Elves: Beyond the Mists of Katura (43 page)

It was two days since Gyarth’s beheading, and the look of disgust had not softened on Sentaya’s face. He had watched the mages and Il-Aryn practising and setting wards, and seeing
magic being employed on his lands and in his name was causing a major conflict within him.

No caster had been allowed within the village, and the TaiGethen were treated with suspicion, angry eyes following them wherever they went. Tilman had been admitted, but his halting knowledge of
tribal Wes had made conversation very difficult. Even so, Auum and Stein knew that Sentaya was wavering, that his tribesmen were not all behind him and that there were sections of the Paleon spread
around the lake and further south that wanted the intruders dead. It seemed that only Sentaya’s respect for Auum kept their shaky alliance in place. Stein set alarm wards around their camp
when they slept.

Sentaya met them where they would not be overheard. He nodded to Auum and pointedly ignored Stein before fixing his gaze on Faleen.

‘What has she seen?’ he demanded.

Faleen spoke and Stein translated. Sentaya refused to look at him.

‘It’s a considerable force and it will be here at first light tomorrow. I estimate nine hundred warriors and forty shamen plus their supply wagons. There’s a single covered
carriage pulled by a two-horse team and attended by shamen in dark red clothing. It is guarded by warriors on horseback, clearly a personal guard. Ystormun is riding in the carriage. I saw him
walking among his shamen last night.’

Sentaya shook his head and regarded Auum with something akin to awe. He gave a dry chuckle.

‘I had thought you were bluffing, Auum. And now it is real, isn’t it? Ystormun has come. For the remainder of the day you and I will set our tactics. When night falls we will feast
together in my village.’ Sentaya glanced at Stein. ‘All of us. For one night we will be brothers and for one day we will fight as kin.’

‘It is the greatest honour you could bestow on my people,’ said Auum. ‘Thank you. The elven gods will bless you and keep you for greater tasks to come.’

Sentaya bowed his head. ‘I must speak with my people.’

Sipharec was dead. From healthy old man to corpse in so short a time, and no magic could save him. Kerela turned from his tomb, her head bowed. She whispered prayers as she
walked through the college and out into streets packed with anxiety and rising panic.

So soon after the siege had been broken, the hopes of ordinary Julatsans had been crushed. Kerela spoke to no one and acknowledged no one as she walked, though she was aware that Harild,
wonderful, strong, brave Harild, had fallen into step beside her.

She had known Sipharec’s death was imminent but deep inside her had hoped he would rise, heal himself and stand before them as he had done for so long. But of course he had not, and his
last hours had been spent unconscious with his pain dulled by magic.

Kerela walked to the city’s main gates and ascended the stairs to the gatehouse. It was still under repair as were wide sections of the ramparts. Mages were busy investing strength into
the walls, and she could hear the sounds of industry echoing around the city, manufacturing arrows, blades and bows.

Kerela stared out and her heart fell. She still remembered the stark beauty of the approaches to Julatsa and the horizon where you could see the sea sparkle on clear hot days. The scent of the
long grass on the gentle rolling rises lingered in her memory and the laughter of children playing in the wide open spaces sounded in her head, hollow and bleak, a dream long shrivelled and
dead.

The Wesmen were still gathering, and the clamour would be ceaseless until they attacked. There were so many more of them than before: thousands with ladders and sharp blades and with their
shamen already chanting and dancing to gain the favour of the spirits. They were spreading out to encircle the city and this time they were not going to besiege Julatsa; they were going to come
straight for the walls.

‘When will they attack?’ asked Kerela.

She felt completely overwhelmed and incapable of being in charge of any kind of defence. How she longed for Sipharec, Auum, Takaar and Drech. Powerful individuals blessed with knowledge and
belief. She had been born well after the liberation of Calaius. She knew nothing of war.

‘No later than first light tomorrow,’ said Harild. He was gazing up at the sky where the light of afternoon was on the wane. ‘We’ve done all we can. The mages are
briefed, the wards are laid outside, and we will power the grid the moment they advance. We know their tactics.’

‘But we have no TaiGethen, no capability to take down their shamen.’

