Elves: Beyond the Mists of Katura

by James Barclay

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘So, are they weak?’ asked Drech.

  ‘Of course they aren’t weak!’ shouted Takaar. ‘And if you do not marshal your adepts correctly the shamen will tear this ship to splinters!’

  Drech looked over Takaar’s shoulder. A few adepts were gathered there to watch the enemy approach. Drech lowered his voice.

  ‘Most on board this ship have no experience of combat. They are already scared and they do not need to hear from you that any mistake will lead to certain death.’

  Takaar shrugged. ‘It is the truth.’

  ‘Maybe it is. But as their spiritual leader you need to tell them they are strong enough to get through and that you will stand by them every moment.’

  ‘They are strong enough.’

  Drech jabbed a finger at the adepts, none of whom knew quite what to do.

  ‘So tell them!’ he snapped. ‘Please.’

  Takaar felt stung. ‘Why are you shouting at me?’

  Oh, shame, poor little Takaar being told off.

  ‘The fight is close,’ said Drech, his voice low once again. ‘We have to stand together confident of victory. So tell them what they need to hear.’

  Takaar wasn’t sure what he meant. He’d laid it all out already. There was nothing more to say; they needed to prepare, rest if they could and focus their minds on how to build impenetrable shields against darker earth energies.

  ‘You all know what to do,’ said Takaar.

  He waved them aside to make a path for him back to the base of the mainmast where Aviana was in communication with her sisters, one on each ship. He ignored the mutterings of the adepts as he passed, leaving Drech to attempt to pacify the fearful. It hardly mattered. In a short time they would either learn or they would die.

  Takaar knelt by Aviana. She looked calm, her breathing was measured and her eyes were open.

  ‘What news?’ asked Takaar.

  ‘Manoeuvres will begin in an hour. We’re going to lead the second pair. Auum’s ship is the lead of the first pair. The skippers need shielding from mast tip to keel on the open sides. We are to keep out of the way of the sailors, and sit beneath the rails if we cannot sit below decks. We are being advised to move now. Some of the crews need to do final drills.’

  Takaar nodded. ‘Then let’s move you first. Captain’s quarters, I think, beneath the wheel deck. Whatever happens, don’t lose contact. We’ll prevail, I promise you.’

  Aviana nodded. ‘What can I report back?’

  ‘Acknowledge all your latest messages. We’ll do all that is asked. Say that the TaiGethen are praying and applying camouflage. Tell Auum we’re ready.’

  Chapter 7

  The earth’s energy runs through us all. The Il-Aryn use it to fashion castings. The TaiGethen use it to fashion great speed of mind and body.

  Takaar, Father of the Il-Aryn

  The small elven fleet had split into two pairs. Esteren had taken his vessel, Soul of Yniss, and the Spirit of Tual on a long port tack. The second pair, Gyaam’s Blessing and Capricious continued on the starboard tack and would pass well in front of the oncoming fleet. The timing of their return tacks, to bring them into the enemy flanks, was going to be crucial.

  Auum and Ulysan were back in the crow’s nest alongside Selas, who was providing a running commentary of their position relative to the enemy. They were still well to the north-west. If Auum was any judge, Selas had an extraordinary eye for distance and speed.

  Auum watched the enemy, who could no doubt see them but would not know an attack was planned. After all, they would assume that the ships they could see were merchantmen giving them a wide berth. Their ships were grouped loosely into two rows and Selas estimated their spacing to be at least a hundred yards on any side. That gave the elven ships room to get among them should the humans decide that continuing at best speed was preferable to engaging.

  ‘They’ll try to close up when they realise we’re attacking, but that’s risky in itself,’ she had told them. ‘It takes a good deal of skill to sail that close without collision or losing speed, so it might work to our advantage.’

  Down on deck the crew readied themselves for the tack to starboard. Teams waited by the sheets lashed to cleats running down both sides of the three-masted vessel. Esteren was running as much canvas as possible – no spar was unadorned – and the ship was a magnificent sight.

  With the exception of Cleress and one other adept, who were seated right in front of the wheel, no Il-Aryn or TaiGethen were on deck, leaving the crew free to perform the manoeuvre.

  ‘Is this going to work?’ asked Auum.

