Part 36 (1/2)

But they weren't quite fast enough. Boats were already being pushed out into the bay, desperate oarsmen pulling hard, arrows fired at them sending the blue of Hards.h.i.+elds flaring into the night. The Raven could see it all and slowed as one. Denser landed behind them and let Erienne out of his arms. Hirad, feet ankle-deep in estuary water, threw his sword down into the silt.

'What did they think we were doing, fighting for the good of our health?' he said, and directed a contemptuous gesture at the elves on the right bank.

All the boats were away now and the fugitives who hadn't made it into one were plunging into the water and swimming out after them. Only a couple of bodies could be seen floating with arrows protruding from back or neck.

'They aren't used to fighting like this,' said Ilkar. 'It isn't their way. Spells.h.i.+eld down.'

'No? Well they'd better learn fast if they want their precious thumb and writings back,' said Hirad.

'a.s.suming those who escaped had anything.'

'I don't care about bits of parchment,' said Ilkar. 'I just want one of those we've killed to have the thumb in some inside pocket.'

Hirad nodded. 'Me too, Ilks, me too.'

'What now?' asked Darrick.

The Raven began to walk back towards the Al-Arynaar, searching for Rebraal. Behind them, they could hear the cheers of the enemy as their boats neared their s.h.i.+ps and safety.

'Let's see what my brother has to say,' said Ilkar.

Denser felt weary. He followed behind his friends in silence, hand in hand with Erienne. She wanted to know the cause of his anger but he ignored the questioning look on her face. All of them had to hear it together.

They found Rebraal in conversation with Auum, his fierce expression telling them all they needed to know about the results of the fight. They were standing by the bodies of the four strangers who had been running cloaked. Hooked from the swamp before the piranhas could do much damage, they'd been stripped and every st.i.tch of clothing searched and torn to shreds before being scattered on the ground around them. Ilkar asked the question before reporting back to The Raven.

'Parchment and texts only, I'm afraid,' he said. 'The thumb is on one of those s.h.i.+ps.'

'How can we be sure?' asked Erienne. 'Any of them could have dropped it anywhere between here and the temple.'

'Pray that's not so,' said Ilkar.

'Put it this way,' said The Unknown. 'The men that escaped are the only clues we've got. Whether they have the thumb or not, we have to catch them.'

'So we need our s.h.i.+p very fast,' said Darrick.

Ilkar nodded. 'And the elves are coming with us. The message will be sent. Every elf with a sword or bow is going to be heading north to Balaia.'

'They're going to invade?' asked Hirad.

'What choice do they have?' Ilkar shrugged. 'They don't want to die. We don't want to die.'

'Right,' said Denser, coming to a decision. 'I'm flying back to Ysundeneth. Starting tonight. Jevin can sail round here, it'll be quicker that way.'

'Done,' said Ilkar. 'But I'm coming with you. You might just need a friendly elf.'

Denser smiled rather sadly and felt the blood pounding in his throat. 'Friendly, eh? Well here's a new test of our friends.h.i.+p, Ilkar. You want to know who it was attacked the temple?

'It was Xetesk.'

Chapter 33.

Jevin had confined his crew to the s.h.i.+p for the last three days and had paid two mages very well to travel with the Calaian Sun back to Balaia, whenever that day came. Like all elves Jevin wasn't given to rushed action but the situation overtaking Ysundeneth was quite without precedent. For eight days he'd watched as first unease, then anxiety and finally panic had engulfed the city.

At the first signs of the plague being anything more than a localised infection, he had sent his crew out to hire the mages and to provision the s.h.i.+p. Water, cured meat, rice, grain, biscuit and root crops were the order, as well as apples and unripe grapefruit and lemons; anything that would keep longer than a few days.

Below deck, his cargo holds had already been converted to accommodate pa.s.sengers. Conditions were cramped and public but neither Protectors nor Xeteskian mages had made any complaint. He wasn't sure exactly how many mages Ilkar expected to make the trip. Over a hundred if he could get them, and Jevin had provisioned for that number.

