James Barclay - Once walked with Gods

‘I will do my best.’

Grafyrre and Merrat stood very close behind him while he prepared. Merrat made a small hand gesture. Grafyrre nodded and Merrat drew a knife and kept it a hair’s breadth from the mage’s back. The man breathed deeply and held his palms together in front of his face. He whispered a word and opened his palms, fingers pointing down towards the fire.

Just like on the bridge, the air froze. Grafyrre felt the air rushing by him. The mage channelled it out over the fire in front of the warehouse. Ice met fire. A dense fog erupted into the air. Within it, brown and orange sputtered and died. But the warehouse still burned, its timbers still fell and its slates cracked and tumbled.

The mage held his arms out, pushing the freezing wind over the stone apron. Grafyrre twitched his hand. Merrat put her knife away. The fog tattered and dispersed on the breeze and under the pressure of the rainfall. In places, the fire roared back to life but at least there was a path. Grafyrre touched the mage on the shoulder, breaking his concentration.

‘Go,’ he said. ‘Others will not share my mercy.’

The mage took off. Grafyrre ran towards the warehouse.

‘Katyett! Come on. Bring them out now. The warehouse won’t last!’ He ran into the mouth of the ruin. ‘Katyett!’

The warehouse was a pit of night choked with smoke. He could make out shapes all over the floor. Roof supports had come down over the first forty feet. Many still burned. The fires along the walls had reached to the last twenty feet or so. Bodies were strewn by the entrance, buried under collapsed wood or burned in the first explosion.

‘Katyett!’ screamed Grafyrre.

Movement. He could see movement. People approaching at a run. There was a thundering crash from deep within. Fire fell from the roof. Tons of slates slumped down. Elves screamed. Some were engulfed. Those still standing ran. Beethans, Cefans, Orrans and Gyalans ran past him and out into the open air. Some drew up the moment they felt safe. Others just carried on running away from their prison and back into the city.

Grafyrre searched the crowd for Katyett. His heart tolled in anguish, his breathing was too rapid. He fought to calm himself. The mass was thinning. Those still inside were the wounded, some being helped, most just left to help themselves.

‘Come on, come on.’

Right at the back, he saw her. An elf had his arm slung around her shoulder and was leaning hard into her. He was struggling to walk at all. There were burns on his face. Other elves were with them, lending support. Grafyrre ran inside.

‘Yniss bless you. Come on. This building is coming down.’

Katyett managed a smile. ‘You noticed? What kept you, by the way?’

‘I’ll tell you later. Pakiir is gone. Eaten by the fire. Faleen is here but I can’t see Marack.’

Grafyrre choked.

Katyett released her charge to another and came to his side. She spoke to the thread elves first.

‘You know what to do. Hide, run, anything. Don’t get in the way of the humans. We will deal with them.’

‘Thank you, Katyett,’ said one. ‘I-’

‘No matter. Thank Yniss. And thank the harmony that means I remain in your service.’ She turned to Grafyrre and the two of them trotted away from the warehouse entrance to where they met Merrat and Faleen. ‘Graf?’

Grafyrre squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remain calm. ‘The flame was so hot. Pakiir, he… It just consumed him. How can a soul survive such a scourge? We will find nothing of him. He is ash on the wind. Gone.’

‘The soul cannot suffer such harm,’ said Katyett. ‘Shorth will embrace him. The halls of the ancients will welcome him. He will be waiting for us.’

‘And Marack?’

Merrat shook her head. The three walked to the harbourside and looked back at the warehouse, seeing its final demise. Thread elves made their way to wherever they wanted to go. Grafyrre could see the lights of torches all over the city.

‘We need to go,’ said Katyett.

‘Before you do, can you help me up?’ Grafyrre spun round trying to pick up the direction of the voice. ‘Down here.’

‘Marack.’ Grafyrre dropped to his knees and reached down into the harbour. The relief he felt sent a thrill of cold through his body. ‘Odd time for a swim.’

‘It wasn’t by choice. I was blown so far I thought I’d land on Balaia. Just get me out. It’s cold in here and I don’t have the energy to float any more.’

‘We lost Pakiir and Ekuurt,’ said Grafyrre, hauling her up, Faleen and Katyett reaching down to help.

‘We’ll pray and grieve later,’ said Katyett. ‘The humans will want revenge. Let’s be sure we are ready.’

If you do one thing for yourself, let it be this. Never let your blade’s edge dull. Garan and Keller watched the boats come in. After last night it had been decided to anchor the fleet offshore. Even the most prodigious leap of the TaiGethen would get only one per cent of the way. Even so, every crewman had been given a bow for his watch.

Behind them, Garan’s men picked at the ruins of the warehouse. Most of the bodies were charred beyond recognition. Elves and men were no different when reduced to blackened bone and ash. It was impossible to say how many elves had died around or inside the collapsed building, which was still too hot to check. Garan had lost forty men and his one eyewitness claimed to have seen only five elves fighting.

‘How many are coming ashore, did you say?’ he asked.

‘Two thousand, two hundred and seventeen,’ said Keller. ‘Think it’ll be enough?’

‘I was going to ask you the same question.’

‘Ystormun is with them.’

‘Oh, great. Come to give us the blessing of the One College or just the usual advice on how to conduct an offensive.’

‘You’re talking about a lord of Triverne,’ said Keller sharply.

‘Don’t get all loyal-to-the-lords with me, Keller. Gods burning, you weren’t sent here with me because you’re in favour, were you? All the favourites are either disembarking now or safely at home drinking in the beauty of the Blackthorne Mountains and the Triverne Valley.’

‘And you knew it was likely one of them would come. This is a significant investment.’

‘They’re dangerous. Him and his cadre have way too much power and are way too careless with how they go about securing more.’

‘There will always be conflict in the ring of towers,’ said Keller.

‘I was glad to get away from there,’ said Garan. ‘Couldn’t you feel it? Like a poorly shielded fire ward waiting to explode. I worry about what might happen, I really do.’

‘Well, you can ask him all about it yourself,’ said Keller. ‘He’s in the first boat.’

And so he was. A tall thin figure in a deep-blue cloak with hood thrown back to reveal a bald pate and hawkish features. His nose was so thin it looked likely to break if he sneezed too hard. His eyes were tiny and set close. His cheekbones were high and prominent like an Ynissul’s and his mouth had almost bloodless thin lips set in a perpetual line of contempt.

Garan considered that, in all honesty, he was the best of them. The most liberal. It really could have been much worse. Pamun, for instance. Now there was a real bastard.

‘You should remain a few paces back,’ said Keller. ‘I’ll welcome him.’

‘If you insist.’

Garan watched the boat approach. Keller walked to the relevant jetty and waited with his arms held across his waist, his fingers linked together. Ystormun stood as the boat approached, his guards and attendants with him. The three pairs of oarsmen slowed their pace and kept the boat level on the placid water. Keller was standing by the steps. Ystormun took one look at him and lifted gently off the deck, his mistwings moving him serenely to the jetty.