‘Time to go,’ said Takaar and his grin made her flinch.
‘You’re really going to try to take them all on?’
‘Now that would be stupid, wouldn’t it?’ Takaar moved towards her. ‘I didn’t use the door on my way in and I will not be using it on my way out. So: conscious or unconscious?’
‘What?’
The Tuali were coming up the stairs, making a poor effort at stealth.
‘Never mind.’
Takaar’s punch struck her on the temple, knocking her senseless. He caught her as she crumpled and threw her featherweight over his left shoulder. He ran to the connecting door to her office, across the dusty floor and out onto the open balcony. He leapt lightly onto the rail, dropped to hang briefly from his right hand and then fell the rest of the way to the ground.
The side street was quiet. Takaar headed away from the centre of Katura and ducked into an alley three turns from the hall of the Al-Arynaar, hidden from the Tuali but still close enough to hear their rage when his escape was discovered.
Takaar cradled Pelyn’s head and poured a little water over her face and into her mouth. She coughed and opened her eyes. For one glorious moment her smile lit her face up and the old Pelyn shone through, but it was gone the next instant and she pushed away from him and scrambled to her feet.
Still groggy, Pelyn had to steady herself against the side of a building. Takaar rose fluidly and pulled her round to face him, his hands clamped around her upper arms.
‘The Ixii and Gyalans. Where are they?’
‘Get me my nectar and perhaps I’ll tell you,’ said Pelyn.
‘No time.’ Takaar shook her. ‘Tell me which way. Now.’
‘Or what? You’ll leave me for another hundred and fifty years?’
Oh she knows how to hurt you, doesn’t she?
Takaar drove her back and up against the wall, holding her feet from the ground. She kicked at his chest but they were feeble blows.
‘Don’t become part of the problem.’ Takaar stared into her eyes, holding her gaze until fear eclipsed craving like storm clouds moving across the sun. ‘Dying alone in this place would be such a waste.’
Takaar dropped her and she crumpled into a hunched position on the ground, hugging herself, caught between her longing for edulis and her fear of him. His heart screamed at him to embrace her, but his mind, this time, was stronger.
‘I have this one chance to save the elves from man; to build a new strength in our people. Help me begin to return what I took from us all.’ Takaar shrugged. ‘Or you’ll have to die. I can’t let anyone stand in my way. Not even you.’
She lifted her face to his. The sounds of the Tuali mob on the streets were echoing down the alley. They were closing quickly. If Takaar had expected the light of comprehension in her eyes, he was disappointed. There was nothing there but a base cunning.
‘Swear to me you’ll get me more nectar and I’ll help you.’
It is the only thing you can offer her that she will take. Do it, Takaar.
Takaar opened his mouth and betrayed her again.
‘Done,’ he said, the lie slipping easily from his mouth. ‘Now let’s move.’
The centre of Katura was built in a series of concentric rings, in keeping with the aspect of the palm of Yniss. Industry was based there. The city administration rubbed shoulders with forges, bakeries, butchers, potters and all manner of other goods and services. Temples to every god had been built and, for a time, harmony had reigned.
Every elf was granted land to farm, or hunt or log or even to mine if that was their desire. The population began to grow and the city threw out shoots into the forest where those who preferred the old ways could live, bringing their goods to trade in the market which blossomed in the heart of the city.
It was impossible to pinpoint when the mood had begun to change, but the silence from the old cities and from those who had sworn to fight on and liberate the enslaved had began to gnaw at Katura’s heart. Isolation grew and, alongside it, a sense of hopelessness, a knowledge that what they were building might be all they had left.
Their spirit began to fail. And where the spirit faltered, there were those willing to profit from weakness. Edulis was their weapon, and it was as powerful as it was destructive. Land changed hands and threads began to gather together. The descent had been terrifyingly quick, and while there were significant numbers who remained dedicated to their tasks, determined not to fail, the pressure of the thread gangs grew day by day.
Pelyn led Takaar out into the uneven sprawl of what had begun as attempts to build strong neighbourhoods but had become ghettos where a single wrong turn could be a fatal mistake. Takaar had seen enough to know that the Tualis were the dominant thread, but they did not desire to drive the others out, preferring to profit from their misery instead.
The streets beyond the central rings were tight and maze-like, as if mimicking the Warren district of old Ysundeneth. Most buildings were single-storey and all were of wood construction. Most were ill maintained but here and there pockets of smart houses rested within the dilapidated mass. Takaar shook his head. It was like walking back onto Hausolis before the Garonin came, before the War of Bloods took hold.
Pelyn stopped in the centre of a muddy street that twisted away ahead of them. Beyond the houses, the beauty of the falls, heights and forests that bordered Katura was undimmed. Down here, though, smoke mixed with foul odours; children grubbed about in the dirt, and the Ixii on the street bunched together, staring at the intruders.
‘I thought you said you were still governor,’ hissed Takaar.
‘They haven’t seen me in a while,’ confessed Pelyn. ‘I doubt they trust me these days anyway.’
Pelyn was shuddering from the exertion of the run. Her face was pale and covered in sweat and she was breathing hard. She looked at Takaar and spread her hands.
‘Well, here we are, the Ixii ghetto,’ she said. ‘What now?’
A good question.
‘Simply answered. Do they have a meeting place?’
‘What for?’ asked Pelyn. ‘Katura wasn’t built for segregation. That’s just the way it’s turned out.’
‘This’ll have to do then,’ said Takaar. He began to walk towards the eight or so Ixii gathered in a doorway a few paces ahead of him. ‘Please, I would speak with you. All of you. Every decent Ixii, and your Gyalan and Orran and Cefan friends too, in time. Will you listen?’
Parents beckoned their children towards them. The atmosphere cooled and suspicion reigned. No one moved to speak to Takaar. He raised his voice, using the Il-Aryn to aid him.
‘I am Takaar and I bring you new hope,’ he said, his voice echoing from the sides of buildings and running away into the side streets. ‘Come outside. Hear me. Hear about the gift I can bestow upon you. The power to fight back against those who seek to control you. You, the Ixii, have it within you to become a new power among the elves.
‘Please, hear me. I mean you no harm.’
A child began to cry. Voices were raised behind Takaar — Tualis who could not have helped but hear him. Doors opened along the street and curious elves looked out. Seeing others already gathered, they moved to join them, the pack mentality of the threatened thread strong within them.
Takaar had been counting on that. His ears twitched. The Tuali were close. He wondered if that would work to his advantage. He waited a little longer as the Ixii continued to gather. A hundred or more were moving in his direction or standing with their thread.
‘Pelyn is here. Your governor endorses me. All I ask is that you listen.’
Takaar began to move towards them, Pelyn came with him, unwilling but compliant, her craving and his promise dominating her mind. The Ixii bunched together and moved back, but not through fear of him; Tualis were spilling into the street behind him. They were well armed and drilled. Swords and bows were evident. Presumably, many of them had once been Al-Arynaar.
‘Go back inside. This criminal is ours.’