James Barclay - Beyond the Mists of Katura

‘I must speak to Sipharec. They have to warn Lystern and Dordover what is happening. They’re going to come back, aren’t they? The Wesmen.’

‘I think that’s the plan. Right, Ryol, on your feet.’

Stein was still translating but Ryol seemed to understand anyway.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

‘You fulfilled your part of the bargain,’ said Auum. ‘Now on your way. Don’t look back and don’t even think to cast. My elves are quiet and they kill faster than you can work a spell.’

‘Of course,’ gushed Ryol. ‘I would never. . I mean-’

‘Go.’

Ryol could not believe his luck. He turned and began to jog away, thought better of it and walked instead. With a glance at Stein, Auum paced silently up behind him, drew a sword from its scabbard and chopped it hard and double-handed into Ryol’s neck, beheading him. His body flopped to the ground and his head bounced into the stream with a heavy splash.

‘Fuck!’ yelled Stein. ‘Auum, what have you done?’

Auum turned back, wiping his blade on the dead man’s jacket before resheathing it. Stein was staring alternately at him and Ryol’s headless corpse, gesturing uselessly.

‘You said you were going to show him mercy!’

‘That is mercy,’ said Auum. ‘He deserved a far more painful death. He killed my people, he showed no honour and he betrayed his own to save his life. Shorth will judge him. Now I will speak to my people. I need you with me, Stein. We have our countries to save.’

Ystormun strode across the rotunda, desperate to reach his rooms and rest. But he was not quick enough. Giriamun and Weyamun spotted him from across the great chamber. They were seated in two of the six ornate but terribly uncomfortable thrones built for the ceremonies of obedience and the swearing of loyalty from the Wesmen lords at the heart of the temple of Parve, but they pushed aside the advisors and slaves attending them in order to stand. Giriamun called his name.

His tone was laced with such malice that the mortals in the rotunda scattered, seeking refuge from whatever was to be unleashed about them. Ystormun paused mid-stride and held his head high, though he wanted nothing more than to let it fall to his chest, such was his weariness.

Instead he turned and walked towards them, steadily and with pride in his bearing. Weyamun chose simply to glare but Giriamun was allowing mana to crackle across his face and down his cloaked arms to spit from his fingertips.

‘Very impressive,’ said Ystormun. ‘Do you have some new slave you wish to amaze with your little show?’

‘With your every move, meddling in tasks not appointed to you, you weaken us further,’ said Giriamun, shutting off the mana stream. ‘And you do not even show us the respect of admitting your failures.’

‘I think the real sadness is that you were so absent from your duties that you did not notice my attempts to advance our cause until now.’

‘Absent?’ roared Weyamun. Chill fled around the rotunda. There were mortals screaming nearby. ‘Your hold on your position in the cadre is wafer thin, Ystormun. Our tasks took us to the brokering of a deal that will all but hand us Dawnthief on a plate. Meanwhile, you were stealing my forces and failing utterly to break Julatsa. Not only that; hundreds of your precious elven enemies escaped and you have no idea where they are.’

‘That is an interesting take on events, Weyamun, but I would expect little more from one as feeble-minded as you. You were a very long time negotiating something that will leave our ground forces scattered across Balaia and vulnerable to Xetesk the moment they choose to betray us — which of course they will and sooner than we think to betray them. It is a fool’s pact that we did not need to accept.’

‘Preposterous!’ spluttered Giriamun.

‘It is nothing of the kind, and you will see, in the coming days, that my actions with Julatsa were wise indeed. Significant numbers of our forces remain alive. Many elves died, many mages and many of the TaiGethen too, though I admit Auum still eludes me. But he will perish trying to join a fight without ever realising he is siding with his enemies.’

‘Only you could pretend that the breaking of a siege laid very skilfully by me is a victory,’ said Weyamun. ‘You have cost me hundreds of men.’

‘They are weak and prey to another attack,’ said Ystormun, waving a hand dismissively. ‘And the elves are dispersed.’

‘Oh yes, we know that,’ snapped Giriamun. ‘My latest labourers and researchers heading for the Dawnthief site encountered some of your elves. I was with my host at the time. And how fascinating to see them, even so very briefly, in action with their oh-so-effective staff weapons. None of my party will be breaking the earth after that encounter.’

Ystormun smiled. ‘The Xeteskians will continue their work and we will take Dawnthief when we want it. You should not have wasted your forces so casually.’

‘The Xeteskians will not continue anything, at least not for the time being,’ said Giriamun. ‘Those elves were coming from the direction of the Dawnthief site. Bynaar assures us that since the elves were captured there he has lost all contact with his team. You can see what this means, I’m sure.’

Ystormun paused and not for the first time had to respect some of the elves he had encountered. Giriamun had described the Senserii’s weapons, which meant that Takaar was at the Manse and, knowing his fascination, probably working there. Ystormun was almost tempted to pay him a visit.

‘Nothing you have said undermines my position,’ said Ystormun. ‘And if you will hear me at the full cadre meeting later, I will apprise you of all I have achieved on our behalf, and of my current plans.’

Weyamun sneered. ‘Your words are meaningless, Ystormun. The cadre meeting will be very interesting but it has little to do with your plots and schemes. You can talk about them all you like. We, on the other hand, will be discussing your censure and removal from authority.’

‘That is not in your gift,’ snarled Ystormun. ‘Nor would you dare.’

‘Then come and watch us,’ said Giriamun. ‘There will be fine wine too.’

Ystormun watched them stalk away. No doubt they would rest in the knowledge of their imminent victory. But much could happen before nightfall. The days were very long here.

Stein sat and listened to Auum, as he seemed to have done a few times recently. There was something so compelling in the way he spoke. It was clear he had great wells of emotion inside, and his anger was cold and deadly, but everything he said came straight from his heart and he had no time for tact and diplomacy, no time for the niceties of others’ feelings.

This time Stein was sitting with Tilman, who was completely in awe of Auum and something of a miracle himself, being the only survivor of the cavalry contingent. Stein had termed it luck; Tilman had told him it was faith in the elves that had saved him. That didn’t make any sense, but if Tilman believed it, who was Stein to contradict him? Anyway, Stein was glad of his company, youthful and excited as it was; after all, he was the only other human here and Stein had tired of being the sole human on the voyage to Balaia.

The prayers for the dead had been protracted and emotional. Each fallen elf had been named and the lamentations had been long and tearful.

‘What’s he saying now?’ asked Tilman, whose elvish was decent but not capable of deciphering either prayers or lamentations.