James Barclay - Once walked with Gods

The mage consulted a parchment he had been clutching in his hands.

‘Yes, my lord. The Ixii, the Gyalans, the Orrans, the Cefans and the identified militant Tuali are held and secure. The chosen places are the museum, two of the larger grain stores, a market square to the north of the city centre and the walled courtyard in front of Llyron’s mansion. None of the identified elves has a way out. We await only your word.’

‘Then the word is given,’ said Ystormun. He swung back to Sildaan. ‘There. See how easy it is?’

‘How easy what is?’

Ystormun sighed. ‘And I thought you were supposed to be among the smarter of your race. Garan told me so, but perhaps respecting his judgement was my mistake. I do not have the manpower to enslave your entire race. Indeed to harvest the resources we want I frankly don’t need your entire race. Neither do I have the manpower, or the desire, to keep them imprisoned. Such a cost. Cruel too, to keep creatures that desire freedom under lock and key, don’t you think?’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Sildaan.

‘What I don’t want, I discard. That is the way to maximum efficiency, maximum profit and minimal chance of dissension.’ Ystormun watched Sildaan’s face crumple. He smiled. Power was such a wonderful thing to wield. ‘Ah, now you’re getting it. And since I do not want to risk any of my swordsmen getting injured during the process, I have asked my extremely talented and imaginative mages to carry out the procedure cleanly and quickly. This they can do at a distance. It’ll be painless too, which is a mercy I am happy to bestow.’

Sildaan’s face was as pale as a sharp-ears face could get. Tears were spilling down her cheeks and she could only gasp out her words. Near her, Llyron was too stunned even to speak.

‘Please, my lord. You have imprisoned thirty thousand – iad, ula and child. Innocents.’

‘No elf is innocent,’ said Ystormun. He turned to his mage. ‘Is it really as many as thirty thousand?’

‘That’s a good estimate, my lord.’

Ystormun raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? Well, Sildaan, it’s fortunate that you have such a large forest in which to bury them all.’ The TaiGethen spread across the Path of Yniss, running hard at the human army. Grafyrre and Merrat were centre. Calling orders. Their grief and their passion ringing in every word. And the TaiGethen responded, chanting a mourning dirge as they came, the words echoing against the blank wall of nervous human soldiers.

Takaar ran on their left, Auum and Marack flanking him. He could feel every one who ran as if they were touching him. Their energy, their faith and their belief. Their desire for purification and vengeance. Ahead, the human army was halted. Their line was forty abreast with room to wield their longswords, broadswords and shields.

Behind the front ranks of swordsmen, mages cast. Brown and green orbs arced into the night sky, heading for the piazza. The mages raised their heads to see their handiwork only to be confronted by the onrushing TaiGethen. Orders were barked. Mage heads dropped in concentration again.

Twenty yards to impact.

‘Jaqrui!’ called Grafyrre. Hands grabbed out crescent blades. ‘Away!’

Takaar watched the deadly metal flash across the diminishing space. Shields were held out. Blades raised. Fear ran through the enemy. Takaar’s jaqrui slashed into the cheek of his target as he ducked and turned his head. Other crescents thudded into shields or careered from sword blades, shattering on walls or slicing into those behind. Most found flesh or leather armour.

‘Jaqrui!’ called Grafyrre again. ‘Away!’

An order rang out across the human lines. Swordsmen dropped to their knees. Many threw themselves flat, knowing what was coming in front and behind. Mages raised their heads, ready. Jaqruis whispered into their lines. Blades chopped into hands, heads and chests. Mages screamed. Castings bloomed dark as mages lost control at the critical moment. Ice and fire fell on the human lines.

Ten yards and closing. Other mages, calmer mages, steadied and cast.

‘Evade and strike!’

Clouds of ice washed out towards the TaiGethen on a dread frozen wind. Tongues of flame leapt from the hands of mages even as jaqruis struck them down. Takaar saw the castings rush towards them and felt a moment’s peace mingle with his nausea, lessened since the touch of Ystormun’s hands. The din subsided and the energies about him caressed rather than sickened him. He recognised the state. Last time he had felt it was in combat with the Garonin. He breathed it in.

Takaar could see the individual shards of ice in the mass that came towards him. He saw the twinkling yellow reflection of torchlight. Saw them turning end over end or spinning around their horizontal axis. Beautiful. Beguiling. Takaar leapt, pushing off with his left foot and arrowing into the air, his arms straight in front of him. He angled his body horizontal and pushed his arms to the sides.

The ice gouged beneath him. He felt flechettes snip at his jacket and the toes of his boots. The cold air behind the ice shocked his lungs. He was past the cloud in a heartbeat. The enemy were below him. None had even registered what was coming at them. Bloodied bodies, jaqrui victims, writhed on the ground amidst those caught in the hell of their own castings.

Takaar brought his legs under him. He came down in a crouch, straddling a moving body. He jabbed out his hand, straight-fingered, crushing the man’s windpipe. Takaar straightened. Enemies were everywhere. TaiGethen who’d rolled under the castings came to their feet. Others who had chosen to leap landed all around him.

‘Strike forward, guard your backs!’ called Merrat. ‘Tais, we strike.’

The mage in front of Takaar raised his head. Takaar saw him mouth what was most probably a curse. Takaar swept a blade from his back and chopped it hard down the mage’s face. The man fell silently. The TaiGethen surged forward, still singing the mourning dirge. Keller wasn’t lead mage for nothing. He’d seen what was going to happen and cast wings on his back rather than ice for his fingers. He shot straight up into the air past the diving and rolling forms of the TaiGethen and breathed a huge sigh of relief that he was not on the ground.

Garan had ordered seventeen hundred men up the Path of Yniss from the barracks and staging areas the moment the confirmation of the attack on the temple had been confirmed. Everything had been foreseen by Ystormun, but he had not understood the tenacity of the TaiGethen. Maybe he had assumed the temple would be reached but this, he could not have foreseen this.

A few TaiGethen had been trapped in the piazza. They could not get out to the sides or the rear. Sitting targets for spells and then blades to mop up the survivors. That they would attack was against all reason. But up here, where it was safe and the screams of the dying filtered up through the din of barked orders, the low elven chanting and the steady disintegration of order, Keller could see something more.

They weren’t just attacking. They were trying to break through. Unbelievable. Keller flew back towards Garan. He could see the big general amidst his men, too far back to see what was happening further forward.

‘Garan!’ Garan looked up. ‘You have to break your force. They’re in amongst you. No room to fight.’

‘We’ll take them as we are.’

‘You don’t understand. They aren’t fighting head on. They’re trying to get through us. Order daggers drawn at least. Be ready.’

Garan glared at him. ‘That is not the way to face this enemy. They’re too quick. We need heavy defence.’

‘Clear a break. Make room for spells, then.’

‘Now that I might do.’

Keller nodded and rose again. ‘Sooner rather than later.’