Beyond the Mists of Katura e-3

by James Barclay

‘I must be given another chance. You cannot be victorious without me. I. Am. Takaar.’ He looked briefly to his right. ‘There. Did I say that right?’

  ‘Go back to the ships,’ said Auum. ‘Pass your wisdom to the Il-Aryn through the sisters. Rest and recover.’

  ‘I do not need to recover!’ screamed Takaar. ‘I need to be here. Without me you’ll all die.’

  ‘I’m prepared to take that chance.’

  ‘I am not!’

  Takaar’s eyes darkened. He stretched his arm towards Drech, who gasped and struggled. Takaar opened his fist and Drech shuddered once, violently, and made a strangled noise in his throat. His eyes flooded with blood and exploded, showering steaming red droplets across Takaar’s face and the cobbled street. Blood coursed from Drech’s ears, his skull collapsed and he crumpled to the ground.

  ‘Now you need me!’ shouted Takaar, his face covered in gore and his eyes glittering with euphoria. ‘Now I am indispensable! Now I alone control the Il-Aryn!’

  Auum felt nausea clog his throat.

  ‘Murderer!’

  Auum couldn’t move but Ulysan did. The big TaiGethen pounced, bearing Takaar backwards onto the ground, snatching a jaqrui from his pouch and holding it against Takaar’s throat. Takaar keened like an injured animal, begging to be set free, and Gilderon pressed an ikari blade to Ulysan’s temple as the Senserii came to the ready. All around Auum, TaiGethen drew their blades in response.

  ‘Release him,’ said Gilderon. A trickle of blood ran from Ulysan’s temple.

  ‘Auum?’

  Auum walked forward staring into Gilderon’s eyes. Twenty TaiGethen moved with him. Silence spread as the work of the city surrounding them ceased.

  ‘Back off, Gilderon. Harm him and the Senserii die right here and right now.’

  Gilderon glowered. He did not move his ikari.

  ‘You are not capable of taking me,’ he said. ‘Call Ulysan off or I will kill him.’

  ‘Auum?’

  ‘Stay where you are. Gilderon knows you can kill Takaar before he can twitch. Don’t you, Gilderon?’

  ‘I do not need you, Auum,’ said Takaar. ‘Drech is gone; that is my gift to you. He would have undermined you. But I won’t. I will go because you need me out in the field. We must find Dawnthief. Bring it into our bosoms and make it the weapon that defeats the Wytch Lords.’

  ‘Time for you to keep your mouth shut,’ said Auum. ‘Your life is forfeit, murderer.’

  ‘I must be allowed to go. I can divine it. Just think what that would mean. A force for good in the right hands.’

  ‘You are not the right hands,’ snapped Auum. He was feeling faint with the pain in his arm. The burning would not die and blood dripped down his arm from the knife wound. ‘How can you remain loyal to him, Gilderon?’

  ‘We believe in him. He found us and he saved us. We owe him our lives. Tell Ulysan to release him.’

  ‘He is a murderer, as just witnessed by you. I cannot let him go.’ Auum studied Gilderon’s face. ‘You do understand that, don’t you?’

  Auum felt what he assumed was shock begin to descend on him. The vision of Drech’s death played out in his mind, overlaid by Takaar’s continuous babble. In front of him the Senserii were unmoved and his TaiGethen likewise. He had to find a way to end the stand-off before he lost the strength to stand. He looked down at Takaar. The elf was muttering to himself, in conversation with his tormentor. Time and again he named Dawnthief and the search he thought only he could undertake with any hope of success.

  ‘You cannot keep him here, you must see that. We will take him,’ said Gilderon. ‘But you must let him get up and leave with dignity.’

  ‘Dignity? Look what he did to Drech! Was that dignity or respect for another? He should leave in chains if he leaves here at all.’

  Auum laid a hand on Ulysan’s shoulder, and the big elf relaxed and got up. Auum knelt and dragged Takaar to his feet with his good hand clamped on the collar of his shirt.

  ‘What did you just do?’ Auum screamed into Takaar’s face. ‘On a whim you killed the best you ever trained. Why did you do it? How could you do it?’

  Takaar’s face dripped with sympathy for the ignorant.

  ‘He didn’t believe in me,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ Auum gaped. ‘I don’t believe in you. Are you going to kill me too?’

