His Claw could not be sure if he had perished here and been borne away by his Tais, but he had certainly fought and bled here, and one set of tracks leading away spoke of an elf with serious injuries. Serrin stared at the ground, looking for signs that Auum had moved away unaided, but the tracks were confused. Ten sets of prints crisscrossed the ground, led away, ran back and disappeared into the undergrowth, all of them heading for Aryndeneth, a day’s run to the east.
Serrin, or at least that part of him which glimmered with the memory of a Silent Priest, prayed to Yniss that Auum’s soul had been preserved, whether alive or dead. For those caught in the magical fire and the ensuing inferno, there could be no such hope.
The ClawBound were all assembled in the clearing. Each pair maintained physical contact while the shock of what they saw ebbed away to fuel their desire for blood. They all looked at Serrin, awaiting his signal to close on the tail of the human army and begin to seek their vengeance.
And so they would, but not like this. Serrin let his eyes travel the devastation once more and allowed the guilt to follow. He should have foreseen this reaction. He should have realised Ystormun would prefer to strike back at free elves rather than rip the hearts from his useful slaves in revenge. He should have listened to Auum. He should have stopped his cleansing. They were not strong enough to repel this invasion.
Serrin crouched on the ground and tears welled up in his eyes. He touched the earth and felt its pain. He sampled the air and smelled the death of the rainforest all around him. He listened and heard the desperate cries of Tual’s denizens, unable to comprehend the horror being visited upon them.
And all because the ClawBound had become more animal than elf.
‘Yniss forgive me,’ whispered Serrin. ‘We have fallen too far.’
Chapter 13
Yniss walked the glory of the forest and marvelled at the colours and the sounds and the scents. He looked above him and saw the purity of the sky above and knew his tasks were not yet done. Yniss laid a hand to his right and it rested upon the head of Gyal, the most beautiful, the most effervescent and the most expressive of his kin. And Gyal’s tears began to fall, and where they struck the ground, life surged and blossomed. ‘I could give this gift to no other,’ said Yniss.
The Aryn Hiil
Auum awoke. The forest was peaceful and the temple was cool. He was lying in a priest’s chamber. The bed was comfortable. He lay quietly, listening to the ambient sounds outside and the movement of elves within Aryndeneth. Memories started to filter into his mind. The run from the fight was vague. And he didn’t remember getting here at all, certainly not into this chamber.
Auum sat up. Pain jabbed at his leg and his shoulder throbbed. He dragged the thin blanket from his body and looked down. He was wearing a clean loincloth. His ankle was strapped, the dressing was clean. His shoulder showed a mass of bruising but it was a couple of days old at least. His stomach was tender to the touch and when he stopped to think for a moment, his whole body ached.
Auum swung his legs out of the bed and stood on his left foot, using a bedpost for support and hopping towards the door. He swayed when the blood rushed from his head, sitting back down heavily until the nausea passed. He looked around the room and chuckled. Someone knew him welclass="underline" a walking stick had been left by the open door. He levered himself up and made for it as a figure appeared in the doorway. The beautiful face and warm, welcoming eyes were wonderfully familiar and totally unexpected.
‘Good to see you up and about,’ said Lysael, holding out the walking stick.
‘Thank you,’ said Auum.
He took the stick and tested his weight on it. It looked old. It was carved from dark pine and had a pommel moulded to a polished ball by the caress of countless hands. Auum’s fingers closed on it, feeling a roughness at his fingertips which was all that remained of the carvings of birds and trees that had once adorned the pommel but were now confined to the neck.
‘Come with me,’ said Lysael. ‘Onelle and the TaiGethen are outside. It’s the Feast of Renewal today. Are you hungry?’
Auum paused in mid-stride. ‘That’s not possible. The feast is three days away.’
Lysael laughed. ‘There are some things that I’m good at, as High Priestess of Yniss. One of them is knowing the dates of all my god’s festivals. Trust me on this.’
Auum’s heart began beating faster.
‘I can’t have been unconscious that long,’ he whispered.
Lysael didn’t respond. The pair of them walked beneath the temple dome. Auum’s stick gave a hollow clack against the stone which echoed into the ceiling high above. With each step he tested his injured ankle a little more. The strapping was effective, stalling any lateral movement, but whether he used heel or toe he could feel the weakness and tenderness in the joint, musculature and ligaments.
The smell of cooking fires was wafting into the dome. Auum’s stomach growled and he began salivating. Tapir, jao deer and hare were on the spit. Vegetable and herb stews were steaming away. Fruit soups added a glorious sweetness to the mix and the scent of fresh-baked bread completed the image of the feast. Auum hurried on as best he could, and out into bright sunlight. Gyal had blessed this feast day; it looked as if the rain would hold off for some hours.
The apron was busy, not least with TaiGethen warriors seated on cushions surrounding a host of plates of food. The cook fires were all away to the right at the edge of the stone. Temple workers buzzed and flitted around them carrying ingredients, cutting meat and serving.
Auum moved towards his people, counting them as he came. Forty-four had joined the feast. Including him, he had fifteen cells at his disposal, leaving only three cells out in the field. Merrat and Grafyrre’s cells were both tracking the Ysundeneth army, and the fact that he couldn’t see Corsaar probably meant the veteran cell leader was collecting information about other human forces in the forest.
Ulysan saw Auum approach and stood, motioning them all to do the same. The TaiGethen held their cups out to Auum and bowed their heads in the traditional greeting, awaiting his permission to sup.
‘Gyal fills our rivers and the forest provides our roots. The skills Yniss bestowed on the elves brings the joy of taste to our mouths and freedom for our minds. Drink, lest Ix steal your spirit.’
‘For Auum. For the Arch. For the TaiGethen. For the forest.’
The salute given, they drank and retook their seats. Auum sat with Lysael in a space made between Ulysan and Onelle. He chose water rather than spirits and filled his plate with jao dressed with fruit soup. It looked lovely but he couldn’t eat, not just yet.
‘What happened, Ulysan?’
Ulysan set down his cup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘You finally lost consciousness as we reached the temple, though in truth you were incoherent for the last half of the run here. We thought you’d simply lost more blood than we’d thought but we couldn’t find any wound deep enough. It was Onelle who actually saved your life.’
Onelle was blushing before his gaze was upon her.
‘I am for ever indebted to you.’
‘Don’t be so stupid,’ said Onelle. ‘After all, if I said that after every time a TaiGethen saved my life, I’d still be catching up now. You do killing; I do fixing. All for the same god.’
‘Using the Il-Aryn?’
Onelle smiled and gave a small shrug. ‘It is a pity to ignore a skill when it can genuinely help. And you needed help, Auum. The impact that dislocated your shoulder broke a rib, and that rib pierced you inside. You were slowly bleeding to death. I could stem that bleeding and straighten the rib.
‘The Il-Aryn saved your life.’
Auum didn’t know why but the knowledge made him intensely uncomfortable. He scratched at his ribcage up by his shoulder as if doing so could dislodge the magic Onelle had used.