Harild nodded, his head moving quickly. ‘I know, but our duty is to hold them at bay for as long as we can. In the meantime we must pray that Auum and Takaar do what they set out to
do.’

‘And if they don’t? If they fail?’

‘They won’t.’

‘But if they do?’

Harild smiled a little sadly. ‘Then we must save what we can and make sure our lives come at great cost to our enemies. What else is there to do?’

Night was falling. Takaar had been waiting for a day and his patience was spent. He had called the Senserii from their hiding place in the hills above Understone Pass and now
waited with them while the tortuous discussions among the Circle Seven of Xetesk went on and on. He could not settle to eat or rest. His mind was ablaze and his tormentor wouldn’t leave him
be. He watched Gilderon watching him, and the suspicious Xeteskian mages and soldiers guarding the pass entrance watching all of them, wondering why their master had ordered them not to be
touched.

Takaar half wished they’d try. Anything was better than this dreadful waiting, and he had not unleashed his energies in what seemed an age.

A small demonstration might speed up their decision.

‘Or my demise,’

Either works for me, you know that.

‘I thought you were all for this venture?’

Only because it will inevitably bring about your death.

‘Is that really all that drives you?’

What else is there?

‘Redemption, forgiveness and acceptance.’

I’ve never wanted those, and I fear they are beyond the murderer of Drech in any event.

‘But you said—’

Don’t be naive. I will say anything to bring about your death in the manner I desire.

‘I look forward to your hating my every breath for millennia to come.’

We both know that isn’t going to happen.

‘Your certainty fires my determination.’

‘Takaar?’

Takaar looked around, coming to himself once more. He was leaning against a rock three times his height, the product of a fall centuries past. Gilderon was before him, the rest of the Senserii
in relaxed defensive positions nearby.

‘What is it?’

Gilderon pointed back towards Understone and moved aside so Takaar could see. ‘They are coming,’ he said.

Takaar smiled. Understone was emptying. Mages on horseback led a long column of mounted soldiers four abreast. Bynaar had believed him

Unless they are coming to kill you, of course.

‘Not even you believe that.’

I’ll grant you that one.

Takaar walked over to meet Bynaar, who was leading the mage strength himself.

‘You accept my word,’ said Takaar. ‘I am humbled.’

Bynaar raised an eyebrow. ‘Nothing is quite that simple. The Circle Seven have sanctioned this action but only following a contact with Belphamun, who made an unconscious slip that
confirms all that you claimed. Ystormun is on his way to Sky Lake and is perhaps a day’s travel from the other end of the pass.’

Takaar nodded.

He didn’t believe you. Look at all the checks he made.

‘I expected nothing else.’

‘Good,’ said Bynaar a little vaguely. ‘Just pray that your friend Auum can hold Ystormun until we arrive.’

‘He cannot,’ said Takaar. ‘That is my task, and it is yours to reach me in good time because even my strength is finite.’

‘No, no, no,’ said Bynaar. ‘You are not leaving me for one moment. That would suggest trust and I have none of that. Auum must hold him, and we will cage him when we
arrive.’

Takaar felt as if a spike had been driven into his head. He stared at Bynaar through eyes that burned with his pain. He screwed them shut and tried to blot out the goading from his
tormentor.

‘You weren’t listening,’ he managed through clamped jaws. His hands writhed together. ‘Only I . . . My task . . .’

Burn him. He does not trust you and he will betray you. Burn him and run, and they will chase you and they will see your genius and they will cage the beast and they will understand and they
will forgive and you will be accepted.

‘Please,’ whispered Takaar. ‘Say you will let me go.’

Bynaar’s words came as if from a distance, and Takaar had to strain to hear them. They did not say they would let him go. Takaar felt hot across his whole body, and the energies surged
within him, seeking release, seeking the unworthy.

Drech was unworthy and he had to go. Bynaar, is he more worthy? He is an enemy and he seeks to trap you. He wants the glory and you must not let him have it. The task is yours and yours
alone, as Yniss is my witness. Don’t let him steal your redemption from you!

