Elves: Beyond the Mists of Katura (47 page)

‘Get yourself away to the other injured,’ said Grafyrre. ‘We’ll find you.’

Grafyrre turned to find his next target. He saw Merrat kill two with simultaneous strikes to the left and right then duck for Artuune to hurl a jaqrui into the face of a shaman. This fight was
done, and with the fall of the last shaman body, Ystormun turned.

Grafyrre felt those ancient eyes cross his body and he shivered.

‘Tais, with me!’ he called. ‘Stein, it has to be now!’

Grafyrre ran hard straight past the Wytch Lord to the slope where the returning Wesmen and shamen were almost on them. He longed to strike the bastard but knew he was invulnerable to steel.

‘Spread wide,’ called Merrat as he strode up to Grafyrre’s shoulder. ‘If only Katyett was here. She’d have loved this.’

‘Old times and all times, we could do with her strength,’ said Grafyrre.

He looked down the slope and breathed hard. He didn’t fear the fifty and more warriors who came at them, it was the shamen moving in their wake who were worrying. Their fate was in
Stein’s hands. The first shaman prepared his black fire.

‘Speed!’ called Grafyrre.

‘Focus on the casting and only on the casting,’ said Stein.

His mages were spreading to encircle Ystormun. The Wytch Lord had finally taken notice of them and would soon be able to feel what they were bringing to bear on him. Ystormun’s filthy gaze
swept across them, within it the contempt of centuries and the memory of humiliation.

Stein.

Stein jolted and almost lost his construct.

‘Push out,’ said Stein to his mages. ‘He’s going to resist. Be ready.’

I can trace your line through the centuries to your first betrayal.

Stein’s heart was pounding in his chest. He shook his head to dislodge the voice. He linked his construct to those of his mages and could see the spiked net they had created just beyond
the bounds of Ystormun’s subconscious. They were ready, but then so would he be.

You cannot hurt me, not here. Let it go. I seek others today.

They are my brothers
, said Stein to himself and he felt a chill inside his skull.
I will not let you harm them
.

Brothers. Is that what they told you? You have no power here, Stein.

Then do your worst and prove it.

‘Advance,’ ordered Stein. ‘Press and then hold. Do not let him in, do not look at him – he will be seeking your soul.’

The elven mages tightened their arc and sought to encircle Ystormun. Stein could feel his eyes tracking across them, seeking weakness he could exploit. Stein felt as if he was toying with them
and anxiety flooded him briefly before he quashed it, knowing it was what Ystormun desired.

‘Strike,’ said Stein, his word carrying across the construct and into the mind of each mage. ‘Strike hard.’

They pushed out and forward. The construct came into contact with Ystormun’s aura, sick and malevolent. Stein crushed his eyes closed and heaved with his mind. Spikes pierced the aura and
darkness flooded out.

That is far enough.

Stein pushed again. His mages were with him, all of them using every mote of energy they possessed. But they could go no further, as if cement had hardened across the surface of their net,
holding it secure and immovable.

Now it is my turn.

Stein’s eyes snapped open. Ystormun was staring at him.

‘I warned you,’ he said. ‘No one stands in my way.’

Sickness flooded into the construct and Stein dropped back into the mana spectrum to see the net tangled with a mass of grasping black tendrils. Each found purchase, locked on tight and
hardened. The darkest of night pulsed within Ystormun’s aura and flashed towards them.

‘Out!’ screamed Stein.

He dropped the construct, risking dire psychological damage, and turned, barrelling into the mage next to him, clawing at a third and reaching for a fourth. But he only had moments, and as his
hand reached out to the serene figure her expression turned to dread. She saw what was coming.

Her body turned to blood and burst asunder.

The screams stopped the fighting. Shamen staggered back feeling the force of something ricocheting through their bodies. Wesman warriors stared past the TaiGethen, backing up,
fearing something more than the unseen cut of an elven blade.

Grafyrre paused in mid-strike, spinning to look back at Stein and Ystormun. The Wytch Lord was gesturing towards the mages as if shooing children gently from his path. And they were standing
there, transfixed and shuddering, unable to move, and their expressions tore at his heart.

