Текст книги "The Raven Collection"

Автор книги: James Barclay

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 115 (всего у книги 235 страниц)

Chapter 19

Two more days. Two more days of heat, rain, sweat, flies, snakes, lizards, spiders, rats and bickering men. Erienne hardly slept a wink that first night and the next was no better. She spent the days staring into the waters of the River Ix as the guide took them away from the main flow and up countless turns, branches and tributaries. By the end of the second day, she was so unsure of their overall direction, she had to keep checking their position by the sun.

This was surely some form of elaborate torture designed for a purpose she couldn’t guess. The land was hell above ground, the skies disgorged rain that stung her head through the hood of her cloak, and everywhere there were animals large and small obsessed solely with killing her should she make one false move. Even the brightly coloured frogs, Ren had told her cheerfully, could unintentionally end her life.

And so, when they did land, for a break or for that dreaded second night, Erienne was scared every time she put her foot down, stretched out an arm to steady herself or sat on a log to eat around the fire. Even had she wanted to, she couldn’t have sustained a conversation. Her concentration was broken by every rustle and crack in the undergrowth and every call of every animal. It made her temporarily useless as a mage, and already Denser and Ilkar had become a little irritable that the cleansing and gentle healing spells they had to cast were not being shared equally.

She tried telling herself that the threat couldn’t be everywhere, that she was simply overreacting to an alien situation. She stared long at Ren and Ilkar, who seemed so completely at ease. And at Kayloor, respectful of the forest but comfortable. At Hirad and The Unknown, who accepted their situation with trademark phlegmatism, and at Thraun, who absolutely loved it and whose hunting instincts were sharper than ever, back beneath trees where he felt he belonged.

But she could turn to Denser and Darrick because she knew, without having to ask, that the strangeness affected them too. Her only other option was to retreat into her mind alone, which was even more distressing filled as it was with Lyanna. Being apart from her daughter’s grave had broken the direct association but nothing would ever dim the memories. Her desperation was as keen as ever, and those scant moments when her memories brought her joy were scarce jewels in the desert. But she couldn’t cry. Not here. This place didn’t understand her pain, and her tears and rage would be wasted.

To distract herself as they sailed, she tried to imagine what lay beneath them. Ilkar and Ren had been fulsome in their descriptions and she had bought it all, fuel for her fears. The shoals of flesh-eating fish that scented blood from ten miles’ distance. The thirty-foot crocodiles with jaws strong enough to pierce plate mail. The invisible creatures that burrowed into flesh and laid their young to grow fat on host blood.

She imagined war beneath the impenetrable surface. The flashing of scales in the dance of life. And seeing one of the armoured beasts surge from the river to take a tapir as it drank fed her fantasies until she expected a fanged head to spear through the floor of the boat and take them all to the terrible drowning death that dominated her nightmares.

But instead they landed for good in the late afternoon of the third day at a shallow beach fringed with palms and waving grasses, home to three dozen and more fishing boats and open canoes.

‘Home,’ said Ilkar, leaping onto the land and staring up the beach.

‘About bloody time,’ said Hirad, following him to stand with hands on hips.

Erienne felt a rush of relief. She needed to lie under a roof, in something more substantial than a hammock. The light was beginning to fade, she was tired, hungry and could no longer ignore the growing pulse in her head as a passing ache. It had been coming on for days. At least now she could hope for a little privacy and security to sort it out.

‘It’s beautiful,’ said Ren, slipping an arm around Ilkar’s waist.

A flight of red-backed parrots passed over them, heading for the cloud-shrouded green heights and the falls they could just make out in the distance.

‘Naturally,’ said Ilkar.

‘He’s going to tell us it’s a five-mile swamp hike through snake-infested forest to his front door,’ grumbled Denser, though he was smiling. He looked down at Erienne, his expression sobering. ‘Are you all right, love?’

‘Damn fool question,’ said Erienne, feeling the comfort of his closeness and empathy.

