James Barclay - Beyond the Mists of Katura

He made a judgement and he was proved right. We are not ready for the power that Dawnthief represents. Wars are being fought over it, even though none possess it.

‘It should have brought peace,’ said Takaar, weeping again, but this time he felt only sadness, not frustration. ‘Why won’t they understand?’

Men only see the weapon, not the knowledge that built it.

‘They will never stop looking for it, will they?’

And they will never be ready to possess it.

Takaar raised his head. The day was chill but fresh and the sun was burning away thin cloud. He stood up and walked about the ruins of the Manse, following the latent energies, visualising the building as it would once have been, pulsing with life, vibrant with learning. Just like Herendeneth. The desire to return there was so strong, but it was here that the future would be decided, not in the classrooms he had built.

You want to be remembered?

‘Revered not reviled. There is no path to the former.’

Self-pity has weakened you so much?

‘I don’t understand.’

You can stop this war. You can turn it; you can weaken the Wytch Lords.

‘Still trying to get me to kill myself?’

I have never stopped, well maybe once or twice I desired life over your death, but that isn’t the point. I know the likely cost, but it is for you to decide. Scratch in the mud here or become the elf you say you want to be in life or death.

‘But all my knowledge, all I have learned but not yet passed on. .’

Septern made his choice. You will have to make yours.

‘Get them up, get them up!’ shouted Stein. ‘Mages to me! Faster! Move like bloody lightning.’

Every moment he expected the dull impact, the flash of heat or ice and the end of his life in a brief screaming agony, even though he knew the enemy were not quite ready to cast yet.

‘Pair off!’ he called. ‘Lowest first, never mind the TaiGethen. Parilas, with me.’

Stein and Parilas swooped down to the lowest and slowest Il-Aryn.

‘We’re picking you off one by one. Be ready, don’t struggle and don’t tense up. We won’t drop you, I promise.’

The pair hovered behind an Il-Aryn, picked her off by her wrists and climbed hard, the wall rushing by in front of them. Up they climbed to the point where the incline became far shallower and the elves could sit above any casting, safe until they set off again.

They dropped the mage a few feet to the bare rock and flew back down, passing more mage pairs flying rescue missions. He saw the TaiGethen urging the highest climbers to greater efforts, practically pushing some of them up and out of range. Out on the approach the wards had all been divined and enough made safe. The Xeteskians were streaming through a single point and fanning out immediately they were inside the arcs.

‘One more trip!’ he called to Parilas.

The elven mage nodded his head and they powered down again. The Xeteskians were all but ready now; Stein could feel mana streams intensifying as they were drawn into multiple constructs. The remaining few Il-Aryn were scrambling up in panic now and arrows were starting to flick off the mountain.

Stein and Parilas reached their target and hauled him unceremoniously off the wall, surging up at prodigious speed. He was dropped safely next to his people. Others had made the entire climb and with them came most of the TaiGethen.

‘We need to try one more,’ said Parilas.

‘One more,’ agreed Stein.

They plunged down the wall. Mage pairs were still diving below them, grabbing Il-Aryn and darting back up into the sky. At a shout from the Xeteskian commander, the archers fell back. Moments later, the castings arced out.

Stein and Parilas drove their wings forward hard, braking their descents. Orbs of fire, at least thirty of them, crashed into the wall about forty feet up, each one amplifying the power of the last. A great wave of flame washed up the side of the mountain. It travelled at horrific speed, consuming a mage pair and their Il-Aryn passenger, turning them to ash in its wake. More were on the wall and would be taken.

Up it rolled, a hundred feet, two hundred feet, three-

‘Tilman,’ breathed Stein, then he shouted. ‘Tilman!’

Stein broke from Parilas and powered towards the ledge where he had left the boy thinking he was safe. But the fire wave would wash over his perch and he was helpless to move. Stein shot across the mountain, the heat travelling above the wave making everything hazy in front of him. It threatened to choke the air from him and vaporise the wings at his back, but he would not turn from his promise to keep the boy safe.

Stein was forced higher as the wave ascended. He looked down towards the ledge and saw it engulfed in fire just before the casting lost its force and began to fall back. He screamed his sorrow and anger, and his guilt rose in his throat, erupting as anguished cries.

Stein braked, staring at the ledge, unable to deny the image of poor Tilman wailing for help while his death roared up to steal him from the mountain. He rose slowly, but then he saw a figure moving carefully up the wall, crabbing left to where the incline began to ease.

He flew in to see if he could help, and as he closed in, the warmth flooded back into his heart. There was Auum, climbing with all the confidence of a TaiGethen born to the trees and with the strength and agility a man could only achieve in his dreams. And on his back, arms around his neck and with that one boot still in his hand, was Tilman.

Stein flew in close, his relief momentarily robbing him of words. Tilman noticed him and turned his head.

‘It was getting a little warm waiting for you so I hitched a ride with Auum.’

‘A wise choice,’ said Stein. ‘Thank you, Auum.’

‘I didn’t spend all that time saving his life on the ground just to let them cook him on the ledge,’ said Auum a little breathlessly. ‘How did we do?’

‘We couldn’t save everyone,’ said Stein. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Why didn’t we fly them up earlier?’ asked Tilman.

‘Because the Xeteskian fliers would have picked us off. We’d have lost twice the number,’ said Stein.

Auum nodded. ‘Come on. Let’s get to level ground and see who we’ve got left.’

The truth was that it could have been much worse. For all Stein’s guilt at not saving everyone, had he not risked his life and asked his fliers to do the same, the fifty Il-Aryn who were safe and well on the gentle slope leading to the ridge would have numbered thirty or less. They’d lost fourteen mages along with three Julatsan elves. It was a cause for sadness, for prayer and lamentation but, given their parlous position, not a disaster.

Auum sat with Ulysan and Grafyrre while others of the TaiGethen moved among the Il-Aryn, offering congratulations and seeing they were comfortable enough on their perch. They had their backs to the ridge and were looking out over Balaia.

‘How high up are we?’ asked Ulysan

‘About nine hundred feet,’ said Auum. ‘We’ve barely scratched this mountain.’

‘Feels colder already, doesn’t it?’ said Grafyrre.

He was right. There was a wind blowing from the west, and it brought with it the chill air of the mountain peaks and the snow and ice Stein had promised them. It was a gusting breeze, picking at hair and clothing. Auum was not looking forward to walking into its teeth.

‘Do you think it’ll look any better the higher up we go?’ asked Ulysan. ‘I mean, look at it; it’s so empty.’

Auum smiled. There was so much open ground, which undulated pleasantly enough and was all the shades of green and brown you could wish for, but it was so plain . There were trees, there was even a sizeable forest dead ahead, though in comparison to the glory of Calaius perhaps three drops in the sea. But it was a forest nonetheless.