Текст книги "The Raven Collection"

Автор книги: James Barclay

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Текущая страница: 161 (всего у книги 235 страниц)

To the right sat the city council of Julatsa. All decent people, she had to admit. Businessmen, the commander of the city guard, such as it was, local nobility and the city mayor.

‘Thank you all for coming,’ she said, her voice carrying easily to the empty benches at the back of the theatre, augmented by engineered acoustics and amplification spells. ‘I just wish I was here to bring you good news.’

A ripple went round the sparse auditorium.

‘The siege of Xetesk has collapsed. At dawn this morning Xeteskian forces using a powerful magic we are still trying to understand, swept through the Lystern and Dordovan defences north and east. Our information is incomplete at best but we have to assume that at present, there is nothing standing in their way. We know that the elves, who were not taking part in the siege this morning, have escaped almost unscathed and will arrive before the enemy, but not long before.’

She paused, listening to the depths of the silence, every eye upon her.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, we know why the Xeteskians are coming here. They are coming to destroy this college and its Heart before we have a chance to raise it. Indeed, they may be too strong even if we do. As Julatsan mages, we have to stay here, we literally have nowhere to go and nothing to gain by standing aside. Everything we have striven for is here. As is our future as mages.

‘But you, mister Mayor, honoured council members, are not under any direct threat and neither are the people of the city.’ She paused again. This wasn’t coming out quite right. ‘What I am saying is this. You are innocents in this conflict. Xetesk doesn’t desire destruction of the city like the Wesmen did. The people of Julatsa have a choice and they must make it quickly.

‘Those who are tired of war and suffering should leave now. Join those who already find the city claustrophobic and those who do not want to face hunger in the name of a future here any more. No blame could possibly be attached to any that leave after the sacrifices all have made in the name of the college and city of Julatsa since the end of the Wesmen occupation.

‘Those that choose to stay, and I pray it is the mass of the able bodied and willing, I urge to lend their strength to us because if Xetesk beats us and throws down our college, the freedom you have enjoyed so long will be gone. That is all. I welcome questions.’

The silence hung like a thick cloying fog before a hand was raised among the twenty council members.

‘Master Tesack, please speak.’

‘If we pledge our strength to you, can we win?’

Pheone spread her arms wide. ‘I do not know. I believe so, as I must, but there is no certainty that any strength of arms we can muster will be enough. We do not know how many men Xetesk is bringing, nor the strength or state of the remaining allied force that might or might not arrive before them.

‘We might laugh or we might be swept away. But I could not live with myself if I did not tell you the risks we are facing as a city and college. There will be a battle fought in our streets, in our parks and squares. Xetesk will struggle to the last man to reach the college and people who get in their way will be killed.

‘What you must ask yourselves and the people of this city is, after everything else that has befallen us, can you stand with us again or must you try to find another place to build your lives? The choice is that simple.’

Another hand was raised. It was Geren. Pheone nodded for him to speak.

‘I have not always been the perfect loyal mage,’ he said. ‘So you might choose to ignore my words. I have not always lived here to lend my support to the cause. But I could not leave now, whether I was a mage or not. The Heart of the college is also the heart of the city. If it dies, the city dies with it. And the wider implications of the loss of a college for the whole of the country do not bear thinking about. Any able to defend are honour-bound to do so.’

‘For me the choice is simple,’ said the city guard commander, standing. ‘I am the appointed defender of this city, part of which is the college. I have forty full-time officers and experienced soldiers and I have perhaps a hundred volunteer constables. We will not leave. We will stand and fight side by side with our mages to defend our city.’

‘Thank you, Commander Vale,’ said Pheone, smiling. A smattering of applause ran around the gathered mages.

The Mayor rose to his feet. He was a tall man, his gaze imposing and his shining bald pate instantly recognisable.

‘Pheone, you speak openly and, I assume, honestly. As have all who have spoken thus far. Yet I do not know how I should react. With gratitude that you have forewarned us and given us a chance to save ourselves? With anger that you might think we would consider deserting a college that has sustained us so long? Or with cynicism because you have left us with no real choice but to bear arms in defence of our city – and that, because living with a magic college in our midst invites trouble?’

