James Barclay - Beyond the Mists of Katura

‘And when you have defeated him, you will be the lord whose banner the free Wesmen flock to. You will rule the Wesmen.’

Sentaya took in Stein’s words and there was sense in them despite the enormous risk — supposing this Auum could actually be believed and Ystormun would come to him. But should it be true and they were victorious? The cloak of lord of the Wesmen would sit well on his shoulders. A fierce smile grew on his face, but doubt remained and he looked Stein deep in the eyes.

‘Should he come, can we beat him?’

‘Yes, we can,’ said Stein, translating for Auum. ‘My ancestor did it before and we can do it again. He is alone. You will have set the trap, my lord, and he will walk into its jaws.’

Sentaya nodded. ‘Many of my people will die.’

‘Many of ours too,’ Stein repeated Auum’s words. ‘But we will not flinch from it. You consider us enemies but we will fight as brothers. Trust us and for this moment trust our magic and what it can do to defeat our common enemy.’

Sentaya’s disgust and anger had given way to a controlled excitement. He looked again at Auum and his regard for the elf grew further, though he was confused. Something Stein had said earlier just didn’t make sense

‘Surely it is ages past that Ystormun was defeated. It is ancient lore that the shamen speak when they are relating the rise to power of the cadre. Yet you said Auum defeated him.’

Stein nodded. ‘The elves are very long-lived. Auum is more than three thousand years old.’

Sentaya gasped as he stared at the elf.

‘But he looks no older than me,’ he hissed. ‘How can that be?’

‘It is a gift of their gods to be so. Auum was there when Ystormun was defeated — as was my ancestor.’

Sentaya felt as if he was reeling, so many were the revelations.

‘Then your bloodline is spoken of in my legends,’ said Sentaya.

‘Will you join us? I know what my ancestor did. I know what Auum can do. We can beat them if we stand together.’

Sentaya wagged a finger, his mind clearing of distractions.

‘You’re clever, Stein, and I’m tempted, but I can see further than your words. Your magic can defeat Ystormun — I will believe you for now — but whose magic can trap them beyond the ability to strike back?’

Stein nodded gravely. ‘That ability rests with Xetesk. They must be informed of our intentions.’

Sentaya spat on the ground and stood up. Auum glared at Stein, who made a placatory gesture. Sentaya was not about to wait for him to translate what had just been said.

‘And now we reach the truth. You would have me fracture the fragile unity of the Wesman tribes and at the same time aid you in bringing a Xeteskian army to my lands to destroy the only power able to defend us against the filth of your magic. You want me to lay my country open to whoever would take it from me. That is why I despise magic and that is why you will ever be my enemy!’

‘You have me wrong,’ said Stein.

‘I don’t think so. Warriors!’

Wesmen all around him drew axes and blades. Instantly, the elves were on their feet. Mages began to prepare and the TaiGethen drew twin blades from scabbards on their backs. The menace emanating from them washed over Sentaya, and he was damned if it didn’t make the fire flicker and the beef spit.

Auum stood and barked out a command, holding out one hand towards his people, the other towards Sentaya. The elves sheathed their blades though it hardly lessened their sense of readiness. Auum appeared in front of Sentaya so quickly, he backed away a pace. Auum spoke, and Stein, remarkably calm and assured, cleared his throat.

‘Sentaya, please. You’re making a mistake. We have no wish to fight you. Will you hear Auum through me?’

Sentaya stared at Auum, who stood impassive before him. He gave a curt nod. Auum began to speak and Stein translated.

‘No Xeteskian army will destroy your people and occupy your lands. Julatsa, Lystern and Dordover will fight against them. So shall I and my people. Trust me. We share so much. We have suffered under the boots of the same enemies. We must not become enemies. Trust the elves.’

Sentaya’s ire was blunted a little but he could not yet begin to agree to what they desired of him. He waved for his people to lower their blades.

‘Even if it goes according to your plan, the easterners will have their magic and we will have no defence against it. We will always be vulnerable to their whim.’

‘The elves had no magic when man invaded Calaius and enslaved my people, occupied my lands. Yet we destroyed an army of six thousand warriors and mages. We used our land as you will have to use yours. I will tell you how. I will not leave you defenceless, that is my vow.’

‘You I trust, but I cannot trust him or his magic.’ Sentaya sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. So much sense, so much he wanted to believe but so much danger too. He would be gambling with the entire Wesman race. ‘Enough. We will not fight. We will eat instead, although we will not sit at the same table.’

Stein nodded. ‘Thank you, Lord Sentaya.’

Sentaya turned his back on Stein only to see Gyarth striding towards him, a look of cold contempt on his face.

‘You remain uninvited,’ said Sentaya. ‘We are not done yet.’

‘Yes, you are,’ said Gyarth.

Sentaya tensed, gripping his axe more tightly. ‘What have you done?’

‘I have spoken to the cadre.’

‘How dare you undermine my authority! I am lord of these tribes.’

Gyarth sneered. ‘There has been a shift in power. A long-overdue one. They have put up with you for too long, Sentaya, and now an army is coming to drag you before them to bend your knee or be destroyed along with these creatures. They will be here in three days.’

‘Traitor!’

Sentaya raised his axe and chopped it through Gyarth’s neck. The shaman’s head rocked back and fell from his shoulders, taking with it Gyarth’s dying expression of outrage. The body collapsed to the side. Sentaya threw the weapon to the ground next to the headless corpse. He stared at Auum.

‘It looks as if I am with you whether I like it or not.’

Ystormun tried to ignore their voices while he sorted through clothes, weapons and the texts he could not be without on the trail. His servant was waiting to pack his chosen belongings and load them onto his carriage. But the clamour in Ystormun’s mind was growing louder and it stole his train of thought, making him forget what he was looking for when he pulled open drawer or wardrobe.

There were no words being howled into the centre of his skull, just the deliberately discordant chants of the cadre, growing in intensity, summoning him to the Hexerion. Ystormun leaned heavily on his desk, trying to focus on the parchments he was sorting through, seeking just one that would give him solace and strength when he faced those who had beaten him. The shame still burned within him.

The pressure grew and he slammed his fist on the desk. His servant whimpered and Ystormun spun round to face the wretch.

‘Pack what I have laid out. I will finish this later.’

The Wesman, too frail to be a warrior but possessed of an organised mind, had been a long-surviving servant. His eyes saw Ystormun’s pain and anger but he dared not speak of it. Ystormun didn’t require him to; his expression was sympathy enough and it warmed him unexpectedly.

‘All will be ready for inspection when you return.’

Ystormun, a little unsteady on his feet, managed a curt nod before walking carefully from the room towards the Hexerion. Their knowledge of his approach was signified by a change in the tone of the voices in his mind to a sneering superiority.