. And I’m happy to kill you too, whether you answer it or not. Just say the word.’
‘I see I’m not the only one who’s not a comedian.’ Garan was wheezing. ‘Damn. Need to turn over. No muscle to speak of in the chest you see, so eventually my lungs slide together. Or that’s how it feels. Quite painful.’
‘I can imagine,’ said Takaar.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. And don’t even think about helping me or I’ll call the guards.’
Ah, another test for your oh so fragile emotions.
‘Leave me,’ hissed Takaar.
I don’t think so. This promises to be such fun.
Garan began to move and Takaar’s eyes brimmed on the instant. He couldn’t take his eyes from Garan’s face, twisted in agony. His features, so aged and wrinkled, his flesh so thin and loose that he was utterly unrecognisable as the man who had escorted Takaar, bearing the body of his beloved Katyett, from the city a hundred and fifty years ago. Only his eyes, which retained their cynicism and surprising intelligence, gave the man within away.
Garan grunted and began to roll, having worked one arm beneath his body. He was a featherweight but his muscle was so withered that moving himself when he was prone was a true physical trial. His features contorted, hiding his already screwed shut eyes completely. Small whimpers escaped his lips and his body moved with agonising slowness. His right arm juddered and shook as he forced it straight. Drool ran from the corner of his mouth and Takaar heard tendons crack.