James Barclay - Beyond the Mists of Katura

But the body count was high. Defenders, people Auum had seen hugging their children, lay burned or run through, blood pooling before it soaked into the ground. Auum burst through the last of the fighters and into clear space, acutely aware he was momentarily turning his back towards Ystormun.

He took a glance at the Wytch Lord, who was surveying the battlefield. He opened his palm and another black orb seared out to demolish a building on the edge of the village. Wesmen surged into the space, racing towards the defenders’ casting positions. Auum had to assume Grafyrre would see them.

Auum charged towards a running group of five shamen encircled by Wesmen. He pulled a jaqrui from its pouch.

‘Gilderon, the warriors. Ulysan, with me.’

‘As you command,’ said Gilderon.

The Senserii lifted his staff and circled it above his head. His brothers moved in on either flank to form a semicircle and drove in as the shamen shouted warnings and ran on. Wesmen stopped to intercept the attack and the Senserii engulfed them. The shamen slowed and turned, already casting.

Gilderon fenced away an overhead blow and jammed a blade tip into his attacker’s gut. Auum hurdled the falling body and flung his jaqrui at the shaman in his path. It caught his shoulder, knocking him to the dirt. Ulysan’s crescent fared better, lodging in his target’s throat. The other three opened their hands.

Auum readied to leap but a shimmering barrier snapped into place in front of him. Thick rods of black fire burst against the barrier, destroying it but getting no further. Auum had time to raise hand in salute towards Rith before stepping in and hammering his left blade into the mouth of one of the shamen. Ulysan decapitated another, swivelled and kicked the third in the side of the head, knocking him into Auum’s path. Auum glared down at him.

‘How’s that for magic?’ he said.

His blade pierced the shaman’s chest, and the holy man spewed blood from his mouth before his eyes dimmed. Behind them came an inhuman howl, and Auum’s blood chilled. He spun around. Gilderon whirled his staff in front of him and lashed one tip across the throat of his enemy. Beyond him Ystormun had stopped and was staring straight at them.

Auum replayed the death of Merrat.

‘Ulysan!’

But Ystormun had already turned away and was moving rapidly towards the defenders’ casting positions. Auum saw barriers placed in his way at every step, but he simply beat them aside.

‘Dammit,’ muttered Auum ‘He’s after Takaar. Marack!’

Marack was deep in action on the right flank with the second knot of shamen heading her way.

‘The shamen!’ roared Ulysan. ‘Get the shamen!’

Auum saw her indicate she’d heard with a flick of her head.

‘Gilderon, it’s time.’

The TaiGethen and the Senserii ran together for Ystormun.

Tilman was scared. Leaving Auum’s side was like taking off his armour and lying down before the enemy. He ran as fast as he ever had back to the cluster of six buildings at the southern edge of the village, noting with dismay how small the open space was between the relentless advance of the enemy and the casting positions.

The remaining ten Julatsan elves were gathered in three groups spread across the buildings. He could see from their positions that they were holding shields in place over the Il-Aryn, as they would do little good against Ystormun and the shamen.

The Il-Aryn had survived in good numbers, he thought, and were scattered inside the buildings, hidden behind walls and under window openings. They cast barrier after barrier. All of them looked tired but still they responded to Rith’s calls from the roof of the central building, a stone and thatch barn with a hayloft. Takaar was in the loft by the opening, beneath the block and tackle, two of his guard elves with him.

Tilman raced inside and hared up the ladder. He moved through the tight bales of hay and looked through the opening, gasping at what he saw. There was Ystormun, destroying buildings and making space for his warriors to advance from the left. There were Auum and the elves with the masks over their mouths and their bladed staffs moving through the chaos with such speed and precision he was glad Auum had sent him away. And there on the right, where the fighting was the fiercest, stood most of the surviving TaiGethen, preventing the enemy from overwhelming the casting positions but being driven back by weight of numbers. Further away but closing fast was a large number of horsemen under a heavy cloud of dust. No more than a mile distant. Xetesk was almost here.

‘My Lord Takaar!’ called Tilman, swallowing his nerves and speaking in elvish as best he could. ‘Auum has asked that I escort you to him for the attack on Ystormun.’

As soon as he said his words Tilman blushed, realising how preposterous and stupidly formal they must have sounded, given the path to Ystormun they would have to take. Takaar said something in elvish he could not understand and turned to Tilman. His eyes were ablaze with the power he held within himself and yet he smiled in the warmest and most disarming fashion. Tilman felt his nerves dissipate.

‘I see he has sent me his best guardian to see the job done,’ said Takaar in fluent Balaian, but his tone did not mock. ‘But, forgive me, Auum seems to be going the wrong way if he wishes to attack the Wytch Lord.’

And Auum was. He was heading to the right after a group of shamen. Tilman thought quickly.

‘Yes. He wants to take the shamen down and isolate Ystormun as the last enemy caster. Otherwise I think the shamen will destroy us here.’

Takaar scanned the battlefield briefly. ‘Good. He thinks clearly. But let’s wait until he turns back towards our target and then we will move.’

Tilman moved to get a better view of the scene. He was uncomfortable with Takaar’s decision. Auum was a long way from them and Ystormun was advancing at the pace of someone who knew he was invulnerable. Tilman watched Auum, Ulysan and the Senserii attack the shamen and saw Takaar follow their assault and move a barrier into place at the critical moment.

‘Which is why we must wait,’ Takaar said.

Ystormun howled, paused briefly and ran towards them.

Tilman shut out his fear. ‘Please, we should go now.’

Takaar stayed where he was. ‘He has sensed me. He will come to me.’

Tilman took another look and knew they were about to die. Ystormun stared straight at them. He moved his hands apart and brought the heels of his palms together; Tilman was moving before they struck. He dived at Takaar, catching him around the waist and bearing him down. The two of them rolled once and fell from the hayloft.

Halfway down to the dusty floor and anticipating the pain, Tilman saw the black orb blot out the light of the hayloft opening and destroy the front of the barn in a single blast. Bales of hay were incinerated, the two Senserii, moving right, were caught in the blast and hurled against the wall, dead before they struck it. The thatch burst into flame and the front wall bowed inwards, threatening to collapse.

The impact on the ground never came. Takaar had turned them in the air and he landed on his feet, taking the force of the drop for both of them. He grabbed Tilman’s collar and ran them both out of the back of the barn, others of the Il-Aryn with them. Reaching open air, Takaar paused briefly. He shouted commands to the Il-Aryn and held Tilman at arm’s length.

‘You have the survivor in you,’ he said, ‘but you can’t come with me — he is too powerful. Defend the Il-Aryn, stand with Grafyrre. What’s your name?’