James Barclay - Beyond the Mists of Katura

‘Bless you, Ulysan,’ said Auum, feeling his spirit flicker more strongly than it had in days.

Ulysan stood and stretched, looking forward. He stilled, staring into the distance.

‘What is it?’ asked Auum.

‘Dust off your jaqruis,’ said Ulysan. ‘Stein was right. I see sails.’

Auum and Ulysan trotted aft to the wheel deck. Halfway there, Auum stopped and stared about him at his surroundings, the vastness of the Sea of Gyaam and the ships flanking them.

‘What is it?’ asked Ulysan.

‘I’ve spent too much time up top,’ said Auum, his eyes tracking a wave, the pitch of a ship and the crew busy with such focused purpose.

‘We’ve just been through this,’ said Ulysan.

‘I’ve been blind to how majestic it is, how quiet and how very, I don’t know. . efficient .’

Four ships had sailed from Ysundeneth, each with a crew of sixty, a TaiGethen contingent of thirty and forty Il-Aryn. Plenty more had been left on the dockside, and despite Takaar’s outbursts, there they remained to defend the capital should this expedition fail.

There was a bleak beauty to the scene of white canvas, dark-stained wood and grey sea. It was so different from the rainforest and its multitude of greens and browns studded with colours as vibrant and wonderful as new birth. Auum’s nose was full of the scents of sea spray, fresh paint and oil; his ears found joy in the sounds of the ocean passing beneath them, the creak of timbers and the snap of sailcloth.

Elven cargo ships were lower, longer and faster than their human counterparts but not as reliable in heavy seas and storms. The high-sterned ships favoured by humans had little style to them but were effective and their cargo capacity was huge, perfect for the timber they so desired. Elven traders needed greater speed to get perishable goods to Balaia quickly, and their hulls and rigging had developed along a different path as a consequence.

Auum smiled.

‘I could get used to sailing.’

‘You’re only saying that because we’re sailing towards a fight.’

Auum punched Ulysan’s shoulder. ‘Cynic.’

They moved to the wheel deck. The skipper, Master Esteren, was standing next to his wheel hand, his view of his ship uncluttered. Auum was yet to see him smile, and a trademark frown dominated his weathered and deeply tanned face. His powerful arms were folded and he rolled with the ship without need of support, muttering corrections to the helm or barking orders to his hands that carried clear from stern to bow. His crew, plainly in awe of him, snapped to fulfil his orders with an alacrity and accuracy that Auum could only admire.

‘Master Esteren,’ said Auum.

‘Auum,’ said Esteren. ‘Enjoying the view from aloft?’

‘It has improved considerably of late. You need your lookout up there to give you an accurate measure because there are sails a way off to the north-west. Distant yet but we don’t have time to waste.’

Esteren barely acknowledged Auum, switching his gaze along the deck.

‘Selas, to the nest. Sails reported north-west. Distance, course and closing speed, please.’

‘Done, skipper,’ came the reply.

‘The accepted term is aye, Selas. Be right or. .’

‘. . be off. Sorry, skipper.’ The lithe, small and very young iad streaked up the mainmast rigging and onto the iron spikes to the crow’s nest.

‘Auum, find me your chosen adept. We need to set up ship-to-ship communication.’

‘To back up your signals?’

‘No, to relay my true orders. When the time comes, all my signals are going to be lies.’

Auum smiled. ‘I like that.’

‘That’s why I’m in charge,’ said Esteren.

Selas’s voice echoed down from the crow’s nest.

‘Ten sails. Seven points off the port bow, heading south-south-east, on a run. Our speed, five knots on a long starboard tack, closing speed approximately nine knots. Distance sixty nautical. That’s all, skipper.’

‘Stay up, Selas.’ Esteren nodded. ‘Less than seven hours to contact. Enough time to set ourselves properly and come on them in the right formation. I need that adept. Have your people rest. If this goes right it’ll be over quickly enough, but even for a TaiGethen it’s going to be draining. I’ll call you when you need to prepare.’

‘Seven hours?’ said Ulysan. ‘I thought we were faster than that.’

‘We’re close-hauled, Ulysan,’ said Esteren. ‘And we aren’t going to get any quicker until we can turn with the wind for a return attack if we need it.’

‘Thank you, skipper,’ said Auum. He turned to go, but Esteren called him back.

‘They outnumber us comfortably, more than two to one. My crews are going to have to perform miracles to get us where we need to be to get you aboard and fighting. That means you have to be ready to go on my word. And the adepts have to be ready to combat any magic they deploy. We’re vulnerable when we’re close.’

‘So are they,’ said Auum.

‘Don’t let me down.’

‘Aye, skipper.’

Esteren almost smiled.

Takaar watched the enemy vessels approaching, and with them came a growing dread.

‘Can you feel that?’ asked Drech, standing by him near the bow.

Takaar stared at Drech and could only feel sorry for him.

‘I have been feeling it for some time,’ he said. ‘It is the energies of the Wytch Lords. An amazing force, isn’t it?’

‘You admire it?’

‘I respect it and I try to understand it. How else can we seek to defeat them?’

Drech looked forward. In a little less than two hours they would be in the thick of combat. Takaar could tell he was scared, although he sampled exhilaration and anticipation himself.

Until the first attack comes and you scurry below decks to cower under a tarpaulin. Were you ever a mighty warrior?

‘The very best,’ muttered Takaar, though the jibe had struck home.

Drech seemed not to have heard him. ‘Are they on board? The Wytch Lords?’

Takaar smiled indulgently. ‘No, Drech. Can you not feel how the energies are spread across the vessels? It is just as Stein said. Their shamen are conduits. There is no focus for the power, is there?’

‘So they’re weak,’ said Drech, and the shiver that had been running through his hands calmed.

Takaar sighed

How is he in charge of training?

‘I don’t know,’ said Takaar.

‘What?’ asked Drech.

You put him there.

‘He was the best we had. Still is, probably.’

‘You’re not. .’ began Drech. ‘Yniss preserve me, are you talking to me, Takaar?’

Takaar waved his hand in front of his face as if trying to deter a persistent fly.

‘Of course.’

‘So, are they weak?’ asked Drech.

‘Of course they aren’t weak!’ shouted Takaar. ‘And if you do not marshal your adepts correctly the shamen will tear this ship to splinters!’

Drech looked over Takaar’s shoulder. A few adepts were gathered there to watch the enemy approach. Drech lowered his voice.

‘Most on board this ship have no experience of combat. They are already scared and they do not need to hear from you that any mistake will lead to certain death.’

Takaar shrugged. ‘It is the truth.’

‘Maybe it is. But as their spiritual leader you need to tell them they are strong enough to get through and that you will stand by them every moment.’

‘They are strong enough.’

Drech jabbed a finger at the adepts, none of whom knew quite what to do.

‘So tell them!’ he snapped. ‘Please.’

Takaar felt stung. ‘Why are you shouting at me?’

Oh, shame, poor little Takaar being told off.

‘The fight is close,’ said Drech, his voice low once again. ‘We have to stand together confident of victory. So tell them what they need to hear.’