dock. Then Jevin realised what he was looking at. These weren’t Ysundeneth elves; the city folk’s clothes were so much brighter than the greens and browns he could see.
Around midday he rejoined Vituul, who had barely left the rail all morning. Despite his life taking him from the land of his birth and his Gods, Jevin prided himself on having enough of the Calaian elf in him still to understand his people. But not this. Left and right, the rails of other ships were crowded with crew and it seemed a quiet had descended across the city and the sea.
‘They are who I think they are, aren’t they?’ he asked.
Vituul nodded. ‘TaiGethen,’ he said, pointing vaguely, but his voice was edged with excitement. ‘Al-Arynaar. And ClawBound. I see the panthers. I see them.’
It was something most elves had never expected to see in the forest, let alone on the dockside at Ysundeneth.
‘What are they doing?’ Jevin implored anyone who might hear and answer him.
These people never, but never, came out of the rainforest. Never stepped on the worked stone of the streets. They thought them evil. Necessary but evil. A sin Yniss allowed because civilisation had to flourish. To them a city was an alien landscape. An imbalance in the harmony of the forest, its air, magic and denizens. Yet here they were, gathered and waiting, and quite suddenly, the disaster that faced the elves became so much more real.
‘What do they want?’ This time the question was directed at Vituul alone.
‘Whatever it is, it isn’t good.’
‘We should launch a boat,’ said Jevin. ‘Ask them.’
But answers came far more quickly than that. Up in the crow’s-nest, the lookout shouted and pointed east. Two dots were flying in from the forest, low and erratic. They swept over the docks, stopped momentarily and spiralled into the sky again, before moving out to sea and the ships moored there.
Jevin followed them, half knowing who it was, seeing them change direction twice before heading straight for the Calaian Sun. One of them dipped very low, called out, rose and then fell into the water a hundred yards from the ship. The other didn’t pause but flew over the deck, landed and collapsed in a flurry of limbs. When Jevin reached him, Ilkar had managed to turn onto his back and was gasping in air.
‘Ilkar?’
‘Jevin,’ Ilkar gasped. ‘Better . . . better get a boat over the side. Don’t think Denser can float for too long.’
The order was given. ‘Where have you come from?’
‘Shorth Estuary. Flew all night.’ He struggled to a sitting position. ‘Explanations later.’
He stopped to gasp in more air. His hair was plastered to his skull and his face was drawn and exhausted.
‘Xeteskians have desecrated Aryndeneth. They’ve destroyed the harmony. But we can stop them. Tell all the ships. They’ve got to take the elves to Balaia. A stranger is holding part of Yniss’s statue. And we’ve got to get it back before the plague takes us all.’
‘And me?’
‘You’re coming with us. Got some friends to pick up at the Shorth.’
Jevin nodded. Answers were before him and his desire to help was satisfied.
‘Bosun!’ he called. ‘Signal the ships. I need to see the skippers and it has to be now.’ Turning back to Ilkar, he grasped the elf’s shoulder. ‘Let’s get your wet colleague on board safely, then you can both tell me over a goblet of wine just exactly what is going on.’
The trio of Xeteskian vessels was under full sail, moving well across a swell of six to eight feet. The wind was strong and constant beneath thin rolling cloud and the acres of canvas billowed dirty grey.
Captain Yron sat beneath the mainmast of the lead vessel on some netted crates, turning the fragment of the statue’s thumb over and over. No one had dared come near him all morning. He must have looked a frightening sight with his hands and face covered in balms and bandages, but it wasn’t that which kept them away.
Throughout the night he had prowled the deck, unable to sleep despite his fatigue. Healing spells had been cast on him as he moved and the bandages were only there because Erys had made him stop for long enough. After the eighth or tenth man had congratulated him on the success of the mission he had exploded with vehemence enough to wake the slumbering on all three half-empty ships. It needed saying. As if any bounty could justify this loss, let alone the pathetic collection of