Part 12 (1/2)

His boy. Dead.

His vision cleared and he took in the litter of the camp, the scattering stragglers missed by the soldiers and the dozens, maybe hundreds, of p.r.o.ne forms lying where they'd fallen, clothes ruffling in the breeze. Some moved, most did not. And he saw the line of cavalry backed by the masked abominations that were the Protectors, their pace unremitting. Thump, thump, thump.

He looked down. He was standing on a tattered blanket. He laid Atyo on it and wrapped it around the boy's body. At least he wouldn't get cold. With a last look at that face so casually ruined, he kissed Atyo's forehead and closed the blanket. He stood.

The blank walls of Xetesk faced him. They could not be allowed to escape justice but he would not toss his life away in a futile attempt at vengeance. That would mock Atyo's death.

His body shaking. Avesh turned and walked away towards the north and the crossing of the River Dord, there to find his wife so they could bury their son together.

Then he'd be back. And he wouldn't be alone.

Chapter 12.

By the time they reached the canopy rope crossing of the huge sluggish brown force of the River Ix, Rebraal wasn't sure who was supposed to be rescuing who.

A night where they'd both slept long through sheer exhaustion had given way to two days where it seemed the rain was Gyal's tears, sweeping across the forest and drenching it almost incessantly. Sometimes it abated to a fine mist, but more often it fell in torrents with angry thunder cracking above the canopy.

Rebraal's shoulder was agony, his multiple cuts and scratches from being dragged to the pile of bodies by the strangers and away again by Meru itched in unison. They'd done what they could - legumia root paste for the deep crossbow wound, poultices of rubiac fruits for his scratches and long drinks of menispere to ward off the effects of fever - but he knew he was getting sick. He should be resting, not running home, wading rivers and climbing high into the canopy to use the hidden walkways and ropes to pa.s.s the great rivers and waterfalls.

His muscles were tortured, his back aflame with searing pain and his mind often muddied and confused. He'd mistaken bird and monkey calls more than once, had blundered into a swarm of ants and escaped a crocodile by a mere heartbeat.

But for all his many woes, his greater concern was Mercuun. His was a sickness that defied understanding or remedy and attacked him apparently at random, leaving him gasping for breath one moment and driven with manic energy the next, though the latter was becoming increasingly infrequent. Meru had a.s.sumed it was something in his stomach and they'd searched and found a good supply of simarou bark with which they made strong infusions, but it did no recognisable good.

Between his bouts of energy, he lost muscle strength and bulk, his balance was dangerously off true and, on the second morning, Rebraal had wakened to hear Mercuun coughing as if his organs were fighting their way into his throat. His friend could not disguise the blood that flew from his mouth in a spray every time he convulsed.

Later that afternoon, they'd rested long by the banks of the Ix, sheltered from Gyal's tears and prayed to Orra, the G.o.d of the earth's life blood, for an end to the illness that plagued Mercuun. Rebraal had looked at him where they sat close together under the great broad leaves of a young palm and seen death stalking across his face. He seemed to be collapsing from the inside out, and for all their herbal lore they could find no antidote.

'You're sure you haven't been bitten?' probed Rebraal, moving his back against the bole of the palm and feeling a new pain shoot through his legs and neck.

'I'm sure,' said Mercuun, his voice a hoa.r.s.e whisper, his throat raw from wracking coughs. Every time he breathed, he shuddered.

'Have you checked yourself? If not a viper, a brush with a yellowback is all it would take.'

'It's not poison,' said Mercuun.

'Then what is it?' Rebraal was at a loss.

'I don't know.' Mercuun shook his head and lifted his face to Rebraal. He was scared; his eyes betrayed him and tears of frustration and fear welled up before he could catch them. 'Shorth is coming. I can feel it.'

'You aren't going to die, Meru.' Rebraal reached out a hand, which his friend grabbed and held tight. 'We'll be in the village before nightfall. There is help for you there.'

Mercuun dropped his head back to stare at the muddied ground. 'There is nothing their healers know that we don't.'

