Elves: Beyond the Mists of Katura (41 page)

‘We can,’ said Sentaya.

His warriors had laid out bread and dried meat and a fire was blazing to his right. Racks were placed across it, the now-slaughtered cow was efficiently butchered, and large joints were spiked
and laid on the racks to cook. The aromas were glorious and tempting; blood and fat spat on the flames.

‘Similarly, should Xetesk win this fight then it is they who will dominate and that is similarly unwelcome.’ Sentaya nodded and gestured for Stein to continue. ‘The current
situation, with Xetesk and the Wytch Lords using the Wesmen to destroy the other colleges, will inevitably lead to one of these outcomes. Surely it is better to have four magical colleges, each one
acting as a deterrent to the others? That leaves you without your ultimate victory but it does leave you free to be lord of your lands without the fist of the Wytch Lords over you.

‘It is the best of the options, and it is why we want you to turn against the Wytch Lords and help us defeat them.’

Sentaya sighed. He took a hunk of bread and a clay mug of wine and tried to pull apart Stein’s logic while he ate. The mage and the elf had spoken good sense but their conclusions left him
unhappy and, with his last swallow of wine, he knew why.

‘How will you destroy the Wytch Lords?’ he asked. ‘Are they not invulnerable?’

Stein had been expecting this question and spoke quickly to Auum, who deferred to him and asked Stein to speak for them all.

‘I will not lie to you, Lord Sentaya. Though we are enemies, I have the greatest respect for you and I hope that is returned in some measure.’

‘In some small measure,’ agreed Sentaya, and he knew beyond doubt he was not going to like what he was about to hear.

‘The Wytch Lords cannot be destroyed; they can only be trapped in a place where they have no power. To achieve this requires powerful magic. We must draw one of them out and trap him,
thereby critically weakening the strength of all six. Only then can we hope to defeat them. Auum believes that Ystormun’s hatred of him stemming from his defeat by him in the elven homeland
will be enough to bring him here should you stand with us, challenging his authority.’

Auum smiled. Sentaya dropped his food, leaned forward and grabbed Auum’s collar, pulling him close and hissing into his face.

‘You would bring death to all my people by inviting a Wytch Lord to my village? That is madness so bold I should slit your throat for speaking it. Tell me this is not your plan.’

Just as he had not dodged Sentaya’s hands, so Auum did not resist but waited until he was pushed away. He and Stein had a quick conversation and Auum deferred to Stein again.

‘Think, my lord,’ said Stein. ‘You will have issued a challenge to the Wytch Lords simply by speaking with us, and they will respond in a way that tells your people two things:
that they respect your influence and that they fear you, Sentaya. You.

‘So tell your people that Ystormun will come because he is afraid of the lord of the Paleon tribes and has been forced from his hiding place to fight. We will stand by you. Our magic will
take his unholy power, and you can strike at his dark heart and eat his soul.

‘And when you have defeated him, you will be the lord whose banner the free Wesmen flock to. You will rule the Wesmen.’

Sentaya took in Stein’s words and there was sense in them despite the enormous risk – supposing this Auum could actually be believed and Ystormun would come to him. But should it be
true and they were victorious? The cloak of lord of the Wesmen would sit well on his shoulders. A fierce smile grew on his face, but doubt remained and he looked Stein deep in the eyes.

‘Should he come, can we beat him?’

‘Yes, we can,’ said Stein, translating for Auum. ‘My ancestor did it before and we can do it again. He is alone. You will have set the trap, my lord, and he will walk into its
jaws.’

Sentaya nodded. ‘Many of my people will die.’

‘Many of ours too,’ Stein repeated Auum’s words. ‘But we will not flinch from it. You consider us enemies but we will fight as brothers. Trust us and for this moment
trust our magic and what it can do to defeat our common enemy.’

Sentaya’s disgust and anger had given way to a controlled excitement. He looked again at Auum and his regard for the elf grew further, though he was confused. Something Stein had said
earlier just didn’t make sense

‘Surely it is ages past that Ystormun was defeated. It is ancient lore that the shamen speak when they are relating the rise to power of the cadre. Yet you said Auum defeated
him.’

