James Barclay - Beyond the Mists of Katura

‘Holding is all they’re doing, Auum. I’m sending mages down but it’s confused. They have no lines of communication. Stein is somewhere down there but I’ve lost my Communion mage. One shaman gives them ten fingers of fire at this range. They’re murdering us.’

‘We have to distract them,’ said Auum. ‘Get your cavalry in the saddle. Ride out through the centre and don’t stop. Then circle wide so you can hit the rear.’

‘They’ll pick the riders right out of their saddles. It’s suicide.’

‘No, it isn’t. Cast left and right as the gates open. Ride hard for open ground.’

‘What about your precious Il-Aryn?’

Auum was stung. ‘I don’t know why they haven’t cast.’

‘Perfect.’

‘But the TaiGethen will not leave the cavalry defenceless. We’re going out too.’

Harild frowned. ‘Through the gates?’

‘No,’ said Auum. ‘Look to your cavalry. We’ll be ready.’

‘Now?’

‘Now.’ Auum stared at Harild. ‘You are brave beyond duty. A third human I actually like.’

Harild smiled. ‘Well, then this whole mess is worth the pain. You’ll be ready?’

‘Before you,’ said Ulysan.

They watched Harild reach safety on the rampart steps down to the ground. Auum sent Ulysan to the right-hand door of the gatehouse, and he reported back a mirror image of Auum’s view of the left.

‘The TaiGethen are spread too thin and we’ve lost some. The Wesmen are attacking on a wide front. We’re barely holding them back. Mages are heading for the ladders, Il-Aryn too.’

Auum leaned out of the back of the gatehouse. Ephemere was down there looking lost and frightened.

‘Ephemere! Ephemere!’ Belatedly, she looked up. ‘Report to Harild. Gather your Il-Aryn. Get a barrier up when the gates open.’

‘The gates?’ she said, her voice barely carrying.

‘Just do it. Do something! For the love of Yniss, we need you.’ Auum turned back to Ulysan. ‘Get out to the right. Have as many ready as you can. Wait for the castings and the cavalry before we move.’

‘And who’s going to save your sorry hide?’

Auum laughed. ‘I’ll run with Graf, you with Merrat. See you out there and may Yniss save you for greater tasks.’

‘Like saving your sorry hide.’

‘Precisely. Go.’

Auum leaped down to the rampart, feeling exposed without Ulysan by his side. He had been a constant presence for over eight hundred years and a friend for thousands. Ulysan was an extension of Auum — utterly indispensable.

He pushed the weakness from his mind and headed along the rampart, sword in his right hand. The Wesmen were attacking on a front almost two hundred yards wide. From the gatehouse he’d seen almost thirty ladders. Where the TaiGethen cells fought, the Wesmen could not gain a foothold but at four other points they were making solid ground and the Julatsan soldiers were beginning to wither under their onslaught. Fighting with their backs against a drop of thirty feet should they slip, they were losing ground steadily.

Auum spared a quick glance below. The cavalry was mounting up. Horses stamped and snorted, sweat flecked flanks and leaked from beneath saddles. Metal rang echoes against the gates, a counterpoint to the shaman magic picking at the timbers.

Auum had to make the end of the rampart before the gates opened in order to alert his Tais to the new plan — two hundred yards through packed fighting. He had one blade, one damaged arm, two feet and no Ulysan. He took a deep breath.

‘This is going to be interesting.’

Auum sought the shetharyn. It was there but he would not be able to hold it for long. He hefted his blade, leaned forward to hide himself from arrow and magic as best he could and ran hard alongside the crenellations, wishing he’d hurt his right arm instead.

Ahead, Thrynn’s Tai fought well: no Wesman had gained the rampart. Auum shot into their midst and smashed his sword into the skull of a warrior on the ladder. He paused, ducking behind the wall.

‘We’re going over. Follow the cavalry, use your speed. Trust in Yniss.’

Auum blurred away. Ahead the rampart was blocked. Two soldiers were falling back, one stood firm in a wide stance. Auum dropped and slid between his legs, rising and jamming his blade into the groin of a Wesman. He pulled it clear, thrust it into the chest of the warrior in front of him and leaped high, dragging his blade clear and turning a forward roll in the air over the heads of the fight. Auum landed, ran on two paces, jumped with legs outstretched and hammered both feet into the head of an enemy archer. He rode the falling body, and straight-punched another with his left hand, knocking him on to Hassek’s blade. Auum delivered the same message on his way past. Dimly, he heard the gates begin to crank open. He sped on, watching the fight unfold before his eyes: every blow, every spray of blood, every pace and every scream of fear or pain. Auum jumped clear over Marack’s head, yelled his message and landed with his legs around the neck of a Wesman on the wall. Auum flexed his back, dragging the axe man down to the parapet floor, leaping clear as he struck the timbers. He powered on, forcing his way along the wall at a crouch, now sliding on his back through a press of legs. His blade was running with blood, his passage spreading confusion among attacker and Julatsan soldier alike. His left arm ached and he felt fresh blood oozing from the wound in his shoulder. Almost there. He jumped high, spinning horizontally to take him over a press of Wesmen and landing crouched behind them in a breath of space. He jabbed his blade backwards into the calf of one, turned and sliced through the hamstrings of another. Delivered the same message to Vaart’s Tai. Auum raced along the rampart behind two more cells, angling his body out over the drop and forcing himself to even greater speed. Same message. He powered on, his eyes picking the clearest route, his sword now fending off bodies as he passed. Duck, slide, sprint, jump. He felt his breath shorten as fatigue began to take hold. Grafyrre’s Tai was ahead and the ladder in front of them was clear, the ground below littered with Wesmen bodies. The timbers were slick with blood and the stink of it made his eyes water. Auum ran in hard and dropped out of the shetharyn. He was out of breath and put his hands on his knees.

‘Yniss preserve me, but that was good,’ he said.

Grafyrre turned to him, his expression questioning. Auum opened his mouth to speak but felt the weight of Il-Aryn magic behind him and the dull glow of a barrier. Hooves thundered on cobbles.

‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘Just follow me.’

Gorsu could scarcely believe it. They were going to win, against all the odds, and not even the elves or the bastard eastern magic could stop them. From the ground the warriors swarming the ladders were roared on by their comrades who crowded at the bases for their turn. Many had died, many would still die, but Gorsu could see the gaps appearing in the defensive lines and the spaces his tribesmen were creating.

The shamen among the reserve line had done terrible damage but, more importantly, they had forced archer and mage alike from the walls to cower elsewhere, leaving the way clear for the assault. The early morning sun was shining on the Wesmen and although he hated Ystormun and his filthy cadre, Gorsu couldn’t deny he was looking forward to the glory they would bestow upon him when the day was done.

Julatsa had nothing left. A few arrows flew over the walls from the ground behind but they fell short. Spells still hit the ground in front of the gate, but the Wesmen had long since cleared the strike zone so now their only effect was to deplete the casters’ stamina. It was no surprise when the spells stopped falling.