‘I thought you were all for this venture?’
Only because it will inevitably bring about your death.
‘Is that really all that drives you?’
What else is there?
‘Redemption, forgiveness and acceptance.’
I’ve never wanted those, and I fear they are beyond the murderer of Drech in any event.
‘But you said-’
Don’t be naive. I will say anything to bring about your death in the manner I desire.
‘I look forward to your hating my every breath for millennia to come.’
We both know that isn’t going to happen.
‘Your certainty fires my determination.’
‘Takaar?’
Takaar looked around, coming to himself once more. He was leaning against a rock three times his height, the product of a fall centuries past. Gilderon was before him, the rest of the Senserii in relaxed defensive positions nearby.
‘What is it?’
Gilderon pointed back towards Understone and moved aside so Takaar could see. ‘They are coming,’ he said.
Takaar smiled. Understone was emptying. Mages on horseback led a long column of mounted soldiers four abreast. Bynaar had believed him
Unless they are coming to kill you, of course.
‘Not even you believe that.’
I’ll grant you that one.
Takaar walked over to meet Bynaar, who was leading the mage strength himself.
‘You accept my word,’ said Takaar. ‘I am humbled.’
Bynaar raised an eyebrow. ‘Nothing is quite that simple. The Circle Seven have sanctioned this action but only following a contact with Belphamun, who made an unconscious slip that confirms all that you claimed. Ystormun is on his way to Sky Lake and is perhaps a day’s travel from the other end of the pass.’
Takaar nodded.
He didn’t believe you. Look at all the checks he made.
‘I expected nothing else.’
‘Good,’ said Bynaar a little vaguely. ‘Just pray that your friend Auum can hold Ystormun until we arrive.’
‘He cannot,’ said Takaar. ‘That is my task, and it is yours to reach me in good time because even my strength is finite.’
‘No, no, no,’ said Bynaar. ‘You are not leaving me for one moment. That would suggest trust and I have none of that. Auum must hold him, and we will cage him when we arrive.’
Takaar felt as if a spike had been driven into his head. He stared at Bynaar through eyes that burned with his pain. He screwed them shut and tried to blot out the goading from his tormentor.
‘You weren’t listening,’ he managed through clamped jaws. His hands writhed together. ‘Only I. . My task. .’
Burn him. He does not trust you and he will betray you. Burn him and run, and they will chase you and they will see your genius and they will cage the beast and they will understand and they will forgive and you will be accepted.
‘Please,’ whispered Takaar. ‘Say you will let me go.’
Bynaar’s words came as if from a distance, and Takaar had to strain to hear them. They did not say they would let him go. Takaar felt hot across his whole body, and the energies surged within him, seeking release, seeking the unworthy.
Drech was unworthy and he had to go. Bynaar, is he more worthy? He is an enemy and he seeks to trap you. He wants the glory and you must not let him have it. The task is yours and yours alone, as Yniss is my witness. Don’t let him steal your redemption from you!
‘You will not steal my redemption!’ screamed Takaar.
Bynaar’s horse collapsed in a heap of organs and blood, its bones turned to dust and its skin bursting under the pressure from within. Bynaar was thrown clear by the blast of air from Takaar’s casting. Men nearby were yelling, their horses bucking and bolting.
Gilderon and the Senserii enveloped Takaar and moved him away in the direction of the pass. Bynaar was trying to get to his feet, knocking away the proffered hands. His face was blank with shock.
‘Only I can hold him!’ roared Takaar as he was hurried away. ‘See how I saved you? I beat him and I saved you. He wanted me to kill you and I didn’t. You can trust me now!’
‘Enough,’ said Gilderon. ‘We need to get away from here.’
Takaar laughed. ‘I can do it. See, Auum? See how I controlled my anger?’
Bynaar was on his feet. Soldiers and mages were backing away from Takaar, their eyes flicking towards the boneless remains of the horse. None wanted to suffer the same fate. The tormentor was silent, beaten for now, but he would be back. He always came back. Takaar saw the Xeteskians begin to focus on him again.