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Later,’ she said.

‘The village is literally just over the rise here,’ said Ilkar, pointing up the bank through which a path had been well trodden, its shingle all but covered in mud.

Erienne followed his arm and could see the odd plume of smoke rising into the heavy sky. It was getting very hot again. She felt the sweat prickling on her and had a sudden longing for winter and the cold. Even the rain here was hot enough to bathe in.

The Unknown and Aeb had hauled all of their kit from the boat under the scowling gaze of Kayloor.

‘Let’s get going,’ said Hirad. ‘I can feel rain.’ He shouldered his sack and glared at their elven guide. ‘It’s been a real pleasure.’

‘Respect the forest. Cefu watches you,’ said Kayloor in halting Balaian.

‘It speaks,’ said Hirad.

‘Yes, and so do you,’ said Ilkar. ‘Too much. He’s just giving you sound advice.’

‘Who’s Cefu again?’

‘God of the canopy, Hirad,’ said Erienne.

Ilkar smiled. ‘At least someone listens to me. And remember what I told you before. People will stare at you. They won’t want you to be here. Don’t react; let Ren and me guide you. And Hirad, no staring back.’

‘Me?’ Hirad’s expression was pained innocence.

‘Yes, you,’ said Ilkar. ‘Prolonged eye contact is a challenge. Don’t make it until they accept you. Really. Come on.’

He led the way up the bank, The Raven and Ren close behind him as the rain swept across the river and soaked them yet again. It wasn’t even worth hurrying. They’d learned that much. And at least it discouraged the flies.

Taanepol, Ilkar’s home village, which roughly translated meant ‘town on the river’, was a cluster of approaching two hundred wood and leaf-thatch buildings in an elf-made clearing somehow in total sympathy with the forest around it. Trees overlooked it on three sides, with the fourth largely open as the ground fell away towards the river.

It was not an obviously organised settlement to the Balaian eye because there was no discernible centre or dominating structure. Groups of buildings were gathered loosely around cleared areas in which fire pits sat, tables and benches were arranged, and cooking and hunting paraphernalia lay scattered. Every house had a wide covered porch, roofs angled to take the rain into shallow channels that ran away downhill and back to the Ix.

As they approached, the rain smearing their faces, Erienne thought she could see what looked like a moat along the edge of the village, bridged by lashed-together logs. Ilkar was speaking for all their benefits.

‘There’ll be about five hundred in all here, though at any one time half are fishing, hunting or farming. Or on Balaia mage-training, if they feel the calling. I know it looks a bit jumbled, but like every other village, it was originally settled by one family and has grown as others were accepted and joined.’

‘Why did it happen that way?’ asked The Unknown. ‘Protection presumably.’

‘That’s right. The elves of Calaius have a tribal history no less torn by war than the Wesmen’s. Even so, this is one of the biggest settlements you’ll find this deep in the forest.’

‘So how come you’re allowed to hack down the forest but when we break a twig Captain Miserable has a fit?’

‘Because, Hirad, it’s our land. We were born to it and we husband it. This isn’t wanton destruction. We benefit the forest; strangers destroy it,’ said Ilkar. ‘Like I say, just respect elven beliefs and you’ll have no trouble.’

It was a moat. Dug square, and she could see as she neared that it was the best part of six feet deep and around eight feet wide. Log bridges crossed it in five places.

‘Expecting attack, are you?’ she asked.

‘Not exactly,’ said Ilkar, turning and smiling through the downpour, his black hair smeared on his head. He stopped on the bridge. ‘It keeps our animals in and some of the undesirables out.’

Erienne caught her breath. The moat was lined with an inch or so of water and seemed to be teeming with life. Lizards, rodents, snakes – she could see them all in there – scuttling or slithering here and there or testing the sides of the moat. There had to be dozens of the things in the stretches she could see to either side.

