James Barclay - Beyond the Mists of Katura

The wards did terrible damage. While Sentaya’s Wesmen sheltered inside the stockade, sending prayers to their spirits and cursing human magic, their enemies had run headlong into the wide arc of wards Stein had placed to encircle the village and had made active when all were either inside or gone south for safety.

Explosions reverberated through the ground and howling flames glared in the sky. Tribesmen were slaughtered in large numbers and Auum saw the sense of injustice burning bright in Sentaya’s eyes.

‘I should not have allowed you to do this,’ the Wesman chief said, his face taut and the muscles of his neck corded and proud under his skin. ‘Now human magic stains my hands. These are my brethren, the people I wish to rule, and they will not forget this day.’

Outside the advance had halted, the roaring charge losing all impetus to be replaced by wails of pain, the cries of dying warriors and the crackle of multiple fires.

‘Think, my Lord Sentaya,’ said Stein. ‘They are nine hundred blades, outnumbering you six to one. No one doubts your courage or skill but those odds are not survivable. What your subjects won’t forget is how you faced the Wytch Lord, Ystormun, and won, and how some chose black fire to further their own selfish ambition.’

Sentaya knew Stein was right, but Auum could see him wrestling with himself, for a moment unable to provide the leadership his warriors needed. Some were frightened, some angry, and none relished what was being done in their name.

‘They’re advancing again,’ called Thrynn from her perch on a barn overlooking the field. ‘The shamen are moving up closer behind their warriors. It’s a slow advance to the last line of wards.’

Auum could hear orders carried on the breeze and feel the vibration of marching feet through the ground.

‘I need a distance countdown,’ said Auum.

They were as ready as they would ever be. A line of warriors, mainly Sentaya’s, stood ten paces back from the stockade ready to attack the moment it was breached, to engage and to break off in an attempt to bring the enemy into the village. The rest of the force was scattered in and around the buildings, much to Sentaya’s dismay.

‘We need chaos, not line on line, or we’ll lose,’ Auum had said. Sentaya had wanted to lead his warriors in a charge.

Stein’s mages were set behind the warrior line, sending shivers down the spines of the Wesmen, who had sworn never to turn their backs on human magic. And the Il-Aryn were in three groups, charged with providing as much defence as they could muster against the black fire as the warriors charged. Beyond that, planning was pointless.

‘Seventy-five,’ called Thrynn.

‘Closing on the obscurement ward grid,’ said Stein,

‘I wish those had all been fire walls now,’ said Ulysan.

‘Stamina is a finite thing. This was the best we could do in the time,’ said Stein a little testily.

‘Just saying,’ said Ulysan.

‘Isn’t it time you went to your place?’ said Stein.

‘I think you’ll find my place is next to Auum. Always has been.’

Auum held up his hands. ‘Will you two stop it? What is this?’

‘Sixty-five,’ called Thrynn. ‘Wards in five.’

‘It’s called bickering,’ said Stein. ‘It’s what brothers do.’

Ulysan enveloped him in a bear hug and gave him a big wet kiss. Stein pushed him away and wiped at his cheek.

‘That’s disgusting,’ he said.

‘It’s for luck,’ said Ulysan.

‘Does he do that before every battle?’ asked Stein.

Auum shook his head. ‘It’s a first.’

‘I’m. . honoured.’

‘Just get casting,’ said Ulysan.

A series of dull thuds was heard. With the triggering of the first ward, the rest followed in sequence. Thick oily dark grey smoke spread in all directions like the deepest of winter fogs, rising thirty feet into the sky.

‘Go, go!’ called Sentaya.

His forty or so archers ran through gaps opened in the stockade on the three land-facing sides of the village. The Julatsans followed, already preparing spells. In the village the Il-Aryn began their work, ready for the inevitable.

‘Speak to me, Thrynn.’

‘Nothing to see, Auum. The smoke is too thick. Arrows are flying into it all across the arc. Spells away too. .’

Auum saw them go as well as the black shafts of arrows, twenty orbs of fire trailing smoke and plunging out of sight just before impact. Auum closed his eyes. Like the wards, the Wesmen would not have seen them coming. More arrows shot across the gap. A handful were returned, but such was the confusion within the smoke that nearly all were poorly directed, falling harmlessly towards the lake or even back down among their own.

Above the smoke huge drops of fire began to fall from the clouded sky. Auum scanned across the arc of the attack front. Like burning leaves falling in a rainforest fire, they tumbled into the fog. And like many of Gyal’s tears, the fire rain was torrential but short-lived.

Auum shuddered. How many were perishing blinded by the smoke and with claws of fire digging into their heads and backs? Again orders were ringing out above the sounds of pain. Still they had order and courage, and Auum could only respect them for that.

‘I see figures!’ called Thrynn. ‘Smoke thinning at thirty yards.’

‘Back inside!’ called Auum.

The call was taken up by elven and Wes throats, bringing archers and mages scurrying through the gaps, which were immediately closed. Well directed arrows started to come over the stockade, sending defenders hurrying for cover. Thrynn lay prone on the barn roof, still calling out the closing distance.

Sentaya roared for his warriors to get back into line. Bows were discarded, swords and axes bristled. Stein’s voice in his most melodious elvish reorganised his mages, bringing them back towards the houses before turning to prepare again.

‘Twenty.’

Auum looked up. ‘Thrynn, don’t-’

A bolt of pure black the thickness of an arm crossed the space faster than an arrow and struck Thrynn square in the forehead. Her skull burst, her body twitched and fell from the roof of the barn, leaving blood and brain smearing the thatch. For a heartbeat Auum struggled to understand what he had seen.

‘Il-Aryn, barrier, now! Stein, get some spells over that wall. Anyone in the open, get to cover!’

Auum ran across the central oval. A breathless hush fell in the village as Julatsan mages launched orbs over the stockade. A moment later the Il-Aryn barriers shimmered into place, each covering a third of the stockade the enemy threatened. Sentaya’s warriors backed up a pace or two but ignored Auum’s advice to seek cover.

Auum turned a full circle, checking positions and trying not to think about Thrynn and what her death meant for them all. He trotted back towards Ulysan and Tilman, both peering from the door of Sentaya’s house. Tilman was looking nervous, but Ulysan’s face was set hard, the loss of Thrynn firing his desire to fight.

Across the arc shaman fire slammed into the barriers, Auum imagining the thick black rods like spears of magic lancing into the magical construct. He heard Rith yelling for the Il-Aryn to hold and could see the adepts, with arms about each other in their horribly vulnerable positions, bowing their heads to focus harder.

Again and again the fire came in and the barriers shimmered, bowed and steadied. Auum prayed that their adaptation of Takaar’s original casting had eradicated the weakness which had previously brought them down, and that the Wesman warriors would be forced to attack the stockade. After the fifth attack the bombardment ceased.

‘Hold!’ called Rith. ‘They haven’t gone anywhere. Keep the bindings secure.’