‘Helodian, Teralion, bring him,’ said Gilderon. ‘Run hard.’
Bynaar saw the Senserii sprint away. He watched their leader slice his bladed staff through the face of one soldier foolish enough to get in their way and then pivot on that same staff and crash his feet into the chest of a second. Then they were running for the pass and the Wesmen who lay within. And they were fast.
‘Let them go!’ he ordered, though none had moved to chase them. ‘Stand down.’
Bynaar wiped the blood and mess from his cloak and riding clothes. He looked at the remains of his horse and tried to imagine the casting which had done it. He failed. Just flesh and skin and innards. . The animal had no skeleton, no bones of any kind. How it had been done was beyond Bynaar entirely. He chuckled.
‘My Lord Bynaar?’
‘You know something, Pirys?’ he said to the young student who stood before him. ‘I’m wondering if I misjudged him.’
‘He tried to kill you,’ said Pirys.
‘He tried equally hard not to. And for that I should be glad.’
‘We’re not going in, I take it.’
Bynaar barked a short laugh.
‘On the contrary. My reputation in the Circle Seven is at stake and Takaar is about to clear the pass for us. It would be rude not to take advantage of that.’
Pirys stared at the black hole of the pass entrance. He licked his lips nervously.
‘Then may I have your orders, my lord?’
Bynaar ticked them off on his fingers.
‘Get me some fresh clothes, get me a horse and get this column ready to move. We’ve got a Wytch Lord to catch.’
Chapter 33
But I feel the energies of magic so keenly in my soul. Surely it is a test of my faith. I will not fail.
Auum, Arch of the TaiGethen
As soon as they were around the first long bend and out of sight of the Xeteskians, Takaar had been freed to run with them. Gilderon was shaking. The moments between Takaar’s perceived slights and the seemingly inevitable retribution were becoming shorter and shorter. Where it had been days in the festering while his damned other self got to work on the increasingly small rational part of his mind, now. . Well, this latest outburst spoke eloquently enough to his state of mind.
The only mercy was that Takaar had retained enough to inflict that cruellest of deaths on the horse not the man. Gilderon wondered if they had chosen to rededicate themselves to Takaar prematurely, though the next moment he was certain their decision had been right. After all, who else was capable of seeing Takaar to his target? The question now was whether he chose to do as he planned or do something utterly beyond reason.
Helodian had sprinted on ahead to a spot illuminated by the dim light of lanterns. The smell of woodsmoke filtered along the pass, which was about fifteen feet high and wide enough for a carriage and horses flanked by riders. It was an astonishing feat of construction.
Takaar ran beside Gilderon. His face was clear and calm and he was focused on the path ahead as if what he had just said and done was no more than a dim nightmare from centuries past. Gilderon had been with Takaar for so many hundreds of years and thought he’d seen all there was, but for the first time Takaar actually scared him, and he was forced to consider what he would do if the once-great elf lost the last vestiges of his control.
Helodian came trottin
g back.
‘Significant presence four hundred yards ahead. Once this gentle left turn has straightened, we’ll have eyes on them. They’ll see us for the last thirty yards or so in their lantern light.’
‘How many?’ asked Gilderon, slowing them all down.
‘Twenty that I can see backed by eight or nine of their shamen. They’ve built a barricade that may well be hiding many more. Our advantage is that the pass is tight and we can fill it and wear them down.’
‘No,’ said Takaar. ‘Your advantage is that you have me. You have battles to come; I shall deal with them.’
Gilderon stopped them as soon as he could see the lanterns and the warriors leaning on spears or resting against the walls or the wood of their eight-foot-tall barricade. The shamen were in a group around a fire, talking and gesticulating. As he watched, an opening in the barricade was unbolted and he caught a glimpse of a great deal more Wesmen behind it.
‘We can deal with this, Takaar,’ he said. ‘Our role is to protect you.’
‘The shamen will kill you before you get within ten yards. Don’t question me.’
That last was said as if from another mouth. Gilderon was about to protest further but Takaar was clearly wrestling with himself and his expression was of ill-controlled impulse.
