an uncanny grasp of how things fit together. Yes, I’ll have her sent here and you can begin to train her. I didn’t realize it until now, but we have no one ready to step in should anything happen to you.’
‘What is all this?’ asked Caleb. ‘You’re usually not this concerned with … contingencies.’
Miranda looked at her younger son. She could see a hint of her husband around his mouth, and the way in which he cocked his head to one side when thoughtful. Otherwise, he resembled his mother, from the high forehead and narrow chin to the way he moved, and his tall slender build. Like many parents she was occasionally and unexpectedly struck by how much she loved her children. ‘Two things, actually,’ she said. ‘Had that madman Varen’s plan worked, I would probably still be strapped to a Dasati table being examined by their Deathpriests or I’d be dead and dissected. Many bad things besides my discomfort and ultimate demise would have occurred, the least of which was you being the only member of this family still here.’
‘We knew that,’ said Caleb, putting his hand on his mother’s shoulder. ‘There’s something more. What is it?’
‘This,’ she said handing him the parchment she had received from the Emperor.
‘Tsurani,’ said Caleb. ‘Father’s hand.’
‘Another of those damned notes!’ Miranda wasn’t irritated by the fact that notes kept appearing mysteriously from some future date – warning of threats, instructing them on actions to take – she was annoyed that they were always cryptic, and it was never clear as to how, exactly, to deal with the information provided. Moreover, she was truly annoyed that her husband had taken years to tell her about them, and had told Nakor before her!
Caleb read the note. There were three lines of text above his father’s signature:
Listen to Miranda.
Give this to her.
Prepare to evacuate.
Milamber.
‘Prepare to evacuate?’ asked Caleb. ‘He’s telling the Emperor to prepare to evacuate … what? The palace? The Holy City?’
Frustrated, Miranda shook her head. She knew in the pit of her stomach that she stood a very real chance of never seeing her husband again, and with equal certainty she knew what the note meant. ‘No,’ she said, emotion making her voice hoarse. ‘He means, prepare to evacuate the world. He’s telling the Emperor the Tsurani will have to leave Kelewan.’
KASPAR LAY DOUBLED OVER IN PAIN.
An elf stood over him ready to strike him again if Kaspar resisted the order to move. Servan reached down to assist the General to his feet and Kaspar’s look showed that he had no intention of forgetting this elf any time soon. He had tried to prolong the first break during the long march and for his trouble had received the butt end of a staff in the stomach.
The elf who had first spoken to them now approached Kaspar. ‘We have no time to waste. You humans are slow. We must hurry: we still have a steep climb to Baranor.’
‘Baranor?’ asked Kaspar.
‘Our home,’ said the elf. ‘We need to be there before sundown and for that reason you cannot tarry.’
Nursing his sore side, Kaspar threw one more dark look at the elf who had struck him and said, ‘Your friend made that abundantly clear.’
The elf who had struck him stood glaring at Kaspar, his blue eyes fixed on the former duke.
Speaking without looking back at Kaspar, the leader of the elves said, ‘Sinda thinks you should all have been killed at the water’s edge. It would make things simpler.’
Jommy muttered, ‘Sorry for the inconvenience,’ as he helped one of the wounded soldiers back to his feet.
‘No inconvenience.’ The leader said. ‘We can still kill you if we must. But I have instructions that you’re to be brought to Baranor to be questioned.’
‘Instructions from whom?’ asked Kaspar, still nursing his side where the staff butt had struck.
‘Our leader.’
Kaspar said nothing, but from his expression, Jommy could tell that the General was maybe thinking of a way to escape, even though Jommy thought that an impossibility, even if they had twice the number of men. Jommy had come to the conclusion that the half-dozen or so elves with the long wooden staves were magicians or sorcerers, or whatever they called elf magic-users.
He looked behind him and saw Jim Dasher glancing around. Jommy didn’t have to read minds to know what was on the thief’s: he was noting hiding places and escape routes. Jommy didn’t think much of the notion of fleeing – though if anyone could elude these elves in their own forest, it might be Jim; Jommy was still wondering how he had apparently arrived out of nowhere to kill that magician on the beach.
Still, if he reached the beach it would be another week before a longboat was sent to re-supply Kaspar’s forces, and if he tried to work his way around to the hidden cove to the north where Kaspar’s ship lay at anchor, it would take more than a week on foot. Then there was the almost impossible swim out to where Kaspar’s ships were at anchor, through rough waters and rocks, not to mention sharks and other predators. Jommy wondered if the enterprising thief was thinking of such a mad plan. And if he got there after the re-supply boat found the camp empty, he might reach the anchorage in time to watch the ships sailing away, for that would be their orders: if anything happens to Kaspar’s forces, leave at once.
The captives trudged up the hillside, those able-bodied helping the wounded. As the shadows lengthened, the elves seemed to be showing hints of a rising sense of urgency. Jommy whispered to Kaspar, ‘General, do the elves look a little edgy to you?’
Kaspar nodded. ‘For the better part of an hour now, I’d say. I don’t know how much farther we have to travel, but it’s a certainty that they want to be there before nightfall.’
Soon Jommy’s observation was borne out. The elves insisted that the prisoners pick up the pace, and were unforgiving to the plight of the wounded. As the sun dipped behind the western mountains pairs of able-bodied men were forced to carry those unable to keep up.
Kaspar shouted, ‘What’s the danger?’ but was ignored as the elves began turning all their attention towards the woods rather than watching the prisoners as closely as they had been.
Suddenly, the leader shouted a warning in their language. Kaspar could see that the elven warriors and magicians were well-drilled as they spread out to counter what appeared to be some sort of attack. Kaspar shouted to his men, ‘Get down!’ and himself fell to the ground.
A thrumming sound filled the air and the shadows between the massive boles of the trees appeared to shift, as if darkness had achieved tangibility and could move.
‘Void-darters!’ the leader of the elves said to Kaspar. ‘Let none touch you.’
‘Then give us our weapons so we may defend ourselves!’
The elf ignored the request, his eyes fixed upon the perimeter of the column. Then a shout from up ahead alerted Kaspar that the attack was underway.
Like something from a bad dream, flashes of darkness sped through the air, shadowy forms that defied the eye. Kaspar prided himself on a hunter’s vision, but he had no concept of what it was he was looking at.
Wedge-shaped, moving more like a sea skate or ray than a bird, the figures sped through the air faster than a swift, darting one way then another with impossible changes