Pheone’s jaw dropped. There was a rumbling of voices from the table and the assembled mages. She waved them to quiet. ‘Should you not just be glad that we have given you maximum warning and genuine choice? We have been ready to speak to you since this morning. I just don’t want to see innocents die. Would you have preferred your first knowledge of Xetesk’s arrival to have been as soldiers marched past your house?’

The Mayor raised his hands. ‘Pheone, please, don’t overreact. I am merely expressing the range of emotion that the people will express. The history of Julatsa is well-known to all here. And I concede that much of what we have here is credit to the college.’

‘Good of you to say so,’ muttered Lempaar, the old elven elder.

‘Indeed,’ said the Mayor, smiling. ‘The glory and the destruction. It is the way of cities. Korina grew because of its docks, those required to service them and those using them for profit. But wheels turn full circle. Surely the pattern of trade is such that the docks now serve the people, should they ever be rebuilt. And perhaps it is so with the college of Julatsa. The world moves on. And my city is saying to me, how long can we support this college? This elite gathering that in the last decade has brought us so little but cost us so much?’

Pheone could not quite believe what she was hearing. The Mayor had begun with a confused message. Now his opinion was becoming unfortunately clear.

‘Mister Mayor, we don’t have the time to debate theories and attitudes. We need to know what it is the people of Julatsa intend and what you will recommend. We have to make plans quickly.’

The Mayor’s expression hardened. ‘Then I will not delay you. Clearly the complex feelings of the city are of no real concern to you.’

‘That is not—’

‘I understand,’ he said. ‘The college comes above all considerations. ’

‘I am talking reality, not theory. Xetesk is coming.’

But the Mayor was enjoying himself. He looked to his council who, Commander Vale excepted, nodded their support.

‘This city is so much more than its college. This city is its people. And those people are tired of being targets in conflict, tired of suffering for the good of the college, and tired of being hated for things beyond their control.

‘All across our country, people are starting to put their lives back together. After the magic-inspired storms we all suffered, crops are growing again. In the baronial lands, towns and villages are being rebuilt, farms are working. Perhaps you have been disconnected from life outside of the college lands but I have not. No one wants this war. In fact there is no war outside the mage lands, barring what we might call normal baronial disputes. Even Arlen, practically destroyed by Xeteskian forces, has been ceded back to its few survivors.

‘Why should we Julatsans suffer one more day of conflict? Why should innocent people in any college city do so? I understand who is coming here. I understand what they want. I also understand that I cannot stop them. But I will not stand by while they destroy what little we have left. Our esteemed city guard’s commander is out on a limb, siding with you.’ He didn’t look across as he spoke, focusing solely on Pheone. ‘I will not have fighting in the streets of this city. If he wants to stand with you, he can do it on your walls. If Xetesk has come to tear down the college, I will not ask my people to stand in its way.’

Pheone nodded. ‘Am I to understand,’ she said into the void, ‘that you are going to chaperone an invasion force to its target? Is that right?’

The Mayor shrugged. ‘I won’t stand in its way. Indeed, I will be trying to organise matters such that it makes its way through my city peaceably. There will be no battle on these streets, in the parks or squares. The message I will send to the people of Julatsa is simple. They will have nothing to fear from the Xeteskians. If they wish to leave for the time being, they can. If they wish to fight with you, they must join you here.’

‘Gutless coward,’ snarled Geren.

‘Geren, stop,’ snapped Pheone. ‘Insults get us nowhere.’

‘You had better hope Xetesk prevails, hadn’t you?’ Geren said ignoring her.

‘Are you threatening me, boy?’

‘I am theorising,’ said Geren nastily. ‘About what might happen to the balance of power in this city if my college repels the invasion. And repel it, we will.’

‘I hope you do,’ said the Mayor, though his voice was cold. ‘I hope still to count you as friends. But I must look after my people. They are not to be sacrificed on the altar of magic.’

‘Friends?’ said Geren. ‘Friends stand together. You are no friend of this college.’

‘I do not like your tone,’ said the Mayor.

‘You aren’t supposed to.’

Pheone just watched and listened as the clamour grew, unwilling and unable to stop it. Commander Vale stood and walked out, brushing aside the council members who sought to stop him. He shook hands with her and the elders before striding purposefully from the lecture theatre.

But what could he really do? The Mayor was popular and his views shared widely. If he had his way, ordinary Julatsans would not lift a finger to help them and her thoughts of the enemy being hounded on every street corner went up in smoke. Dammit but this man would practically escort Dystran to the gates of the college. Pheone bit back the tears of anger and frustration but felt, as a physical pain, another nail being hammered into the coffin of Julatsan magic.