‘It’s hardly going to stop a spider, is it?’ said The Unknown.

Ilkar shrugged. ‘Probably not, but we fill it periodically with a mild alkali. Creatures don’t like it. Then, in the morning, we clear it out and get them back into the forest where they belong.’

‘Is it that bad?’ asked Darrick.

‘Unless things have changed radically, it varies,’ said Ilkar. ‘It’s just a safer environment, particularly for the young ones. They need to be taught to treat animals correctly to avoid trouble. Some of these things don’t give you a second chance.’

Erienne walked briskly across the bridge, feeling altogether safer. It all made perfect sense to her. But, like crossing from light into shadow, the hostility hit her immediately too.

All activity had stopped in the village. Children came running out until voices stopped them. Adults moved deliberately and with common purpose. There were no weapons evident. None was needed to convey the message. Most of the villagers were dressed simply in dark-coloured tops and trousers. All were dark-skinned with pronounced cheekbones and deep frowns.

‘Always this welcoming, are they?’ asked Hirad.

‘Now’s the time to be quiet,’ said Ilkar sharply. ‘Remember, most of these elves have never seen a non-elf. I suggest you stop and let me see what’s going on.’

The Raven did so, each of them assessing the threat. Erienne saw The Unknown move to the centre of the group, Aeb to one side, Hirad the other. She found herself behind them with Denser. Darrick had seen the line forming and came to Hirad’s right shoulder. Thraun too moved instinctively into the line, his hand resting easily on the pommel of the sword he now carried, mimicking Darrick’s stance. Only Ren stood apart, caught between Ilkar and The Raven, unsure what to do. None of them fingered weapons but they were ready.

Despite herself and the clouding of her mind, Erienne was impressed. Well over two seasons since they had last fought together and the instinct was as strong as ever. And for the first time for so long, she felt a release in the comfort of their close company. Perhaps Denser was right. Perhaps this would be the beginning of her recovery.

Knowing she’d be unable to understand what Ilkar said to his people, she moved so that she could see the villagers clearly and tried to gauge their body language. She looked at Ilkar, seeing him ramrod straight, and felt total confidence in him.

It was not shared by Ilkar. The Julatsan mage, who had last seen his home before any of The Raven’s parents had been born, had rehearsed this moment in his mind over and over since they’d boarded ship at Herendeneth. In his dreams, he’d seen smiling faces and open arms as he strode across the bridge to his family group of homes, the lost son returned. But in his waking thoughts, he’d known suspicion would hide the smiles and that those arms would not be opened to him or those he brought with him.

But he’d expected nothing like this. There was no confusion on their faces, some of which he recognised although others were too young for him to know. There was no surprise either. What he could see were anger and fear. He scanned those in front of him, seeing neighbours and members of his wide family group, some of whom had aged, some not. Of his immediate family, his parents and less surprisingly his brother, there was no sign.

Ilkar glanced behind him and saw The Raven’s formation. It was unnecessary, of course, but it gave him security and faith. And more than anything else it reinforced who his family really were. They stood behind him, not before him. Ren looked at him a little helplessly. He smiled at her, gestured her to stay just where she was. To Hirad he nodded and mouthed his thanks before turning back to his family group.

He made a wide angle with his arms in front of his face, fingers linked at the first digit to mimic the canopy. It was an ancient greeting, and was returned by most of the thirty or so in front of him, more in reflex than friendship.

‘Hello, Kild’aar,’ said Ilkar, settling on a middle-aged elven woman, distantly related to him on his father’s side. She was standing near the centre of the group, arms folded firmly under her breasts, her jet-black hair covered by a soaking cloth and her light clothing sticking to her thin body. She looked very tired, her slanted oval eyes red around her pupils, the crow’s feet deep and pronounced. ‘I’ve come back seeking help. May I and my friends enjoy the hospitality of Taanepol?’

