James Barclay - Beyond the Mists of Katura

Iriess thought to protest but Auum held her gaze until she nodded.

Auum continued: ‘Duele, you will fight with Ulysan and me.’

Duele smiled through the pain of losing one of his own. ‘The honour is too great,’ he said.

‘Don’t be daft,’ said Ulysan, his smile as broad as Duele’s. ‘A taste of your future, perhaps.’

‘Shut up, Ulysan,’ said Auum. ‘Tais, let us swim hard and fight harder. Keep low in the water. We’ll take the flagship stern to bow.’

Stein took a closer look at the enemy vessels in the second row. The one they’d attacked had surviving crew and at least one shaman on board. It was sailing away after the flagship, still under control. None of the others showed any signs of life.

To his left, Capricious was all but gone. She was lying on her side with water bubbling and frothing around her. Too many would go down with her but he couldn’t worry about what that meant to their efforts in Balaia. Instead, Stein searched the flotsam for survivors. He was heartened to find a significant knot of them on or around the stripped-clean mizzenmast.

Both Drech and Takaar were among them along with the latter’s Senserii guard, masked elves who made Stein very nervous. Drech was full of energy and spirited words. Takaar was plainly lost within himself, staring at the wreck of the ship as if he expected to wake from his delusion of invulnerability at any moment.

Stein flew low over them, telling them he’d be back, an idea sparking in his head. He turned and flew back towards the enemy ship taken by Capricious ’s complement of TaiGethen.

‘There they are,’ he shouted into the wind.

It was a sight to truly gladden his heart. TaiGethen warriors, perhaps fifteen of them, were swimming to the side of a longboat on which five wounded elves were seated while eight others pulled on oars. They’d lost two, which was a shame but not a disaster by any means. Stein called a warning of his approach and landed lightly on the bow, resting his feet but not too much weight.

‘You’ve more to pick up,’ he said. ‘The other side of the wreck. Takaar is with them.’

‘We thought as much,’ said a voice from the water to his left. Stein looked down at the elf, fighting briefly to remember his name. Grafyrre, that was it; one whom Auum held in the highest regard. ‘We’re heading to pick up survivors and get on board the Soul .’

‘Perfect,’ said Stein. ‘She’s coming about now. I’ll spot survivors for you. Most can swim; some you’ll need to pick out of the water.’

‘Takaar?’ asked Grafyrre.

‘Still alive. Drech too and a good number of your people.’ Stein dropped onto the bow seat and dismissed his wings. He turned and looked forward, waiting until they had cleared the sinking wreck and given him clear sight of his target before he began to cast. ‘Keep her steady if you can. There’s a little thing I need to do.’

Even before he had completed the shape and cast his spell of rapacious flame and heat, he was imagining the screams of the burning shaman and how satisfying it would be to destroy the last of those who had broken Capricious .

The body shuddered and grasped at the bow rail to steady itself. Slowly Ystormun gained control. He found the legs and made the body stand. He found the arms and adjusted the grip on the rail to lever himself upright. The view gradually melted into focus, giving him a view of glorious clear water ahead and Calaius on the horizon.

But then the hearing cleared from its muted roar and he could hear anxiety in every command and a harsh edge to the shouts of Wesman warriors. And when the sense of smell finally came to him, the stench was of magic and fire. Ystormun shook the head — his head — but nothing changed.

Gasping in a breath, he turned, looked back down the ship and wasn’t sure what to stare at first. Way back now, he could see two of his vessels on fire. Others sat dead in the water, sails limp. Another was sailing off into the east and the open ocean to nowhere. Only one other of his ships was still with him, and chasing them were two, no three, elven cutters.

A howl of alarm dragged his gaze from the disaster in the distance. He saw elves swarming over the stern. Like rats, or perhaps it was monkeys, they came. Ystormun cursed: TaiGethen. What in all the hells were they doing here? How in all the hells could they possibly be here?

But here they were. They engulfed the wheel deck, executing captain and helmsman and murdering shamen in mere moments. The ship began to turn to the east, the wheel set over hard. And on they came, vaulting the rail, hurling their damned jaqruis as well as themselves at the defending Wesmen.

And however courageous the tribesmen might be, they had little chance. The elves were so fast . Perhaps his memory had dimmed over the centuries, but he didn’t remember this speed.

Ystormun moved. He raced to the forecastle rail and bellowed down to the main deck, ‘Defence! Shamen get up here and prepare. I want two lines of warriors in front of us now and I want elvish eyes smoking before we crest another wave. Move!’

Shamen and Wesmen scrabbled to obey, knowing instantly who was in possession of the body. In an instant nine shamen had joined him with Wesmen guarding the stairs.

‘Get line of sight down the ship. One rank. Cast on my word,’ said Ystormun.

The wave of TaiGethen washed around the mainmast. Ystormun saw a Wesman begin to raise his blade to defend himself, but a sword pierced his gut and a foot crushed his windpipe so quickly he didn’t manage to cry out when he fell. TaiGethen ran along the rails, slashing sheets and lanyards. Sails flapped lazily.

‘Ready!’ called Ystormun. ‘Cast.’

He heard a mourning sound repeating over and over. The air was full of flashing metal. He threw himself to the ground behind his shamen who screamed and jerked as dozens of crescent blades thudded home. Blood sprayed in all directions and a body fell on top of him, its owner trying to pull the jaqrui from his forehead though his brain was oozing around it.

Ystormun shovelled the twitching body off him and stood, preparing to cast, determined to take at least one of them before this body was slain. He was greeted by the sight of a single elf leaping high over the last of the Wesmen, turning a somersault and landing directly in front of him, blades poised.

Ystormun stared, his casting forgotten.

‘You,’ he gasped.

The TaiGethen’s eyes widened slightly but his mouth twitched up in the shadow of a smile.

‘Yeah,’ said Auum. ‘Me.’

The edges of his blades were so cold.

The Soul of Yniss had joined Gyaam’s Blessing in the pursuit of the one remaining enemy ship still sailing south. Drech with the rest of the survivors of Capricious had come alongside the fast-moving elven vessel and clambered up rigging thrown over the starboard rail. Lines had been secured to the longboat and it had been hauled up the side, complete with its injured passengers.

Ahead, the enemy flagship was wallowing, sails flapping in the breeze as it gradually came into the wind. TaiGethen were in longboats heading back to them. Others were going back through the enemy vessels. Each one was to be scoured and stripped of anything useful. Spirit of Tual had been tasked to stand on station to take any cargo on board.

Drech was standing in the prow of the Soul with a strangely calm and thoughtful Takaar. Stein was aft, reporting to Esteren, and was intent on sleep, having spent every mote of spell-casting stamina he possessed. Drech didn’t blame him for keeping his distance from the Il-Aryn’s finest but most flawed practitioner. The enemy ship before them was under full sail and they would not catch her before nightfall. Drech felt the tension across the ship.