Chapter 33

Night was falling over the mage lands north of Xetesk. Auum had found the run a release after the cramped passageways of Xetesk’s catacombs, and they had made good progress. He and Rebraal had organised their forces into scouts, flank and rear defence, and hunter-gatherer parties, while the mages were defended by Al-Arynaar swordsmen supported by TaiGethen.

ClawBound did as they always did. They took no orders but knew instinctively where to be, what to watch and when to report. The loss of two of the dozen pairs, along with three TaiGethen in the earlier attack, had hurt them deeply; and the ClawBound calls that echoed across the miles of charmless damaged countryside were laced with mourning. The information they carried, though, was important and welcome. The Xeteskian forces had stopped and set up camp. Fires were lit, tents were pitched and horses picketed. This was not a brief halt.

But there was an undercurrent of anxiety in the communication. Not every enemy was in the camp and some were sensed and not seen. There was danger everywhere, some of which would melt out of the night to strike. They could not lower their guard for a moment.

Auum had continued the run for another hour before his forward scouts reported a perfect site for a camp. Flat ground along the banks of a river was bordered on the other side by steep crags and with narrowed access front and rear. While he was only too aware that Xetesk could attack from the sky, the assassins, he had been told, would be on foot. They would find their task harder tonight; he would see to that.

Offering a prayer of thanks to Yniss for their fortune, he led his people in. One by one, his hunting parties returned and, though the meat was not plentiful, an abandoned farm had yielded some root vegetables among the weeds and they would have broth before the fires were doused.

Auum and Rebraal saw to the structure of the camp defence, positioning elves on riverbank and crag heights as well as front and rear. The mages were scattered through the camp in groups against the risk of spell attack and the ClawBound rested or scouted as they pleased.

Satisfied, the pair walked to the centre of the camp where The Raven sat, their horses picketed nearby. Their fire, like all the others, was soon to be doused but while they could, they enjoyed its light and warmth under the cool, cloudless sky.

Auum still wasn’t sure about them. For humans perhaps they were exceptional and it was true that their actions during the days of the Elfsorrow made them friends to all elves. But he couldn’t help but blame them for the problems they encountered in Xetesk. They were too driven by their emotions, and in combat, Auum did not believe that was the way to win. Even so, he was forced to concede the truth of history. They still fought, and won, sixteen years after they had started.

Auum accepted the mug of tea Hirad handed him and walked over to where Sian’erei tended Evunn. The elf lay next to Erienne, who still had not regained consciousness. Once more, Denser was protecting them from the power of her mind while Cleress slept to rest and regain her strength.

‘Tual has smiled on him,’ said Auum. Evunn looked so much better. His face was relaxed and the colour back in his lips and cheeks.

Sian looked up. ‘He has,’ she said. ‘The Lysternan mage has healed his mind. There is no damage that I can sense now. The mana aura is complete around him. When he wakes, he should be recovered, though we were warned that his memory of recent events might be incomplete.’

‘He will be happy Tual has blessed him with another day,’ said Auum. ‘And the One mage?’

They both looked down at Erienne. Thraun sat beside her, Denser nearby, already looking tired from his spell casting.

‘I do not know,’ said Sian. ‘Her mind is a confusion to me. They say she improves but I cannot see any signs. But she is warm and breathing. Her body is strong and her friends are always with her. All we have for her is hope.’

Auum nodded. ‘Thank you, Sian’erei. The Tai are in your debt.’

She flushed and smiled.

Auum turned and took a seat next to Rebraal. The Raven had banked their saddles on top of leather wraps, creating something passably comfortable to lean on.

‘Let’s talk,’ said Auum to Rebraal. ‘I want to understand these assassins and the winged creatures more. We must also consider our route for tomorrow. Translate for me.’

‘Of course,’ said Rebraal. ‘Hirad, Unknown, may I interrupt?’

‘Why not?’ said Hirad. ‘How are we doing?’

‘Well, the camp is as secure as we can make it. The Xeteskians have stopped for the night. We have hunters out in the field. They will strike if the risk is warranted. ClawBound too may wish to exact retribution. Auum, and I for that matter, need to know more about what we might face tonight.’

‘Denser, you know about this stuff,’ said Hirad.