Ilkar was glad of the traditional opening speech required of any visiting an elven rainforest village, which included reasons for the visit and a request for lodging should it be desired. Kild’aar stepped forward, her face severe.

‘As a child of this village, you are welcome, as is the child of Drech with you,’ she said, cocking her head at Ren behind him. ‘But these strangers must go. Now.’

Ilkar started at Kild’aar’s vehemence.

‘What I ask affects us all,’ said Ilkar. ‘Calaians and Balaians alike. Julatsa stands on the verge of extinction. The Heart is buried and not enough mages remain on Balaia to raise it to beat life through the college again. What consequences for the elves of Calaius if it should fail? Please, let us all get out of the rain and talk.’

‘Julatsan magic has nothing to do with those who stand near you,’ said Kild’aar.

‘Until you hear me, you will not know how wrong you are,’ said Ilkar. ‘Kild’aar, have things changed so much in my absence that you cannot even begin to extend the hand of friendship?’

‘Perhaps they have,’ said Kild’aar. ‘A great crime has been committed here. Strangers are to blame. And now illness is sweeping the village. You saw the fishing boats tied up; it’s because there are too few fit to crew them. Who’s to say the strangers didn’t bring the sickness with them? Who’s to say those you stand with don’t support the desecrators?’

Ilkar held up a hand. ‘Wait, wait. You’re losing me.’ He looked at Kild’aar and then past her into the scared and angry faces of those behind her. ‘We saw evidence of illness in Ysundeneth when we landed there three days ago, but what’s been desecrated?’

‘Ysundeneth has sickness?’ Kild’aar ignored his question and looked around at her village folk. ‘Strangers visit there.’ She shrugged.

‘But not here,’ said Ilkar. ‘And it may not be the same sickness. Why don’t you let our mages see? We helped elves in Ysundeneth.’

Kild’aar sighed. ‘In truth, we’re stretched,’ she said. ‘We can’t find a reason or a cure and it strikes at random. Tomorrow the victim could be me, any of us. Our people have started to die.’

‘Then let us try and help you,’ implored Ilkar. ‘These people behind me, they’re much more than just friends. I love them like family. They are good people and I swear on every creature in the forest that they have nothing to do with any desecration.’ He paused. ‘Kild’aar, what has been desecrated?’

The elven woman looked older and more exhausted as she looked at him then, biting her lip. ‘Aryndeneth,’ she whispered.

‘What?’ Ilkar’s mouth was suddenly dry, the drumming rain on his head forgotten. ‘How?’

‘We don’t know,’ said Kild’aar. ‘But we know Al-Arynaar have been killed.’ She stopped. ‘One moment.’

Ilkar nodded and watched as she turned and spoke in low tones to a group of young and old elves. He saw nods and shakes of heads, he saw fingers being pointed and he heard sharp tones. In the end though, it was clear Kild’aar had got her way.

‘Take your friends, if such they are, to your father’s house. They can take drinks from the firepot if they are so inclined. I’ll wait for you. There’s something you have to see.’

‘And what of my parents?’ asked Ilkar, knowing it was the question she had been waiting for and he had been avoiding.

‘What do you think, Ilkar? You’ve been away too long.’ She shook her head. ‘We needed people like you here and you didn’t even send word that you were alive.’

She turned and walked away, taking the crowd with her, a murmur growing as they dispersed into smaller groups. Ilkar turned back to The Raven, catching Ren’s eye as he did.

‘Did you hear all that?’ he asked her.

She nodded and put a hand on his arm. ‘Are you all right?’

‘We didn’t get on,’ he said. ‘Or else I might have come back when I was supposed to.’

‘That wasn’t what I asked.’

‘I know,’ he said, but in truth he wasn’t sure how he felt. He hadn’t worked out whether he expected his parents to be alive or not; and finding out they weren’t had left him immediately saddened but hardly gripped with grief.

‘Hey!’

