Elves: Beyond the Mists of Katura (34 page)

‘Doesn’t bother us,’ said Ulysan.

Stein rolled his eyes.

‘All right then,
I
don’t want to be on the ridge in the dark. Come on, I’m bored with the view anyway.’

All of their good humour had been eroded to nothing by early afternoon. Stopping for food had been even more unpleasant than continuing to walk, though progress had become so
slow they barely seemed to be moving forward at all. It was a single line of misery, picked at by increasingly strong winds and showered by wind-blown ice on the whim of whatever god ruled these
mountains.

In all his thousands of years Auum had never felt himself so unprepared for anything. And they had begun in such high spirits, despite the losses on the climb and those killed by magic the
previous day. The incline was easy, the ridge was narrow but not so uneven as to present a real risk for the careful walker, and the sun had broken through the clouds to provide some warmth despite
the gusting wind.

Auum had chatted to Stein at the head of the line, the human pointing out the names of peaks they could see piercing the sky to the north and south. They were to be in the mountains for two
days, more if they were unlucky in the paths they chose, but Auum had not been unhappy at the prospect. The scale of the range was staggering and the beauty matched it. There were white-capped
peaks, ice slopes, vertiginous cliffs and chasms that surely led straight to the bowels of the earth. It was breathtaking.

It was not until shortly before midday that Auum felt the first stirring of unease. The clouds had covered the sun and the temperature had fallen sharply. With the clouds had come an icy wind
straight out of the west and into their faces, driving the temperature down still further. They had been showered in snow from the high peaks ahead before a chill rain had soaked them to
shivers.

The stop for food just after midday had been a miserable affair. Mages spaced throughout the line had melted snow in pans for a hot drink and they had boiled horsemeat to make a thoroughly
unappetising meal. The meat was tough and tasted like Xeteskian revenge for their escape.

Auum had moved up and down the line trying to keep their spirits up, but it was difficult to do when, despite the cloak about his body and the shirt tied across his mouth and nose, he was
absolutely freezing. He rubbed his hands together, not daring to put them in his pockets in case of a fall, and with every step he stamped his feet to try and keep the circulation going. His boots
were made for the rainforest and, durable as they were, they were not built for warmth.

Their clothing was woefully inadequate. Worse, their bodies had adapted over generations to the heat, humidity and occasional gentle chill of the rainforest and were unable to cope with the
cutting cold. Auum found it hard to draw a full breath and was not alone in feeling a growing sense of anxiety that the next time he inhaled, he might get nothing.

The Julatsan elves were able to generate some heat, which they could share with embraces that were all too short, but they had to maintain their stamina for walking, heating water and food and
to fly if they must.

The further they climbed, the harsher the wind became. The white of snow and ice hurt their eyes; the savage cold numbed their faces and froze their hands and feet, and when it became a gusting
gale, most of them were forced to move on all fours, their already aching hands having to clutch at stunningly cold rock through the snow.

Auum was doggedly staying upright, and Stein, who had demonstrated remarkable resistance to the cold, was right behind him. Ulysan, who was the fittest of them all, carried Tilman on his back
and had to be in trouble physically. He only ever smiled when Auum looked down the line at him. Yniss bless him, thought Auum, the moment he ceases to smile we are all in desperate straits.

‘How far to the next face?’ shouted Auum, turning his head so his words were not whipped away by the wind.

Stein squinted ahead and his frown deepened. He could not hide his concern and it was only having Auum ahead of him which stopped him setting a faster pace. Night would fall quickly here, and
they could not afford to be exposed when it did, or most of them would not survive until dawn.

‘At this pace, I don’t know. I can’t send fliers up, it’s too windy and the updraughts here are horrible to negotiate.’

‘Have you been up here before?’ asked Auum.

‘Often,’ said Stein. ‘I’ve walked this ridge before, but it never seemed so long and I always chose a fine day in the middle of summer when the snow is a mere memory at
this height.’

‘What is there at the end of the ridge?’