‘You will not steal my redemption!’ screamed Takaar.

Bynaar’s horse collapsed in a heap of organs and blood, its bones turned to dust and its skin bursting under the pressure from within. Bynaar was thrown clear by the blast of air from
Takaar’s casting. Men nearby were yelling, their horses bucking and bolting.

Gilderon and the Senserii enveloped Takaar and moved him away in the direction of the pass. Bynaar was trying to get to his feet, knocking away the proffered hands. His face was blank with
shock.

‘Only I can hold him!’ roared Takaar as he was hurried away. ‘See how I saved you? I beat him and I saved you. He wanted me to kill you and I didn’t. You can trust me
now!’

‘Enough,’ said Gilderon. ‘We need to get away from here.’

Takaar laughed. ‘I
can
do it. See, Auum? See how I controlled my anger?’

Bynaar was on his feet. Soldiers and mages were backing away from Takaar, their eyes flicking towards the boneless remains of the horse. None wanted to suffer the same fate. The tormentor was
silent, beaten for now, but he would be back. He always came back. Takaar saw the Xeteskians begin to focus on him again.

‘Helodian, Teralion, bring him,’ said Gilderon. ‘Run hard.’

Bynaar saw the Senserii sprint away. He watched their leader slice his bladed staff through the face of one soldier foolish enough to get in their way and then pivot on that
same staff and crash his feet into the chest of a second. Then they were running for the pass and the Wesmen who lay within. And they were
fast
.

‘Let them go!’ he ordered, though none had moved to chase them. ‘Stand down.’

Bynaar wiped the blood and mess from his cloak and riding clothes. He looked at the remains of his horse and tried to imagine the casting which had done it. He failed. Just flesh and skin and
innards . . . The animal had no skeleton, no bones of any kind. How it had been done was beyond Bynaar entirely. He chuckled.

‘My Lord Bynaar?’

‘You know something, Pirys?’ he said to the young student who stood before him. ‘I’m wondering if I misjudged him.’

‘He tried to kill you,’ said Pirys.

‘He tried equally hard not to. And for that I should be glad.’

‘We’re not going in, I take it.’

Bynaar barked a short laugh.

‘On the contrary. My reputation in the Circle Seven is at stake and Takaar is about to clear the pass for us. It would be rude not to take advantage of that.’

Pirys stared at the black hole of the pass entrance. He licked his lips nervously.

‘Then may I have your orders, my lord?’

Bynaar ticked them off on his fingers.

‘Get me some fresh clothes, get me a horse and get this column ready to move. We’ve got a Wytch Lord to catch.’

As soon as they were around the first long bend and out of sight of the Xeteskians, Takaar had been freed to run with them. Gilderon was shaking. The moments between
Takaar’s perceived slights and the seemingly inevitable retribution were becoming shorter and shorter. Where it had been days in the festering while his damned other self got to work on the
increasingly small rational part of his mind, now . . . Well, this latest outburst spoke eloquently enough to his state of mind.

The only mercy was that Takaar had retained enough to inflict that cruellest of deaths on the horse not the man. Gilderon wondered if they had chosen to rededicate themselves to Takaar
prematurely, though the next moment he was certain their decision had been right. After all, who else was capable of seeing Takaar to his target? The question now was whether he chose to do as he
planned or do something utterly beyond reason.

Helodian had sprinted on ahead to a spot illuminated by the dim light of lanterns. The smell of woodsmoke filtered along the pass, which was about fifteen feet high and wide enough for a
carriage and horses flanked by riders. It was an astonishing feat of construction.

Takaar ran beside Gilderon. His face was clear and calm and he was focused on the path ahead as if what he had just said and done was no more than a dim nightmare from centuries past. Gilderon
had been with Takaar for so many hundreds of years and thought he’d seen all there was, but for the first time Takaar actually scared him, and he was forced to consider what he would do if
the once-great elf lost the last vestiges of his control.

Helodian came trotting back.

‘Significant presence four hundred yards ahead. Once this gentle left turn has straightened, we’ll have eyes on them. They’ll see us for the last thirty yards or so in their
lantern light.’