James Barclay - Beyond the Mists of Katura

Black fire exploded around Ystormun. More bindings surged from the chasm, wrapping his arms and legs. He screamed and convulsed, his cries resonating through the ground and sending hands to ears. He bellowed and roared his defiance, and his fire lashed at his bindings.

A final claw snaked from the chasm and clamped his mouth shut. He stared one last time at Auum, his hate as abiding as ever. Auum stared back, his heart cold, the ashes of victory in his mouth. And as the bindings retracted, dragging Ystormun to his cage, Auum turned away.

He reached Ulysan and sat by him again as the door slammed shut on the Wytch Lord for good.

Takaar lay on his back. The Senserii had made him comfortable, but in truth he could feel very little. He thought his back was broken. Either that or the shock of the impact had entirely numbed his body. He smiled up at the sky, and Auum’s words played over in his mind. He heard a chuckle.

You’re dying.

‘Yes,’ said Takaar.

Then I got what I always wanted.

‘So did I. And at last we can be one again. Let us walk with gods together.’

‘Graf?’

‘Yes, Auum.’

‘How many are we?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

‘Tell me.’

Grafyrre sighed. ‘Marack, Nokhe, Hohan, Merke, Faleen, Evunn, Duele, Siraaj. You and me, of course. And Tilman.’

Auum didn’t look up from Ulysan.

‘You’re in good company, old friend,’ he whispered.

The capture of Ystormun had seen the surviving enemy Wesmen break and run, and Sentaya had let them go. Peace had descended on the village only to be broken by angry shouts from the direction of the Xeteskian cavalry and mage force, which was resting far too close to the village oval and its dead. Auum heard swords drawn from scabbards and the sounds of men running and he felt a growing tension.

‘But they won’t let you rest.’

Auum stood and looked at the scene of the trouble, almost instantly breaking into a dead run. There was a knot of men pushing and shoving: Xeteskians, Wesmen including Sentaya and a man he had thought dead. With his anger burning bright again, Auum, followed by his surviving TaiGethen, turned a high somersault in the air and landed right in the midst of the argument. Battle-weary angry TaiGethen with painted faces made a very efficient barrier. Both sides moved back a few paces.

Auum took in the Xeteskians — the pompous-looking old mage, his powerful cavalry captain and the melee of other soldiers and mages wanting in on the argument — and turned, his grief lifting a degree for a moment. There stood Sentaya, bloodied, bruised and exhausted. He was supporting Stein, who had an arm around the tribal lord’s shoulders and Sentaya’s about his waist. Stein looked in a bad way. Burned and spent, with what was clearly a broken arm and a foot he could barely place on the ground.

‘You’re supposed to hate each other,’ said Auum.

‘We’ll do it again tomorrow,’ said Stein. ‘What do you say?’

Auum dragged himself over and embraced Stein. ‘It’s good to see you, brother.’

‘You too.’

‘Whatever’s going on here, it can wait.’

Stein’s face coloured. ‘This sweaty supercilious bastard and his murdering filth have to answer for their crimes.’

‘It can wait.’

The pompous mage said something Auum didn’t understand, but the tone was contemptuous. Auum’s scalp prickled and he spun round, his weary TaiGethen following his lead. The mage shrank back a pace, his gaze flicking to his cavalry captain.

‘The dead lie unattended. Those we love are alone under the sky while you posture and strut like ageing stags chasing powers long faded. Brave men, brave elves, have died today. You will show them proper respect.’

Auum didn’t take his eyes from the mage, who looked to Stein for the translation he needed. His understanding did nothing to soften his face. He opened his mouth to speak but Stein got there first.

‘They betrayed us, Auum. Think of how many you lost because they allied with the bastard they have belatedly caught.’

The Xeteskian responded with a furious outburst of his own and had to be pushed back again by Marack and Grafyrre.

Auum rounded on Stein. ‘Yes, look how many have died!’ He gestured back towards Sentaya’s ruined village. Sentaya himself looked bemused, the grief for his loss beginning to shroud his mind. ‘Wesmen, elves and Julatsans, and yet here we stand and they are lost without us beside them. We must attend to our dead now, so your reckoning will wait.’

Auum waited until Stein nodded before turning to the Xeteskian once more. Stein translated for him.

‘And you will accord us the proper respect. You will allow us the space and the peace to prepare our dead and see them to their eternal rest. And we will accord you and your dead the same respect. And when dawn breaks tomorrow, you and I and Stein will speak.’

The mage wafted a hand. ‘Do as you will. Your primitive rituals hold no interest for me.’

It was Stein’s hand on Auum’s shoulder that stopped the TaiGethen killing the mage then and there. He shook the hand off and nodded to Marack and Grafyrre that he intended only to speak.

‘The blood of every elf and every one of Sentaya’s dead is on your hands. You are guilty in the eyes of Shorth, and if you utter one more ignorant word I will send you to stand before him. Knowledge has been lost today that we could not afford to lose.’ Auum’s anger left him and he squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that threatened. ‘Ulysan is dead.’

‘Oh, Auum, I am so sorry,’ said Stein. ‘I grieve for you.’

‘Grieve for them all,’ said Auum. ‘I can’t stand here any longer.’

Auum walked away, his TaiGethen with him. He heard the mage speak and Stein reply.

‘Graf, Marack, we have to scour the field from the enemy camp to the borders of the village. We have to bring all our dead together. Some of them we will never find. You know what to do. I’m going to sit with Ulysan.’

Grafyrre and Marack melted away, taking the TaiGethen with them. Auum walked alone.

Ulysan was not alone, and Auum felt a rush of relief. But it was not one of the TaiGethen with him, nor was it one of the Il-Aryn, who were utterly spent and sitting in a single group for comfort. It was Tilman who stood as he approached, looking anxious as if caught stealing.

‘I thought he. . needed. . company. I’m sor-’

Auum embraced him hard while the tears fell down his face and the sobs racked his body. After a nervous pause, Tilman gripped back.

‘Thank you,’ whispered Auum. ‘Thank you.’

He broke the embrace and, holding Tilman’s shoulders, looked deep into his eyes.

‘There is soul in you,’ he said and kissed Tilman’s forehead. ‘And now. .’

‘I know. You need solitude. I’ll make myself useful elsewhere.’

Auum sat by Ulysan.

He watched Tilman walk off, looking for someone to help. ‘Humans are fools. With some exceptions. But you already knew that.’

Around him survivors were moving among their fallen comrades, checking for signs of life. Occasionally a shout would go up, but mostly a touch was followed by a shake of the head. He looked at Ulysan’s face. It was relaxed and untroubled but pale.

‘I would kill every Xeteskian for just one of your jokes.’