James Barclay - Rise of the TaiGethen

Panic struck as the front rank halted but those behind them did not. The order to halt rang out, but not before more were pushed stumbling on to their deaths. Hynd glanced into a pit where three men lay impaled on spikes.

‘Fall back! Fall back!’

Soldiers turned and ran back to the sanctuary of the army. Hynd walked more slowly, trying to retrace his footsteps, suddenly mistrustful of the ground and what lurked there. There were screams for help from the impaled and the broken, and word of Loreb’s death swept through the army like a monsoon wind. Two and a half thousand men who had been so confident of victory a moment ago shuffled away from the grass in fear.

Pindock had disappeared. Killith stood gesturing hopelessly, his mouth open but silent. Only Lockesh retained any sense.

‘Mages to me! Let’s show our dim-brained soldiers the way ahead. Hynd, get yourself to the centre; you’re in charge. Burn the grass. Burn it all to ash.’

Auum watched the fire eat away the grass, exposing and destroying the remaining traps. It was an effective and quick solution. Smoke billowed into the sky where clouds were gathering but would not douse the flames before they had burned themselves out. Yet it was still a victory of sorts, and Pelyn had been quick to make sure every defender knew it. One senior human had perished and the stamina of a good many mages was being exhausted with the fires.

It was good but they needed more, much more.

Well before midday the city approaches held no more secrets. Auum watched the army mass to advance once more, and this time there was little they could do but shelter and pray.

‘Ulysan. Sound the general alarm. Clear the streets, clear the gate zone and the wall approaches. Ready the fire teams and stretcher parties. Who’s taking the wall and gatehouse?’

Ulysan gestured below. Well over a hundred elves had been painted and garbed as TaiGethen. Auum smiled. They were a good imitations, good enough to fool the humans anyway.

‘They are brave. It’s going to be hard up here. Make sure they remember their cover positions.’

‘Consider it done.’

‘Then meet me at the western corner. We need to be ready.’

Ulysan gripped Auum’s upper arms. ‘This is it, my Arch. The battle that will determine our fate is here.’

Auum returned the gesture. ‘And while we stand, while Elyss looks down on our beating hearts, there is still hope.’

Orders carried on the light breeze. Behind Auum, Katura braced itself. Doors and shutters were fastened. Buckets and butts were checked for the hundredth time. The streets emptied. Elves stood proud and tall along the walls. Auum climbed down into the gatehouse proper and looked across the scorched ground.

The enemy marched. Their mages prepared.

The battle of Katura had begun.

Nothing compares to the joy of union unless it is the grief of parting. As Bound elves, we are blessed and cursed many times. The Ynissul are immortal. The lifespan of a Claw is terrifyingly brief.

Serrin of the ClawBound

Nerille fastened her shutters and hurried down the stairs. She was shaking. Her sons were gone, two with Takaar and one to the ramparts dressed as a TaiGethen. Ulysan had told them if they took cover when the castings hit they should be all right, but the wall seemed a flimsy barrier.

Nerille had been in Ysundeneth when man’s magic had been unleashed for the first time. She would never forget the cries she had heard or the devastation she had witnessed that morning; and she was about to live through it all again.

She had done everything she could to help and was stationed with the quartermasters, handing out rations and keeping note of stock levels. Yesterday she’d seen the masses of food that had been brought in from the forest and the lake. She didn’t think the battle would last long enough for them to consume it all.

She’d overheard TaiGethen talking to the Al-Arynaar: the humans were not interested in a siege. This fight could well be finished in a day.

Downstairs, in the gloom behind her shuttered windows and with the armoured city wall just across the street from her, she paused to listen. Not even an addict was crying out. Those poor souls had been removed to the lakeside to fend for themselves while the capable worked for the TaiGethen and the wonderful Auum, who had suffered so much.

Straining her ears, she could hear the approaching army and a smattering of conversation from the ramparts. But otherwise the city was silent. Thousands upon thousands waited for their chance to fight. They’d all do well to pray.

A glint from the plate set on the small table by the front door caught Nerille’s eye. Her heart tumbled. It was her son’s charm, a silver pendant of Gyal blessing the forest with rain.

‘Jio, you idiot,’ she muttered.

His courage would falter without it. She snatched it up and ran outside, heading for the gatehouse and access to the ramparts. The street behind the wall was completely deserted but the sound of her people up on the wall was loud enough for her to know she was not alone.

Nerille trotted to the main road and to the gatehouse door, pulling it open. She darted inside, and straight into Auum’s arms. He caught her easily and looked at her, a moment’s confusion clearing quickly.

‘You can’t be here,’ he said, his face bright with tension. ‘Head to the stores; you’ll be safe there.’

‘I have to give this to Jio,’ said Nerille, holding out the pendant. ‘He’ll be lost without it.’

‘Where is he?’ asked Auum.

‘On the rampart, dressed like one of you. He said he was going to be positioned towards the river.’

‘I’ll take it to him,’ said Auum.

‘No,’ said Nerille. ‘He is my son and this is my chance to help him. I need to do this. I need to look into his eyes and know he will live.’

Auum kissed her forehead. ‘And it is your city. I understand. Go, but stay low and do not linger. Listen to the callers, and push hard into the wall if the alarm is given. Don’t take any chances.’

‘Bless you,’ she said.

Auum let her go and she made for the ladder up to the first level. He spoke just before she disappeared from his view.

‘Don’t you dare get hurt,’ he said. ‘I’m doing this for you.’

She smiled at him and climbed the last few rungs. City folk and Al-Arynaar looked at her. Some protested, but most were only concerned with what was coming towards them and turned away.

‘Jio,’ she said. ‘Where is Jio?’

An Al-Arynaar turned to her. It was Pelyn. Nerille caught herself before she gasped. Pelyn was sweating heavily, but not from the humid afternoon heat or from the weight of her cloak. Her eyes were sunken back into her head and her face was terribly pale. She looked fit to drop and was leaning on the gatehouse wall.

‘He is halfway along towards the river, but you shouldn’t risk going out there.’

‘I have to,’ she said.

Pelyn merely nodded. Nerille passed her on the way to the rampart and stopped to rest a hand on her arm.

‘How many days has it been now?’

Pelyn managed a smile but it was brief. ‘Eleven. It seems like a thousand years.’

‘You will break it,’ said Nerille. ‘You have the strength, I know it.’

‘Thank you,’ Pelyn whispered.

Nerille hurried out onto the rampart. Her eye was drawn to the blackened field below her and her breath caught in her throat. There they were, thousands of men all bent on her destruction. They came on with such precision, the soldiers with bows and swords ready and the mages behind them.

They marched in three sections: one directly at the gates, the second to the west and the open ground they all feared would be their undoing, and the third going straight for Jio and his friends. Each section boasted hundreds of soldiers and more mages than she had ever seen gathered in one place, not even during the dark days of the fall of Ysundeneth.