  ‘Is that what you’d like?’

  Auum pushed him away to stumble into Gilderon’s arms.

  ‘Raise your hand to me and I will cut it off.’

  ‘This must end,’ said Gilderon.

  Auum clutched his left shoulder, clamping his hand hard over the wound. His whole arm throbbed and he felt so tired. Dealing with Takaar was always such a drain. Every moment he was within Takaar’s sphere was a moment in which anything could go wrong. And now he had murdered his best student in cold blood. For nothing.

  He should be put to death, but the blood that would flow when the Senserii attacked wasn’t worth it. Yet Takaar left alive was a horrible risk. He was capable of reappearing at any time, and what he chose to do could make the difference between defeat and victory.

  ‘You’ll take him to Korina?’ asked Auum.

  Gilderon nodded. ‘Directly.’

  ‘He must not be allowed to go anywhere near the search area for Dawnthief. Yniss knows, he might just find it and hand it straight to the Wytch Lords.’

  ‘It will never fall into their hands,’ muttered Takaar. ‘I can hide it. Bring it home.’

  ‘On that condition, I will let him go with you,’ said Auum.

  Gilderon nodded again. ‘Agreed.’

  Auum stepped back. He looked up to the gatehouse.

  ‘Ulysan, get up there. Tell me what you see.’

  Ulysan ran up the stone stairs and stared out.

  ‘They’re taking away their dead and they aren’t moving back in. I can see a large gathering away to the left. My guess it’ll either be a big push or a withdrawal.’

  ‘Get him away now,’ said Auum. ‘Keep your Senserii safe and return to the fight. We need you but not him. I never want to lay eyes on him again.’

  Gilderon bowed and held his ikari horizontally across his body. ‘Die old, not today.’

  The gates were opened and the Senserii ran out with Takaar trotting in their midst, still chattering and gesticulating to himself. Auum climbed slowly up to the gatehouse and stood by Ulysan.

  ‘This is a disaster,’ he said. ‘What are we doing here?’

  ‘Trying to survive.’

  ‘This whole journey was a mistake, Ulysan. I can feel it deep within me. I don’t think any of us will be going home.’

  ‘You don’t believe that. Get Takaar out of your system. Remember he’s insane; don’t let him get to you.’

  ‘Is he really mad? Or just a manipulative bastard cursed with power he is all too happy to use to further his ends.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter now. We’ve wounds to dress and our dead to grieve for. Turn your back. Forget about him.’

  ‘I’m incapable of doing at least one of those things.’

  Chapter 15

  The Wytch Lords’ power derives from their union. It breeds their immortality and their strength. Break the cadre, break the Wytch Lords.

  Bynaar, Circle Seven Master of Xetesk

  Ystormun howled in the mind of his host body, driving the shaman to his knees.

  ‘You will not retreat. You will never retreat! How dare you speak your fear? Victory is close if only you have the wit to grasp it.’

  ‘My lord,’ managed the shaman, his hands pushed into the ground to keep himself from sprawling face down in the mud. The tribal lords and their elder shamen were gathered about him, fearing to touch him in case they should suffer similar pain. ‘You cannot combat their speed. We touched so few and they killed so many of us.’

  ‘Where were your guards? Did they stand or did they run?’

  ‘You can only run from what you can see.’

  ‘Idiot!’ Ystormun
fired pain into his host’s mind. ‘I will speak with them.’

  Ystormun flowed across the shaman’s mind and dragged the body to its feet. He stalked around the eight gathered before him, seeing them shrink from his gaze. He stopped before a tribal lord whose name he had to recall from the mind of his host.

  ‘Gorsu, explain your failure.’

  ‘Not one of my warriors turned and fled. Run down by cavalry, burned by spells and cut to ribbons by elves moving at evil speed, they stood their ground and tried to defend their charges. It was not failure, it was brave defeat.’

  ‘Defeat is failure,’ said Ystormun. ‘And you will not fail again. Now you are aware of their speed, you know what to expect. At dawn you will concentrate your forces on the gates and you will break them. You will enter the city and hunt down every elf. I will have Auum’s head mounted in my chambers and you will bring it to me or you will die trying. Our power will not be denied. The city falls tomorrow.’

  ‘But-’

  ‘You question me?’