  ‘Why wouldn’t it?’ said Ulysan. ‘Four against ten; we’re going to drive each ship between two enemies and then get our people to jump across the frothing water into the teeth of shaman magic and enemy blades. What could possibly go wrong?’

  ‘Who is it you lack faith in?’ asked Selas. ‘My sailors, the Il-Aryn or your warriors?’

  Auum saw the mischievous glint in her eye.

  ‘Big ships are hard to turn,’ said Auum. ‘And hard to shield.’

  Selas smiled. ‘It’s not so hard, just a tack and some twitches of the wheel. Look, the Spirit and the Blessing will tack on to a reach so they’ll have pace when they move across the front rank of ships. All they have to do is find the angle up between the two outside pairs.

  ‘For us and the Capricious, it’s a little more tricky. We’ll both be close hauled and making two knots at best, so our tack timing is really important if we’re to sail in between the front and rear ranks. And then to point up further into the wind to pass between the outside pairs . . . well, that’s why Esteren is here. You and your Il-Aryn need to be ready, though. It’s going to be tough with magic flying in from port and starboard. You won’t have much time to jump the gap.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re confident,’ said Auum.

  ‘If the shields stay up, we’ll be all right,’ said Selas. ‘It’s a shame our Il-Aryn can’t deal out damage, though, isn’t it?’

  ‘Today, I agree with you,’ said Auum. ‘Mostly, I pray to Yniss that they never work out how to kill with magic.’

  ‘One moment,’ said Selas. ‘Here we go . . . Skipper! Angle closed. Speed, five knots. Distance on tack, two nautical.’

  ‘Ready about!’ roared Esteren. The bosun relayed the message. Crews snapped to attention up and down the vessel. ‘Lee-ho! Helm, hard a-starboard.’

  ‘Hard a-starboard, aye.’

  Soul of Yniss began to move up into the wind. On the deck sheets were loosed and fifteen sails spilled the wind. Crew on the starboard side began hauling on their sheets, dragging sails into position to catch the breeze. Team leaders called out the hauling rhythm, their teams singing the riposte to each line.

  ‘Not fast enough!’ yelled Esteren. ‘Burn the fat off your hides and pull!’

  The ship’s prow moved across the wind. The sound of canvas flapping rolled like thunder across the ship. Cleats slapped against wood, sheets whipped and tautened.

  ‘Ready jib and spanker!’ called Esteren.

  The bosun echoed the call. Crews readied the jib and spanker sail sheets. The ship moved further on to the port tack.

  ‘Take the wind! Steady the helm.’

  ‘Take the wind, aye!’ roared the crew.

  Strong elves hauled on the sheets. At the bow the billowing jib sail tightened a little, filling with wind. At the stern the spanker flapped, its boom creaking as the crew hauled it in. The ship picked up speed, driving into the end of the tack.

  ‘Top gallants ready!’ roared Esteren. ‘Take the wind!’

  The sails heading the three masts moved to capture the breeze, the bosun yelling orders to trim each sail for best advantage.

  ‘Bosun, bring the rest in,’ said Esteren.

  ‘Aye, skipper.’ The bosun marched into the centre of the ship, booming out orders to bring the mainsails to bear.

  ‘Helm, course north-west. Point up a degree. There you go, ste
ady her.’

  Esteren’s voice still carried across the ship though he was standing right by his helm. Auum shook his head as the ship settled on the new tack. To his left the Spirit of Tual had completed her tack and was astern of them by no more than three lengths, and the gap between them was less than fifty yards.

  ‘Wow,’ said Auum.

  Selas smiled. ‘It’s always best seeing it from up here. Skipper’ll have things to say though. It’s never quite good enough.’

  ‘Good job you’re up here, then,’ said Ulysan.

  ‘Just wait,’ said Selas. ‘If we meet the enemy half a yard astray, he’ll have me scrubbing the head the rest of the way to Balaia.’

  ‘How long to contact?’ asked Auum.

  ‘Less than half an hour,’ said Selas.

  ‘Selas!’ Esteren’s voice seemed to howl up the mast and rattle through the crow’s nest. Selas started and her face coloured. ‘Halt the chatter. Position, speed, distance.’

  ‘Aye, skipper.’ Selas gazed forward briefly. ‘North-west plus one point to the wind, closing speed seven knots. Distance, two nautical.’