Stein nodded. ‘The elves are very long-lived. Auum is more than three thousand years old.’

Sentaya gasped as he stared at the elf.

‘But he looks no older than me,’ he hissed. ‘How can that be?’

‘It is a gift of their gods to be so. Auum was there when Ystormun was defeated – as was my ancestor.’

Sentaya felt as if he was reeling, so many were the revelations.

‘Then your bloodline is spoken of in my legends,’ said Sentaya.

‘Will you join us? I know what my ancestor did. I know what Auum can do. We can beat them if we stand together.’

Sentaya wagged a finger, his mind clearing of distractions.

‘You’re clever, Stein, and I’m tempted, but I can see further than your words. Your magic can defeat Ystormun – I will believe you for now – but whose magic can
trap them beyond the ability to strike back?’

Stein nodded gravely. ‘That ability rests with Xetesk. They must be informed of our intentions.’

Sentaya spat on the ground and stood up. Auum glared at Stein, who made a placatory gesture. Sentaya was not about to wait for him to translate what had just been said.

‘And now we reach the truth. You would have me fracture the fragile unity of the Wesman tribes and at the same time aid you in bringing a Xeteskian army to my lands to destroy the only
power able to defend us against the filth of your magic. You want me to lay my country open to whoever would take it from me. That is why I despise magic and that is why you will ever be my
enemy!’

‘You have me wrong,’ said Stein.

‘I don’t think so. Warriors!’

Wesmen all around him drew axes and blades. Instantly, the elves were on their feet. Mages began to prepare and the TaiGethen drew twin blades from scabbards on their backs. The menace emanating
from them washed over Sentaya, and he was damned if it didn’t make the fire flicker and the beef spit.

Auum stood and barked out a command, holding out one hand towards his people, the other towards Sentaya. The elves sheathed their blades though it hardly lessened their sense of readiness. Auum
appeared in front of Sentaya so quickly, he backed away a pace. Auum spoke, and Stein, remarkably calm and assured, cleared his throat.

‘Sentaya, please. You’re making a mistake. We have no wish to fight you. Will you hear Auum through me?’

Sentaya stared at Auum, who stood impassive before him. He gave a curt nod. Auum began to speak and Stein translated.

‘No Xeteskian army will destroy your people and occupy your lands. Julatsa, Lystern and Dordover will fight against them. So shall I and my people. Trust me. We share so much. We have
suffered under the boots of the same enemies. We must not become enemies. Trust the elves.’

Sentaya’s ire was blunted a little but he could not yet begin to agree to what they desired of him. He waved for his people to lower their blades.

‘Even if it goes according to your plan, the easterners will have their magic and we will have no defence against it. We will always be vulnerable to their whim.’

‘The elves had no magic when man invaded Calaius and enslaved my people, occupied my lands. Yet we destroyed an army of six thousand warriors and mages. We used our land as you will have
to use yours. I will tell you how. I will not leave you defenceless, that is my vow.’

‘You I trust, but I cannot trust him or his magic.’ Sentaya sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. So much sense, so much he wanted to believe but so much danger too. He would be
gambling with the entire Wesman race. ‘Enough. We will not fight. We will eat instead, although we will not sit at the same table.’

Stein nodded. ‘Thank you, Lord Sentaya.’

Sentaya turned his back on Stein only to see Gyarth striding towards him, a look of cold contempt on his face.

‘You remain uninvited,’ said Sentaya. ‘We are not done yet.’

‘Yes, you are,’ said Gyarth.

Sentaya tensed, gripping his axe more tightly. ‘What have you done?’

‘I have spoken to the cadre.’

‘How dare you undermine my authority! I am lord of these tribes.’

Gyarth sneered. ‘There has been a shift in power. A long-overdue one. They have put up with you for too long, Sentaya, and now an army is coming to drag you before them to bend your knee
or be destroyed along with these creatures. They will be here in three days.’

‘Traitor!’

Sentaya raised his axe and chopped it through Gyarth’s neck. The shaman’s head rocked back and fell from his shoulders, taking with it Gyarth’s dying expression of outrage. The
body collapsed to the side. Sentaya threw the weapon to the ground next to the headless corpse. He stared at Auum.

