James Barclay - Beyond the Mists of Katura

They had prayed then, long and fervently, seeking a means of escape from their confusion, or rather seeking confirmation that their decision was blessed by Yniss and the pantheon of elven gods. They had cleaned their ikari and their masks, using the Xeteskians’ ample supply of water. They had freed the humans’ horses to roam wherever they willed and set up a rolling guard about the perimeter, allowing six at a time to sleep.

‘The Protector who ran looked as if he died of fright,’ said Gilderon.

Takaar’s shrug was the merest acknowledgement of his words.

‘All are laid out for reclamation.’

‘You should have left them where they were,’ said Takaar.

‘They were courageous warriors who deserved respect. This fight was not of their choosing and we Senserii know more about that than anyone.’

Takaar paused in his drawings, which looked to Gilderon like the map of energy lines Takaar had carved in the temple at Aryndeneth. He turned his head to consider Gilderon.

‘Perhaps you are more insightful than you let on,’ said Takaar. ‘There was something else within the rope of mana that secured them to whatever place it was rooted. Something living.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘Of course you don’t,’ said Takaar, and his smile held no kindness. ‘Is there more you wish to tell me?’

‘We have brought you as far as we can,’ said Gilderon, and a weight lifted from his shoulders, letting him breathe in the fresh air as if for the first time. ‘We will leave at dawn. We will find the Wesmen reading party. They won’t bother you, but you know more will be coming from Xetesk.’

‘So you choose to betray me too,’ said Takaar, his eyes dead in his skull and his hands itching at his forearms. ‘Just like Auum. Just like Drech.’

Gilderon tensed. ‘I am faster than Drech.’

‘I will not kill you, Gilderon, even though you would not be fast enough.’

‘We must all choose our paths, Takaar. This search for the spell is the wrong one. Auum and our brother and sister elves are walking into a trap — heading, at your instigation, to join Xeteskian forces who want them dead. We have to warn them. We have to fight with them.’

Takaar sighed. ‘I suppose it was inevitable that you wouldn’t understand. Why would you? Only I can see the truth. You’ll be too late, you know.’

Gilderon inclined his head. ‘We have to try.’

Takaar turned back to his drawing and marks. He was muttering, talking to his other self.

‘Will you find it?’ asked Gilderon, curious in spite of himself.

Takaar said nothing, didn’t even appear to have heard the question.

‘Takaar?’

While Julatsa had breathing space in which to resupply, rebuild and refocus after the siege was broken, the threat of another major attack on the college was ever present. They planned to set up a series of mage-led watches along the northern coast and of course at Triverne Inlet to provide early warning. But it was the knock-on effect of the siege that was most keenly damaging to Auum’s expectations. The Julatsan city council refused to allow any of its militia to leave in support of the other three colleges in retaliation for the support withheld from Julatsa in its darkest hour, while the college decided to keep most of its mages at home, citing an unacceptable risk to its heart stone should the Wesmen return.

When the numbers were totalled the expeditionary force was pitiful, made worthy of the name only by Auum’s TaiGethen and the Il-Aryn, now under the reluctant command of a sour-faced Ynissul teacher named Rith. She had spent a day denouncing her own leadership skills when her name was put forward, but the fact remained that she was the most experienced and most respected practitioner still alive.

Harild had lent the force some cavalry to act as guides and escorts for the journey, but they were under orders to return before any fight. And very few of the elven mages Takaar had been so determined to come and rescue had chosen to travel, which left the TaiGethen’s Arch questioning his elves’ role here once again. Stein had demanded to go with them, which had been the single blessing, but they left the city with fifty cavalry, just eighty-two TaiGethen, one hundred and four Il-Aryn, and a mere seventy-eight Julatsan-trained elves of the four hundred or so Auum had been persuaded to rescue.

Supply wagons rattled along at the rear of the column where the Il-Aryn had also chosen to walk or jog. If there was one thing Auum could thank Takaar for it was his insistence that his adepts were fit. A hangover from his TaiGethen days in Auum’s opinion, though Rith had assured him in her dry humourless tones that it had everything to do with casting stamina and nothing to do with anything else.

Not one of the Julatsan mage council had seen them off, all distracted by some turn of events elsewhere. It was a fact not lost on Auum and he quizzed Stein about it, jogging beside his horse as they travelled across the easy ground west towards the Blackthorne Mountains.

‘They lost contact with their team at the Septern Manse a few days ago. Apparently Lystern have the same problem. We don’t know about the other two colleges.’

‘And they’re surprised, are they?’ said Auum. ‘Remind me why we’re going to join Xetesk again, would you? Sounds like they’re more likely to kill us than welcome us.’

‘You’re not seriously suggesting that our researchers have been murdered, are you?’

‘I think they have to consider it. And what are they planning to do about it? Send more to die, or make more pointless entreaties to Xetesk — out of whom they will get no information whatever?’

Stein shook his head, chuckling. ‘How long have you been here? Ten days or so, is it? And you seem to know more about the workings of Xetesk than most will absorb in a lifetime. I think your suggestions of murder and the abandonment of Julatsa are off target, but the general attitude of our Xeteskian friends? You’re spot on.’

Auum shrugged. ‘They are the human face of the Wytch Lords. I had a hundred and fifty years to understand exactly how their minds worked. Ystormun might have been forced out when the sundering came, but he and his band of bastards left behind plenty of malevolence, and it all rests in Xetesk, doesn’t it?’

‘They are not as black as you paint them,’ said Stein.

Auum increased his pace and ran to the head of the column, which snaked its way towards the chill of the Blackthorne Mountains dominating the horizon. The bleak grey peaks, capped with what Stein said was snow and ice, were imposing, pressing down on the tiny elves and humans travelling into their shadow. Calaius had mountains, but these were of a different scale altogether.

Their aim was to track along the foothills all the way down to Understone Pass, where they would join the fight. Auum was puzzled that the power of human magic had not already forced the Wesmen back, but he needed to see the battle for himself if he was to employ his people to their best advantage.

Stein was adamant that they wouldn’t encounter Wesmen along their route, and so far there were no signs of any enemy activity. Farms and hamlets were undamaged; the land was pristine, and when the question was asked, livestock was all accounted for.

It took Auum a little while to work out why this worried him. Had he been commanding Wesmen forces he would have sent significant numbers this way, hidden from all the college cities, to outflank the pass defenders. Something just wasn’t right and he wasn’t about to blame a lack of tactical acumen on the part of the Wytch Lords. Auum had learned through bitter experience never to underestimate Ystormun.