  ‘Send your guests down. There is work to do.’

  Selas smiled at Auum.

  ‘You heard him.’

  Ulysan laughed. ‘Everyone did.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Auum. ‘Fighting to be done. See you up here at dusk, Selas.’

  ‘It will be an honour to witness the sunset with you.’

  Back on deck, Ulysan called the TaiGethen and Il-Aryn to their positions. Up in the crow’s nest, Selas was calling the moves made by the enemy fleet. Auum joined Esteren at the helm.

  ‘They aren’t breaking,’ said Esteren. ‘Either they’re inexperienced or they’re expecting to break us with heavily concentrated magic.’

  ‘I think we can assume it’s the latter,’ said Auum.

  ‘The Il-Aryn had better know what they’re doing or this is going to be a very short battle.’

  ‘Drech says that they do,’ said Auum. ‘I trust him.’

  Esteren nodded and stared at the enemy vessels, on which they were coming up quickly. ‘Helm, two points west.’

  ‘Two points west, aye,’ said the helm.

  ‘Cleress, let me have the positions of your sisters,’ said Esteren, his voice gentle, almost reverential.

  Cleress was silent for a moment, her Il-Aryn minder crouched by her, whispering encouragement. Auum saw her eyes flitting about beneath their lids.

  ‘Blessing and Capricious on target. TaiGethen ready. Il-Aryn standing by. Takaar warns of shaman casting range . . . shield early . . . fighters should keep low. Stein will cast to the centre of fleet. Blessing turn across imminent.’

  ‘Message, Cleress, please,’ said Esteren. ‘Blessing and Spirit free to turn at will. Free to engage at will. Relay Takaar’s advice as orders from me. Capricious to turn on my signal.’

  Cleress indicated understanding.

  ‘Ready your people, Auum. Signals! Run the flags for fleet to come about. Quickly as you like. Helm, steady as she goes, but let’s not crash into anyone, eh?’

  ‘Aye, skipper.’

  ‘Crew! Prepare to repel borders. Stretcher crews stand by. Fire teams, stand by.’

  The bosun’s orders reverberated from stern to bowsprit. Auum’s heart rate increased and his body energised in anticipation of the fight. He could see figures running around on the decks of the enemy ships, which still ploughed forward, but even to Auum’s untrained eye it was clear they would not escape the closing elven vessels. Selas reported they were closing up, and her estimations and calculations of angle and speed had been extraordinarily accurate.

  Auum trotted down the main deck. As on all four elven ships, the TaiGethen were split five cells each to port and starboard, ready to board both of the ships they passed between. In a line between the TaiGethen stood twenty Il-Aryn. The other twenty were hidden but ready to respond to the call. The Il-Aryn leader on board was a Gyalan iad Auum had not seen before they put to sea but had since impressed him.

  ‘Istani, any problems?’

  ‘No time for problems,’ she replied, nodding at the enemy looming large ahead. ‘We’re ready.’

  ‘Trust us,’ said Auum. ‘Don’t second-think. You must protect the ships because should we fail, you can outrun them back to Calaius.’

  ‘We won’t let you down.’

  ‘Yniss bless you.’

  ‘Gyal kiss you with blessed rain,’ returned Istani.

  ‘Tais,’ called Auum. ‘We pray.’

  Stein could feel the weight of the Wytch Lords’ power swilling through the shamen gathered on the enemy vessels. Standing next to the mizzenmast, he worried about the ability of the Il-Aryn to block what was coming, and of the TaiGethen to tackle the Wesmen. The shamen were powerful and their swordsmen strong and brutal. He could barely feel what it was the Il-Aryn said they possessed.

  Yet Takaar would brook no doubts, and Drech, the one who spoke such sense and was a genuine scholar, had unstinting faith in his charges’ abilities. Still, Stein refused to be caught napping. Though he’d been asked to preserve his mana stamina for a possible rearguard action, there were still things he could do and the shamen would not be able to deflect because they’d have no idea he was there until it was way too late.

  The enemy were mustering but unsure of themselves. Shamen were gathered in groups on the ships he could see and the Wesmen waved weapons, shouted abuse and postured in a faintly ridiculous but typical fashion. Stein felt the Wytch Lord power intensifying. He glanced over at Takaar.

