They do not seem to realise that their extraordinary determination to survive until that mythical day when they are liberated is exactly what I desire from them .
Diaries of Ystormun, Lord of Calaius
Serrin rested beneath the beauty of the canopy, hearing Gyal’s tears pattering against the broad leaves above his head before finding their way to the ground to bless the undergrowth and all the creatures living there. With his brothers and sisters gathering around him, he led their prayers. The Bound elves knelt in a circle around the great bole of a banyan tree, their panthers by them, guarding them.
When prayers were complete, Serrin sat with his back to the tree and savoured the taste of human blood on his lips and fingernails. It was the taste of the first blow struck against man in a hundred years. It was a breaking of the shackles imposed by the TaiGethen.
Serrin grunted his pleasure. Above his head, a broad leaf collected water, directing it onto the ground in a steady stream. Serrin moved his head and drank the water, its sweetness diluting the salty taste of blood on his tongue. His panther sat by him, sampling the air. Her whiskers twitched and sought alien movements in it, her nose held high.
Serrin breathed in the scents she detected. The freshness of the rain was everywhere, covering those thousands of Tual’s denizens sheltering nearby. The richness of the earth and the sweetness of sap and nectar were stained with the stench of man.
Serrin stroked his Claw’s head. They are hiding behind their magic. Wait, joy of my mind, and they will tire. Their bodies will sate your hunger soon enough .
The panther relaxed and lay down on the soaked ground, grumbling in her throat. Serrin scratched her beneath her chin and then settled back himself. The sleep of the ClawBound is cleansing and replenishing. Tual keeps us free from harm while Yniss wraps us in his embrace. We are the children of the rainforest and we are the keepers of Beeth’s realm. We are the righteous. We are the just —
Serrin awoke. His Claw was standing, her body tense, flanks rippling. She sniffed the air and Serrin experienced a flood of odours. Most were pure, blessed by Beeth or Tual, but one was sick and acrid: their prey had stopped, either to rest or to steal. Serrin rose fluidly to his feet. In the shadows around him, five ClawBound pairs moved with him. Serrin inclined his head; time to hunt.
Serrin’s Claw moved ahead by thirty or forty paces. Her whiskers filtered the air as she determined the distance and location of the intruders. Six of them. Two stank of metal and muscle and fear. The other four carried that unique complex odour, part poison, part beguiling. It meant mages, dangerous but weak of body. Serrin clicked his tongue and gave an avian whistle.
Tread slow, strike silent .
Auum ran. Malaar and Elyss followed in his boot prints. His eyes were everywhere. The rainforest had no time for the careless. He ducked low branches, hurdled dense scrub, pounded up shallow streams and whispered between the packed trees and vines that choked the space all around him. One slip in this race and they would fail. Auum dedicated his soul to Yniss for the thousandth time.
Ahead and to their left the ClawBound were closing on their victims. Rain suddenly plummeted around them, an extraordinary downpour, blotting out every other sound.
‘Bless you, Gyal,’ he whispered.
He glanced over his shoulder. His Tai were with him, concentration pinching their faces. They were good, these two. Sure of foot and trusting in their instincts. Auum trusted them. It was the greatest compliment he could pay them.
About thirty paces away, through the gloom of rain and shadow, Auum saw the dull sheen of metal. A glimpse was enough, caught in the dim light as the raindrops struck it. A blade, presumably meant for comfort and convenience, which had become a careless marker attracting a hunter’s eyes.
The merest hint of movement to his left stilled
Diaries of Ystormun, Lord of Calaius
Serrin rested beneath the beauty of the canopy, hearing Gyal’s tears pattering against the broad leaves above his head before finding their way to the ground to bless the undergrowth and all the creatures living there. With his brothers and sisters gathering around him, he led their prayers. The Bound elves knelt in a circle around the great bole of a banyan tree, their panthers by them, guarding them.
When prayers were complete, Serrin sat with his back to the tree and savoured the taste of human blood on his lips and fingernails. It was the taste of the first blow struck against man in a hundred years. It was a breaking of the shackles imposed by the TaiGethen.
Serrin grunted his pleasure. Above his head, a broad leaf collected water, directing it onto the ground in a steady stream. Serrin moved his head and drank the water, its sweetness diluting the salty taste of blood on his tongue. His panther sat by him, sampling the air. Her whiskers twitched and sought alien movements in it, her nose held high.
Serrin breathed in the scents she detected. The freshness of the rain was everywhere, covering those thousands of Tual’s denizens sheltering nearby. The richness of the earth and the sweetness of sap and nectar were stained with the stench of man.
Serrin stroked his Claw’s head. They are hiding behind their magic. Wait, joy of my mind, and they will tire. Their bodies will sate your hunger soon enough .
The panther relaxed and lay down on the soaked ground, grumbling in her throat. Serrin scratched her beneath her chin and then settled back himself. The sleep of the ClawBound is cleansing and replenishing. Tual keeps us free from harm while Yniss wraps us in his embrace. We are the children of the rainforest and we are the keepers of Beeth’s realm. We are the righteous. We are the just —
Serrin awoke. His Claw was standing, her body tense, flanks rippling. She sniffed the air and Serrin experienced a flood of odours. Most were pure, blessed by Beeth or Tual, but one was sick and acrid: their prey had stopped, either to rest or to steal. Serrin rose fluidly to his feet. In the shadows around him, five ClawBound pairs moved with him. Serrin inclined his head; time to hunt.
Serrin’s Claw moved ahead by thirty or forty paces. Her whiskers filtered the air as she determined the distance and location of the intruders. Six of them. Two stank of metal and muscle and fear. The other four carried that unique complex odour, part poison, part beguiling. It meant mages, dangerous but weak of body. Serrin clicked his tongue and gave an avian whistle.
Tread slow, strike silent .
Auum ran. Malaar and Elyss followed in his boot prints. His eyes were everywhere. The rainforest had no time for the careless. He ducked low branches, hurdled dense scrub, pounded up shallow streams and whispered between the packed trees and vines that choked the space all around him. One slip in this race and they would fail. Auum dedicated his soul to Yniss for the thousandth time.
Ahead and to their left the ClawBound were closing on their victims. Rain suddenly plummeted around them, an extraordinary downpour, blotting out every other sound.
‘Bless you, Gyal,’ he whispered.
He glanced over his shoulder. His Tai were with him, concentration pinching their faces. They were good, these two. Sure of foot and trusting in their instincts. Auum trusted them. It was the greatest compliment he could pay them.
About thirty paces away, through the gloom of rain and shadow, Auum saw the dull sheen of metal. A glimpse was enough, caught in the dim light as the raindrops struck it. A blade, presumably meant for comfort and convenience, which had become a careless marker attracting a hunter’s eyes.
The merest hint of movement to his left stilled
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