James Barclay - Once walked with Gods

Pelyn barked a laugh. ‘She will betray you! She is in the thrall of men. She-’

The foot of a staff slammed into her gut, doubling her over. Her minders kept her standing.

‘She ordered Lorius’s murder. She is the cascarg. Please.’

The driver’s fist took her full in the mouth, splitting her lip. The crowd cheered. Llyron raised her arms and cocked a smile at them.

‘Defiant to the end, eh? Now, where is the leader among you? Pelyn will be handed only to a recognised authority.’

The crowd quietened. Elves looked over their shoulders. A gap was made and one stepped forwards. Pelyn stared at the face of her executioner.

Helias, Speaker of the Gardaryn. Less than a mile into the rainforest and the complaints had reached such a pitch that Katyett called a halt to the march, which had only ever been slow to grinding. She tried to sympathise with them. She tried hard. But walking up and down the ridiculously long, straggling column of the unready, the unfit and the frankly unworthy, she could see the damage to her forest increasing and the will of her charges bleeding away like a slash to the jugular.

‘Graf. Give the order to make comfortable. Or as far as possible anyway.’

Katyett turned at a muttered curse and saw a couple cling to each other as one stumbled over a root. The ula’s face was swollen and deep bruising was coming out across his cheeks and neck. His nose had been comprehensively smashed and had been field-reset by one of the TaiGethen. The iad was crying quietly, had bruising all around her neck that looked like an attempted strangulation and a bleak look in her eyes from a memory that would never fade.

She knelt beside them as they flopped to the ground, supporting each other with the desperation of those who know they have absolutely nothing else left. At the sight of her so close, painted and camouflaged, the iad flinched away reflexively. Katyett’s heart missed a beat.

‘You never have to be scared of me,’ she whispered. ‘I am here to protect you. And I promise you this too. As Yniss is my lord and my life, when this is over, you will never have to fear anyone ever again.’

‘But why out here?’ asked the ula. ‘She has suffered so much. Now you’re asking us to walk through the rainforest for days. Is there really nowhere else safe other than Aryndeneth?’

‘Trust me,’ said Katyett. ‘All will become clear to you. I am sorry for every reluctant footstep you have to take because it is not your fault. But we have to ensure your safety. We have to ensure no one can get to you again to do you harm.’

Katyett leant towards the iad and drew a piece of clean cloth from a pocket. The iad took it to dab at her nose, which was bleeding a little.

‘Thank you.’

‘The TaiGethen hunt those who seek to destroy all we have built. Those who do not belong and those who would take us back to the War of Bloods. This we do in Yniss’s name.’

‘I don’t want you to kill for me,’ said the iad.

Katyett gazed at her. Humble and ordinary. Dressed in clothes from the rag and make market and with hands that had only ever held a quill, never a spade or a weapon. Inside, though, she was pure-bred Ynissul.

‘Yniss guides my soul, Tual my hands. We do what we must.’

‘You enjoy it,’ said the iad. ‘Don’t you? The TaiGethen way. Killing to make things right.’

Katyett frowned. ‘I enjoy the beauty of the rainforest and I enjoy the honour of being TaiGethen. Enjoy killing? No. But our enemies leave us no choice. And they learn that though I might not enjoy it, I am very, very good at it.’

The two iads shared a brief smile. Katyett kissed the other’s eyes before trotting away to the head of the column, whispering through the dense undergrowth. It began to rain. Hard. Thunder cracked across the sky

‘Now that, Gyal, is poor timing.’

Her Tais were trying to help any they could. They fielded questions and begged for patience. Katyett brushed past them all and found Pakiir kneeling next to Olmaat. Merrat was close and Katyett whistled her over. They dropped into the patter of the TaiGethen. Part ancient tongue, part click and chitter borrowed from Tual’s finest.

‘We’ve come far enough. Look at the damage they’ve done,’ said Katyett. ‘Merrat, what of the Ultan?’

‘We aren’t followed. All of them returned to the city.’

Katyett nodded. ‘Good. And are we sure our mark has slipped away already?’

Pakiir chuckled. ‘Barely lasted two hundred yards.’

‘Good. And the first cascarg? The one asking all the questions at the Ultan?’

Merrat raised her eyebrows. Katyett nodded again.

‘Good. All is well. Opinions. Are we clear to turn this walking disaster area around and get it to the staging camp?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Pakiir.

‘I think they’ve suffered enough,’ said Olmaat.

‘I agree,’ said Merrat.

Katyett smiled. ‘Maybe not quite enough. Let’s make it a lazy left turn, shall we?’

‘You are a cruel mistress,’ said Olmaat, coughing violently as he thought to laugh.

‘Calm yourself, my brother. And I don’t mean it. The iads in particular need some sort of security. Let’s not waste time. And let’s not tell them what’s happening. Not just yet. See if anyone else needs flushing out before we get there.’

‘How far away are we?’ asked Olmaat.

‘Well, we’ve been heading in a nice gentle circle ever since we left the Ultan,’ said Merrat. ‘We’re about four hundred yards away, I should think.’

Olmaat managed a pained smile, it cracked his drying salve.

‘Want me to lead the way?’ Helias waited until Llyron and her acolytes had disappeared back across the market and away towards the Mural before so much as looking at Pelyn. She’d been laid on the ground and the Tuali had circled her in almost total silence, like a pack of animals awaiting the pack leader to make the first bite. The silence was unnerving. Pelyn had tried to speak but sharp kicks and jabs with staves and clubs cut short any attempt to get through.

When the last echoes of the wheels had faded, Helias walked into the circle and stood at Pelyn’s feet, blade in his hand. He gazed down at her and she met it, unflinching.

To flinch is to die.

Helias had not suffered too badly as a result of the fracturing of elven society in Ysundeneth. His clothing was fine and clean. His chin was shaven and his hair newly washed and tied back in a ponytail that he had draped over his left shoulder. Rumours of shortages of water had clearly not been entirely accurate as far as he was concerned. Or perhaps the Tuali had control of the wells and feeds. Most likely they did.

Pelyn tried to see inside him to the ula she knew very well and who had often been vocal in his support for her. The Al-Arynaar had replaced the civil peacekeepers very soon after Takaar’s flight and the closure of the gate. They were unpopular in some quarters, naturally. Helias had been right behind them.

But now, of course, the Al-Arynaar were the created arm of a discredited hero. The police of a society that no longer existed. And Helias was nothing if not a fine judge of mood and the direction of the wind. What Pelyn saw in his eyes was contempt because that was what his new-found acolytes expected to see. Pelyn wondered if there was something more behind that.

‘Well, this is a rather interesting surprise. Pelyn. Cascarg of Shorth. Apparently. Not sure I believe that. But there are things I do believe. Fervently.’

Helias edged his blade under the first of the ropes binding her. The rope was neither particularly thick nor particularly strong. Helias jerked his blade up. The rope sheared to cheers from the assembled Tuali.

‘I believe in the right of the Tuali to be the masters of their own fate within the race of elves. Not to touch earth to the Ynissul.’