James Barclay - Beyond the Mists of Katura

Their clothing was woefully inadequate. Worse, their bodies had adapted over generations to the heat, humidity and occasional gentle chill of the rainforest and were unable to cope with the cutting cold. Auum found it hard to draw a full breath and was not alone in feeling a growing sense of anxiety that the next time he inhaled, he might get nothing.

The Julatsan elves were able to generate some heat, which they could share with embraces that were all too short, but they had to maintain their stamina for walking, heating water and food and to fly if they must.

The further they climbed, the harsher the wind became. The white of snow and ice hurt their eyes; the savage cold numbed their faces and froze their hands and feet, and when it became a gusting gale, most of them were forced to move on all fours, their already aching hands having to clutch at stunningly cold rock through the snow.

Auum was doggedly staying upright, and Stein, who had demonstrated remarkable resistance to the cold, was right behind him. Ulysan, who was the fittest of them all, carried Tilman on his back and had to be in trouble physically. He only ever smiled when Auum looked down the line at him. Yniss bless him, thought Auum, the moment he ceases to smile we are all in desperate straits.

‘How far to the next face?’ shouted Auum, turning his head so his words were not whipped away by the wind.

Stein squinted ahead and his frown deepened. He could not hide his concern and it was only having Auum ahead of him which stopped him setting a faster pace. Night would fall quickly here, and they could not afford to be exposed when it did, or most of them would not survive until dawn.

‘At this pace, I don’t know. I can’t send fliers up, it’s too windy and the updraughts here are horrible to negotiate.’

‘Have you been up here before?’ asked Auum.

‘Often,’ said Stein. ‘I’ve walked this ridge before, but it never seemed so long and I always chose a fine day in the middle of summer when the snow is a mere memory at this height.’

‘What is there at the end of the ridge?’

‘Shelter of a sort. There’s an overhang and a rock shelf facing east so we can be out of the worst of the wind. Going to have to huddle close together tonight.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me it would be like this?’

‘I did, Auum. Didn’t change anything, though, did it?’

Auum shook his head. ‘And what happens after that? Where do we go next?’

Stein had the good grace to look a little sheepish as he replied. ‘I’ve never gone any further. The path to Wesman territory has never appealed.’

‘But your fliers. .’ said Auum, feeling suddenly vulnerable and utterly responsible for those he had talked into coming up here.

‘They haven’t been able to scout routes because of the wind. We need it to drop.’

Auum felt a different sort of chill. ‘You’re saying there may not be a way on and down?’

‘That’s the way of the Blackthornes, and it’s a good job too or the Wesmen could march armies over them.’

‘And what if we can’t find a route?’

Stein shrugged. ‘Then we will have to turn back.’

Auum put his face to the wind once again and pushed on a little bit faster.

‘That is not going to happen,’ he muttered, then he roared at the blank face of the mountains ahead of him. ‘Do you hear me? You will not beat me! As Yniss is my witness and my god, you will not stand in my way!’

The mountains said nothing but the wind blew harder, throwing his words back in his face, taunting him with the promise of more ice. Auum flexed his hands and pressed them into his armpits. It made no difference. He wondered if he’d ever be able to feel them again.

They had run far and fast, across hill and through valley past farmstead and hamlet by night and by day only to find this. Gilderon knelt in the midst of the ash and wept for the fallen while his Senserii spread through the carnage, trying to understand what had happened and how many had perished.

That all the dead here were elven was not in doubt. The weapons and buckles that had survived the inferno were unmistakable. Here and there some bones remained, but of the flesh and blood there was nothing at all. There were also bolts from cartwheels and part of one axle too.

‘This can’t be all of them,’ he whispered. ‘Yniss forgive me but I must pray that Auum at least has survived.’

‘Gilderon.’

‘Helodian,’ said Gilderon, looking up. ‘Speak.’

‘This was not their last stand. We found tracks leading into the foothills and Teralion has found bodies laid out for reclamation. The tracks head on towards the mountains. Cordolan is following them. It is clear a good number survived, though the ground makes it impossible to count how many.’

Gilderon felt a measure of relief. ‘There’s something else?’

‘Yes, there are cart and horse tracks heading away from here back towards Julatsa. Four horses, two pulling the cart, which was well laden, hopefully with survivors. The age of the tracks means we only just missed them. I put us less than a day behind any survivors.’

Gilderon saw a movement out of the corner of his eye and stood, gazing towards nearby woodlands. A shape shot out of them, soaring high into the sky. Another followed. More figures moved out on foot.

‘We’ve been seen,’ he said. ‘Senserii, at the ready.’

‘Humans,’ said Helodian. ‘Murderers. Tracks lead to and from the wood and into the foothills. They did this.’

‘They are fighting a war much like those at the Manse, assuming they are of the same college. What was its name?’

‘Xetesk,’ said Helodian.

The mages on wings came closer, hovering about twenty feet in the air and the same distance away. One said something Gilderon couldn’t understand though its tone suggested it was a question. Gilderon was silent and the mage repeated the question, this time in a more strident tone.

Gilderon pointed at him. ‘Xetesk?’ he asked.

The mage nodded. Gilderon hefted his staff and threw it in one smooth motion. The weapon flew straight, its blade catching a glint of sunlight before it struck the mage’s chest and he fell to the ground with a gasp. The other mage shot skywards and backwards shouting, presumably, for help.

Gilderon ran to the fallen mage, who was lying on his back. The ikari had fallen from his body. Gilderon picked it up. He spoke knowing the human couldn’t understand him.

‘You are guilty before the eyes of Shorth for the elves you killed here. Shorth is a god of great mercy, but not for you. I send you to him and your pleadings will not avail you.’

Gilderon jabbed his ikari blade into the mage’s eye, piercing his brain and killing him instantly. He pulled it clear and wiped the gore on the mage’s clothing. Looking up, he saw the humans massing and coming at them hard.

‘We can’t take them all,’ he said. ‘Where is Cordolan?’

Helodian pointed at a figure sprinting down the side of a low hill, heading towards them on a wide angle to avoid the human advance. Gilderon nodded.

‘Good. Let’s lose them. Senserii, we will run till dusk.’

And at dusk, hidden in a small copse, they chose their path and reaffirmed their faith and loyalty. Cordolan spoke first.

‘The survivors went up the walls. Some didn’t make it. There are bodies, burned and broken, abandoned to rot at the base of the mountain. But some must have escaped or why are the humans here still?’

Gilderon nodded. ‘Helodian, you are ill at ease. Speak.’

‘What we saw today. . the ash and the strength of the human forces still at the site. . we can’t defeat that sort of force alone. We don’t know how many of Auum’s people have survived and we can’t follow them over the mountain. We are many things but we are not climbers.’