‘It’s not complex,’ said Denser. Auum looked hard at him. The strain of the last few days was not being kind to him. There were deep shadows under his eyes and there was a cut in his voice. He needed Erienne to awaken. ‘I doubt we will come under familiar attack. They are vulnerable to spell attack and we have a hundred and thirty-odd mages here. But if they do attack, remember that you can’t hurt them with swords. And if their mages are with them, killing one will damage the other. It gives you options. But if I were Xetesk, I’d be sending familiars over shorter distances and attacking Lysternans or Dordovans without mage cover. Stands to reason.’

‘They are not natural creatures,’ said Auum.

‘No, they’re demons. Be careful of them. They are strong and to be feared.’

‘Not by the elves,’ said Auum. ‘However ugly or strong, they are not a match for us. Tual protects us.’

Denser half smiled. ‘I noticed. Now, assassins are altogether different. They will travel Cloaked, silent and in pairs. Always in pairs. We need to worry about these men. They are powerful casters, ruthless knife– and poison-killers and they leave no trail.’ He nodded at Auum. ‘They are the closest thing we have to the TaiGethen. They won’t kill indiscriminately, it isn’t their way. Indeed, they may not attack at all tonight, preferring to watch. If I know Dystran, they will be tasked to recover the Aryn Hiil, kill The Raven, barring Erienne, and also kill any elf they identify as key. That means you two for a start.’

Auum nodded. ‘The ClawBound must be informed,’ he said through Rebraal. ‘And then every elf in the camp. The breeze on your cheek could be the passing of an enemy. This won’t wait.’

He rose and, having spoken quickly to Rebraal, he trotted out of the firelight.

Hirad watched him go then raised his eyebrows in Rebraal’s direction.

‘He wants to get the message out. They are also going to mark the camp accessways with leaves and brush. It might help but the wind works against us. We will have to be vigilant.’

‘We’ve got another idea,’ said Hirad. ‘We think that the assassins’ first target will be us. Judging by the pace of the main Xeteskian force, they think they can take you on at the College so they’ll let you go. If we aren’t with you, you’ll be free to move faster and in darkness if it suits you. We can outrun the assassins, the familiars and the mage defenders. We’ll take the spare horses as well. We’ll be leaving before dawn. Hopefully, we’ll be seen, if you see what I mean.’

‘Is that . . . ?’ Rebraal paused and frowned. ‘That’s a risk. A big one. You are much safer with us.’

‘But we’re putting you at greater risk,’ said The Unknown. ‘Think about it. It makes sense. We can act as decoys, we can look after ourselves. We aren’t helping you here and we don’t like that. We’d be happier on our own.’

‘Doing things The Raven’s way, is that it?’ asked Rebraal.

Hirad smiled. ‘Now you’re getting it.’

‘What about Erienne?’ he asked.

‘She comes with us,’ said Denser.

‘She’s one of their main targets,’ added Darrick. The pale general was lying against his saddle already half asleep, the day’s ride having worn him down.

‘I don’t know,’ said Rebraal. ‘Splitting our forces, isn’t it? And you aren’t just hunted by Xetesk.’

‘Oh, I think Lystern and Dordover have other things on their minds,’ said The Unknown.

‘I’ll speak to Auum,’ said Rebraal. ‘I don’t think he’ll like it.’

‘It isn’t like you have a choice,’ said Hirad. ‘We’re going to sleep on it and if we like the idea when we wake, we’re going.’

Rebraal sucked his lip, his cheeks reddening slightly. ‘Right,’ he said and pushed himself to his feet. ‘Right. Well listen, don’t leave without saying something.’

The Al-Arynaar looked crushed. Hirad couldn’t let him leave like that.

‘Hey, Rebraal, we’d love you to come with us. Gods know, we could do with your skills. But your place is here, with your people. Ours isn’t. Anyway, it’s for two days. We’ll see you in Julatsa.’

‘You’d better. The ClawBound will shadow you.’ The elf left their fire.

Out in the camp, flames were being dampened. Hirad and The Unknown followed the lead, kicking dirt over their already guttering fire.

‘Denser, get some rest,’ said The Unknown. ‘I’ll wake you when I wake Hirad for watch. Darrick, you’re sleeping and no argument, you look terrible.’

‘Who’s arguing?’

