Elves: Rise of the TaiGethen

by James Barclay

  Jeral looked back at the water. Burning barrels and sacks had been pushed into the water, diminishing the fires still further. There was almost total silence. The water had ceased to churn. A couple of rowing boats were scudding between barges. Men were being transferred and the occasional glow signified mages at work, tidying up wounds. But of those who had fallen into the river, there was nothing left to save.

  In the forest the pickets had been strengthened, and everywhere you looked hardened soldiers were shuddering and shivering as if cold. It wasn’t even raining yet.

  ‘Seen anything of our glorious leaders?’ asked Hynd.

  Jeral sniffed. ‘What do you think? No doubt they surrounded themselves with mages, castings and spears and crawled under the biggest rocks they could find. No, strike that. It’s the middle of the night, isn’t it? Loreb will be pissed and won’t know anything’s happened. Killith is probably organising a sing-song or something. Pindock, now he will be under a rock somewhere with shit dribbling down his legs. What we could really do with is a word from your lot. I mean, how much further is this place? It had better fucking exist, that’s all I can say.’

  ‘Takaar is on the move,’ said Hynd. ‘All we can do is follow him.’

  ‘But for how long? Ten days? Forty?’ Hynd shrugged and Jeral blew out his cheeks. ‘Look around, Hynd. There are plenty of scared people out there. We don’t know how long we’re going to be marching deeper and deeper into this hideous leafy hell and we’ve just lost a load of our food into the bargain. How are your blisters?’

  Hynd smiled. ‘Being a mage has its benefits.’

  ‘Haven’t fixed mine though, have you? And I’m not the worst. We’ve got rot and splits deep enough to have been made by a knife. What we need, us ordinary soldiers, is a bit of communication. This can’t go on.’

  ‘Tell Killith then,’ said Hynd sharply. ‘It’s not up to me, is it? Anyway I don’t know any more than you do.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. You know how this works. We follow the elf to Katura and then we kill whatever we find there.’

  ‘And we hope to hell he doesn’t just wander around in a big circle.’

  ‘Ystormun doesn’t think he will.’

  Jeral spat. ‘Well Ystormun isn’t out here. And I think we’ve already had ample evidence that the elves are a bunch of sneaky bastards. I wonder how many men we’ll have left when we eventually get a proper fight?’

  ‘You worry too much.’

  ‘Nuin said the same thing, just before a panther ripped out his throat,’ said Jeral, scratching his scars. ‘I mean, has it really not crossed your master’s mind that Takaar might lead us astray to give the TaiGethen more opportunities to scare the crap out of us?’

  ‘He’s travelling almost due south,’ said Hynd. ‘He’s not going in a circle. We’re scouting ahead of him when we can but our stamina is finite.’

  ‘So is the flesh on my feet. So is the army’s morale – especially after tonight. We’re marching into nowhere and every footstep places us nearer an enemy we can barely touch. Hardly matters how few of them there are, assuming that piece of intelligence is remotely accurate. Until we get to this city, they don’t have to meet us head on, do they?’

  Hynd rubbed his hands over his face. ‘All right. I’ll go and talk to Lockesh. So long as you stop whining.’

  Jeral chuckled. ‘I can promise you a lot of things but don’t ask that of me. After all, what would I have left then?’

  ‘Companionable silence.’

  ‘I am loyal among the faithless. I am the truth among lies. I am the word among savages. I walk through history and I am the future. I am the first breath of the new born. I am the last and fatal blow for the dead. I am the Arch of the new immortals.

  ‘I am complete.’

  The last of his paint was across his chin. Takaar stood in the wet dawn of the new day and his nostrils were full of the glorious scents of Ix and her energies.

  Who is it you are today?

  ‘I am Takaar and I am the first of the Il-Aryn.’

  And the camouflage . . .

  ‘Today we fuse magic with the art of the warrior. Who better to teach this than he who walks among the gods.’

  Dear Yniss preserve us, this is going to be good.

  ‘You think me unsound of mind?’

  Well, you’re still talking to me.

