They turned toward the boats that were still hovering near the shore, still struggling to load people aboard.
They ran, knowing that the Iblisi would be right on their heels. They had tried to purchase enough time for the ships to get away, and they knew they had failed.
Soen strode through the village, a circle of frost crackling around him wherever he stepped. His footfalls froze the fires beneath them, snuffing them out in a swath behind him.
As he walked he became two. . walking side by side with a duplicate of himself.
Then he became four, then eight, sixteen, thirty-two.
Each laid frost in his wake, turning the fires of the village cold, their light extinguished with each step.
They broke ranks, dozens of Soens moving through the burning paths of the village, drawing cold darkness behind them.
Occasionally one of their number would happen upon an Assesia and beckon him to follow. Twice different Soens of their number came upon Codexia, all of whom were astonished to see him but followed as well. Slowly, the members of the Quorums were being drawn into the center of what remained of the village.
It was only a matter of minutes before one of them encountered the Inquisitor who was leading the raid.
“Drakis? What is it?”
The warrior stood looking down the beach and then along the line of the still burning homes nearer the water’s edge. “They’ve stopped! They’re moving back into the village.”
“We’ve beaten them?” the dwarf said doubtfully.
“No, they never give up,” Drakis said as he considered. “But ChuKang used to say if the gods are offering you gift in the middle of a battle, you take it! Everyone! Fall back to the boats! It’s time to leave!”
“Who here has countermanded my orders!” screamed the Inquisitor as he strode into the small village square, still burning brightly in places around what had once been a green but was now trampled and utterly spoiled. Around the square, ten red-robed Iblisi stood silently watching and listening. “The rebel Drakis is known to be harbored here. This village and everyone in it is an offense to the Imperial Will, and by decree its utter destruction is ordained! Who ordered this withdrawal? Who ordered you here?”
“I did,” a voice answered from atop the stairs that once led to the now burned-out lodge.
The Inquisitor looked up and then, through a tight smile, drew out the name as he spoke as though tasting blood in each syllable.
“Soen.”
“Yes,” Soen replied as he carefully descended the steps, his hood drawn back, his black eyes shining in the light of the fires. “I thought perhaps you and I should talk this out before you carelessly murder anyone else on your little crusade, Jukung. It is Jukung, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Jukung replied, pulling back his own hood. The burn-scarred tissue drew his lips back hideously from his teeth, and one of his eyes had gone a flat gray. “Sorry, I’ve no more time for you.”
“That always was your problem,” Soen continued, pushing past the robed Iblisi around the square. “Always in such a hurry, always wanting to smash things and get it over with so you could move one more step higher in the eyes of the Keeper.”
“And your problem,” Jukung sneered, “was always one of insufferable arrogance. Some of us, however, prefer action over talk.”
Jukung raised his hand. The robed elves around the square lowered their Matei staves, leveling them directly at Soen.