‘Good answer,’ said The Unknown. ‘Listen, we know what could be out there. We know how good the elves are but we’ve encountered assassins before. Let’s not lapse, all right?’

He stood tall, sampling the night air, his thoughts clouded by the wrong. Her emotions of anger and loss were in his mind too, and thrashing through his veins. He yearned for the canopy above him, the heat of the day, the cacophony of night. The comfort of the rain.

But he was here doing Tual’s work. The TaiGethen had asked many of the ClawBound to stay and so they had. He looked to the right and locked eyes with his Claw. She was standing stock still, feeling his emotional tide as he was hers. Around them, the scents of the alien land came to them on a soft breeze, dry and cool.

He took in the landscape, its hues standing out in stark tones of grey. The tall grassed plains that ran away to the south-west and the bulk of the enemy, the hills rising north and the undulating land close to the elven camp. The sounds of the river, though it was quite distant now, were as clear as the rustling of the low brush and damaged trees in front of him.

They moved on south, sorting the scents. Cooked meat, a fresh kill, wood smoke and ash, horses, grass. But overlaying it all was the stench of man. His hand was everywhere, tainting all that he had. Humans knew so little about their land, how to keep it, how to work in harmony with the riches their Gods had given them. There was no comfort in the land, it felt aggressive somehow to the ClawBound. Ill at ease.

Ahead of him, a broken fence led on to the overgrown fields of an abandoned farm. He hurdled the timbers easily, seeing also through his Claw’s eyes the tangled vegetation at ground level and understanding the scents that she encountered there. A wisp of leather, the strong smells of damp earth and rotting vegetables.

Nothing moved in the ruins of the farmhouse. It had no roof and all of its wooden walls were holed and splintered, one collapsed entirely. Beyond it, and quite suddenly, a new scent was on the air, coming to them on the prevailing breeze. They halted again, she flat against the earth, he crouching by a broken wall. It was an unusual taste, masked such that although it was undeniably human, it was frayed somehow, hard to pinpoint.

His Claw echoed his slight confusion, even her highly developed receptors having difficulty deciphering what she was scenting on the breeze. Ultimately, her mind cleared and she set off, angling south and west, paws making no sound, head up, constantly checking her direction. He strode behind her, watching the land and the sky, determined that they would not be surprised from the air, or by hidden creatures as their unfortunate kin had been.

They travelled on, leaving the farmhouse far behind, his Claw turning first west and then north-west. He could see the route turning inexorably towards the elven camp. A threat approached the resting elves. They would hunt it down.

The panther increased her pace and he ran too, the scent strong, its masking failing as they closed. Ahead of them, open land rose gently towards the camp. It was empty but they had been told to trust their noses and disbelieve their eyes.

They ran on, the knowledge of the threat all around them but nothing bar the scent to confirm its presence. They had no clear target and the breeze picked up immediately they hit the open ground. He slowed and stopped in the rise, his Claw circling, growling deep in her throat. They were close, he could feel it. He ignored the emptiness, turning a slow circle himself, the smell all around him but stronger in two areas. They had been told this too. These men did not travel alone.

Beneath his feet, the grass was wet and footfalls quiet upon it. He studied it, looking for the darker trails that would signify the passage of man over the ankle-high grass. And there were trails but they were so many. Animals passed this way and these men were clever, walking in the tracks of the fox or the horse.

His Claw’s ears pricked and she stopped in mid stride, paw raised, her whiskers twitching. Her head swivelled round until she was staring at the space right in front of him. Her eyes could discern something his could not. He used them, seeing in the few yards between them, a ghosting over the landscape, a caressing of the grass in the tracks of an animal. Like a mist that moved so slowly it barely blew at all. But move it did.

He flexed his long strong fingers and felt each of his sharpened nails in turn against his thumb. The outline, broken by its spell and reflecting nothing but the night scene around it, was moving away from his Claw and towards him but so slowly.

Perhaps in the brightness and noise of the day, the outline would have been truly invisible but in the stark monochrome of ClawBound night sight, any blemish stood out eventually.

He waited, appearing to look away, his Claw’s eyes giving him his information. The man, for it was a man, tall like him, stealthy and patient, came closer, closer.

He straightened the fingers of both hands and whipped his left shoulder round, his nails spearing flesh. His right hand followed, fingers gouging deep, nails of both hands clicking as they met within his victim. In front of him, the man flicked into vision, eyes wide with shock, mouth moving only to deliver a choking sound and a spray of blood.