  ‘But for all you are ever present, you missed my walk into the light of knowledge as we all slept.’

  Please go on.

  ‘The path is clear. The learning shall be swift and the rise of the Il-Aryn assured.’

  Which I presume means you’re taking your leave of your poor confused followers.

  ‘You’re wrong. They believe in me.’

  They believe in Onelle. They are wary of you. This little act should tip them right over the edge.

  ‘I am the only one who can school them. The only one who can save them.’

  Save them from what?

  Takaar smiled and began walking back to the camp perched on the banks of the River Shorth.

  ‘Save them from the Il-Aryn, a power that will consume them unless they can truly accept it.’

  What are you talking about?

  ‘Listen and learn.’

  I hate you when you’re like this.

  ‘Then I am truly One today.’

  The Senserii were loading the boats and organising a simple breakfast soup of root vegetables, guarana and bright-smelling herbs. The students were awake and most of them were out of their hammocks and gathered near the cook fire. The first one to see him started visibly, shuffling back into his friends before tugging the shirt of the nearest. The desultory conversation ceased, smothered by a sense of unease.

  Oh brilliant. You’ve got them right in the palm of your hand now.

  Takaar hissed then covered it with a smile.

  ‘If my appearance surprises you, then you must brace yourselves for greater shocks to come. I have awoken this day and the knowledge you must possess is within me. I will bestow it upon you. The path will not be easy. Some of you may fail. But for those who succeed, your names will resonate through the millennia.’

  Takaar walked towards them, his arms open and welcoming. But they did not respond with the beatific smiles he had anticipated. No matter. Instead, they bunched a little closer together and looked to the leader within their midst. He moved to the front of the group. Takaar blessed him with a nod of approval. A talented young ula with an odd name . . . what was it? Ah, yes, Drech.

  ‘My Lord Takaar, I’m . . . confused. We’re confused.’

  ‘All will become clear, my student.’

  Drech’s smile was halting. ‘Yes, of course. But are we now to learn the way of the TaiGethen? Your camouflage . . .’

  ‘Ha! Yes.’ Takaar clapped his hands. ‘You are right to think that way because, at its heart, an understanding of magic is a combat as keen as any TaiGethen blade.’

  ‘Surely we have already understood—’

  ‘You have understood nothing!’ spat Takaar, feeling their fear and bewilderment as food in his gut. ‘You do not know why the shield failed at Aryndeneth. I do. You do not know why our magic cannot match that of the humans. I do. And I can teach you, but it will be a fight. I have won that fight—’ Takaar smiled and allowed himself an expression of superiority ‘—but I am TaiGethen.’

  Drech looked round at his peers and none of them possessed the spark of understanding. Takaar huffed and his frustration began to grow. His tormentor was chuckling. Takaar tried to ignore him.

  ‘Surely we are travelling to become, as you explained, the teachers of the new Il-Aryn,’ said Drech. ‘We can already help them to an awareness of the power within them, teach them about shapes and stamina. Where does combat fit in?’

  ‘You have opened the door but you cannot hold back the flood,’ said Takaar. ‘The power you have flowing through you will destroy you unless you learn to control it.’

  ‘We do
control it,’ said Drech. ‘We harness and direct it.’

  ‘Really?’ Takaar scratched his chin. ‘Then let me educate you in your utter weakness in those areas.’

  Drech’s eyes widened. Takaar strode forward until he was a single pace from the young adept. He opened his arms.

  ‘What would you have me do?’ asked Drech.

  ‘Attack me,’ said Takaar. ‘Use your quickest and most powerful casting. You can make flame on your hands can you not? Aim it at my face. Melt my camouflage, burn my skin.’

  ‘I cannot—’

  ‘Cast, or turn back to Aryndeneth now and live with your shame. I will tolerate neither disobedience nor cowardice.’

  Drech met Takaar’s stare and Takaar saw courage and fury there. Perfect. Drech’s eyes unfocused briefly and his hands shot forward, flame wreathing and encasing them. Fire surged out, and Takaar opened his mouth. He inhaled the flame, feeling the fuel that created it surge through his veins. He changed its nature, using the core of his body, and exhaled a hurricane.

