Katyett let her gaze travel to the tapestries that adorned the wall behind the ranks of seats on the stage. They were beautiful. They told the story of the final battles, of ultimate heroism and of the tasks of Takaar. They were inaccurate. Incomplete. She wondered how long they would remain there.

‘We could do with him right now,’ shouted Grafyrre over the howling of the crowd.

Katyett turned to her Tai. He was sitting astride a beam, leaning on another that angled up towards the carapace. She raised her eyebrows.

‘We could do with him as he was then,’ she said.

Grafyrre nodded. ‘Yes. Sorry. That was insensitive.’

Katyett smiled. ‘Only a little. Yniss knows you are right.’

‘You should be down there,’ said Merrat, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

‘Your hold appears precarious,’ said Katyett. She bit her lip and looked down at the gathering again. ‘Not for all the blessings of Yniss would you find me down there today.’

‘A reckoning?’ asked Merrat.

‘That implies some measure of rationality,’ said Katyett. ‘I doubt we’ll see that in today’s proceedings.’

The aggression rose from the floor in waves. It added to the stultifying humidity. Outside the air was utterly still, and though every door and shutter was open, no draught could be felt. Heat bloomed and rose, sweat mingling with timber and animal odours to cloy in the nostrils. Stares followed the heat upwards. Angry eyes. Disdainful.

‘All right, here we go,’ said Merrat.

The Speaker of the Gardaryn was on his feet to an extraordinary explosion of noise from the public. His name was Helias and he wore the green and white robes of his office with a confident ease. He was an ambitious young Tuali. Revered and reviled in equal measure. It was a position in which he revelled. Conversation in the galleries and on the floor died away as Helias approached the centre lectern. A couple of shouts bounced about the walls. Normally good-natured. Not today.

‘Now we come to it!’ called Helias. ‘You’ve all felt it. You all have your opinion. You all wonder why we have been so long reaching this juncture. Now hear it from the mouths of those who would have your heart and your soul to believe their words.’

‘Good of him to try and ease the tension,’ muttered Katyett.

‘Think he’s taking sides?’ asked Merrat.

‘Perish the thought.’ Katyett smiled. ‘He’s as neutral as any slighted Tuali.’

‘I call to the debate, Jarinn, high priest of Yniss, keeper of the temple of Aryndeneth and defender of the memory of Takaar!’

A storm of boos and jeers greeted Jarinn’s announcement. A classically tall Ynissul, he wore his black hair long and tied back with gold threads. His face was proud, an accident of birth, he always said, and his eyes, large angled ovals, were a beautiful blue. His robes were plain, as Yniss demanded. Brown, unadorned and without a hood. He went barefoot, a symbol of his trust in Yniss to keep him safe from harm. Katyett hoped his prayers had been particularly fervent this morning.

Reaching the lectern, Jarinn looked square at the public. There may have been a slight shake of his head. He focused then on the lectern opposite him, ignoring the opportunity to appeal to the Speaker for protection from the abuse that rained on him. He did, however, pause to nod his thanks at those in the arc of seats who had stood to applaud him. It merely served to intensify the noise from the floor.

‘So where’s the public support?’ asked Grafyrre, when Helias belatedly raised his hands for quiet.

‘Jarinn advised Takaar’s followers to stay away,’ said Katyett and again she smiled. ‘Anyway, most of us are up here.’

There were five Tai cells watching from the rafters. Quite an assembly of Yniss’s elite warriors. Five further cells were dispersed around the city, watching likely trouble spots should the denouncement be carried. Katyett needed to know the mood of the city quickly in the event Jarinn required a secure exit back to Aryndeneth.

Below them, a rhythmic thumping and stamping had begun. A powerful sound reminiscent of ancient battles, the prelude to chant and dirge. Katyett let the reverberations roll over her, taking her back to a time before the harmony, before Takaar’s law.

‘I call to the debate-’ began Helias.

The voices of the public grew from a bass rumble to a thundering, battering shout.

‘Lor-i-us, Lor-i-us, LOR-I-US!’

Over and over. Helias held up his hands for quiet but he saw he was going to get nowhere. Katyett could just hear him over the tumult, his voice rising into the rafters.

‘I call to the debate, Lorius, high priest of Tual, keeper of the temple at Tul-Kastarin and denouncer of Takaar!’

The rhythmic chanting and stamping gave way to a frenzy of adulation. Some ran towards the front of the stage. Al-Arynaar guards blocked any further advance. Fists punched the air, heat and tension rose. Grafyrre blew out his cheeks. Katyett knew how he felt.

Lorius rose, meandered more like, to his feet. Lorius was old. Very old for a Tuali. He predated the resetting of the calendar to record the harmony. The years of peace. A shame that his memories of the times before the harmony were so confused.

Lorius moved with agonising slowness to his lectern. He spread his papers and studied them for a time before lifting his head to gaze out over the floor of the chamber. His face was deeply lined, his eyes still blazed with hazel passion and his chin, which trembled slightly, still held a few wisps of the huge beard he had once boasted.

He tipped back his hood to reveal a bald dark-spotted head and ears whose points had sagged outwards. Lorius held up his hands and the tumult stilled on an instant. He nodded his thanks.

‘Dark days are upon us,’ he said, his voice phlegm-filled and hoarse. ‘Dark forces move beneath the veneer of benevolence.’

‘Pompous idiot,’ muttered Katyett.

‘It is a creeping disease that threatens us and all we have built. Most are unaware it is happening, yet the evidence is all around us, plain to see for those who choose to look. A tragedy will overcome us unless we act now.’

Theatrical boos rang out from all corners of the public areas. Lorius held up his hands again. Jarinn shook his head.

‘Yes, and the tragedy is this. Takaar and all his grand ideas, his harmony, all his deeds. A sham. All of it. A sham!’

‘How can a thousand years of peace be a sham?’ shouted Jarinn before the yells of the crowd drowned out anything more.

The sound of a gong echoed out over the Gardaryn. The Speaker had called for order. The gongs were hung in frames to the left and right of the stage. Ula with beaters as long as their arms stood ready for the Speaker’s order. The echoing tone rolled out over the Gardaryn, quietening the crowd. Mob.

‘I will have decorum in this chamber. The public will refrain from drowning out the debate,’ said Helias before looking square at Jarinn. ‘And High Priest Jarinn will await his turn to make his opening remarks.’

The crowd exploded into noise, cheers, jeers and a concerted wagging of fingers at Jarinn. The high priest spread his hands and shrugged, playing the villain for the moment but only drawing more abuse. Lorius quietened the crowd again.

‘Thank you, Helias. I am not telling any of you anything you don’t already know. We all believed Takaar’s words. We all believed the myth of the harmony of the elves. And why is it a myth? I’ll tell you why and it is two-fold. First.’

And the finger he held up was mimicked by thousands on the floor.

‘Takaar may have begun with pure ideals but what happened when his own life and those of his Ynissul brothers were threatened? He ran like the dog coward that he is. He ran to the gateway, his acolytes trailing in his wake. And through it he dived, consigning a hundred thousand elves to death. So much for the harmony on that day. So much for the harmony on that day!’