Beyond the Mists of Katura e-3

by James Barclay

  ‘Those who entertain the possibility of defeat will always suffer the reality.’

  There was a silence while Stein digested his words.

  ‘A sound philosophy.’

  ‘Can you fly in this wind?’ asked Merrat.

  ‘It’s borderline but I think so. Carrying elves down will help, I think, given the extra weight. We’ll have to-’

  ‘Spread yourselves on your bellies! Dig, don’t scratch. Do it now!’

  Ulysan’s shouts ripped across the calm of the slope. Auum stood and spun round, Merrat with him and Stein rising more carefully. Three had fallen, one having slipped and grabbed the others to steady himself so bringing them all down. They were in an untidy heap rotating slowly and gathering speed on the slope only fifty yards from the drop.

  Ulysan was chasing them, bursting through the line of now stationary walkers and shufflers and heading across the slope to try and catch them. Auum’s heart was in his mouth; Ulysan was going too fast. He set off too but Merrat was ahead of him.

  ‘My people,’ he said. ‘I’ve got this.’

  He skated away, his movements fluid and his speed increasing quickly as he moved at an angle to intercept the flailing elven trio, none of whom could drive a knife into the ice to slow their progress.

  ‘Spread yourselves out!’ called Auum, setting off along the edge, his feet finding purchase hard to come by and the ice ridges cracking under his feet. ‘On your bellies and use those knives!’

  Merrat was closing on them fast but they were starting to panic. They were clutching one another rather than fighting their instincts and spreading themselves as wide as they could to gain maximum friction. He saw one knife strike hard into the ice, but the blade snapped and the Il-Aryn shrieked with frustration and fear.

  Fifteen yards before they reached the edge of the precipice, Merrat dived full length, catching one of them about the chest.

  ‘Hang on to each other and spread out!’ he ordered.

  Instead they tried climbing over each other to reach him. Merrat stabbed hard at the ice, scoring a trench. The blade shrieked as he pushed harder, slowing them but not enough. Auum ran faster, trusting his feet, whispering a prayer to Tual to keep him upright.

  ‘Merrat! You have to get your other knife in! You’re going too fast.’

  Merrat tried to turn his body. ‘Hold on to my legs, let me free my arm!’

  But the Il-Aryn were lost to reason. Two had hold of Merrat and the third was clutching for him, denying him the chance to save them.

  ‘Let him go!’ roared Auum. He was closing but nowhere near quickly enough. ‘He has to use his other knife! Listen to me!’

  The first elf’s feet slipped over the precipice. He wailed and grabbed again and again at the clothing of the others while his momentum carried him further over. It was horribly slow to Auum’s eyes but the end was inevitable.

  ‘Shove them off!’ cried Auum. ‘Merrat, you have to stop your slide! You’re going over!’

  Ulysan thumped down, grabbing Merrat’s knife hand and driving the blade in a little further. He was spreadeagled at right angles to Merrat and his other hand swept down with a desperate force, the knife clutched in it finding a crack and wedging hard.

  ‘I’ve got you, Merrat,’ said Ulysan. ‘I’ve got you.’

  ‘Hang on!’ called Merrat as they slowed dramatically.

  The two clutching Merrat gripped harder, and the one over the drop swung out lazily, his legs scrabbling at the precipice and his hands knotted in the trouser legs of another. They crunched to a halt. Auum slithered to a stop above them.

  ‘Nobody move. Hold fast, hold your nerve and you’ll live.’

  Marack, Nokhe and Hohan slid down and knelt to haul the Il-Aryn back to safety. Then they moved the elf away, who was sobbing his apologies and thanking Yniss for his rescue.

  ‘Never mind Yniss, thank Merrat,’ muttered Auum.

  He walked past Merrat, reaching down to squeeze his shoulder. The other two Il-Aryn were detached from Merrat, who dragged himself to his knees and brushed the ice from his jacket. Ulysan had rolled onto his back, and Auum knelt in front of him, leaning in to kiss his forehead and eyes.

  ‘You did it, Ulysan. You saved them all from falling.’

  There were tears in Ulysan’s eyes, like the welling-up of memories.

  ‘I did,’ he said. ‘This time I could reach them.’

