Part 46 (1/2)

Yron strode through the halls of Xetesk towards his meeting with Dystran, Erys scurrying to keep up, an escort of four mages and two Protectors around them. His anger had sharpened throughout the ride across Xetesk's mage lands to the city of his birth, and the immediate summons to Dystran's audience chambers at the base of the Tower had done nothing to calm him.

Filthy from the road, he swept through the doors as they were opened for him by a servant. The audience chamber was small but welcoming. Fires were lit on opposite walls and the sun shone in through a large arched window in front of him. Chairs were s.p.a.ced around the room, all unoccupied. Leaning on the mantel to the left was Dystran, and standing next to him, supported by a stick, Ranyl, gaunt and sick.

Dystran came forward, his face alight with a smile.

'My dear Captain Yron and the excellent Erys, may I welcome you at the end of your fantastic journey.'

'Too many men are dead for any celebration, my Lord Dystran,' said Yron. 'And only by luck am I here at all.'

'Yes, I heard you had trouble with elves,' said Dystran.

'Trouble? My Lord, there is an army of them out there. They are well trained fighters. Their mages are skilled and all are utterly determined. Don't underestimate them. They are fearless and can take on Protectors because they are quick enough to beat them. And they will be coming here, though why the theft of some parchments, however holy, should inspire such a reaction, I'm not sure.' Yron could see Dystran was barely interested. He bit his tongue to be silent.

'Indeed,' said Dystran. 'But please, don't worry about it. We have the situation well in hand.'

'In the same way you have The Raven well in hand?' Yron said sharply. 'I am sorry, my Lord, but they came within twenty yards of catching me and I was a.s.sured they would be taken care of. Never even found them, did you? I say again, why are they and the elves so desperate to recover these texts?'

Dystran's smile thinned. 'Captain, Captain, Captain. Please calm yourself.' Had he not been the Lord of the Mount, his patronising tone would have earned him a punch in the face. 'It is true some of the efforts made to track The Raven have been less than effective but you have my personal a.s.surance that they will shortly be dealt with decisively. Meanwhile, you are a returning hero. You have suffered terrible loss but all those who died have done so for the greater glory of Xetesk. And you have been on the trail too long. Look at you; clothes torn, axe blunted. I must apologise for dragging you here now but I would have sight of your treasures.'

Yron nodded, managing to relax a muscle or two. He turned to Erys, who pa.s.sed over the leather satchel. Yron unclasped it and drew out the four texts that had made the trip. So many men dead, so little to show. He handed them to Dystran, who laid them immediately on a table near him and spread them out.

'The one in the middle there, my Lord,' said Erys, pointing at a bound volume with intricate embossing on the cover and gilt-edged pages. 'That is the Aryn Hiil unless I am sadly mistaken. In there are the secrets of elven longevity.'

Dystran brushed his hand across the cover reverentially and looked up. 'No mistake, Erys,' he breathed. 'If there was one text I needed, this was it. You two have no idea of the rewards Xetesk will heap on you for what you have done. This will bring us what we desire.'

'My Lord, we live to serve,' said Erys, bowing.

Yron looked at the young mage and shook his head.

'And you have the healthy cynicism of experience,' said Dystran, noticing the gesture. 'Captain, all I can offer you now are my thanks, the respect of the Circle Seven and a place to bathe and change. I have had chambers readied for you both just a little way down the hall. I have had clothing laid out for you and while you bathe, Captain, your axe will be polished and placed in a new holster. I trust you like it. And that is only the very beginning.

'But before you go, I would see the statue fragment you have.' Dystran held out his hand.

Yron looked at Erys again. 'Thanks a lot.'

'I'm sorry, Captain, I . . .' At least he had the good grace to look embarra.s.sed.

'My only memento of this whole mess and my only solid memory of Ben-Foran. You owe me, boy.'

He dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out the thumb, handing it across to Dystran, who clutched it greedily.

'Oh, don't worry, Captain; it will be returned to you. But it needs to be researched and studied.' He looked up and smiled again. 'Rest a.s.sured, it remains your property. Now, please, both of you, wash, rest and dress. We are hosting a dinner in your honour in the rooms adjacent to this one. There we can discuss what is to be done to appease the elves while we have to. Thank you, Captain Yron, Erys. You have done Xetesk a service greater than you know.'

