James Barclay - Once walked with Gods

‘Takaar.’

‘Leave me.’

There was nowhere else to go. Here was why he had returned. Here in his arms and stolen from him the moment he had found her again. Love for Katyett stormed his body. He would do anything for her. He would die for her.

I’m sorry, what did you just say?

‘No.’ Auum’s grip on Takaar was strong and pulled him towards the piazza. ‘We need you. We’re attacked. What was it you said? Grieve now or make sure the deaths of those you have lost have worth?’

Takaar stared at Auum. From the nails of Shorth, arrows flicked down.

‘I will not leave her to them. She deserves better than that.’

‘Then bring her but come on. We have to get out of here.’

Arms were supporting him. Takaar looked. Merrat and Grafyrre. Marack was by Auum. The five of them, bruised from their landings, ran back into the piazza, keeping the windowless face of Shorth at their backs. Marack ran between Merrat and Grafyrre, whispering words to them, containing her own grief for their sake.

Orbs of brown and green flame were soaring through the air. The lawns of the piazza were ablaze with magical fire. If bodies lay there, they were less than ashes. They kept to the edge of the lawns, in the partial shelter of the temples that ringed them. Every ward at the end of every passage between the temples had been triggered. Flames soared into the sky, trapping them inside and the men without.

Takaar searched for the TaiGethen. They were there. Tucked into the awnings of Tual and Cefu and Appos. Some glancing down the approaches to the Path of Yniss. Forty yards away, the street was packed with men. Takaar’s heart fell. Ahead of the main force of soldiers, mages stood, preparing casting after casting. The noise in the piazza was deafening. Down the street, men clashed weapons, issuing a challenge.

Marack ran to the nearest cell leader.

‘Why didn’t you go, Kerryn?’

‘Why would we do that? You were not ready,’ she replied.

Kerryn looked at Takaar. Saw the body in his arms. She let out a sigh, part disbelief part pure grief.

‘The Arch of the TaiGethen has fallen!’ shouted Grafyrre. ‘Let your anger flow. Take revenge. There are men to be killed. Men are to blame.’

‘No,’ called Takaar, and he didn’t know why he had done so. They could hear him above the tumult of the spells and the fire, he knew they could. ‘We can’t waste our lives. To do so wastes Katyett’s too.’

‘But we have nothing!’ Merrat was screaming right into his face. ‘We have no hostage. We have no leader and we have no escape. All we have is vengeance.’

Oh, how you must be enjoying this. You couldn’t have planned it better if you’d tried.

Takaar stared briefly at the enemy forces not thirty yards distant and preparing to attack. Mages were falling back behind the lines of warriors. Someone had to speak to the TaiGethen, who were already praying for a glorious death.

Yes. Speak to them. Give them the big speech and then fail them.

Takaar’s heart was rippling, or so it felt. The sweat was on his brow and back and the tremors had reached his arms. His vision tunnelled. They were close. So very, very close. Soon they would roll over these pitiful few and the TaiGethen would be finished for ever.

A quick elf, a lone elf, might get away. Unseen over the domes just beyond Tual. Too many would be seen and hunted down. Alone, you can make it. But only if you go now. Abandon that corpse in your arms. Do it. You must live. Someone must live to tell the tale of what happened here. You, Takaar. It has to be you.

Tantalising. The climb wouldn’t even be hard. None would live to gainsay his version of events.

Think of the tale of glory you could weave. An ula of your intelligence.

Takaar walked forward beyond the first line of defenders already preparing for battle. Eyes followed him. Mistrustful eyes. Betrayed eyes. The TaiGethen possessed long memories and little room for forgiveness. Behind them, the temple doors had opened. Soldiers crowded the steps. Ystormun would be close.

Takaar looked at his escape route. He looked up to the heavens. Gyal’s shroud was forging across the heavens. Shielding the eyes of the gods from the slaughter to come. Making the sky dark. It would rain hard enough to conceal an elf trying to escape his fate.

Takaar looked at the spires and slender towers of the temple of Tual. The places for birds and monkeys to rest. Where lizards and insects could find shelter and safety within the city.

No. Don’t even think about it.

‘I told you I got to choose,’ muttered Takaar. ‘Well I’ve chosen.’

He lifted Katyett’s body above his head.

‘Will you let your Arch, your hero, go to Shorth with her death a waste? Tens of thousands of your people lie in their beds not even knowing that they are living their last. Aye, it is so. Extermination follows from the hands of men. We cannot let that happen. We cannot bargain so we must fight. We must free our people, any that we can. Even one life saved is a blessing on the elven race and a wound in the body of men. Because we must fear magic we must nullify it. You all know what we must do.

‘We are TaiGethen. Born to serve Yniss and our people. We do not serve him by laying down our lives to send a few worthless souls to Shorth. I’ll do it on my own if I must. But I will not leave our people to die. Not this time.’

Takaar embraced Katyett to him, feeling her dead weight and the slackness in her limbs like a sword dragged slowly through his soul. He laid her inside the porch of Cefu, where the rain would not hurt her face.

‘I will not fail you again, my love. I will not.’

I cannot believe what I am hearing.

‘Then go and listen to someone else.’

Takaar ran at the human army of thousands. Thirty-seven TaiGethen came in his wake.

A superiority in numbers is one thing, the element of surprise is quite another. Ystormun turned from the shattered windows. Hithuur was still breathing. Ystormun’s hand flicked out casually and a stalk of lightning buried itself in his forehead, cooking his brain. He looked over at movement to his right.

‘I see you managed to save your own skin, Helias. Good for you.’

Helias bobbed his head looking like nothing more than a child’s toy, he was so pathetically grateful. Llyron and Sildaan were unscathed too. Remarkable. Ystormun moved swiftly to Llyron and grabbed her collars with one hand, pulling her upright and off the ground in a single powerful movement. She began to choke a little.

‘What will they try to do?’ he demanded.

‘I have no idea,’ said Llyron.

Ystormun felt a thrill of anger energise his tired body. ‘High Priest of Shorth, I have been knocked down twice. It will not happen a third time. You know them. Tell me where they will try to go even though my army is pressing every corner of this ridiculous gathering of temples.’

‘You killed their Arch,’ said Sildaan, emerging from her hiding place. ‘And they will kill you for that. But not tonight. Tonight they will seek to free those Hithuur told them were about to die.’

‘They have no chance. They are pitiful in number.’

‘You do not know them. You do not know their belief and their desire. And you do not know their speed and their skill. They will not try to beat you. Not tonight. But they will hurt you. That I promise.’

Ystormun let Llyron go and the high priest collapsed to the floor, gasping in grateful breaths. He loomed over Sildaan, whom he could see still retained a little of her courage. Plenty of time to extinguish that.

‘You are free with your promises, Sildaan. How good of you to pledge so much to me. I will demonstrate my gratitude thus.’ Ystormun snapped his fingers and his aide, a mage of some small talent, came to his side. ‘Are we set?’