James Barclay - Beyond the Mists of Katura

They’d increased their speed, making light work of the easy terrain and sleeping for only a few hours a night. The Senserii were still with him, despite his determination to visit the Manse, because they were his people. They were the only ones who still believed in him and trusted him.

And it confuses me every day that they do so.

‘You know nothing of loyalty,’ muttered Takaar as he followed Gilderon through some dense scrub, hoping to get a view of the Manse from a rise.

Your version of it, involving running out on your people and killing your most devoted student? No.

‘I will not return to ancient history and I will not explain myself again. Not to you.’

Two of the Senserii had scouted the ground around the Manse earlier that morning, and Gilderon had recommended they lie low until nightfall, given the human presence in and around the ruins. But now night was full and the cloud cover darkened the sky to a pitch that humans would find very difficult.

Takaar could see the glow of campfires long before they had crawled to the edge of the brush to look down on the Septern Manse. His eyes adjusted quickly to the scene of light and deep dark and he took in the blasted buildings and chattering humans while he breathed the strong scent of magic, past and present.

There was precious little of the Manse left. One or two of the outbuildings appeared largely intact but they were of no consequence — stores and stables, nothing more. The surviving footprint of the Manse gave a good impression of its scale. It must have been an impressive structure. At its centre a quartet of chimney stacks still stood proud, supported by the remains of dividing walls and a single door frame. Elsewhere, scarred brick and stone occasionally rose up a storey and in a couple of areas even supported a broken roof timber, but mostly the Manse had been blasted to its foundations.

Kerela had given him the impression that Wytch Lord magic had caused the destruction, but that was inaccurate. A Wesman attack may have triggered the devastation, but the remnants of the energy lines suggested that every single casting that had detonated was from the inside out.

‘He made this all happen,’ breathed Takaar.

And wouldn’t it be wonderful to know exactly how.

‘It would but I think it rather unlikely we’ll learn it here.’

‘Takaar?’

Gilderon was staring at him. Takaar held up a hand.

‘Just thinking aloud,’ he said.

Gilderon nodded, as he always did. Takaar always wanted to say he was talking to his tormentor, as Gilderon knew he was. But he never did.

It’s because you’re ashamed of me. That hurts.

‘What is our next move?’ asked Gilderon. ‘We can’t stay here. Auum will expect news of our arrival in Korina soon enough.’

‘Auum be damned,’ hissed Takaar. He looked down at the five campfires and counted around forty people gathered about them, pottering among the ruins with lanterns or buzzing around the extensive stores stacked near four rows of tents which could easily contain other humans. ‘When will the Wesman force reach here?’

‘Two days at the speed we witnessed. They are fit and strong,’ said Gilderon.

‘You like them, don’t you?’

Gilderon frowned and shook his head. ‘I respect them as fighters and in one respect I agree with Auum. We have more in common with them than with our chosen allies.’

‘Magic has changed all that,’ said Takaar shortly.

‘Magic is changing everything.’

Do I detect dissension?

‘You detect nothing,’ said Takaar and he searched Gilderon’s face for betrayal.

‘Takaar? We can’t stay here,’ repeated Gilderon.

‘How many Wesmen were in that raiding party, do you think?’

‘Fifty warriors and nine shamen,’ said Gilderon. ‘A significant number. But that’s not why we can’t stay here.’

Gilderon gestured at the humans in front of the Manse.

‘These are our allies,’ said Takaar.

‘Are you so sure of that?’

‘Why are you questioning me so much all of a sudden?’ asked Takaar. He looked into Gilderon’s eyes again but saw only loyalty there. ‘Seems like Auum has turned your head too.’

Gilderon tensed. ‘Auum has no influence over me. But he has raised proper suspicions concerning those who seek the spell.’

‘Gilderon,’ said Takaar gently. ‘Auum’s views on magic are based entirely on ignorance. Surely you believe that magic is the greatest force for good in this world or you wouldn’t be with me. Finding and understanding Dawnthief can only enhance that force, don’t you see?’

Your patronising tone is coming along very well. Have you noticed just what a skilled fighter Gilderon is?

Takaar saw the doubt in Gilderon’s eyes and felt those of all the Senserii on him.

‘It bothers you all, does it?’ he asked.

‘We are not schooled in magic. We respect its power for good, but we also fear its destructive potential. We believe there are some things better left hidden.’

Takaar nodded, feeling sympathy for the lesser intellect. ‘I understand. And yet you still agreed to come to this place.’

Gilderon shrugged. ‘We can report the current situation to Auum and Julatsa when we reach Korina.’

‘We’re going to do much better than that,’ said Takaar. ‘Those men down there are our allies against the Wytch Lords. It is our duty to warn them that the Wesmen are coming and in what strength.’

‘I must caution against that. If Auum is right and Xetesk does not believe itself an ally of Julatsa-’

‘He is not right,’ snapped Takaar. ‘And we will warn these people before they are attacked.’

Takaar stood and walked through the remaining brush, striding down the slope towards the campfires. He marched into the midst of the camp, causing consternation. Men scrambled to their feet, orders and warnings were shouted.

Beyond the tents Takaar saw around thirty men stand as one. Each was huge, hefting an axe in one hand and a long sword in the other. Like the Senserii they wore masks on their faces, though these were full face and looked like leather rather than cloth, with holes cut for mouth, eyes and nostrils.

Gilderon hissed for Takaar to stop. He took heed, finding himself in a wide circle of nervous humans with the Senserii forming up beside him. They watched the masked men approach. There was something inhuman about them: the energies that surrounded them appeared to link them together, almost as if they were tethered. He frowned.

‘Please,’ said Takaar in the human language taught him by Garan all those years ago. ‘We are allies here and we want the same thing. I can help you. I am Takaar.’

His announcement was greeted with total silence. The masked men were standing just behind a group of mages, whose energies gave them away. There was no immediate threat of violence but equally there was no doubting the threat of the tethered warriors.

One of the mages walked towards Takaar. He was a tall man, imposing with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. He was dressed in a heavy cloak over a leather jacket and trousers. His black boots crunched across fire ash.

‘I am sure your name resonates powerfully where you come from — Julatsa, I presume — but it means nothing to me.’

Hard to believe isn’t it? Someone, here in the middle of nowhere, doesn’t know who you are.

Takaar smiled in what he hoped was a benign fashion.

‘I am the father of the Il-Aryn,’ he said. ‘The father of elven magic.’

That’s it, play the modesty card.

‘Ah yes. Your magic is so fragile most elven adepts come to Julatsa to learn.’

Takaar’s smile became brittle like his temper. ‘Don’t insult what you don’t understand.’