  Auum reached down a hand. ‘But remember there are some times when you cannot.’

  Ulysan took his hand and stood. Merrat pushed Auum aside and hugged the big TaiGethen.

  ‘You saved me, brother.’

  ‘Any time,’ said Ulysan.

  Auum turned to Stein, who was walking slowly towards them.

  ‘Get us down off this mountain. I don’t think my heart can take any more.’

  Chapter 30

  It is a horrible feeling to know the time has come when you must rely on magic in order to survive.

  Auum, Arch of the TaiGethen

  ‘How far to Sky Lake?’ asked Auum.

  They had descended the precipice without further incident and Auum had led long and passionate prayers of thanks for their deliverance to Yniss, Gyal and Ix. It felt wonderfully warm and calm at the base of the mountains. Auum had stared up at the snow plain where they had stood so recently, wondering what madness had led him to think it had been a good plan.

  Yet here they were: depleted, drained and hungry but very much back in control. They were hidden from enemy eyes by the jagged rock formations that surrounded them, and while rocks were gathered to be heated for a thin stew made from everything they had left, most of the elves were lying down wherever they could find a spot. Auum didn’t blame them one bit.

  ‘At your pace, less than two days. But Tilman can’t fly so we should make whatever progress we can this afternoon and expect to get there late the day after tomorrow. Some of yours might need a good rest now too.’

  Auum glared at the trio of Il-Aryn who had so nearly cost Merrat his life. Overconfident, they had been messing about, sliding and braking until one of them had done it once too often. Rith had dismissed it as simple over-exuberance and the row that had ensued had set birds to flight.

  ‘They’ll move when I say. Apparently they have no shortage of energy to burn.’

  ‘They almost died,’ said Stein. ‘I know it was their fault but-’

  ‘So did Merrat. I will not mother them, Stein. Do you see him whining?’

  Merrat was sitting with Ulysan, explaining the finer points of ice skating, or so it appeared. Ulysan was smiling again, though his eyes were still haunted. Perhaps he had something to thank those idiots for after all.

  ‘The TaiGethen are a different breed,’ said Stein.

  ‘Yes, we are cursed with honour.’

  ‘I. . oh.’ Stein blew out his cheeks and put a hand out to steady himself. ‘It’s-’

  Auum grabbed him and helped him sit. ‘Are you all right?’

  Stein nodded. ‘Communion. Wait.’

  Auum watched, moving away a couple of paces, uncomfortable with the weight of magic he could feel emanating from his friend. Stein’s eyes closed but beneath his lids moved as if searching for something. His mouth moved too but no sound came. He frowned, the colour leaving his face, and he bit at his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. He swallowed and his face hardened. His body relaxed and he opened his eyes, the contact broken.

  ‘So?’

  Stein looked up at him, taking a moment to focus his eyes and his thoughts.

  ‘It’s bleak news,’ he said and Auum’s heart fell. ‘The Wesmen have landed in large numbers north of Julatsa and are marching to lay siege to the city. It’s a similar picture in the south though we assume Xetesk won’t be beset — mind you, this might be the Wytch Lord’s gambit.’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Auum. ‘They still need Xetesk to prevent the other colleges from uniting.’

  ‘There’s something else, and I’m not sure if this is good new
s or bad. Apparently, Takaar reappeared in Julatsa. He knows our intentions and is planning on joining us.’

  Auum stared up at the mountains. ‘Not if he comes that way.’

  ‘You really want him back?’

  ‘Not him but his power. Think what it will add to ours.’

  ‘So long as he directs it as he needs to.’

  ‘Put it this way: he’s always managed to save himself when the need arises,’ said Auum. He smiled and felt guilty for it. ‘He’s not going to go quietly, is he?’

  ‘No. But there is some good news — for you anyway. Kerela reported that Takaar was at Septern Manse. The Julatsan team are dead as we feared but Takaar and the Senserii took out the Xeteskians and the place is now empty. He says Dawnthief isn’t there and can’t be found; it’s hidden in another dimension. He says we’re all wasting our time.’

  ‘So why are we still fighting?’

  ‘Because no one in Xetesk or Parve will believe him.’

  Lord Sentaya of the Paleon tribes was sparring with his youngest son when he was called. He beckoned the eight-year-old to him, knelt and embraced him.