  Gorsu held out his hands in a placatory gesture. ‘Please, no. But our efforts have so far failed to break either gates or walls. Your powers are not enough to shiver stone.’

  ‘Then you must break them by other means. Scale the walls, shoot the mages from the ramparts. But you will not retreat. I will not suffer cowardice.’ Ystormun stared at Gorsu. ‘A lord who hates magic should be honoured to perish seeking its downfall.’

  ‘I am one such,’ said Gorsu.

  ‘Then. .?’

  ‘We will do as you command, Lord Ystormun.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  Ystormun left the host body and it slumped to the ground on hands and knees, retching and shuddering. Gorsu watched it convulse a few times before concluding that Ystormun was definitely elsewhere. He landed a savage kick into the shaman’s gut, spinning him onto his back, clutching at this new pain with both hands.

  ‘If he was before me now. .’ said Gorsu.

  ‘Then you would be cringing and begging for another breath of life,’ said Jhalzan, lord of the Northern Marches.

  Gorsu spun to face him. ‘And you would be on your belly like the snake you are. Care to have me put you there now?’

  Jhalzan stared at Gorsu with cold eyes. He didn’t make a move towards a weapon.

  ‘We are all afraid when a Wytch Lord is among us,’ he said. ‘Kicking young Navar is akin to kicking your horse because you fell from his back.’

  ‘He spoke Ystormun’s words.’

  ‘But he is not Ystormun,’ said Lorok, Gorsu’s own elder shaman, a Wesman clad in bone and hide and tattooed so heavily it was hard to tell the age of his skin. But he was old, unnaturally so. ‘And we have until first light to plan an assault. Perhaps we should pray to calm ourselves, break bread, eat meat and find a way to do as Ystormun bids.’

  Gorsu looked down at Navar, who was staring at him as if waiting for the next blow.

  ‘What was he doing inside you? Why is he here?’

  ‘Because the elves are here and he hates the elves above all things,’ said Navar, gasping for breath. ‘His touch is far harsher than that of Belphamun but his mind is not guarded.’

  Gorsu snarled. ‘It sickens me that we are forced to do his bidding. We are Wesmen! Why do I find myself tethered to the whim of a creature with no skin?’

  ‘Must we have this again?’ asked Jhalzan. ‘Without them we would all be dead by now, burned or frozen or worse. Have patience, old friend. When eastern magic is gone, we can build free of its stink. We won’t need the cadre then, and there are only six of them.’

  ‘But with such power,’ said Lorok.

  ‘Only because it comes from the fingers of every shaman,’ said Jhalzan. ‘How will they dominate this world when you refuse to be a conduit for them?’

  Lorok said nothing, but Gorsu saw the look that passed between him and Navar. The young shaman got to his feet and brushed dust and debris from his cloak. He looked at Gorsu as if expecting an apology. Gorsu pointedly turned his back on him and looked at Julatsa’s walls. They were more than forty feet high, but the Wesmen had ladders to scale them.

  And would, but for the mages up there by the hundred and those elven warriors who moved so fast and fought so hard. By all accounts they were few, perhaps only a hundred, but their skills were already known to every warrior, and the stories would become taller around the fires tonight. Gorsu needed a way to combat them.

  ‘Lorok, a question.’

  Lorok came to his shoulder. ‘Yes, my lord?’

  ‘Combined casting is the only way to achieve long range, is that right?’

  ‘Yes. The joining of so many minds lends distance and strength.’

  ‘My problem is that we will need multiple castings as we scale the walls. How close must you be for each shaman to target individual elves or mages?’

  ‘Well within spell range of the enemy,’ said Lorok.

  Gorsu shrugged. ‘My warriors too. We are all throwing ourselves headlong into battle at the behest of your masters.’

  ‘Our masters,’ corrected Lorok.

  ‘There is no one alive who is my master,’ said Gorsu tersely. ‘How close do you have to be to target those on the walls? We must have time to climb and space to fight when we reach the ramparts.’

  Lorok looked at him blankly. ‘I understand the basics of taking the walls, Lord Gorsu.’

  Gorsu managed a smile. ‘Of course. But the Wytch Lords have provided you with nothing but their demonic fire, and I would not send my warriors into battle without shields for those who wish them.’

  ‘Making a shield is simple. Developing a casting to protect from magical attack is not,’ said Lorok. ‘Do your hide barriers deflect magical fire?’