‘Shelter of a sort. There’s an overhang and a rock shelf facing east so we can be out of the worst of the wind. Going to have to huddle close together tonight.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me it would be like this?’

‘I did, Auum. Didn’t change anything, though, did it?’

Auum shook his head. ‘And what happens after that? Where do we go next?’

Stein had the good grace to look a little sheepish as he replied. ‘I’ve never gone any further. The path to Wesman territory has never appealed.’

‘But your fliers . . .’ said Auum, feeling suddenly vulnerable and utterly responsible for those he had talked into coming up here.

‘They haven’t been able to scout routes because of the wind. We need it to drop.’

Auum felt a different sort of chill. ‘You’re saying there may not be a way on and down?’

‘That’s the way of the Blackthornes, and it’s a good job too or the Wesmen could march armies over them.’

‘And what if we can’t find a route?’

Stein shrugged. ‘Then we will have to turn back.’

Auum put his face to the wind once again and pushed on a little bit faster.

‘That is not going to happen,’ he muttered, then he roared at the blank face of the mountains ahead of him. ‘Do you hear me? You will not beat me! As Yniss is my witness and my
god, you will not stand in my way!’

The mountains said nothing but the wind blew harder, throwing his words back in his face, taunting him with the promise of more ice. Auum flexed his hands and pressed them into his armpits. It
made no difference. He wondered if he’d ever be able to feel them again.

They had run far and fast, across hill and through valley past farmstead and hamlet by night and by day only to find this. Gilderon knelt in the midst of the ash and wept for
the fallen while his Senserii spread through the carnage, trying to understand what had happened and how many had perished.

That all the dead here were elven was not in doubt. The weapons and buckles that had survived the inferno were unmistakable. Here and there some bones remained, but of the flesh and blood there
was nothing at all. There were also bolts from cartwheels and part of one axle too.

‘This can’t be all of them,’ he whispered. ‘Yniss forgive me but I must pray that Auum at least has survived.’

‘Gilderon.’

‘Helodian,’ said Gilderon, looking up. ‘Speak.’

‘This was not their last stand. We found tracks leading into the foothills and Teralion has found bodies laid out for reclamation. The tracks head on towards the mountains. Cordolan is
following them. It is clear a good number survived, though the ground makes it impossible to count how many.’

Gilderon felt a measure of relief. ‘There’s something else?’

‘Yes, there are cart and horse tracks heading away from here back towards Julatsa. Four horses, two pulling the cart, which was well laden, hopefully with survivors. The age of the tracks
means we only just missed them. I put us less than a day behind any survivors.’

Gilderon saw a movement out of the corner of his eye and stood, gazing towards nearby woodlands. A shape shot out of them, soaring high into the sky. Another followed. More figures moved out on
foot.

‘We’ve been seen,’ he said. ‘Senserii, at the ready.’

‘Humans,’ said Helodian. ‘Murderers. Tracks lead to and from the wood and into the foothills. They did this.’

‘They are fighting a war much like those at the Manse, assuming they are of the same college. What was its name?’

‘Xetesk,’ said Helodian.

The mages on wings came closer, hovering about twenty feet in the air and the same distance away. One said something Gilderon couldn’t understand though its tone suggested it was a
question. Gilderon was silent and the mage repeated the question, this time in a more strident tone.

Gilderon pointed at him. ‘Xetesk?’ he asked.

The mage nodded. Gilderon hefted his staff and threw it in one smooth motion. The weapon flew straight, its blade catching a glint of sunlight before it struck the mage’s chest and he fell
to the ground with a gasp. The other mage shot skywards and backwards shouting, presumably, for help.

Gilderon ran to the fallen mage, who was lying on his back. The ikari had fallen from his body. Gilderon picked it up. He spoke knowing the human couldn’t understand him.

‘You are guilty before the eyes of Shorth for the elves you killed here. Shorth is a god of great mercy, but not for you. I send you to him and your pleadings will not avail
you.’

Gilderon jabbed his ikari blade into the mage’s eye, piercing his brain and killing him instantly. He pulled it clear and wiped the gore on the mage’s clothing. Looking up, he saw
the humans massing and coming at them hard.

