James Barclay - Once walked with Gods

‘Cease!’ Llyron’s voice carried complete authority. ‘Senserii, hold. Never has an elf been slain within the boundaries of this temple. Men, sheathe your weapons. Your acts are blasphemy. Get up, Pelyn. How stupid.’

Pelyn stormed to her feet, rounding on Llyron. ‘He murdered my Lorius. He murdered your Jarinn. How can you stand with him?’

‘He was acting on my orders,’ said Llyron. ‘Who else’s do you think?’

‘Yours?’ Pelyn saw two Senserii ghost to stand by Llyron. ‘Then it is you I seek.’

‘Well, of course it is,’ snapped Llyron. ‘Who else can lead the elves now that Jarinn and Lorius are gone? The high priest of Shorth was ever the ruler of the elves. Ever an Ynissul until Takaar meddled. Only within the walls of a temple to Shorth are the threads treated with equality. Only the high priest of the order can correctly govern those whose souls pass through their hands. And only in the Ynissul is the intellect keen and the strength of blood present in order to bestow the correct level of benefit upon each thread.’

Pelyn felt her body sag. Such words should have been buried in history for ever, only hauled out as an example of how unjust the lives of most elves used to be. She stood with her brothers, a Gyalan and a Cefan. She feared for them as she must now fear for herself.

‘You have spent your whole life preaching the harmony,’ said Pelyn. ‘Why do you turn against it?’

‘My whole life? Hardly. I have had to pay lip service while Jarinn continued to preach his flawed beliefs.’ She turned her attention on Methian and Jakyn. ‘You two. Mouths open like piranhas in search of a feed. Nothing to say in support of your lord?’

‘What will become of us? Of the Al-Arynaar?’ asked Jakyn, his voice admirably calm.

‘Have no fear,’ said Llyron. ‘The Al-Arynaar are perhaps Takaar’s greatest creation. A force drawn from every thread, trained to work as one. The perfect army for the defence of Shorth, no? For me. It is a shame the TaiGethen will not have a role but you’ll understand that would be difficult.’

‘And if we refuse?’ said Methian.

Llyron’s tone was even. ‘That will of course be your choice. And wrapped in your cloak you will be delivered to the feet of those with less mercy than I for the products of Takaar’s failure.’

‘You will have to kill all of us. None will join you,’ said Pelyn.

‘Now that is just naive. Many already have. My knowledge of your plans is far more complete than you imagine. As for you three, I will give you time to cool your passion and your hatred. I will return to you at dawn. Just before our fleet docks. Then I will have your answer. Senserii, take them to a contemplation and remembrance chamber. That seems appropriate.’

I can grieve for those lost in battle. Or I can ensure their sacrifice has worth. Pelyn was silent for a good long time. The contemplation chamber encouraged as much. It was filled with plants. Natural light flooded in through a skylight grid that covered the entire roof space forty feet above their heads. An ornamental pool fed by hidden pipes trickled happily. Large white and black fish lazed within it.

Pelyn sat in a deep and embracing leather chair. It was one of six making a circle around a low wooden table on which sat beautifully scented cut flowers from the gardens at the rear of the temple. She stared at them until her sight blurred, blinked and did it again. Eventually, the constant movement of Jakyn broke her from her blankness.

‘What is it you are doing exactly?’ she asked.

‘Looking for a way out,’ said Jakyn. ‘We can’t just sit here.’

‘You know this isn’t like a performance of The Kidnap of Verendii,’ said Methian.

The old Gyalan had taken the chair opposite Pelyn and had mirrored her mood, probably her actions too. She hadn’t noticed him at all.

‘I know,’ said Jakyn sharply. ‘I just don’t see the point of sitting there waiting till dawn for an ikari blade in the guts.’

‘You’re expending energy you needn’t,’ said Methian. ‘Come and sit down.’

‘I can’t,’ said Jakyn.

‘The impatience of youth,’ said Methian. ‘And you, Arch Pelyn. Do you have a plan?’

Pelyn stared back at him. Plan. She’d outlined to her warriors how the traitors would be high-ranking priests and officials and then handed herself over to the highest of them all. Some planner she had turned out to be.

‘Idiot,’ she muttered.

‘I’m sorry?’ said Methian.

‘Not you, Methian. Me. I’m sorry I dragged you two into this. Idiot that I am. I led us right into the jaws of the enemy.’

‘You couldn’t have known,’ said Methian.

‘I could have followed my own advice and not trusted anyone. Any senior Ynissul, certainly. I wonder what happened to the muster. Do you think Esseral will have assumed command?’

‘She bloody ought to. You gave her the job of second after all.’

‘But she’s an unhappy Cefan.’

‘We’re all unhappy,’ said Jakyn from a position balanced on the edge of the pool. ‘Just got to do your job, haven’t you?’

‘You’ll break an ankle. Can’t have you limping to your execution, can we?’

‘Methian!’ hissed Pelyn.

‘Get down from there, foolish youth,’ admonished Methian with a smile.

Jakyn looked stricken. ‘Is that what they’ll do to us?’

Pelyn glared at her elder. ‘Only if we refuse to cooperate.’

‘They won’t trust us,’ said Jakyn. ‘They won’t believe we switched sides so easily.’

‘Maybe not, but there’s one thing I do know,’ said Pelyn. ‘Being kept in the bowels of the temple doing some menial job gives us more chance of helping our people than if our souls are sent to Shorth.’

Methian cleared his throat. ‘Pelyn, I’m going to do something unusual and disagree with you.’

‘You really think they’ll present you to your enemies for traditional execution, do you? Don’t be daft.’

‘I’m prepared to take the risk. Look at it this way. If we say we want to join the shiny new path and become Shorth’s guardians, I’ve no doubt at all we’ll be manacled to something and given mops, buckets and filthy rags as the first two centuries of our retraining. If Llyron wins, we’ll spend the rest of our days as nothing more than slaves. She’ll never trust us. We’ll be the lowest form of life to her. Not Ynissul and not of mixed blood, though working in her temple.

‘Give me a chance to speak, and I’ll talk my way out of trouble or die trying. I’d prefer it that way. And if I can persuade whoever it is not to slit my throat, I’ll be out there on the street. Back in the fight.’

Pelyn felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

‘And if the Senserii stick you with an ikari blade under the eaves of the forest?’

‘Then you may berate me when you join me in the halls of the ancients.’

The smile was joined by the faintest flicker of rekindled hope.

‘You’d better not be wrong about this,’ said Pelyn.

‘Am I ever wrong?’ asked Methian, his eyes sparkling.

‘This would be a bad time for your luck to change,’ said Pelyn. ‘Jakyn, what do you think?’

Jakyn raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips and shrugged.

‘We should probably get some rest. Methian’s planning a tough day tomorrow by the sounds of it.’ ‘Do we follow them?’ asked Hithuur.

He stood with Sildaan and twenty human mercenaries at the mouth of Ultan-in-Caeyin. The bowl was deserted. No evidence that anyone had been here earlier in the day remained. Around three thousand Ynissul civilians and a small guard of TaiGethen had disappeared into the rainforest.

‘No need,’ said Sildaan. ‘We know where they’re going.’