  Gorsu growled. ‘Ystormun wishes us to take a college city with inferior weapons. Perhaps he should be standing with us.’

  ‘Perhaps you should be careful what you say, Lord Gorsu.’

  ‘Why?’ Gorsu turned to face Lorok. ‘Are my words being relayed to your masters then?’

  Lorok shook his head. ‘That is unworthy of you.’

  ‘Is it? I am not the only tribesman wondering where the loyalties of our shamen really lie. Nor am I the only one wondering if you can really turn your backs on the power they grant you.’

  ‘How long have I been your shaman?’ asked Lorok. ‘And in all that time have I given you one reason to doubt my loyalty to you and our tribe?’

  Gorsu shrugged.

  ‘Then why do you question me now? I and my brothers are going to support you tomorrow and many of us will lose our lives doing so. We are proud Wesmen, we are the shepherds of your spirits. It saddens me that you’re suspicious of us.’

  ‘The world has changed, Lorok. I do not feel master of my own destiny, and that makes me suspicious. Your masters have ordered us to mount an attack that is ill judged and unnecessary. Should we win we will be weakened, and should we lose we will rot, and Ystormun and Belphamun will merely look for more fodder. This is not our way.’

  ‘It is our only chance to break human magic,’ said Lorok.

  ‘We will never break it,’ said Gorsu, and he felt a shameful pang of hopelessness.

  ‘Never speak such words,’ hissed Lorok.

  ‘The truth is inconvenient, is it?’ Gorsu turned away from Lorok. ‘My Lords Jhalzan and Hafeez, my cook fire is hot and the stew is strong; the drink is stronger still. Join me and let’s plot our victory.’

  Gorsu glanced back at Lorok.

  ‘And you know what you must do. See that your brothers are ready.’

  Auum flexed his left hand and sensed the weakness in his arm. He felt lost and alone. The Wesmen might have been bruised but they had not fallen back, and tomorrow would bring another battle. More TaiGethen would die, and Auum needed to run with them, even if he couldn’t hold a blade.

  Doubts crowded his mind. He needed Drech but Drech was gone. Takaar too. That should have pleased him, but he could not shake the feeling that he had ma
de the wrong decision. Stein and Ulysan had no such worries, but Takaar was out there beyond any sort of control and, for all Gilderon’s assurances, would do exactly as he pleased.

  ‘We had the right to kill him and we didn’t,’ he said. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because he’s Takaar,’ said Ulysan.

  Auum turned sharply from his vantage point on the highest balcony of the Julatsan college tower. It gave him a view across the calm city all the way to the furthest Wesmen campfires. Dawn was only a couple of hours away, and Auum had long since given up on sleep.

  ‘It comes to something when I can’t hear your heavy boots,’ said Auum. ‘Is that why we showed him mercy?’

  Ulysan shrugged. ‘Why else? Deep down I still hope that he’ll come back to us and be the elf he once was. Stupid I know, but it’s what I’ve always hoped.’

  ‘I loved him,’ said Auum, feeling suddenly on the edge of tears and cursing himself for the weakness. ‘I so wanted him to see past his guilt and his paranoia, but he can’t, can he? You aren’t stupid, Ulysan. We all wish for the same and we’re all disappointed so often, aren’t we?’

  ‘But your hope hasn’t died, has it?’

  Auum shook his head. ‘No, curse him. And try as I might to hate him, I can’t maintain it. I can’t dismiss him.’

  ‘So stop wasting your energies on Takaar. Concentrate on our real enemies.’

  ‘I do, and I fear their magic. Even under the shetharyn I was hurt, and we lost seven. Seven. Their black fire is an indiscriminate power and its touch is so harsh. We can’t play such a game of chance again, and I can’t see another way to take the fight to them.’ Auum walked back into the antechamber and sat on a bench. ‘And if they choose not to attack us, what then? Yniss preserve me, I wish we’d never left Calaius.’

  Ulysan followed and sat next to him. For a time the two of them stared at the tapestries and paintings hung around the room. They were dour images of the building of Julatsa and the council in session.

  ‘You know we had no choice.’

  ‘I tell you something else: if I ever see Calaius again, I will deny I was ever here. And should I ever decide to board ship to this barren, stinking country again, you have my permission to kill me.’