James Barclay - Beyond the Mists of Katura

‘No, no, no.’ The bass voice belonged to the college’s general, Harild. He was an old man but his eyes sparkled with vitality and his body had not withered. ‘Two things have combined to bring the Wesmen to our walls, and neither is our progress in finding Dawnthief. First, we are the closest college for invasion forces coming around the Blackthornes from the north. Second, we have elves here, and the Wytch Lords reserve a special hatred for the elves. Can’t think why.’

Harild raised his eyebrows and Auum almost smiled.

‘That doesn’t explain your desire to own Dawnthief. According to Stein, no one knows where this thing is, is that right?’

‘Yes,’ said Kerela. ‘Septern’s Manse was destroyed utterly when the Wesmen attacked it seeking Dawnthief. We assume the secrets are there, but they remain hidden from us.’

‘Then surely it is in the right place now — out of reach of all. Am I being naive to suggest that if you really want to progress, you must agree not to seek it and make this location off limits. Guard it if you have to. If no one owns the spell, no one can use it, and I for one will sleep more easily.’

‘It’s a lovely plan, but Xetesk will never stop searching. They are terrified of others, particularly Dordover, finding it first.’

‘Forgive me,’ said Sipharec. ‘But is this pertinent to our current situation?’

‘Tell me,’ said Auum, ignoring Sipharec. ‘Which college has the largest army?’

General Harild shrugged. ‘Xetesk, easily. Why?’

‘And yet they haven’t managed to send even a token force to your aid? Not a solitary mage?’

Sipharec spread his hands. ‘They have an invasion of their own to deal with.’

‘How wide can this pass be if it takes three colleges to repel an invasion there?’ Auum looked around the table and was dismayed at what he saw in the expressions on all their faces.

Only Stein could see where he was leading. ‘Understone Pass will take a large cart and team very comfortably,’ he said.

Auum shrugged. ‘Allies, you say? Seems to me they are sacrificing you. Once you’re out of the game it’s one less hand grasping for the spell, isn’t it?’

He was right and they knew it, though none of them would admit it. Sipharec exchanged glances with both Kerela and Harild.

‘So where does that leave you? Will you help us?’ asked Sipharec.

‘The Wytch Lords must be destroyed or they will destroy Calaius. This is where the strength to defeat them lies. But I will not leave us at greater risk in the aftermath of their defeat. I will not fight alongside Xetesk; their true motives are plain enough. And you’ll have to decide where you line up. If I learn we are being used to further anyone’s claims to Dawnthief, I will withdraw every elven warrior and Il-Aryn and return to Calaius. Take our chances there.’

Takaar cleared his throat. He’d been fidgeting ever since the meeting had begun. Auum tensed but said nothing.

‘If I may speak,’ said Takaar.

Kerela favoured him with a warm smile. ‘The chamber is yours.’

‘Thank you.’

Takaar stood and walked around the table as he spoke, stopping to rest a friendly hand on a shoulder or refill a wine or water cup. He didn’t get too near Auum and repeatedly worried at his left arm with the fingernails of his right hand. Auum determined to relax and watch the performance, let him say what he felt he must. Either his instability would trip him up or his supreme arrogance would undermine him.

‘We do not all think as Auum thinks. Auum is a warrior. He is the finest ever to grace the TaiGethen and so the finest ever to set foot in your country. He understands speed and strength of arms. He knows a hundred ways to kill you with foot, fist and blade. But he doesn’t understand magic. He has no conception of the power a union of magics can generate. The Wytch Lords fear a union of elven and human magic, and that is why they are outside these walls. Not to fight alongside Xetesk is patently absurd. Only together can we defeat them.

‘And while Auum’s TaiGethen are a blessing in every fight, they are not critical. My Il-Aryn are. They answer to me and I will bring them to your aid.’

Drech stood, slapping the table. ‘You do not command the Il-Aryn,’ he said. ‘I do.’

Takaar’s face was stone for a moment before his lips twitched and he muttered words in ancient elvish, presumably to his tormentor. A smile slid across his expression but the fury in his eyes was raw and unchecked. Auum sat back, satisfied that the lucidity of Takaar’s speech was about to be comprehensively undone.

‘You are an administrator,’ said Takaar, moving steadily around the table towards Drech. Auum could see Kerela was desperate to intervene but at a loss as to how. ‘You organise the timetable of lectures and the menu in the refectory. You are no leader, you are no commander. You are no visionary. Who do they look to when they need inspiration or spiritual help? Not you, Drech, never you. You are closed; I am open.’

‘It really is amazing how little you see, perched in your hut at the top of the hill,’ said Drech. ‘We all admire your insight and your teachings. You are the one who understands most about the energies of the Il-Aryn. And while you can impress the young, wrap them in the stories you weave, they would not follow you into a stream to go for a paddle. They boarded ship because I asked them to. You are here because they love you, as they would a charming but infirm grandparent. But they do not follow you. You lost that honour on Hausolis and you will never get it back.’

Auum felt the crushing weight of magic across his back and shoulders. Tension filled the chamber. Kerela was out of her chair and running around the table towards Takaar.

Drech was staring at Takaar, fear on his face. Takaar pushed a hand towards him and he flew back, crashing into Ulysan, who caught him before he fell to the floor.

‘Takaar, no!’ screamed Kerela.

‘We shall see where the strength really lies,’ spat Takaar, continuing his march around the table.

Drech was scrambling to his feet, his hands held out in front of him, desperately trying to form something to protect himself.

‘This chamber will not see magic cast,’ roared Sipharec.

‘Takaar, stop!’ said Kerela, laying a hand on his arm.

Takaar stared at her and Auum saw her courage wither. She stumbled back a pace, and Auum surged from his chair and onto the table, heading for Takaar.

‘Gilderon!’ he called. ‘Help me.’

Takaar had eyes only for Drech. He stopped, appeared to be gathering something in his hands and then slowly began to close them into fists. Drech clutched at his head and shrieked. Auum dived across the table and took Takaar about the chest and shoulders, bearing him onto the floor to slide into a wall.

Drech’s agonised cries ceased. Auum looked into Takaar’s eyes and punched him on the chin, rapping his head against the stone floor and knocking him unconscious. He felt a hand on his shoulder pulling him up.

‘Get off him!’ hissed Gilderon.

Auum spun as he stood. ‘You were too slow, Gilderon. You failed him. Don’t let it happen again.’

‘You do not touch him,’ said Gilderon.

‘The next time he threatens an elf I’ll do more than touch him. Get him out of here and keep him calm. See that he behaves.’

Gilderon stared at Auum, the muscles in his face at war as he debated deep inside whether to obey. He put a hand on Auum’s chest and pushed him away from Takaar, who was groaning and muttering on the floor. Gilderon stooped and picked him up, placing him over one shoulder. He turned and strode from the chamber.

Auum ignored the Julatsans and Kerela, who stared at him, demanding answers. Drech was sitting up, rubbing at his temples while Ulysan held a cup of water for him.