James Barclay - Beyond the Mists of Katura

Harild was known to hate interruption when he was reading in the evenings, but when he raised his head from the book, a work on the economics of magical research if Kerela recognised the script, his face was soft with a smile.

‘Please sit, Kerela. No elf can ever be considered an intrusion.’

Kerela smiled though her heart was heavy with Stein’s report. She pulled out the chair and sat down. Harild gestured to the wine and she shook her head.

‘I see I have something else to thank Auum for,’ she said.

Harild’s ambivalence towards the elves in his college and city was well known, but it had thawed almost to the point of gushing during the few days of fighting.

‘I am a soldier and I needed another soldier to fully reveal the strength of the elven heart. My apologies that it took me so long to see your true colours. I’m proud you are part of this college.’

Kerela blushed.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ she managed.

Harild cleared his throat and his voice returned to a measure of its usual gruffness.

‘Tell me what you’ve heard and who from. Leave nothing out.’

Kerela recounted her Communion with Stein. Harild did not interrupt, but as the news unfolded he closed his book and sat back, his eyes occasionally seeming to mist up. He placed his hands on the table, and every now and then they tightened on the edge, whitening his knuckles before he forced himself to relax.

Kerela watched Harild’s face first go grey and then age ten years before clearing and tautening. She could see him working through possibilities and plans and coming to the same conclusions she had. When she was done she found she was shaking and reached across to Harild’s goblet. She took a long swallow. He nodded and was silent for a while.

‘When will Sipharec be available to discuss this?’ he asked, his voice hoarse and quiet.

‘He’s exhausted,’ said Kerela. ‘I think he’s sicker than he’s admitting. We can’t afford to wait. There are some things we can’t make decisions about without the whole council, but you’re in charge of the army. What should we do?’

‘It is sadly evident that this whole conflict has ceased to be about defeating the Wytch Lords and has become a race for Dawnthief. I have no doubt that any alliance with Xetesk is only ever temporary, but to hope it fails before we are attacked again is naive in the extreme.’

Harild paused and refilled his goblet. He offered it to Kerela, who shook her head. He drained it and refilled it again.

‘One is enough.’

‘Good though, isn’t it?’

‘Very,’ she said.

‘We already have scouts and lookouts watching the sea for Wesman ships. There is little more we can do there, and we do not have enough men to launch attacks on any approaching invasion force. So we have to concentrate on our defences, as we already are, and on one other area.

‘We must make the Septern Manse ours. We should send a large force of soldiers and mages there; seed the place with more wards than we’ve ever laid; make sure that any force that comes to take it pays the highest of prices. And while we’re there, work to solve this magical riddle for ourselves.’

Kerela felt her pulse quicken. ‘You’re suggesting triggering conflict at the Manse.’

‘It has already been triggered. We know Xetesk’s true leanings, and they know that we know. Do you think they won’t move to reinforce their position? We have to get there first, clear out whoever’s there and make it ours. Ownership of that place is key to this fight right now.’

‘Doesn’t it weaken us here? We have to protect our city and people.’

‘And what better way than diverting enemy forces elsewhere? Look, we know Xetesk has murdered our team there and probably Lystern’s too. Dordover wasn’t even represented because of its foolish trust in Xetesk. We can retake it if we act now. Call a council meeting, make the decision. And remember, we can always recall our forces.’

Kerela found herself excited at the prospect of action.

‘I’ll call the meeting. At least we won’t be sitting inside our walls wondering when the end will come; we’ll be out there taunting it.’

‘That’s the spirit, and there’s more to discuss. Let me find you a goblet and we’ll finish this flask together, eh?’

Auum woke to a bleak morning. When he opened his eyes, all he could see were the towering peaks of the Blackthorne Mountains and he wondered what madness had possessed him to think they could climb them at all, let alone at the speed they needed to.

‘It always looks worse from a prone position,’ said Ulysan.

Auum took the proffered hand and let himself be hauled upright. He brushed himself down and stretched away a few aches left from his uncomfortable bed on the rough grass. All around him people were waking up. TaiGethen stretched, prayed and practised some moves; mages and Il-Aryn sighed or frowned, unhappy to have opened their eyes to this reality.

‘How are we doing?’ asked Auum.

‘Not so well,’ said Ulysan. ‘Come and see.’

Walking across a slight slope towards the stream edge where they had tried to make the wounded more comfortable, Auum saw Julatsan elves in the sky, monitoring the forest for enemies. Ahead, he saw bodies being laid out for reclamation while others were being tended, healed with spells as far as that was possible and given water and food.

Auum sent a silent prayer to Shorth as he walked among the bodies, each one a further blow to his will. He had known some would die, but they had fought so hard to live that he had allowed himself false hope. Five TaiGethen had gone to Shorth’s embrace along with eight Il-Aryn and ten Julatsan elves. He could hear crying and whispered laments for the dead.

Faleen was kneeling over the body of one of her Tai, the youngster Illyan. His head was scorched black and red and he had been blinded by fire. His injuries had been so severe the only help the mages could give him was relief from pain. Auum put his hand on her shoulder and she looked round, gripping it with one of hers. It was burned and blistered on the back too. Her eyes were moist, though she had known this was coming.

‘He never once cried out, never asked for anything but a little water. Look at what happened to him; he didn’t even have the chance to defend himself. This isn’t right, Auum.’

‘Have you slept?’

She shook her head and smiled. ‘No, I stayed with him, describing what I could see and remembering the rainforest with him. He said he could smell banyan and panther, and he died just as the sun crested the horizon. I think he could sense it, he was waiting for it. Yniss bless him but he was so good, so quick.’

‘He and all of our fallen will be avenged, and those enemy souls we send to Shorth will suffer eternal torment for their crimes. You’re with me, aren’t you, Faleen? I need you.’

Faleen nodded and stood, Auum helping her to her feet.

‘What do you need me to do?’

‘Stay with him if you want to,’ said Auum.

‘No, he’s gone, and we need to move. I have spoken all the prayers. He is with Shorth now.’

‘Yniss makes you strong, Faleen. We need to organise the wounded and get them away from here, back to Julatsa. We saved a team of horses and a cart, so they can ride in that. We also spared a couple of cavalry horses for those able to ride but the rest were bled out overnight. Marack and Thrynn’s Tais are butchering them for our journey.

‘Can you oversee the wounded? Take whoever you need and get them to the cart and away. Every moment they are here makes me more nervous. If the humans attack, we won’t be able to save them.’