  ‘You’re progressing well. Remember to keep your guard up and watch your opponent’s body as well as his eyes.’

  ‘I don’t have that many eyes,’ said Arayan.

  Sentaya laughed.

  ‘But you will, and then you will be unbeatable like me.’ He took his son’s weapon with his and laid both wooden blades against the frame of his door. ‘Now go and tell your mother you’ve earned a grain cake. And take a drink.’

  ‘Wine?’

  ‘Water. . with maybe a splash of red. I’ll check so don’t say I said otherwise.’

  The boy ran off and Sentaya felt a burst of pride. Blessed with three sons, all fit and healthy: two working the fields and commanding warriors and one who would be the best of them, even Sentaya himself. He stretched and looked to the sun, seeing it fading towards evening. He should be relaxing with his family; this was no time for business.

  Sentaya growled and walked round the side of his house. The central oval around which the village was built was still busy with life. The smells of cooking and smoke drifted across him, setting his stomach to rumble in appreciation. There in front of his house stood a shepherd boy with his elder shaman, Gyarth.

  ‘You know I hate to be disturbed when I am training my son, Gyarth.’

  ‘My apologies, Lord Sentaya,’ said Gyarth, bowing and helping the shepherd do the same. ‘But this youth has news.’

  ‘Does he have a name?’

  Gyarth prodded him in the back. ‘Speak.’

  ‘I am Tiral, my lord.’

  Sentaya smiled. ‘Atalun’s boy, good. Raise your head, lad, you need not fear me.’

  Tiral looked up. ‘Thank you, my lord. There are people approaching the village.’

  Sentaya tensed. ‘People? How many?’

  ‘I counted more than a hundred. They were a way away from me so I could be wrong.’

  ‘Are they Wes?’

  Tiral shook his head. ‘No. I thought they must be eastern men but they don’t move like them.’

  ‘Make yourself clear,’ said Sentaya sharply, making the boy jump.

  ‘They. . they have more. . um, grace. Like their feet kiss the ground rather than stamp it ugly like the easterners do. They’ll be here before nightfall.’

  Sentaya didn’t understand what the boy meant but it hardly mattered. He turned to Gyarth.

  ‘Is the fleet in?’

  ‘Most are beached; some are still out.’

  ‘Get them in and get everyone armed. We’ll meet these. . people outside the village. Get word to my sons. Have them stand defence. Thank you, boy, you have done me great service. Now go home and stay there. Send your father to me.’

  The boy ran off.

  ‘Are you sure he knows what he saw?’ asked Sentaya.

  ‘His story is unchanged though it makes no sense. Easterners who don’t walk like easterners?’ said Gyarth. ‘Shall I gather my shamen?’

  ‘How many are here?’

  ‘Three. Most are spreading the word of our impending entry into the great battle.’

  Sentaya sniffed. ‘Should it ever come to pass.’

  ‘One should not question the Wytch Lords.’

  ‘I am Sentaya. I will never bend the knee. Leave your shamen to their tasks. Should we be attacked, you know what to do.’

  When Sentaya saw the small force approaching he understood exactly what Tiral had meant. They moved as if they were part of the land on which they walked. It was hypnotic and, yes, graceful. He was backed by sixty of his warriors, all fresh off the boats from Sky Lake and angry that their bellies would not be filled for the time being. Gyarth was with him and Sentaya wished he wasn’t. He was too quick of tongue, too far under the Wytch Lords’ influence. Sentaya feared being undermined and he had warned Gyarth to keep his mouth shut.

  Sentaya stood front and centre of his warriors, his arms across his chest, his cloak about his shoulders and his decorated leather breastplate secured over his clothes and furs. His shaven head was uncovered because he would not hide his face from anyone.

  The strangers slowed as they approached, the failing light obscuring their features until they had come close, though they made it obvious they had no weapons in hand. Most were dressed in leather and cloth; some, the most graceful, were plainly warriors but he could not be sure about the others.

  Sentaya stiffened as they resolved fully out of the gathering gloom. Walking in the centre was a man, without question a mage and therefore an enemy. But those around him gave him pause and he would not signal an attack yet. They had strange-shaped ears and eyes. Their faces were hard and cruel and their presence reeked of danger. Word had spread about these people. They had broken the siege at Julatsa. They were elves from a land far to the south, warriors to be respected and feared.