But as Yron left the chamber, he wasn't so sure he had. Not so sure at all.

It had been a long and, if Yron was absolutely honest with himself, very pleasurable evening when the war outside the gates seemed distant. He'd spent the day relaxing in sumptuous chambers, he'd taken two baths and he'd slept in a bed for the first time in so long he'd forgotten what a luxury a mattress and sheets were.

And dressing in the fine dark silk s.h.i.+rt and st.i.tched leather trousers Dystran's tailors had so expertly made from the template of old clothes taken from his barracks room, he began to feel that perhaps his earlier misgivings were, well, misplaced. His only regret was that Ben was not here to enjoy the fruits of their success.

He'd left the gold- and silver-veined holster, in which his old axe sat like a pig's trotter in a velvet glove, on his bed, feeling the need to be free of the accoutrements of battle for the evening, and had gone to join the dinner. It had been everything Dystran had intimated. He and Erys had been toasted repeatedly, feted by the most powerful men in Xetesk and urged to describe ever more freely their exploits on Calaius.

Yron, cautious and close at first, had found his lips eased by the vintage red wine in his seemingly ever-full goblet and had relaxed into the celebration with growing enthusiasm. For once in his life, he was truly ahead.

As the evening wore on, and feeling more light-headed from the wine than he was used to, Yron had gone to relieve himself and then wandered back along the lantern-lit picture-hung corridor to the huge vaulted dining chamber. Bright light spilled from the open doors and the sound of laughter and the c.h.i.n.k of gla.s.ses and cutlery echoed out to him in welcome.

He paused just to the side of the doors to let a servant laden with dishes hurry out and became aware of Dystran's voice inside but very close. It never hurt to hear the unguarded thoughts of the mighty so he checked the corridor was empty. Barring the Protectors flanking the doors, it was, so he listened.

'The Aryn Hiil will provide great insight, I am sure,' Dystran was saying.

'My scholars are working on the translation even now,' said Ranyl's cracked voice.

'Well, you must keep me apprised.' The disinterest in his tone was obvious. 'But now we have this outwardly insignificant item, we have a far less troublesome solution to our problem.'

'It is a severe course of action, my Lord.'

'Innocents die in every conflict, Ranyl,' said Dystran. 'But with this small piece of admittedly very well carved marble, we don't have to lose a single man or mage in fulfilling this part of our plan. Julatsa will cease to exist as a magical power. All we have to do is hang on to it and watch the elves die. As many as we want. What a treasure.'

'a.s.suming we can keep the allied colleges from our gates,' said Ranyl.

'That I entrust to our commanders and they a.s.sure me we will prevail.'

Yron's head swayed and he placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. His mouth was dry and nausea galloped through his stomach. All the glory was gone, and in its place the betrayal and murder of an entire race. That couldn't be allowed to happen.

Straightening his clothing and forcing a smile back onto his face, Yron walked back into the banqueting chamber and straight over to Dystran.

'Ah, one of our heroes. How does it feel to be going down in history, Captain?' asked Dystran.

'Difficult to put into words, my Lord,' said Yron, wis.h.i.+ng to G.o.d he had his axe, though murdering Dystran wouldn't right any wrongs. 'I wondered if I might be excused for the night. The wine and my exhaustion have conspired against me.'

'Of course, Captain. You have graced us for longer than we should have allowed. Erys has already retired, feeling a little sick, I think.'

'I know how he feels,' said Yron.

'I trust you have a quiet and restful night,' said Dystran.

'Well done, Captain,' said Ranyl. 'I knew you would repay my faith.'

'I've certainly done that,' said Yron. He bowed stiffly. 'Good night, my Lords.'

He spun on his heel and left the banqueting hall, walking quickly to his chambers. He listened at the doors of Erys's room and could hear nothing, At least the boy was not being sick. Good, because he had a great deal of work to do. He turned and almost walked straight into the Protector standing directly behind him. His heart fell. Dystran must have known he'd been overheard. His hand fell to his waist but his axe was behind a closed door. He waited for the end.

'We will not stand in your way,' said the Protector. 'We understand. '

'Eh?'