James Barclay - Beyond the Mists of Katura

‘Tilman.’

‘You saved me, Tilman, and you might just have saved us all. Garan would have been proud of you.’

Takaar moved away at startling speed, and Tilman wondered momentarily who Garan was before recalling his history, smiling to himself and running off to find Grafyrre.

One moment the barn was there and Rith was calling castings, the next she and the whole frontage of the building were gone, blasted away by Ystormun. Auum shouted at his impotence and ran harder for the tall striding figure in his tattered robes, brimful with hideous magic.

An enemy Wesman stood in his path having downed his opponent. Auum feinted left, ran right and lashed a blade up into his lower jaw, barely breaking stride. Ahead Sentaya still stood, his legs astride a fallen warrior who Auum recognised as one of his sons. The Wesman lord bore the grief on his face and used it to power his axe. He was roaring for his men to stand, and they did wherever they could. Not one had run in the face of his enemy, but they were going to lose this battle because Auum had entirely misunderstood Ystormun’s power here in his hinterland. Stein had known; Stein had said, and Auum had ignored him.

‘Defend the casters!’ called Auum on his way past. ‘Ystormun attacks.’

Sentaya nodded to him. Auum indicated his son and put a hand to his heart in sympathy. Sentaya seemed to understand and Auum felt a weight of guilt. He had brought this on Sentaya.

Breaking into open space, the Senserii spread out and moved up to take on Ystormun’s warrior guard which was already turning towards them. Ulysan and Auum went directly for the Wytch Lord, neither knowing what he could do beyond buying a moment’s delay for Takaar, should he still be alive.

Ystormun poured his hate into another casting and obliterated a barn, the house adjoining it and all the souls within it. It was enough. Auum couldn’t help himself.

‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘Over here, you bastard. Come and get me!’

He and Ulysan dropped into the shetharyn, streaking past the Senserii moving to engage the Wesmen. Auum paced easily around an enemy warrior, who knew he was coming but couldn’t follow him, and kept his eyes on Ystormun. The Wytch Lord was turning his head in their direction and bringing up a hand.

Auum changed direction, but the hand and eyes tracked him despite his speed. Ystormun opened his palm then closed his fist. A sheath of black flame encased it for a blink before shooting out at incredible speed, fast even within the shetharyn. Auum couldn’t dodge it. He felt an impact about his midriff and flew sideways, Ulysan’s arms about him, the big TaiGethen’s body pressed against his and sent the pair of them tumbling over and over in the dust and bowling into the legs of warriors.

Auum came to rest on top of his friend and pushed himself to his feet. His swords were gone and he was amid enemies. He lashed a kick into the face of one, drew a jaqrui and slashed it into the body of another. He squared up for another blow and the Senserii flowed past him.

Auum reached down a hand to Ulysan to help him up. The big TaiGethen’s chest heaved in breaths fast and let them out in a rush, his body juddering each time. Auum looked down and saw the black wound all along his right flank and the blood pooling beneath him. Auum wanted to roll him on to his side but he was terrified what he would see.

‘Ulysan? Please, speak to me.’ There was no response and Auum roared, ‘Stein! Stein, please be alive, I need you here! Stein! ’

Ulysan lay there, his eyes closed and his breathing so pained. Auum straightened, his mind submerged by fury. He turned and ran, the shetharyn taking him just as it had when Elyss had fallen. Ystormun was close, distracted for a moment by the Senserii wiping out his guards. He killed one and sent another flying back, screaming and encased in a sheath of black.

Auum ran for him. Belatedly the Wytch Lord turned. Auum leaped and powered in a spear kick which caught the bastard square in the mouth and sent him staggering. Auum landed, dimly aware of the Senserii’s ikari weaving their patterns as they kept Ystormun’s guards away.

Ystormun snapped his head round, glared at the elf and raised a hand, but Auum was on him again. He lashed a roundhouse kick into his temple, continued the movement and thudded a heel into Ystormun’s groin. Auum planted his feet, slapped Ystormun’s hand aside and smashed his fists into Ystormun’s face again and again, feeling his skin rasp against the inhuman creature’s hide.

Ystormun retreated under the onslaught as Auum powered forward, now thumping a kick into his midriff or up into his chin but wanting nothing more than to feel his fists pounding away at that face, his nose, his teeth, his eyes. And with every blow he prayed that Ulysan would live, that the black fire had missed his vital organs, and with every blow he was so scared by the memory of his ragged breathing that he dared not hope.

Auum drew back his fist again as Ystormun reeled back, his face looking bruised through the greyness of his skin but unbroken. Auum punched his jaw. A skeletal hand, skin mottled and stretched tight over the bones, shot out and clamped on Auum’s neck, lifting him from the ground. He clawed at the hand, tried to angle his head to bite it and chopped at his wrist with a jaqrui blade he grabbed from his dwindling supply, but he could not cut Ystormun’s skin. The Wytch Lord held him at arm’s length, his legs flailing uselessly.

‘Enough,’ rasped Ystormun. ‘Seven hundred years and now I have a prize.’

‘You will die today, you bastard,’ spat Auum.

Ystormun squeezed a little harder and Auum choked.

‘You cannot kill me,’ he said. ‘But I am not impervious to pain.’

‘Then all my blows were worth my death,’ said Auum.

Ystormun pulled Auum close and the TaiGethen hung limp, his breath hard to draw and his strength beginning to fail. Still the sounds of battle carried to him and the day was not yet lost.

‘It is over, Auum of the TaiGethen; for you, for man and soon enough for all of your kind. What strength remains when I have wiped you out here?’

‘Come to Calaius and find out,’ said Auum.

‘I have every intention of doing just that,’ said Ystormun.

The Wytch Lord studied Auum’s face while he squeezed. Auum tried not to panic, but every breath sounded like fear and he could no longer force the words out. He stared into Ystormun’s eyes, wishing upon him the most enduring agony that Shorth could inflict while commending his own soul to Yniss for the struggles yet to come beyond the halls of the ancients.

‘Put him down.’

Auum wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the words, so full was his head with the thumping of his heart and the roaring of his blood. His chest heaved but so little came in and he felt his consciousness slipping away.

‘Ah, my second prize. Another who thought to hurt me only to find he could not.’

‘Wrong.’

Auum felt a sudden rush of energy. Ystormun gave a shriek and Auum was airborne, flying backwards, gulping in air through the raw agony of his throat. The Senserii flowed around him. He felt a brief touch on his shoulder and looked up at Gilderon while the rest of them threw a screen of whirling death around Takaar as he circled Ystormun.

‘We will protect him. See to your brother.’

Auum frowned and looked to where Gilderon had indicated before joining his people. The thwack of wood on blade and the singing of the ikari were rejoined. Auum heard both Takaar and Ystormun cry out, and a huge pressure of magical energy settled across Auum’s shoulders.

Ulysan lay on the ground where Auum had left him. Auum scrabbled over to him and took his hand. He was still breathing but it was in short whistling gasps now. The blood seemed to have stopped, but the wound, dear Yniss, the wound was horrible. Auum could see a great gash that led from beneath Ulysan’s ribs all the way down his right leg in which burned flesh and bone were visible.