‘Show them mercy,’ was all he could manage.
Takaar moved off along the dark passage towards the Wesman lantern light. Gilderon pitied them, hearing one side of Takaar’s conversation.
‘Fire can only be drawn from the fuel already there. It is not enough. . You are showing your ignorance as always. To use the air is terribly draining. . Now you’re thinking. The raw material surrounds us and we have only to prod in the right place.’
Unconsciously the Senserii had drawn back from Takaar and had moved together, unsettled by the energies he was beginning to marshal. Inside the tight confines of the pass Ix’s power felt multiplied, and it roared through their bodies on its way to do whatever Takaar required.
Takaar was walking forward steadily, his head twitching from side to side as if seeking something minute, his hands trembling and his fingers jerking, closing and opening while he teased at his target. Fifty yards from the barricade and deep in shadow he stopped.
‘It will be loud,’ he said. ‘Cover your ears.’
Takaar moved off quickly, his hands outstretched in front of his face, palms away from him. Gilderon led the Senserii forward at a run. Ahead, the Wesmen began to make out dim shapes in the gloom beyond the light of their lanterns and fire. Warriors plucked weapons from where they rested and the shamen were ready to cast should they prove to be enemies.
The first effect of Takaar’s spell was a series of dull cracks from up ahead. Takaar’s fingers wiggled in what would have been comic fashion in other circumstances but to Gilderon, it only made what came next all the more terrifying. The shamen moved to cast. Warriors lined up to give them cover.
They should all have been running.
Takaar, not breaking stride, drew his arms back, jabbed them forward hard and closed his fists. The roof above the Wesmen collapsed, smashing their bodies into the ground and extinguishing the fire and lanterns. The noise ripped into Gilderon’s head despite the hands clamped over his ears and he roared a curse as much at the sight as the sound.
Down and down came the rock, splintering the barricade. Through the clouds of dust and debris thrown up into the pass Gilderon saw Wesmen turning to run. It was impossible to hear their screams but they must have been loud until shut off by the torrent of mountain battering their bodies, bursting their skulls and crushing their limbs from their twitching corpses.
Takaar walked on, repeating his gestures. More boulders came thundering down. Smears of black appeared briefly on the walls before being eclipsed by the dust, which billowed down the pass towards the Senserii. Gilderon held his breath and turned away while the force of it rolled over him impelled by a gust of Ix-inspired wind, buffeting his body and tearing at his clothes.
He could barely see Takaar a few feet ahead of him. The mad elf circled his hands and pushed, adding more power to the wind, which now blew away from them, whipping up the dust into spirals and driving it away from the scene of his atrocity so all could view what he had wrought.
Immediately the air was clear, Takaar set off again, his hands cocked, ready to cause another rockfall. Gilderon stared for a heartbeat at the awful devastation and ran in front of him, turning and grabbing his arms.
‘Enough!’ he shouted. ‘Enough! Look what you’ve done! Yniss spare us from the wrath of Shorth, look what you’ve done.’
Takaar’s gaze, lost in the energies he manipulated, darted around Gilderon before settling on his face. He tried to move his arms but Gilderon held on tight, this time heedless of the risk he might be running.
‘Enough,’ he repeated. ‘You’ve killed them. You’ve killed them all.’
Takaar’s body relaxed, and the weight of energies dissipated, leaving a quiet broken by the rumbling of echoes. Gilderon looked to his Senserii.
‘Go among them. If any live, speed their passing and pray for their souls.’ His voice cracked and he stared back at Takaar. ‘No one should die like that.’
Gilderon walked with Takaar, who seemed in a daze. Whether he had any notion of what he had just done was questionable. They picked their way through the rubble and debris, which reached halfway up to the roof in places. Gilderon looked up at it, fearful of another fall.
‘Did you know that even the most solid of rock has tiny fractures? All I had to do was make them bigger.’ Takaar’s smile was ephemeral. ‘Simple, really.’
‘You can never do this again,’ whispered Gilderon. ‘It is not right. Yniss cannot countenance this.’
