Free Elves: Rise of the TaiGethen by James Barclay Page A

ridiculous. And don’t even think about helping me or I’ll call the guards.’
    Ah, another test for your oh so fragile emotions .
    ‘Leave me,’ hissed Takaar.
    I don’t think so. This promises to be such fun.
    Garan began to move and Takaar’s eyes brimmed on the instant. He couldn’t take his eyes from Garan’s face, twisted in agony. His features, so aged and wrinkled, his flesh so thin and loose that he was utterly unrecognisable as the man who had escorted Takaar, bearing the body of his beloved Katyett, from the city a hundred and fifty years ago. Only his eyes, which retained their cynicism and surprising intelligence, gave the man within away.
    Garan grunted and began to roll, having worked one arm beneath his body. He was a featherweight but his muscle was so withered that moving himself when he was prone was a true physical trial. His features contorted, hiding his already screwed shut eyes completely. Small whimpers escaped his lips and his body moved with agonising slowness. His right arm juddered and shook as he forced it straight. Drool ran from the corner of his mouth and Takaar heard tendons crack.
    No, no. Don’t close your eyes. You swore you wouldn’t do that .
    ‘I have to help him.’
    You could end his pain but he won’t let you, and you are so crucified by your respect for a human that you acquiesce to that. Or is it that your hatred for him is so intense that you drink the pain of your enemy like the sweetest of honeys?
    Garan fell onto his back, an exhalation of relief ending in a violent coughing fit that sprayed a fine mist of blood into the air and left him clutching at his stomach. There was a thud on the door. Takaar froze. He saw the handle move ever so slightly downwards.
    ‘Garan, do you need assistance?’
    Garan’s response was another fusillade of coughs.
    ‘Garan!’
    The handle moved further and the door opened a crack. Takaar readied to flee.
    ‘I’m fine,’ croaked Garan. ‘Never felt better. Now bugger off and let me sleep in peace.’
    The door closed on a muttered insult. Takaar smiled.
    ‘So what happens now? Will your lungs sink through your back and into the mattress?’
    Garan choked back a laugh. His voice dropped back to a whisper.
    ‘Listen to me, Takaar. We don’t have long before someone comes in to check I haven’t suffocated myself with my blanket.’ Garan’s eyes bored into Takaar’s face, searching for his features in the darkness. ‘Change at home will bring changes here. Unless we are fortunate indeed, there is going to be a hideous struggle for magical dominance, so bad that those stationed here will be glad they are.
    ‘There are more styles of magic than you have seen. Four schools dominate and the ethics controlling them mix poorly. Ystormun and his ilk represent a school of magic that deals in things best left untouched. You and your kind deal in a far purer magic which Ystormun has been under pressure to repress ever since it flared all those years ago. Now he is tasked with destroying it.
    ‘And you’re playing into his hands.’
    Takaar felt slapped. ‘How?’
    ‘Because those you assume are the natural practitioners of elvish magic are not.’
    ‘The Ynissul are the natural masters of the elves and the only thread to demonstrate any feeling for the Il-Aryn.’
    Garan closed his eyes and brought trembling hands to his face.
    ‘And you call yourself the father of the harmony? Your prejudice is entrenched as firmly as Sildaan’s. Did it never occur to you to wonder why Ystormun wanted to exterminate the Ixii and the Gyalans? The Ixii ? Didn’t that give you the smallest clue?’
    Takaar opened his mouth to reply but closed it sharply against a rising nausea.
    Oh for shame. A hundred and fifty years passed and so much of it wasted on the wrong elves. How does it feel to know you have failed again, through your own blindness? I’d be running for the forest to hide again if I were you .
    ‘You’ve known this all the