James Barclay - Rise of the TaiGethen

Auum was taken back to that day on Hausolis when, standing on the Tul Kenerit ramparts, he had seen the Garonin horde emerge from the mists they had summoned to fog their approach. That day when Takaar’s courage had failed.

‘No wonder he left,’ said Pelyn, mirroring his thoughts. ‘How could he have faced this all over again?’

‘He couldn’t,’ said Auum. ‘But we need him nonetheless.’

A murmur swept along the rampart. The Katurans’ courage was wavering and the enemy were still massing before them. Around two and a half thousand would have to emerge before they were done, and the sheer number was terrifying.

‘We have to hold them,’ said Auum.

The enemy were chanting and shouting, clashing their blades together and stamping their feet. It was an ugly sound, powerful and discomforting, and it was having the desired effect.

‘Sing,’ said Ulysan. ‘ “The Triumph of Verendii” maybe. Everyone knows that one.’

Auum nodded. ‘Yes. Let’s show these barbarians how beautiful the voice can really be.’

Those gathered on the gatehouse began to sing. Quickly, the words were taken up to either side of them, the tune one full of energy and pace. It was a song of victory.

‘On ruined ground on shivered rock Verendii stood alone.

His enemies surrounded him, his courage was of stone.

Where blade did slice and arrow sing, Verendii walked so tall

He moved with such a grace and speed, he killed them one and all.

Verendii, o, of sword and bow, you stand as one alone

Verendii o, ne’er brought so low but died so far from home

Victory, great victory, the elven nation breathes

Victory, great victory, Verendii died for us.’

The song rolled out across the open ground and Auum watched the enemy fall silent. Few would have understood the words but their power remained undimmed. The last words echoed from the cliffs and the defenders roared a cheer.

‘Well done, Ulysan,’ said Auum.

Ulysan gripped his arm and pointed to the north-eastern edge of the open ground. Moving fast and low they came, spread wide to make harder targets for arrow or spell, haring up to the river and splashing through the shallows. Driving across the deeps they swam with measured strokes, heedless of any predator. Back onto dry land with no pause for breath, they charged for the gates.

‘Corsaar,’ Auum breathed and then he filled his lungs to shout. ‘Come on, you old dog! Show them some speed!’

Quickly, the crowd on the ramparts joined in. Corsaar’s name and those of his Tais were hollered out. Every shout demanded greater speed, to show their heels to the enemy or to howl an insult at the snail-like humans. They came across the open ground, leaping over traps and tripwires, skirting stakes and pits.

The response from the enemy was immediate. Mages in their wake, soldiers moved forward into the open ground but stopped short of the first run of traps.

‘Corsaar!’ roared Auum though his voice was surely lost. ‘Casting! Casting behind you!’

Corsaar and his five ran on. Three hundred paces from the gates, they found the main trail and sprinted along it. Ulysan called for the gates to be opened. Auum stared out at the humans wondering why they hadn’t-

Six, seven, eight bright blue orbs tracked across the sky, trailing smoke. They fizzed and crackled, white light like spears of lightning flashing within them. They travelled horribly fast, hunting down their quarry. Auum was standing dead in line with their path. He watched the orbs rush in, each one the size of a boulder. He could feel the heat begin to grow, even from his position on the gatehouse roof. The cheers along the ramparts trailed off. Elves pointed, shouting warnings. Corsaar looked over his shoulder.

Auum heard his desperate order.

‘Split left! Split right!’

The orbs crashed into the ground in a flare of blue light and the explosions rattled the walls. Waves of fire consumed the ground, scorching grass and threatening some of the traps hidden with it. Smoke billowed and was blown away by the force of the blasts. Auum looked out to the scorched black and burning earth. Of Corsaar and his people, six priceless TaiGethen, there was no sign at all.

Katura fell silent.

The sound of cheering and celebration was deafening. Next to Jeral, Loreb was applauding heartily, and both Killith and Pindock were laughing. Lockesh had not even broken a smile.

‘Good shooting,’ said Jeral.

Loreb turned to him.

‘Let’s ram this victory home. We will suffer no delay. Captain Jeral, lead the advance to within spell range of those walls. The barrage is to begin as soon as you reach your positions. Concentrate on opening up that western corner. I want you leading an attack along the open side before midday.’

‘With respect, General, I urge caution. Your plan is sound, but that is too simple a route to victory for the Sharps not to have planned for it. We should scout the open ground before marching in. Their ambush surely taught us that much could be hidden in there. Attacking will lead us into a trap. We should wait for the balance of the army to join us.’

‘Are you questioning my order?’ Loreb’s face had turned red and his voice was rising in volume. ‘Well, Captain?’

‘I am offering an alternative.’

‘There is no time for alternatives,’ said Loreb, his words ground out between his teeth. ‘The barrage must begin immediately. Order the advance.’

Hynd saw Jeral look up at Lockesh, whose expression was stoney.

‘With the greatest respect,’ said Jeral, ‘I cannot risk my men like that.’

‘How dare you,’ grated Loreb. The three generals gathered like vultures over imminent carrion. ‘You coward. Consider yourself relieved of your command and under arrest. Court martial at sundown and execution at midnight.’

Jeral’s restraint was commendable. He unbuckled his sword belt and handed it to Loreb, who tossed it to the ground. Before walking away, the sneering Ishtak as his guard, he nodded to Hynd.

‘Take care out there. Hang back.’

Loreb squared his shoulders.

‘I think I’ll do this myself,’ he said.

He moved before the waiting ranks, opened his mouth and used his booming voice to considerable effect.

‘Companies One through Six. Forward barrage positions! March.’

Company captains roared orders. Three ranks of soldiers moved forward with two ranks of mages behind them. Hynd moved off as well, behind Dead Company, urging them to fight for Jeral, for honour and for tomorrow. He began to prepare an orb casting, aiming to land it behind the walls and create whatever mayhem he could. He fought his fear that the flow might gutter and die on him as he cast. If it did, the backwash from his spell would incinerate him. And he envied the mages around him their ignorance of the risk they were taking with every casting.

Loreb was positioned in the midst of the front rank. Hynd could see him glorying in his decision, his men behind him and a massive blow about to be struck which would further his personal aspirations. He swaggered through the dense thigh-high grass, calling out the castings and marking the targets.

Hynd imagined rather than heard the crack of wood, but he quite clearly saw the branch that snapped up from the grass under Loreb’s foot. It had a slice of tree trunk laid with spikes lashed to it, which struck Loreb square in the face, its momentum slamming the general’s twitching body flat to the ground beneath it.

For a heartbeat there was no reaction. The soldiers continued to march on. Then there was a scream from the flank as men disappeared into a pit, their shrieks cut off by the spikes lining the bottom. Closer to him, three were caught when two tensioned branches snapped together, mowing the grass down in twin semicircles before smashing their ankles to fragments.