James Barclay - Once walked with Gods

Yniss’s elite came together. Fewer now. Of Thrynn there was no sign. Nor Corsaar. But Merrat ran with Grafyrre. Marack, blood pouring from a wound in her forehead, fell in beside Auum and Pelyn. They simply ran at the growing line of men and took their revenge for the death of their Arch, their friend. Their sister.

Men were calling orders. Archers were running in from the right. Mages, those that could, were moving up behind the swordsmen. Auum feinted to swing at the man in front of him. The soldier flinched. Auum dropped and rolled between him and another. The man caught Marack’s blade in the side of his head.

Auum stood and thrashed his blade through the guard of the next in line. The enemy’s sword broke, the tip flying to lodge in his skull. He cried out and put his hands up to his head. Auum dug his sword in under the hapless human’s ribs. Behind Auum, the TaiGethen washed over the front line of men. The whole moved back a pace under the pressure of the attack, giving Auum brief room.

A flight of arrows came in from behind, landing amongst the fleeing Gyalans. There was a roar from that direction too. More men spilling into the square. Auum straight-punched the man in front of him, knocking him cold.

TaiGethen flew over his head, dropping into the midst of the growing press of men. They were still four deep ahead. Auum and Marack moved side by side. Four blades blocking and chopping. Merrat and Grafyrre were by them. Pelyn was to Auum’s left.

Another surge came from behind. Apposans. Less pretty, just as effective. Axes rose and fell. Blood sprayed into the sky. Auum took heart. He swayed inside a stab to the head and cracked the pommel of his blade into his attacker’s face. Auum followed up with a straight kick to the groin. The man gasped. Auum stepped up and butted the bridge of his nose, splitting it open. The man fell. Auum stamped down on his throat and moved past him.

Marack jumped, spun and kicked out. Her foot caught the head of her target. He flew back. The man behind tried to fend him off but succeeded only in stabbing him low in the back. Marack chopped in, left and right. Both men died. More arrows at their back. Auum could hear them skipping off the cobbles.

Auum ducked a wild swing, hearing the blade clash against Pelyn’s. He straightened fast. The soldier, surprised, swayed back. Auum stabbed into his exposed throat. Down he went. The soldier behind him was staring at Auum but wasn’t about to strike. Blood was sluicing down his face. When he fell forward, Kerryn stood behind him.

‘Clear!’ shouted Auum. ‘Push left and right. Graf. Get some through to the mages.’

The line of men broke. TaiGethen and Apposan chased them away. The square was still in uproar. What was left of the museum was collapsing in on itself. Fire scratched at the sky. Clouds were coming in again.

‘Run! Run!’

The Apposans chanted in unison. They rounded up Gyalans and pushed them towards the street and the way out towards the Grans. Terrified ula and iad came past Auum. He fell in beside them. Behind them, more and more men poured into the square to give chase. Ahead, mages stood waiting. No longer were their comrades in line before them. They had clear targets.

‘Graf! Mages!’ shouted Auum, but Grafyrre couldn’t hear him.

Auum could see him and Merrat over to the right. They took apart three men standing in a tight knot before turning to usher Gyalan and Apposan past them and away. Hundreds, thousands had been saved. The devastation at the museum had brought more onto the street, beating open their own doors and windows to join in the exodus. There was no need for questions now. No need for any elf to wonder if they should join the crowd. One look at the faces of men was all they needed. Any who stayed behind were as good as dead.

Auum powered towards the mages. They were together, seven of them. The sea of elves was about to engulf them but they stayed still, preparing. Auum broke through the line of running Gyalans and Apposans and closed on the enemy. But he would not make it in time.

As one, the mages opened their eyes and focused on their enemy.

They could not see what was behind them. A figure in the air, twisting as he came down right in their midst. Takaar. His swords blurred. Mages were hacked aside. A hand dropped to the ground, still opening and closing. A shoulder was chopped through. They tried to turn and defend but his hands were too quick and his feet too sure.

The last of them grappled with him, wrapping his arms around him and pushing him back. Takaar dropped both blades and stared at the mage. Auum slowed too, letting the rescued and rescuers flow past him. Takaar cocked his head. The mage did not know what to do next. He let go with one arm and felt for a knife, sensing a chance.

Takaar put a hand on the mage’s chest and shoved him back just one pace. The other hand he placed on his face. Fire engulfed the man’s head. It was a juddering mix of brown and green shot through with grey. His screams were agonised and brief.

Takaar took his hand away and stared at it, his mouth open and moving. Auum glanced behind. Gyalans still poured past him. Men were closing. Not as fast as even the slowest elf but even they would overhaul a TaiGethen who stood and waited for them.

‘Takaar. Come on,’ he said, though the words he wanted to speak were utterly different.

Takaar looked at him as he approached. Takaar swallowed and stepped back as if trying to retreat from his own hand.

‘I felt it in me,’ he said. ‘And in him. Look at what I did. What did I do?’

An arrow bit into the cobbles right at Auum’s feet. Another struck the smouldering dead mage. Auum grabbed Takaar’s arm and felt a jolt through it like an impact. He wanted to let go but instead tightened his grip and pulled.

‘Come on. Later, all right? Live now.’

Auum began to run. The last of the Gyalans were coming past him. Pelyn was with them. She was cut and bloodied but in her eyes there was victory.

‘We did it,’ she said, coming to Takaar’s other side. ‘We did it.’

Takaar looked at her once and shook his head.

‘We did nothing. Saved a handful and let so many others die. We have lost Katyett and we have lost our city. Calaius belongs to the humans.’

While a TaiGethen still has the forest, there is still hope. For two days survivors trickled out of the city and into the canopy, where the TaiGethen found them and led them to safety. On the third day the humans were done with their slaughter and the city was sealed so tight that no iad or ula would find a way out.

They were not pursued into the forest. That was left, presumably, to another day. Victory, Pelyn had said, but Takaar had been right. They had lost. The elves had been expelled from their own city. It belonged to man now and they would soon be reaching into the forest to take the rest of what they desired.

So much death. Llyron would be busy for years, sending the souls to Shorth. Assuming Ystormun had kept her alive. And Auum thought that he had. He was clever. Brutal, evil. Clever. Auum sat with Serrin of the Silent on the cliffs above the Ultan. Heavily strapped and limping but very much alive, Serrin’s sudden appearance had left Auum’s feelings mixed. Serrin did not want to be here but had felt compelled to come. Auum waited to find out why that was while his discomfort grew.

They could sit here safely, looking into the city and seeing the devastation and the work of men. They could see their people too. Slaves now, he supposed. The thrill of the run to the museum was already a tainted memory. The attempts to free thread elves elsewhere in the city had been much less successful.

‘Ridiculous, isn’t it?’ said Auum. ‘The Ynissul are now the most numerous thread among the rescued of Ysundeneth.’