  Cloaks were blown over faces, loose debris was cast into the air and the soup cauldron rocked violently on its makeshift tripod, steadied at the last moment by a Senseri. Drech was blown back into his fellows and they fell in an untidy sprawl on the soaked ground.

  Takaar folded his arms and waited for the students to untangle themselves, stand and brush loose mud from their clothes. He could see that Drech was furious.

  ‘Humiliation should not sit well with any of you,’ said Takaar. ‘Do not accept it and do not allow those feelings to be repeated. Learn this. An elf who can saw wood cannot call himself a carpenter. All you have done is taste the magic, and all you can do with it is make constructs of paper. Until the energies of Ix are part of your soul, twined around your bones and running in your blood, you will never be in control.

  ‘You will not be just weak, you will be in danger from a surge of energy which could rip your mind apart. So you must learn to drink the energy, be one with it and accept it as an integral part of you, your mind and your body. It has to be you. Or it will consume you.’

  Takaar watched them fighting whether to believe him or not. Drech, he could see, had shaken off his humiliation and was staring at Takaar with undisguised awe and desire, not for him but for the knowledge he possessed. Now that was what Takaar had expected to see in his students.

  ‘I want to feel what you feel,’ said Drech.

  But Takaar could see he had not yet convinced all his fellows and Takaar wanted them all.

  ‘I don’t want anyone with me who does not believe in me. I won’t stop any of you running back to Aryndeneth, to Onelle’s bosom. She, unlike you, has always been at one with the Il-Aryn. And she, unlike you, will not die screaming one day because she has already contained the flood of magic in her mind. Without me, you cannot hope to contain it yourselves.

  ‘It really is your choice. Come, learn from me and teach the new generation in your turn. Or go back home and wait to die.’

  You really are a total bastard, aren’t you?

  ‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’

  Chapter 18

  Man’s magic can cure ills, it can burn the flesh from bones and it can shout louder than a falling mountain. But it cannot confer faith, and thus men remain essentially weak.

  Auum, Arch of the TaiGethen

  The stew was not sitting well with Hynd. Or perhaps it was that he’d just been bawled out by Lockesh for daring to suggest the rank and file were given a little information, like how long this torture would go on. It had taken him a whole day’s march to pluck up the courage to request an audience, and the early end to the march had seen his stomach do an uncomfortable flip.

  Jeral had made him eat first, probably so he could taunt him about his meeting for as long as possible. And to bore him rigid with his endless litany of complaints, complaints he had never taken to his generals. Hynd had let it all roll over him while he watched the barge repairs progress.

  By the time he’d been summoned, his guts were gurgling and thumping away as if he’d had a hard night drinking the worst spirits the elves could dredge out of their revolting vegetable roots. The toasting his ears had received had taken his mind off it for a while but now, on his way back to Jeral via the outlying pickets to ‘clear his mind of stupidity while he checked every ward on the perimeter’, he was experiencing sharp pains he put down to an upcoming bout of violent wind.

  The first disabling cramp struck him while he was restructuring a badly designed alarm ward that would have triggered when anything larger than a hare crossed its threshold. He was already crouching, so when the pain defeated his balance he didn’t have far to fall.

  Hynd grunted and clutched his stomach. The cramp went on, grinding away at his innards, bringing bile to his throat and sweat to his face. Hynd tried to force himself back to his feet despite the pain. A few yards away the guards at the picket were tending to one of their own who was writhing on the ground.

  Hynd dropped back to all fours and vomited. Green and brown sludge spattered across the leaf litter and he almost passed out. He just managed to stay conscious, rolling on to his back away from the vomit and heaving in a breath of humid, close air. He could hear someone calling out but it seemed to come from a great distance.

  Hynd tried to focus, creating the shape for a healing spell. It was to no avail. Nothing would form. He couldn’t concentrate. Fear washed through him, intensifying when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see one of the picket guards standing over him.