Ilkar looked over at Hirad. The barbarian was standing with his arms outstretched and palms up, his long dark hair dripping with the rain that still fell with no sign of letting up.

‘Sorry, Hirad.’

‘When you’ve quite finished nattering in elvish, I wondered if there was any danger of you letting us in on the big secret. Are they going to run us through or let us dry out a little?’

‘Well, I had to haggle,’ said Ilkar, wandering back up to Hirad and patting his soaking wet cheek. ‘They were concerned that you were too ugly to be allowed into such a beautiful setting. There are children here after all.’

Denser laughed aloud, hugging Erienne to him. She too could not suppress a smile. The comment had been worth it just for that. Hirad swung round to the Xeteskian.

‘You haven’t heard what they said about you and that miserable mould you call a beard,’ he said to Denser.

‘At least it doesn’t frighten children.’

‘Only because they don’t understand,’ said Hirad. ‘Scares the shit out of me that you think it’s attractive.’

‘Let’s get in out of the rain, shall we?’ said The Unknown. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m getting a little tired of this particular shower.’

Ilkar nodded. Once again, a couple of sentences from the big man and they all fell into line.

‘Follow me. And don’t make a mess. This is my house you’re about to see.’

He took Ren’s hand and led the way into the village, uncertain of what they were about to face and with the sceptical eyes of the people upon them. There was so much more to be done than he’d hoped. He sighed. It had seemed so simple. Just show up, get trained mages and gather a friendly support network. He should have known. When The Raven were involved, somehow things were never simple.

Chapter 20

‘Why won’t you let Denser and Erienne help you?’ Ilkar was fast losing his patience.

He’d seen The Raven to his house – it had been almost exactly the same as when he’d last seen it – and had sought out Kild’aar very soon after, suddenly anxious to be anywhere else than in his past. But his enquiries into how many villagers were actually sick were met with vague estimates and his offers of help with a blank refusal. The house they were headed for was no more than fifty yards across the village but this was the third time he’d asked.

‘Because you must understand first,’ said Kild’aar.

‘I understand already,’ he replied. ‘People in my village are dying and you won’t let two brilliant mages try and save them because of your intractable distrust of every non-elf. I don’t remember it being this way when I left.’

‘Ilkar, you have been away a very long time. And you’ve been with strangers for all that time. You are the one who has changed, not us. Even your skin is light. And now we’re seeing good reasons why we’ve been ever suspicious.’

‘But you need help.’

‘It can wait,’ snapped Kild’aar. ‘Gyal’s tears, Ilkar, you come wandering back into our village a hundred years after you left it and you expect us to accept you with open arms? And your Balaian friends? Maybe over there people are quick to trust. Here, as you well know, trusting the wrong people has led to so much harm.’

Ilkar had to concede the point though he would never admit it to her. They had never seen eye to eye. Truth was, Ilkar hadn’t seen eye to eye with anyone. Except his brother. And even that bond was gone now. Buried under a hundred years of separation.

‘What happened to my parents?’ he asked.

Kild’aar stopped briefly. ‘They died of old age, not knowing whether their son was alive or dead. Whether he had made a success of his talent or whether he had perished in the Mana Bowl or in some petty conflict of the Balaians. Perhaps the question should be, what happened to you?’

‘It’s a long story,’ said Ilkar.

‘And one we don’t have time for at the moment,’ said Kild’aar, setting off again across the soaking village. The rain was beginning to ease at last, blue cracks in the heavy grey sky.

‘What is it you want me to see?’ Ilkar struggled to keep up with the sudden pace, slipping on the muddy ground, unused to the texture underfoot, his reactions dulled by his absence. Kild’aar, of course, looked as if she were walking on flat dry rock.

She led him to a house on the southern periphery of the village. On the porch sat an elf dressed in jet black with a face painted in black and white halves. At his feet a panther lay, licking its paws.

‘What the hell is going on?’ demanded Ilkar. ‘What are they doing here?’