‘Where the rock is hard for a horse to pass I will make it dust. We must leave a path,’ said Takaar.
The Senserii knelt and rose as they searched. Nowhere did they find a living Wesman. Gilderon swallowed. They walked past a bloodied hand on the ground, fingers open. The arm disappeared beneath a fall of rock which must have crushed the body flat. Something was caught in the dead fingers.
Takaar knelt down and picked it up. In his hands lay a child’s doll in the likeness of a warrior. He held it up to Gilderon before his face crumpled, and he wailed for the lost, for what he had done and for who he had become.
Dawn on the day that would decide the fate of Balaia, Calaius and the Wesmen was chill and grey and entirely fitting. The feast of the night before had often been tense and the atmosphere occasionally aggressive, but Auum had enjoyed it nonetheless. He’d spent most of the evening with Sentaya and Tilman, putting together a series of commands they could all understand.
Stein had suffered almost constant abuse and sported a livid bruise on one cheek as testament to the only punch thrown. Sentaya had reacted furiously to it, halting the feast to reaffirm the nature of the alliance that would last until the battle was done. The offender had almost managed to pass Stein a cup of broth as a gesture of reconciliation but somehow it had fallen on his feet instead.
Stein might have taken renewed offence at the second affront but instead had chosen to tip back his head and laugh. Auum smiled at the memory. Stein was a fine diplomat, and there were probably a few Wesman warriors lined up behind the stockade this morning wondering quite why they hated all man’s magic so much.
Close to midnight the sound of many hundreds of voices singing had broken the mood in the village, and Stein, of course, had suggested a final event to boost the confidence of the Wesmen doomed to face their Wytch Lord-backed rivals at sunrise. A series of races and tasks of agility had been organised along with sparring and wrestling.
Grudgingly Auum had agreed to the notion, but the TaiGethen had won every challenge, their use of shetharyn drawing gasps and the laughter of the disbelieving in equal measure.
‘I ask you, do you wish to face any TaiGethen seeking your throat?’ Sentaya had roared, and following the cacophonous negative, he had ja
bbed a finger in the direction of the approaching enemy. ‘Neither do they!’
And so it came to this: Wesman Lord, TaiGethen warrior and eastern mage standing side by side. Auum stood between the other two, just in case. They had not exactly clasped hands on the alliance, but Auum had caught them speaking to each other as the feast broke up. Sentaya might have been smiling. Then again it might have been a panther’s grin; he had a very fierce face.
The three stood at the head of their forces outside the stockade which they hoped would provide brief but vital shelter when the time came. The ranks were lined up as bait for the enemy massing about three hundred yards distant. Ystormun’s men had already encountered the first of Stein’s wards, which had slowed their advance dramatically. Neither Ystormun nor his shamen were divining them, just as Stein had predicted.
‘They might as well run headlong for all the good it’ll do them,’ muttered Stein. ‘Going tiptoe across them makes you just as dead.’
‘I’ll be right behind you when you trot out and let them know,’ said Ulysan.
‘Are all your Communion minds open?’ asked Auum.
‘Yes.’ Stein indicated Sentaya’s outbuildings. ‘He wouldn’t let us in the house but the cattle don’t mind us. A quick shout and you can have your cells on their way in.’
Auum nodded and sent a prayer to Tual to bless his hidden teams with sure feet and swift strikes. The indefatigable Faleen was heading three cells positioned in the deep reeds bordering the lake about a mile north of the enemy. Merrat and Merke’s cells were waiting in a belt of woodland less than two miles to the east.
Auum watched Sentaya’s face as the tribal banners became clearer and the shamen’s garb stood out among the furs and leather of their warrior flock. Sentaya had about a hundred and fifty blades at his disposal, drawn from his village and from a cluster of small settlements around the southern end of the lake. His two elder sons commanded a third each as did he. All wore tribal marks on their faces, blue lines on their cheeks and white diagonals on their foreheads.
‘It’ll make us easy for your TaiGethen to spot when the lines are broken,’ Sentaya had said.
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