Their screams gained in volume, splitting the sky with the purest terror he had ever heard, and one by one their faces reddened, darkened and split open as if smashed from the inside. Grafyrre
started to run to their aid but Merrat grabbed his shoulder.

Grafyrre turned, barely taking in the surreal scene of Wesman and TaiGethen standing almost shoulder to shoulder, beguiled by the horror Ystormun had unleashed. Movement among the mages caught
his eye, and he saw three get to their feet and flee. But the rest could not break themselves free. Seeing their friends die one by one, they died too, shrieking their terror, consumed by the
darkest of magic and taken to a place where even Shorth would fear to tread.

The last of the transfixed mages perished, and a merciful peace replaced the dread cries. Ystormun raised his head, glanced at the three escaping mages, turned and strode towards the village,
towards Grafyrre and his TaiGethen. Merrat’s hand tightened on Grafyrre’s shoulder, who swallowed, a chill coursing through his veins as the Wytch Lord’s eyes fell on them.

He had never experienced fear before but he did now. In that moment he understood what it was to be truly helpless in the face of your greatest terror. You could not strike a thing like that.
You could not do it harm or defeat it. You could only do one thing.

‘Run.’

For the briefest of moments Auum thought Stein would succeed at the first attempt. The shamen moving to strike at them had stopped and turned as if lacking direction, and the
press of magic had eased. Seizing the moment, Auum had led a counter-charge which Sentaya had joined.

Stein’s remaining mages had dumped fire on the shamen they could reach and blasted ice through the Wesman lines. If the numbers he was facing were anything to go by, they had killed a
third of the remaining enemy warriors and reduced the shaman numbers by half. Not enough, given the casualties among Sentaya’s people.

Auum sidestepped a downward chop, jabbed his right elbow into the Wesman’s temple and carved his left blade across the back of his neck, half-severing his head. He dragged his blade clear
and kicked the body aside. Tilman, gaining in confidence and using Auum’s knife as a second weapon, jabbed his blade into the mouth of his opponent and drove him back and over with a decent
kick to the gut.

Auum was weighing up his next foe when the screams rolled across the battlefield. The tenor of the sound cut across the roar of the melee, and the fighting stopped. Auum stepped back and jumped
into the air to see the scene further up the shallow rise. He saw blurred shapes streaming towards them, TaiGethen under the shetharyn; and behind them he saw Ystormun marching towards the
battle.

Auum landed, pirouetted and smashed a kick into the face of his enemy. He felt cold. Stein was gone, then, and most of his mages with him. Ystormun had destroyed them in the blink of an eye and
was moving to finish the job.

‘Hold!’ he yelled, hearing Sentaya pick up the call. ‘Break on my word.’

The shamen had turned and the Wesmen ahead of them returned to the battle with renewed energy. The defensive line was forced back by weight of numbers.

‘What’s happened?’ shouted Tilman over the din.

Auum angled his right blade and deflected away a strike meant for the human’s flank. He thrashed his left blade into the enemy’s neck and reversed it immediately back across the face
of his next opponent, who jerked back, avoiding the cut by a hair.

‘Concentrate!’ barked Auum. ‘Ulysan!’

Ulysan snapped a side kick high into the face of his enemy, stepped into the space and rammed a blade into his gut.

‘With you, skipper.’

‘He was waiting for it,’ said Auum. ‘That bastard was waiting for us to go for him.’

‘What now?’

‘Go for the skirmish points. Wait for the signal. Make sure the left flank watches the shamen.’

Auum blocked an axe blade left, reached in and nicked his right blade through the leather jerkin of his enemy and slashed it up across his chest. He stepped back and let the axe crash back down.
He stepped on the haft and chopped down into the Wesman’s shoulder, putting him on the ground.

Tilman took a heavy blow on his blade and staggered back. He was off balance and his knife arm was flailing to recover. The axe man circled his weapon ready for the decapitating blow and Auum
moved fast right, leaning over hard and swiping his blade in to out, chopping into the axe man’s arm, carving deep. His left flank was exposed. A Wesman stepped in, hacking with his sword.
Auum snapped his left leg up and kicked under the warrior’s wrist, holding the blade high. Ulysan jammed a blade under his arm. The Wesman fell back, and the axe man dropped his weapon.