'But they will also employ magic should they have to,' said Rebraal, giving Mercuun's hand a rea.s.suring squeeze before climbing stiffly to his feet. 'Come on. One more climb and it's all down from then on.'

But as he looked up into the canopy and their hundred-foot climb, his confidence wavered. He had seen Meru stumble over the merest root. And he himself could only rely on one arm. The other was as good as useless, the strength of his grip diminished by the wound in his shoulder.

'It seems so high,' said Mercuun, staring up and out over the river.

High above the muddy flow, where the canopy leant in on both sides, the practised eye could see a trio of tensed ropes among the leaves and branches. Used by elves and monkeys alike, the crossing spanned the one-hundred-yard width of the River Ix. Upriver, a waterfall more than five hundred feet high plunged into a huge sheltered pool, its outflow slackened by long lazy twists in the deep river. Way downstream, where the Ix narrowed, rocks hastened the water through a cramped ravine before the river spilled back out into its natural slow state. And everywhere along its length, death lurked beneath the surface.

'We can make it,' a.s.sured Rebraal, leaving unspoken the fact that they would never swim the river. They were too weak and too much blood scent clung to them. They'd been lucky with panthers and jaguars. That luck would not hold out there in the water. 'You go first. I'll watch for you. I won't let you fall.'

Mercuun dragged himself to his feet, leaning against the palm to steady himself before following Rebraal down to the towering banyan around which the ropes were fastened on this side, lost beneath a tangle of vines and secured from rotting by resin, oils and the occasional spell. He breathed deep, clenched his fists, took a brief glance up and began to climb.

'There's something wrong here,' said The Unknown. 'Can't you feel it?'

Hirad shrugged. They were sitting in an eatery on the docks with Darrick and Thraun. Ilkar said it was a typical elven establishment, characterised by long tables and benches, high ceilings, plenty of windows and exotic-tasting soups and meats. It was busy but there was clear s.p.a.ce between them and the rest of the predominantly elven clientele.

The Julatsan and Ren had agreed to meet them inside, while Erienne and Denser visited the city markets. Aeb, who had drawn the odd interested glance when they docked, was at the inn, speaking to his brothers, communing in the Soul Tank.

'Elves don't like us very much, you mean?' said Hirad.

'No, not that. And they've been perfectly civil so far, if a little reserved. No. There's an atmosphere, like a growing fear of something. I can't put my finger on it. You don't feel anything?'

'No.' Hirad shovelled more soup-soaked bread into his mouth.

The Unknown shook his head. 'I don't know why I bother. You've got a skull thicker than a dragon's. Darrick, what about you?'

'Hard to say,' said the former Lysternan general, leaning forward. 'There's an air of vague disquiet round the docks but that's just lack of trade, I'd say. Nothing really sinister in it.'

Hirad looked at The Unknown, feeling a familiar sense of unease. Fifteen years he'd known the big man and he was hardly ever wrong. And since his, albeit brief, time as a Protector his instinct for trouble and danger had heightened still further. His expression told Hirad he was sure about this one.

The barbarian switched his attention to Thraun. The shapechanger had been feeding himself as though he'd not eaten for days but was now staring at The Unknown, mouth half open and next spoonful forgotten. The Unknown indicated him.

'Thraun knows what I'm talking about,' he said. 'Don't you, Thraun?'

There might have been the merest suggestion of a nod, but aside from that no reaction.

'So what is it?' asked Darrick.

'Just a hint at the moment,' said The Unknown. 'Like overripe fruit. Sickly sweet and on the way to rotting. Whatever it is, it's below the skin of the city now but won't be for long.'

'I'm not with you,' said Hirad.

A moment later, Ilkar walked in with Ren and confirmed everything.

'There are sick people all over the place,' he said, sitting down and waving at a servant boy to come over. 'It's weird. Everywhere we've been.'

'Plague?' The Unknown raised his eyebrows.

'If it is, it's a new one on me. We've spoken to mages who can find no cause, just effects. And the traditional healers are struggling with the numbers. Only started a couple of days ago, apparently.'