‘Waiting for answers,’ replied Kild’aar.

‘Fine,’ said Ilkar. ‘So what’s inside?’

‘You’ll see.’

‘Gods, but you’re frustrating, Kild’aar.’

‘Any particular God? Or just that amorphous deity Balaians always invoke?’

‘Now I’m remembering why I didn’t come back sooner.’

Kild’aar pushed open the door. ‘I’d hate to disappoint your memories, Ilkar. Room to the left.’

She waited while he went in. The room was lit by heavily scented candles set on the floor and on low tables. Otherwise it was bare but for a high-legged bed in its centre on which lay a shrouded figure. Ilkar turned, frowning, but was ushered on. He walked to the head of the bed, the sweet scents filling his head, and pulled back the shroud.

On the bed lay an elf of about his age, though it was hard to tell in truth. His face was wrinkled as if the moisture had been leached from it, a trail of blood ran from his nose and another from the corner of his mouth. There was no relaxation in death, as if the pain that had gripped him as he lost his fight for life had endured beyond. Ilkar knew him.

‘There was nothing we could do,’ said Kild’aar as Ilkar replaced the shroud. ‘He was all but dead when he was brought in. Nothing we did, magical or herbal, did anything at all bar relieving his pain a little. Everyone here knows the agony in which he died and they know our helplessness. All that lie sick know their fate unless we can find a way to save them. That’s why we’re so scared. Who’s next?’

‘Then let Erienne help,’ urged Ilkar. ‘She is the best healer mage I’ve ever met. She’s saved my life before now. Let her examine him, find out what she can. Please, Kild’aar, trust me on this.’

Kild’aar shrugged. ‘We’ll see. Come.’ She led Ilkar to the room next door. It was similarly bare though the shutters had been opened to let in natural light. On a table under the window sat a bowl of water draped with cloths. A single bed was pushed against a wall and on it an elf lay on his stomach, head to one side. A sheet covered him to his waist and his back was largely swathed in bandages, heaviest on his left shoulder.

‘Oh dear Gods,’ said Ilkar, rushing to the bedside and kneeling down to stroke the hair away from his face. It felt hot. ‘Not him too.’

‘No,’ said Kild’aar. ‘His fever was caused by an infected wound and it’s broken now. He’ll live. For now at least.’

Relief flooded Ilkar and he exhaled heavily, his breath playing over the prone elf’s face.

‘Rebraal,’ he whispered. ‘Can you hear me?’

The elf’s eyes flickered open, narrowed against the light and steadied. He frowned.

‘Are you real?’ he asked, voice no more than a croak.

‘Yes, I am. What happened to you?’

‘You’re not real. I’m still fevered. You’re a shade.’ He seemed to be talking to himself, his words barely distinct.

‘No. The fever’s broken. Kild’aar says you’re recovering. It really is me, kneeling in front of you.’ Ilkar smiled.

Rebraal’s face darkened. ‘Shade or real, let me tell you this. You’re too late. A century too late. Where were you when the strangers came and took Aryndeneth? Where were you when I was shot? We needed you. You promised to return. It was your destiny as it is mine. Get out of here. I don’t know you.’

‘Rebraal, I understand your anger. But my destiny changed. There was other work I had to do. But it doesn’t stop me being your brother.’

‘You betrayed me. You betrayed the Al-Arynaar. You are not my brother.’ He turned his head away. ‘Go back to your other destiny.’

Ilkar put a hand on Rebraal’s back.

‘Please, Rebraal. I can help you. I’ve brought people with me. We’ll take the temple back.’

‘I want nothing that you can give. We don’t need your help. Go.’ Ilkar felt Kild’aar’s touch on his shoulder. He looked up, his brief joy at seeing his brother extinguished. There was a lump in his throat and he shook his head to clear his mind, a cascade of emotions surging through him. His parents were dead, as he had expected, and he felt little grief at their passing. But Rebraal. Rebraal was only a little older than him and Ilkar’s love for his hero had never dimmed though his brother had often been far from his thoughts. And now he had been dismissed. Disconnected. He stood and strode from the house.