  ‘Guts?’ he asked.

  Hynd managed a nod and ground out a shudder of exquisite pain. His head began to ache horribly, pounding so hard he could barely hear what the guard said next.

  ‘. . . iver. Hund . . . your feet.’

  The guard held out a hand to help him up. Hynd nodded and waved to the man to give him a moment to gather himself. The cramp had eased ever so slightly, until he merely felt as though he’d swallowed slivers of glass, or perhaps an entire longsword. Sideways. He reached up his hand but the guard wasn’t looking at him any more.

  ‘Are you—’

  There was a vibration through the ground and a rustling of the leaf litter before the alarm ward exploded, flooding the immediate area with light and sounding a discordant alarm which sheared into Hynd’s head. A panther battered into the guard taking him beyond Hynd’s field of vision.

  Hynd forgot his pain just for a moment and scrambled up to run back to the river. But another cramp stole his strength before he reached it and he had to lean against a tree for support. He heard a sound through the pounding in his head and opened his eyes to see a panther crouched in front of him. The animal leapt at his chest, knocking him down and pinning him to the ground. It moved to bite down on his neck but stopped, jutted its muzzle forward and sniffed his mouth.

  Hynd was frozen. He had no idea what it was waiting for. His life was over and at least this would be a release from the awful pains inside. The panther growled deep in its throat, drew back and sprang away, roaring what sounded like a warning.

  Hynd rolled over and dragged himself back to his feet. He could see the shapes of elves in the shadows. The light from the alarm ward was dimming and illuminated a few bodies and a single writhing man left alive, much like himself. Hynd vomited again, his muscles straining so hard he wasn’t sure they’d ever relax. But they did and, using every tree and branch for support, he stumbled towards the river, aware that he was crying incoherently for help, and crying for relief from the pain.

  No one ran past him towards the picket, and that was wrong. He could hear people shouting but it was coming from way off to his right, and when he burst out of the forest he was confronted by a scene befitting a sick house, not an army at rest. Everywhere he looked men were lying on the ground or kneeling, clutching their heads or stomachs. The stench of shit and vomit was overpowering and the cries of the stricken chimed with his own.

  Hynd searched for Jeral, finding him ben
t double over the river, wiping puke from his mouth and breathing hard. He dropped to his knees by his friend.

  ‘Jeral,’ he managed.

  ‘We’ve been poisoned,’ said Jeral. ‘Fuck it hurts.’

  ‘I know,’ gasped Hynd. ‘But it’s saving us too.’

  Jeral looked at him. The whites of his eyes were shot through with red and his brow was covered in sweat. He lost his balance and jammed a hand into the dirt to steady himself.

  ‘What are you . . . talking about?’

  ‘Panther. It wouldn’t touch me. Took one sniff and moved away.’

  Even through his agony, Jeral managed a smile, and his eyes sparkled just for a moment.

  ‘Don’t think that was the poison, Hynd.’ He gasped and retched violently, green bile dribbling from his mouth. ‘Help is coming. Not everyone affected.’

  Hynd whimpered at the tightening of his latest cramp. He tried to keep a count while it gripped him but couldn’t even concentrate on that. He heard the sound of running feet nearby and a heavily accented voice cut across his self-pity.

  ‘Allow us to ease your pain.’

  Jeral forced himself upright, swayed and put a hand on his sword hilt.

  ‘Hynd. Get behind me.’

  Then Jeral fell.

  Serrin brought the ClawBound to the sanctuary of the Mallios Caves a few hours to the south of Aryndeneth. They had not all come. Serrin had no certain idea how many pairs ran the forest but it was more than those who had been harassing the humans on their march along the River Ix.

  Some had descended so far into the realm of Tual that they would not run with any other ClawBound. Others sought seclusion for their own reasons and still more had chosen to cleanse the forest at Tolt Anoor or Deneth Barine. And, of course, Serrin didn’t know if the entire calling of Silent Priests had chosen the way of the ClawBound or not. Faith dictated that they should have, but some might still carry the message of Yniss in the old way.