  ‘Draw no blade,’ ordered Sentaya. ‘I do not believe they are here to fight us.’

  Wesman hands moved from weapon hafts and an elf walking next to the mage nodded.

  ‘An unwise strategy,’ said Gyarth. ‘These creatures are responsible for the deaths of Gorsu, Hafeez and many shamen and warriors.’

  ‘You are not giving me reason to hate them. This is a war. I have lost rivals; you have lost dark strength, and I remain free. Perhaps I should be embracing them.’

  ‘You cannot refuse the Wytch Lords for ever.’

  ‘That is yet to be proven. I will speak with their leaders.’ He regarded Gyarth, puffed up as he was with his own self-importance and borrowed power. ‘Alone.’

  Sentaya carried the satisfying image of Gyarth’s rage with him when he walked forward. The mage and the elf detached themselves from the group and came to meet him. The elves fascinated him, at once so alien in appearance but so at home with the land, as if they were bonded to it. He chose not to begin in aggressive tones. A formal approach to the strangers was appropriate.

  ‘I am Sentaya, lord of the Paleon tribes. These are my lands.’

  ‘The men of Balaia know you and respect your strength in battle and your right to live free on your lands.’

  It was the mage who spoke, and his dialect, if heavily accented, was accurate enough.

  ‘Then you may speak. Those who come to challenge me die here. Those who seek trade leave satisfied. Which are you?’

  The mage spoke to the elf in a curious language Sentaya could not follow at all. It was a brief exchange and the mage turned back.

  ‘My apologies, Lord Sentaya. My brother, Auum of the TaiGethen, cannot speak your language and I must relate to him what is being said. I am Stein, mage of Julatsa. I know I am your enemy but I ask that you hear us. Auum has a proposal. It is for your ears only.’

  Stein’s eyes flicked briefly to Gyarth standing behind him. He nodded and turned to his warriors.

  ‘Bring fire and food. . bread and fresh meat too. Slaughter a cow. Our guests may not enter the village but that is no reason
for them to starve. I will hear what they have to say before deciding their fate. No respected warrior should face death on an empty stomach, should I decide they die. You will guard me. Gyarth, with respect, you must return to the village. Your duties await you.’

  ‘And should the creatures rise up and strike you while your warriors stand guard, unable to assist you, who will save you?’

  Sentaya faced down Gyarth’s humiliation and fury. ‘They have not come here to kill me.’

  ‘You are staking your life on that assumption.’

  ‘I am staking all our lives on it.’

  Sentaya turned away from his shaman, a smile on his face. He was aware Gyarth could kill him instantly but knew that he would not because his masters needed Sentaya and all the warriors at his command when the invasion through the pass was ordered.

  ‘Sit,’ said Sentaya. ‘Fire and food will be brought. The rest of you must retreat to a distance equal to my own warriors. That is the condition of my parley.’

  ‘Most acceptable,’ said Stein.

  He spoke briefly to Auum, who issued a simple command. His elves trotted away without a backward glance. Auum was a true leader, commanding trust and respect. He stood until Sentaya sat, then did so himself. He was deferential too. Sentaya inclined his head in welcome and the gesture was returned.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Sentaya, studying Stein and seeing in him an honesty he had not expected of any mage, although his magic remained repulsive. ‘How did you get here? By boat, I presume, since the pass is closed.’

  ‘We came across the mountains,’ said Stein and, reacting to Sentaya’s expression of surprise, added, ‘The elves are particularly determined as well as keen climbers. Even so, we lost friends on the crossing.’

  Auum placed his hand on Stein’s arm and Stein related his words.

  ‘Auum says this: it was not our choice. We were betrayed by those we sought to join in a war against you. Now we seek to join you in a war against our shared enemy.’

  ‘Really?’ said Sentaya, steepling his hands beneath his chin. ‘And who is this shared enemy?’

  ‘The Wytch Lords.’

  Sentaya glanced over his shoulder to check Gyarth was gone. He saw some of his warriors approaching, carrying torches and pulling two handcarts. One was piled with wood, the other carried food and wine. Another warrior was leading a cow.