‘It looks as if I am with you whether I like it or not.’

Ystormun tried to ignore their voices while he sorted through clothes, weapons and the texts he could not be without on the trail. His servant was waiting to pack his chosen
belongings and load them onto his carriage. But the clamour in Ystormun’s mind was growing louder and it stole his train of thought, making him forget what he was looking for when he pulled
open drawer or wardrobe.

There were no words being howled into the centre of his skull, just the deliberately discordant chants of the cadre, growing in intensity, summoning him to the Hexerion. Ystormun leaned heavily
on his desk, trying to focus on the parchments he was sorting through, seeking just one that would give him solace and strength when he faced those who had beaten him. The shame still burned within
him.

The pressure grew and he slammed his fist on the desk. His servant whimpered and Ystormun spun round to face the wretch.

‘Pack what I have laid out. I will finish this later.’

The Wesman, too frail to be a warrior but possessed of an organised mind, had been a long-surviving servant. His eyes saw Ystormun’s pain and anger but he dared not speak of it. Ystormun
didn’t require him to; his expression was sympathy enough and it warmed him unexpectedly.

‘All will be ready for inspection when you return.’

Ystormun, a little unsteady on his feet, managed a curt nod before walking carefully from the room towards the Hexerion. Their knowledge of his approach was signified by a change in the tone of
the voices in his mind to a sneering superiority.

Entering the Hexerion, Ystormun was struck by the heat. All the fires were lit including his, despite his not having ordered it, and the smell of smoke hung heavy in the air. It was a petty act.
They knew of his preference for cold; it had been that way since his return from the stultifying humidity of Calaius. He stared at them all in turn, caught their contempt and shrugged it off before
pulling out his chair and sitting, his fingers knitted together and resting lightly on the table.

They had expected him to leap to his own defence and so he waited for one of them to speak and reveal his own ignorance. Perhaps it would be Weyamun or Pamun; both had trouble holding their
tongues. He was a little disappointed when Belphamun spoke first. His voice was measured and calm.

‘We do not appreciate being kept waiting,’ said Belphamun. ‘Your presence, when demanded by the cadre, must be immediate, as it would be for any of us.’

‘I am not in the habit of abandoning a task half complete,’ said Ystormun.

‘Of course we understand that choosing travelling clothes is a task requiring the utmost in peace and concentration,’ said Giriamun.

Belphamun hissed him to silence without taking his eyes from Ystormun.

‘Are we not worthy of your immediate presence?’ he asked.

‘When we are to discuss matters that are open for debate, yes, of course,’ said Ystormun.

He felt the atmosphere tighten. Eyes that had been staring dismissively past his shoulders locked on his face and he felt the pressure of their combined contempt.

‘Your desire to weaken the cadre will always be a matter open to debate,’ said Pamun.

‘Your personal feelings are leading your mind in the weakest of fashions,’ said Weyamun.

‘Your decision may not be taken by you alone,’ said Giriamun.

‘You may not leave this temple without our express consent,’ said Arumun.

‘Your obsession with expunging your shame is truly pathetic,’ said Belphamun.

Ystormun had known it would be this way. He let their anger roll over him and made a show of acknowledging all their criticism. They said much more but the subject matter differed little. He
waited until they subsided, satisfied that they were in accord and he was the pariah outside the cadre determined to see it break. Then he spoke.

‘What is most disappointing is that you fail to see that my actions will bring us closer than ever to ultimate victory. Now forgive me, but can we agree that victory, in this instance, is
the clearing of the way to Dawnthief, capturing it unhindered and ensuring our dominion over the eons?’

The five gazed at him, baleful and contemptuous. One by one, and almost imperceptibly, they inclined their heads.

‘Yet you, Belphamun, have chosen to make an alliance of questionable gain with our greatest rival and our keenest enemy. Xetesk is simply using us to destroy its own rivals, thereby making
it stronger when it eventually turns on us.’

‘Your understanding is typically myopic and flawed,’ said Belphamun. ‘The destruction of the colleges is key to our ambitions, and our alliance with Xetesk until we choose to
break it allows us to retain great strength of arms.’