James Barclay - Beyond the Mists of Katura

‘Anyone else feel a little uncomfortable about laying wards to murder unsuspecting warriors on the march?’ asked Stein.

‘No,’ said Auum. ‘After all, we’re trying to kill enemies, not allies.’

‘Can Ystormun divine wards?’ asked Ulysan, changing tack quickly.

‘Given time I’m certain he can, but there’s only him and he’s careless of his fighters,’ said Stein. ‘He won’t have the patience to wait, and anyway it’s a task so far beneath him I suspect he’d rather lose warriors than step from his carriage.’

The three of them were standing outside the stockade, watching mages at work and waiting for Faleen to run in and deliver her report on the enemy. She was just a few hundred yards away now and running hard.

‘There is that,’ said Ulysan. ‘Is someone chasing her or something?’

‘Just a Wytch Lord,’ said Stein.

‘Not bad,’ said Ulysan. ‘You’ve still got a lot to learn, though.’

Faleen slid to a stop in front of Auum, who kissed her forehead.

‘Did you enjoy the run? Come on, let’s go to Sentaya. We don’t want to be seen discussing your news before we’ve shared it with him. It’s his village under attack, after all.’

‘How far have you run?’ asked Stein.

‘I don’t know how far but for about seven hours,’ said Faleen.

Stein blinked. ‘But you aren’t even breathing heavily.’

‘Our host is waiting,’ said Auum.

‘Nor are you sweating,’ said Stein. ‘Unbelievable.’

It was two days since Gyarth’s beheading, and the look of disgust had not softened on Sentaya’s face. He had watched the mages and Il-Aryn practising and setting wards, and seeing magic being employed on his lands and in his name was causing a major conflict within him.

No caster had been allowed within the village, and the TaiGethen were treated with suspicion, angry eyes following them wherever they went. Tilman had been admitted, but his halting knowledge of tribal Wes had made conversation very difficult. Even so, Auum and Stein knew that Sentaya was wavering, that his tribesmen were not all behind him and that there were sections of the Paleon spread around the lake and further south that wanted the intruders dead. It seemed that only Sentaya’s respect for Auum kept their shaky alliance in place. Stein set alarm wards around their camp when they slept.

Sentaya met them where they would not be overheard. He nodded to Auum and pointedly ignored Stein before fixing his gaze on Faleen.

‘What has she seen?’ he demanded.

Faleen spoke and Stein translated. Sentaya refused to look at him.

‘It’s a considerable force and it will be here at first light tomorrow. I estimate nine hundred warriors and forty shamen plus their supply wagons. There’s a single covered carriage pulled by a two-horse team and attended by shamen in dark red clothing. It is guarded by warriors on horseback, clearly a personal guard. Ystormun is riding in the carriage. I saw him walking among his shamen last night.’

Sentaya shook his head and regarded Auum with something akin to awe. He gave a dry chuckle.

‘I had thought you were bluffing, Auum. And now it is real, isn’t it? Ystormun has come. For the remainder of the day you and I will set our tactics. When night falls we will feast together in my village.’ Sentaya glanced at Stein. ‘All of us. For one night we will be brothers and for one day we will fight as kin.’

‘It is the greatest honour you could bestow on my people,’ said Auum. ‘Thank you. The elven gods will bless you and keep you for greater tasks to come.’

Sentaya bowed his head. ‘I must speak with my people.’

Sipharec was dead. From healthy old man to corpse in so short a time, and no magic could save him. Kerela turned from his tomb, her head bowed. She whispered prayers as she walked through the college and out into streets packed with anxiety and rising panic.

So soon after the siege had been broken, the hopes of ordinary Julatsans had been crushed. Kerela spoke to no one and acknowledged no one as she walked, though she was aware that Harild, wonderful, strong, brave Harild, had fallen into step beside her.

She had known Sipharec’s death was imminent but deep inside her had hoped he would rise, heal himself and stand before them as he had done for so long. But of course he had not, and his last hours had been spent unconscious with his pain dulled by magic.

Kerela walked to the city’s main gates and ascended the stairs to the gatehouse. It was still under repair as were wide sections of the ramparts. Mages were busy investing strength into the walls, and she could hear the sounds of industry echoing around the city, manufacturing arrows, blades and bows.

Kerela stared out and her heart fell. She still remembered the stark beauty of the approaches to Julatsa and the horizon where you could see the sea sparkle on clear hot days. The scent of the long grass on the gentle rolling rises lingered in her memory and the laughter of children playing in the wide open spaces sounded in her head, hollow and bleak, a dream long shrivelled and dead.

The Wesmen were still gathering, and the clamour would be ceaseless until they attacked. There were so many more of them than before: thousands with ladders and sharp blades and with their shamen already chanting and dancing to gain the favour of the spirits. They were spreading out to encircle the city and this time they were not going to besiege Julatsa; they were going to come straight for the walls.

‘When will they attack?’ asked Kerela.

She felt completely overwhelmed and incapable of being in charge of any kind of defence. How she longed for Sipharec, Auum, Takaar and Drech. Powerful individuals blessed with knowledge and belief. She had been born well after the liberation of Calaius. She knew nothing of war.

‘No later than first light tomorrow,’ said Harild. He was gazing up at the sky where the light of afternoon was on the wane. ‘We’ve done all we can. The mages are briefed, the wards are laid outside, and we will power the grid the moment they advance. We know their tactics.’

‘But we have no TaiGethen, no capability to take down their shamen.’

Harild nodded, his head moving quickly. ‘I know, but our duty is to hold them at bay for as long as we can. In the meantime we must pray that Auum and Takaar do what they set out to do.’

‘And if they don’t? If they fail?’

‘They won’t.’

‘But if they do?’

Harild smiled a little sadly. ‘Then we must save what we can and make sure our lives come at great cost to our enemies. What else is there to do?’

Night was falling. Takaar had been waiting for a day and his patience was spent. He had called the Senserii from their hiding place in the hills above Understone Pass and now waited with them while the tortuous discussions among the Circle Seven of Xetesk went on and on. He could not settle to eat or rest. His mind was ablaze and his tormentor wouldn’t leave him be. He watched Gilderon watching him, and the suspicious Xeteskian mages and soldiers guarding the pass entrance watching all of them, wondering why their master had ordered them not to be touched.

Takaar half wished they’d try. Anything was better than this dreadful waiting, and he had not unleashed his energies in what seemed an age.

A small demonstration might speed up their decision.

‘Or my demise,’

Either works for me, you know that.

‘I thought you were all for this venture?’

Only because it will inevitably bring about your death.

‘Is that really all that drives you?’

What else is there?

‘Redemption, forgiveness and acceptance.’

I’ve never wanted those, and I fear they are beyond the murderer of Drech in any event.