‘What did you expect?’ asked Kild’aar after him. ‘He thought you’d abandoned him. You were supposed to join the Al-Arynaar. It’s why you went to train in Julatsa.’

Ilkar rounded on her. ‘No, it isn’t!’ he shouted, then checked his voice. ‘It’s what you all assumed. You, him, my parents. You never let me speak my mind, you never considered what I actually wanted. I never, ever wanted to follow Rebraal and my father into the Al-Arynaar. I admired them for their sacrifice but I didn’t want to do the same.’

Kild’aar frowned. ‘So why did you go to train?’

Ilkar almost laughed. ‘Because I wanted to be a mage. Because I felt the calling so strongly I could never deny it. You have no idea the release I felt when I left here and the elation I felt every day I was training. I knew what you would all feel when I didn’t return but I couldn’t come back to explain because you’d never have let me leave.’

‘Didn’t you believe in what the Al-Arynaar represented?’

‘Of course I did,’ said Ilkar. He pushed a hand through his hair, searching for the words that would help her understand. ‘But I was never driven enough to spend my life defending something I thought would never be attacked. I know how hollow that sounds now but I wanted more.’

Kild’aar shook her head. ‘How can there be anything more than the honour of defending your faith?’

‘It wasn’t what I wanted. Why can’t you understand that? Why can’t Rebraal?’

Ilkar felt like telling her his life story, or at least the last decade of it. But she wouldn’t want to hear about how his and The Raven’s search for Dawnthief halted the Wytch Lords, or how their sealing of the Noonshade rip stopped Balaia being overwhelmed by dragons. Both actions had done more to protect the elven faith than guarding Aryndeneth. The trouble was, they were too isolated here. To Kild’aar, and to so many rainforest villagers, events on Balaia were of no importance.

All they knew or cared about the Northern Continent was Julatsa and the training it could give elves who felt the mage calling. And even then, most village elders would shrug at the demise of the college, blaming the elves who had stayed there for their stupidity in doing so. It was a paradox, but one the elven elders would face comfortably.

‘Your head was turned from true sight on Balaia,’ she said. ‘And Rebraal will blame you in part for the loss of the temple.’

‘Then persuade him to let me help put it right,’ said Ilkar. He pointed at his father’s house. ‘You don’t know it, but in that house you’ve got the most talented warriors and mages on Balaia. They are The Raven and they can make a difference.’

‘We have heard the name,’ said Kild’aar, unimpressed. ‘Our mages who did return as they promised brought word of you. We don’t need the help of mercenaries. We need believers. Rebraal is right, you should go.’

Ilkar felt his cheeks colouring, very aware that his paler skin tone from decades on Balaia now set him apart from his own roots. It was useless talking to Kild’aar. And while to a certain extent he could understand their sense of betrayal, he couldn’t fathom their obduracy in the face of a genuine offer of help.

‘Let me tell you exactly how it’s going to be,’ said Ilkar, his frustration getting the better of him at last. ‘We’re here to take mages back to Julatsa, because if we don’t there will be no college for you to send your precious defenders to train at. Then where will your Al-Arynaar be, eh? And we will find mages with or without your help. Secondly, we are going to help the sick in this village and we are going to help return the temple to the hands of the Al-Arynaar. We are The Raven and this is what we do. Now you can try and stop us, but consider who is betraying the elven race and faith then.

‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some organisation to attend to.’

He turned and strode back to his father’s house, his desire to prove Kild’aar wrong, to prove that those he loved were not mere strangers to be despised, burning hot within him.

Heryst rubbed his hands over his face and leaned back in his chair in the great hall in the tower of Lystern. He seemed to have spent most of his time here in the last few days, meeting senior mages, desperately seeking a solution.