He dragged his fingers from either side of the man’s neck and watched him fall, gasping for air, suffocating in the open, his windpipe wrecked. The assassin’s partner attacked, a noise betraying him before he too became visible. From nowhere, the Claw swatted his lower back with a taloned paw, brought him down face first and bit down on his neck, breaking it easily.

She licked her whiskers, he sensing the warmth of the blood and the unpleasant sharpness of the taste. Not like the blood of true prey. Their eyes met again. There would be more.

They ran away south and west, searching.

He soared high and his mood was higher. His master was asleep and safe within the confines of the camp. No enemies were close enough to strike and so he was free to fly and to kill, though he was minded to be careful. The enemy might be weakened but enough mages remained to threaten him if he should attack the wrong targets.

So he searched for those who carried swords and who huddled in little groups, fearful of the night and what might come from it. He chuckled to himself, his thoughts full of the taste of blood and the feel of human offal on his hands. And he dreamed that one day all his kind would be free to plunder this land as they wished, to kill whom they wished and drink the fire of the souls of any human. Barring his master, barring all such masters. These were warm and he loved them all for their gift to his strain. None more so than his own master, who looked over him and protected him always.

He swam in the air, turning a circle, spinning his body and letting himself fall fast, only to spread his wings and curve away. He laughed again, this time aloud, hoping some of those hiding below would hear him and be afraid. And there was movement below. Just a little but his eyes were so keen in the darkness.

A shape stood against a tree in amongst a small sheltered wood. He quieted himself and dropped lower to investigate. Through the branches and leaves, the man couldn’t see him. He landed lightly on a bough and stared about him. On the ground by the standing man, another lay. Both were soldiers. Neither was obviously injured and that made them fortunate. But not for long. No one else was near.

He took off, flew high and away, banking gently around to find his target. He meant to come in from the side. The man was looking ahead still, back to the tree. The demon licked his lips and dived. The wind across his body was chill but invigorating, his arms were stretched in front of him, ready to grip the skull. Entering the wood, he slowed a little, needing control for the quick kill. He could smell the man now, the anxiety bled from his pores, his sweat stinking, his clothes damp and reeking.

Too easy. He was silent, his target had no notion of his approach. He wanted to see the terror. At the last, he chattered his delight and the man began to turn.

Sudden green light erupted to his left and heat, terrible heat, seared into his flank and the side of his head. He screeched and tumbled away, unable to stop himself striking the ground, one wing ruined, his whole body burning with the mana fire.

‘No, no, no,’ he wailed as he rolled in the mulch on the ground, the spell eating into his flesh, unquenchable, draining his life from him.

His thoughts flew to his master. He could feel his pain across the miles, the crushing in his mind, the howling agony and the loss that was to come. He rolled over and two men stood above him, watching him die. One had a greying beard, his expression stern and cruel. The other, younger man he recognised too. He led the cavalrymen of Lystern.

‘I’m sorry, master,’ he muttered, knowing it would make no difference to his pain.

He could feel himself slipping away and a tear squeezed from his eye. The bearded man spat on to his scorched body and he was too weak even to threaten revenge.

‘Very good, Izack,’ said the bearded man. ‘Let’s get to the next sector.’

The cavalryman nodded and the two turned away. The demon’s vision faded and greyed. He felt the pull and was gone.

Denser couldn’t sleep. He knew he needed the rest, the spell cocooning Erienne’s mind was so draining with the One fighting to break it every moment. He poured mana into the structure to keep it strong and saw that mana picked apart by the enemy in his wife’s mind.

It was a battle he was helpless to aid. He lay down beside her, stroked her face.

‘Please wake, my love,’ he whispered. ‘Give me something to tell me you’re fighting.’

He tuned in to the mana spectrum and tasted the turmoil surrounding Erienne. He could sense the power of the One through his shield and the Dordovan mana that resisted it. The force surrounding her was immense. He could see the raw fuel of magic being dragged into her mind, into the One entity. The damage it had to be doing . . . he could hardly bear to watch.

There was no way to cap the well. Erienne and Cleress had to do that. And so they did when Cleress was awake and with her. But the ageing Al-Drechar was alone and when she was forced to rest, all her work was undone. He snapped out of the spectrum and swallowed hard.