  ‘Incoming,’ said Stein. ‘Imminently.’

  Takaar glared at him but his face softened almost immediately. He nodded.

  ‘Credit where it is due, you’re right,’ he said quietly then raised his voice. ‘Drech, give the order.’

  ‘Raise the barrier,’ said Drech. ‘Enclose this vessel. Ix bless you for your strength, your belief and your talent. Deploy.’

  The casting snapped into place with barely a pause. Stein hunched reflexively at the weight of magical power it drew. There was no mistaking what the Il-Aryn could do now, and he found himself staring, his eyes attuned to the mana spectrum.

  ‘Gods drowning, what is that?’

  An ovoid covered the ship above and below the waterline. He could see it because he could both sense it and because it sharpened the focus of everything beyond it. Stein fought to understand what he was seeing. Lines of mana ran through the casting but in a way a lace might secure a boot rather than as the base fabric. It appeared to be made of little other than air and perhaps water but had an aura of incredible strength – that of the stormy sea and of the tempest’s energy. It shimmered occasionally as if reaffirming its shape and integrity, the Il-Aryn who had cast it sitting perfectly still, line astern, arms folded into their laps and their heads resting on their chests.

  Takaar was walking towards him, his arms spread and a beatific smile on his face.

  ‘It is a wonder, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is,’ said Stein. ‘Will it work? What have you made here?’

  The front row of Wesmen ships was past them, leaving the nearest enemy vessels in the second row less than a hundred yards away. The elven skipper pointed up a little into the wind, aiming for the gap between the first pair of ships. TaiGethen crouched beneath the port and starboard rails, waiting for the order to attack. They had no ropes and no grapples, but having seen what the Il-Aryn had done, Stein ceased to be concerned about their ability.

  ‘We draw on nature’s power. We manipulate the elements. There is nothing stronger than nature because even when we are all dust, it will endure. We have rendered the air about this ship and the skin of water encasing the hull solid as deep mountain stone. No power can break it.’

  Eighty yards. The TaiGethen were praying. The intensity of the Wytch Lord magic was painful in Stein’s skull. He prayed Takaar was right.

  ‘But can I cast anything out of it?’

  ‘I don’t se
e why not,’ said Takaar. ‘It’s a repulsion field on the outside only. You could push your hand through it.’

  Takaar paused and giggled like a child. Sixty yards. Stein prepared.

  ‘Oh yes, that’s almost the best part,’ Takaar said, apparently to someone else. ‘Shall we tell him?’

  Stein wasn’t really listening; his concentration was focused solely on his casting, which in comparison to the Il-Aryn’s was a work in stately progress towards a less spectacular goal.

  Takaar was still talking. ‘Don’t tell anyone else, but from the outside the barrier is opaque, like water cascading down glass. They can’t see through it.’

  Forty yards.

  ‘Really?’ Stein almost lost the shape of his spell. ‘That’s very good. Very good indeed.’

  Wytch Lord magic spat across the shortening gap from both sides as the elven ship moved smoothly between the enemy vessels, turning a few degrees into the wind. Black lines traced across the barrier, which rippled like a millpond pierced by a stone. Stein clung to his casting while the energies thrummed and fought all around him. On the deck adepts grunted and shivered. Drech urged them to strength.

  Twenty yards. The enemy ship in Stein’s vision was huge. He felt as if walls were closing on them from both sides and he could hear the shouts and taunts of Wesmen as if they were surrounded. The TaiGethen tensed. Stein looked beyond the stern of the onrushing Wesman ship. The flank of the central vessel, the ship the elves could not board on their first pass, was just in range. Stein cast, seeing his orb fly in an arc towards his chosen enemy. The skipper of the elven ship turned a few more points north, leaving them broadside on to the enemy on both sides and almost in irons.

  The two enemy vessels moved past them, one trailing the other by about half a length. Shaman magic tore at the shield, and the Il-Aryn fought to keep their casting sound. From the rails left and right the Wesmen howled promises of death. The TaiGethen leaped to oblige them.

  Chapter 8

  Of all the great errors an adept can make, the greatest is assuming a power on a par with my own will grow.

  Takaar, Father of the Il-Aryn