But as he watched the disaster unfold in Ysundeneth and heard rumours of similar events in other cities, he wondered if Ilkar and The Raven would be back at all. It was unutterably depressing having to watch helplessly as the elves of Calaius's largest port turned from calm private individuals into an angry mob in so short a time. Not altogether surprising, though.

The plague, and such it had to be, had gorged itself on the population, but at random. There were no patterns of contagion, just as there was no cure. It struck at eight members of a family and left a sole survivor with nothing but grief as a companion. No areas were immune, but in the middle of a street one house would be free, while in the next street it would be the opposite: one household annihilated, the rest untouched. The randomness inspired hope and hatred in equal measure but far more destructive to Ysundeneth society was the latter. Survivors in devastated areas had been persecuted as carriers of the plague, some beaten, some even killed for the crime of living.

But elsewhere those free of the disease pooled their eroding strength and demanded help from city authorities quite unable to provide it. Food had been looted and h.o.a.rded, rubbish had started to pile up in the streets. And so, latterly, had corpses. Businesses, inns and shops were closed and boarded up. Markets were empty.

Jevin, like all the skippers at the dockside, had moved to anchor offsh.o.r.e. It wasn't just disease that concerned him; it was the mobs roaming the docks wanting out of the city by the quickest means possible. Already Ysundeneth was empty of every non-elf. They had been the first targets of suspicion but, being primarily merchants and seamen, they had simply hauled anchor and sailed back to Balaia, not that the Northern Continent was exactly stable. But a dozen s.h.i.+ps had no cargo and therefore no financial means to sail.

And for elves to leave would be desperate, even futile. The plague was not contagious; it did not spread through the air or in food or water. It was something far deeper than that and it attacked elves at their core. There was no escape.

At a meeting on board the Calaian Sun, the remaining twelve skippers had agreed to monitor the situation and play the waiting game for as long as they could. Eventually, someone would have to sail north and beg for help. Jevin had said that he would go, but only when The Raven reappeared. Until then, the dozen s.h.i.+ps would remain anch.o.r.ed in a defensive formation, protect themselves from attack by boat and magic and wait for the inevitable. For if one thing was certain, it was that one day, probably very soon, they themselves would begin to die.

Jevin stood with one of the mages at the port rail, gazing out at Ysundeneth on a perfect sunlit morning with the mist dispersing and the first clouds rolling across the mountains far to the south. From where he stood, the city was a tiny interloper in the ma.s.s of lush verdancy that was the rainforest. But his keen eyes could penetrate the quiet streets and see the catastrophe that had overcome it.

'How many do you think have it now?' he asked the mage.

Vituul was a young elf of average height, his dark blue eyes set in a cla.s.sically angular face. His long black ponytail fell down the back of his light brown leather cloak. He had no family in the plague city and to be offered - with his equally poor friend, Eilaan - a good wage and a way out was a prayer answered. People were increasingly demanding that elven mages produce a miracle cure. The miracle wasn't going to happen.

'It's almost impossible to say,' he said. 'The total is probably in the region of a third of the population, but as people start to die in large numbers so the actual number of live cases, if you'll excuse the term, will decrease also.'

'But there are a hundred thousand people there,' breathed Jevin.

'Not any more,' said Vituul. 'Thirty thousand are already dying.'

'And no word on a cure,' said Jevin.

It hit him then like it hadn't before. He'd managed to ignore the ramifications of what was going on in front of his eyes but Vituul's numbers scared him to the bone. If those numbers were right, in fifty days there'd be less than twelve thousand people left alive in Ysundeneth, and four thousand of them would be dying. And with that level of mortality possibly affecting the whole continent, Jevin wasn't just witnessing a devastating plague, he was witnessing the death of the elven race. He s.h.i.+vered.

'How can there be a cure?' Vituul looked at him matter of factly.

'No one is going to be alive long enough to do the research. And there's no spell that can even slow its course. We don't even have a lead yet.'

'What can we do then?' Jevin felt helpless. 'There must be something. '

Vituul smiled but there was no humour in his face. 'Wait for it to pa.s.s.'