‘We can’t take them all,’ he said. ‘Where is Cordolan?’

Helodian pointed at a figure sprinting down the side of a low hill, heading towards them on a wide angle to avoid the human advance. Gilderon nodded.

‘Good. Let’s lose them. Senserii, we will run till dusk.’

And at dusk, hidden in a small copse, they chose their path and reaffirmed their faith and loyalty. Cordolan spoke first.

‘The survivors went up the walls. Some didn’t make it. There are bodies, burned and broken, abandoned to rot at the base of the mountain. But some must have escaped or why are the
humans here still?’

Gilderon nodded. ‘Helodian, you are ill at ease. Speak.’

‘What we saw today . . . the ash and the strength of the human forces still at the site . . . we can’t defeat that sort of force alone. We don’t know how many of Auum’s
people have survived and we can’t follow them over the mountain. We are many things but we are not climbers.’

Gilderon nodded. ‘I understand. And are we all feeling the same unease, as if our path has been muddied and we must seek a new one if we are to help in this fight?’

Every mouth issued words of assent.

‘Then I can offer you comfort,’ said Gilderon. ‘We need answers, so it is the cart and horses we have to find. We’ll pick up their tracks in the morning, though I assume
they are returning to Julatsa. Then we’ll know how many are still travelling in the mountains, and finally we must make obeisance to our master and seek forgiveness for our lack of loyalty
and attention. We deserted him and we must make recompense for our error.’

Their faces brightened and he smiled, pleased they all wanted what he had desired ever since they had left Takaar.

The Senserii slept and Gilderon kept watch. The words were easy but the task was not. Easy to say they would seek Takaar’s forgiveness. But he was not as he had once been, and his
reaction, when they returned, might not be one they would survive. Still, they had to try. They needed him and he needed them. Gilderon prayed he did, anyway.

They made it to the overhang with night almost full, and it was clear the weather would kill some during the night. It had closed in yet further and the snow fell in a thick
mass of flakes that clung to the clothes and skin, blown on a mourning, howling wind that carried the voice of their deaths.

Hands were frozen, cut and blistered, boots were torn, and inside feet were ice and ankles swollen. Their faces, despite the coverings, were raw with the constant attrition of ice and wind, and
their eyes were pained by the bright white, the only part of them wanting the blessed dark of night.

Auum tried as best he could to get the weakest of them into the centre of the group and pack others in around them to give them some warmth, but the cold seeped up through the stone on which
they sat and the wind blew more snow around the sides of the wall at their backs.

They had eaten a joyless meal, a rough stew of horsemeat and some roots gathered on the way past the lake a couple of days before. For some eating was an ordeal in itself, and they had to be
spoon-fed so they wouldn’t spill it on their already sodden, freezing clothes.

Auum tried to ignore the fact that he was shivering so hard he couldn’t sit down. He could barely open his mouth to talk and had taken only a few swallows of the stew, seeing others
needing more sustenance than he did. It was probably an error with the cold penetrating through to his bones and on into his heart and soul. Stein had told them it would be cold, but this was a
level of pain beyond anything he could have conceived.

‘Something to tell your children about,’ said Ulysan.

He was still managing to smile despite the obvious discomfort of carrying Tilman for the day. He looked utterly spent but still refused to sit down and had checked on everyone else, all one
hundred and twenty of them, exactly as both Auum and Stein had.

‘I’ll have to write it down before I freeze to death,’ said Auum, a new shiver racking his body so hard it made him grunt. ‘Trouble is, my fingers are frozen and I
couldn’t hold a quill.’

‘Nor do we have bark or parchment, but it was a sound plan other than that.’

Auum cast his eyes over his people. Julatsan elves were moving among the tight-packed bodies, doing what they could with warmth and healing, but it was like using a fruit knife to fell a banyan.
He and Ulysan were standing at the outer edge, a few yards from a sheer drop into a chasm. Auum wondered how many bodies they might be rolling into it come morning. Perhaps there would be none left
to chant the lamentations.