‘Thank you,’ managed Tilman.

‘A TaiGethen is never alone,’ said Auum. ‘Ulysan, shamen approaching. On my go . . .’

Ulysan yelled a command to the TaiGethen holding the left flank. Sentaya understood it and carried the word to his people. In moments it had travelled to the elves on the right flank too. Some
of Sentaya’s warriors broke away and ran back into the village. The Julatsan elves lined up with them in the oval.

‘Il-Aryn, barriers ready!’ called Auum.

He couldn’t afford the time to look towards the back of the village where Rith and her people were under cover, but the word was carried back. Auum fenced with a powerful swordsman,
cutting him across both arms. Tilman was tiring next to him and under pressure again. Ulysan struck an enemy’s arm off at the shoulder, spraying blood across all three of them as the shamen
gathered, almost ready.

‘Go!’ called Auum.

Ulysan roared the command to break. Auum turned, grabbed Tilman and, half-carrying the youth, sprinted away to his position behind Sentaya’s house. They ran through a line of archers whose
bows were tensed and ready and on through mages waiting to cast.

Auum heard Sentaya order the release and arrows shot away. Moments later six orbs of fire flew over the oncoming enemy to scatter the shamen, catching some and destroying their concentration.
Hailstorms flew out across the arc of the charge, ripping leather and furs, flaying the skin from faces and slicing the flesh from fingers.

Sentaya’s men dropped their bows once more and charged back into the fray, a thin line of courageous warriors knowing their chances of survival were minimal. The mages dropped back to
cover among the sixty or so buildings making up the village. The enemy broke around to the left and right of Sentaya’s warriors and the TaiGethen streaked back out to get among them.

‘Stay here,’ Auum ordered Tilman.

Auum and Ulysan scaled Sentaya’s stockade and stood to look out beyond the village. The shamen were gathering again, but behind them the TaiGethen from Stein’s failed attempt on
Ystormun were approaching. Auum smiled, watching them streak in behind a group of shamen close to the village readying to attack the Il-Aryn and Julatsans behind the right flank.

‘Count the shamen. We need them down fast.’

Ulysan began counting as the TaiGethen struck the shamen, dropping out of the shetharyn. Wesmen turned to their aid but were far too late. Seven went down at a stroke. Auum watched as Merrat,
Graf, Merke and Faleen led the group of eleven TaiGethen at a run back towards the village.

Auum sensed Ystormun switch his attention to them. He saw the Wytch Lord raise a hand and jab the heel of his palm out. Auum tracked across to the right and for a moment nothing happened. Then
one of the dead or dying shamen moved, his body jerking and convulsing. Soon the others began to do the same, twitching where they lay. And from their bodies rose a wave of dark energy, broad at
its base and with grasping fingers at its leading edge.

Auum didn’t even have time to shout the warning they wouldn’t have heard. The wave snatched across the gap of some fifty yards to the escaping TaiGethen and broke over them, grasping
at them, dragging them down, enveloping them and reducing their bodies to bloody fragments.

Auum almost fell from the stockade. Only Ulysan’s strong arm kept him upright as the two of them stared at the scene in horror. Four were still running. One paused to turn, hoping to help
his fallen brothers and sisters.

‘No,’ whispered Auum. ‘Keep moving. Who’s still standing?’

‘Faleen, Siraaj, Grafyrre and Merke,’ said Ulysan. ‘He took seven for seven.’

‘He killed Merrat just like that. How can we beat such power?’ asked Auum.

Ulysan’s grip tightened on Auum and they jumped down back into cover next to Tilman.

‘We take the last eleven shamen, we isolate Ystormun, and the Il-Aryn and Julatsans must hold him until—’

‘Until when, Ulysan? No one is coming. Not soon enough.’

‘Then we fight to the last man,’ said Tilman, his voice tremulous but his grip on his weapon strong. ‘And elf of course. And we show him no fear.’

Auum managed a fleeting smile. ‘You’ll make a fine warrior.’

Tilman blushed. There was a commotion over to their right. Julatsan spells were falling behind the enemy lines and in front of the Wesmen forming up to join the attack on that flank. An Il-Aryn
barrier flashed into place and black fire slammed into it, picking at its edges. It held for a moment before shattering.