Beyond the Mists of Katura e-3

by James Barclay

  ‘Dammit,’ muttered Auum ‘He’s after Takaar. Marack!’

  Marack was deep in action on the right flank with the second knot of shamen heading her way.

  ‘The shamen!’ roared Ulysan. ‘Get the shamen!’

  Auum saw her indicate she’d heard with a flick of her head.

  ‘Gilderon, it’s time.’

  The TaiGethen and the Senserii ran together for Ystormun.

  Chapter 36

  If Shorth wills it, Merrat will strike the first blow of Ystormun’s eternal torment beyond death.

  Grafyrre, TaiGethen

  Tilman was scared. Leaving Auum’s side was like taking off his armour and lying down before the enemy. He ran as fast as he ever had back to the cluster of six buildings at the southern edge of the village, noting with dismay how small the open space was between the relentless advance of the enemy and the casting positions.

  The remaining ten Julatsan elves were gathered in three groups spread across the buildings. He could see from their positions that they were holding shields in place over the Il-Aryn, as they would do little good against Ystormun and the shamen.

  The Il-Aryn had survived in good numbers, he thought, and were scattered inside the buildings, hidden behind walls and under window openings. They cast barrier after barrier. All of them looked tired but still they responded to Rith’s calls from the roof of the central building, a stone and thatch barn with a hayloft. Takaar was in the loft by the opening, beneath the block and tackle, two of his guard elves with him.

  Tilman raced inside and hared up the ladder. He moved through the tight bales of hay and looked through the opening, gasping at what he saw. There was Ystormun, destroying buildings and making space for his warriors to advance from the left. There were Auum and the elves with the masks over their mouths and their bladed staffs moving through the chaos with such speed and precision he was glad Auum had sent him away. And there on the right, where the fighting was the fiercest, stood most of the surviving TaiGethen, preventing the enemy from overwhelming the casting positions but being driven back by weight of numbers. Further away but closing fast was a large number of horsemen under a heavy cloud of dust. No more than a mile distant. Xetesk was almost here.

  ‘My Lord Takaar!’ called Tilman, swallowing his nerves and speaking in elvish as best he could. ‘Auum has asked that I escort you to him for the attack on Ystormun.’

  As soon as he said his words Tilman blushed, realising how preposterous and stupidly formal they must have sounded, given the path to Ystormun they would have to take. Takaar said something in elvish he could not understand and turned to Tilman. His eyes were ablaze with the power he held within himself and yet he smiled in the warmest and most disarming fashion. Tilman felt his nerves dissipate.

  ‘I see he has sent me his best guardian to see the job done,’ said Takaar in fluent Balaian, but his tone did not mock. ‘But, forgive me, Auum seems to be going the wrong way if he wishes to attack the Wytch Lord.’

  And Auum was. He was heading to the right after a group of shamen. Tilman thought quickly.

  ‘Yes. He wants to take the shamen down and isolate Ystormun as the last enemy caster. Otherwise I think the shamen will destroy us here.’

  Takaar scanned the battlefield briefly. ‘Good. He thinks clearly. But let’s wait until he turns back towards our target and then we will move.’

  Tilman moved to get a better view of the scene. He was uncomfortable with Takaar’s decision. Auum was a long way from them and Ystormun was advancing at the pace of someone who knew he was invulnerable. Tilman watched Auum, Ulysan and the Senserii attack the shamen and saw Takaar follow their assault and move a barrier into place at the critical moment.

  ‘Which is why we must wait,’ Takaar said.

  Ystormun howled, paused briefly and ran towards them.

  Tilman shut out his fear. ‘Please, we should go now.’

  Takaar stayed where he was. ‘He has sensed me. He will come to me.’

  Tilman took another look and knew they were about to die. Ystormun stared straight at them. He moved his hands apart and brought the heels of his palms together; Tilman was moving before they struck. He dived at Takaar, catching him around the waist and bearing him down. The two of them rolled once and fell from the hayloft.

  Halfway down to the dusty floor and anticipating the pain, Tilman saw the black orb blot out the light of the hayloft opening and destroy the front of the barn in a single blast. Bales of hay were incinerated, the two Senserii, moving right, were caught in the blast and hurled against the wall, dead before they struck it. The thatch burst into flame and the front wall bowed inwards, threatening to collapse.

  The impact on the ground never came. Takaar had turned them in the air and he landed on his feet, taking the force of the drop for both of them. He grabbed Tilman’s collar and ran them both out of the back of the barn, others of the Il-Aryn with them. Reaching open air, Takaar paused briefly. He shouted commands to the Il-Aryn and held Tilman at arm’s length.

  ‘You have the survivor in you,’ he said, ‘but you can’t come with me — he is too powerful. Defend the Il-Aryn, stand with Grafyrre. What’s your name?’

  ‘Tilman.’

  ‘You saved me, Tilman, and you might just have saved us all. Garan would have been proud of you.’

  Takaar moved away at startling speed, and Tilman wondered momentarily who Garan was before recalling his history, smiling to himself and running off to find Grafyrre.

  One moment the barn was there and Rith was calling castings, the next she and the whole frontage of the building were gone, blasted away by Ystormun. Auum shouted at his impotence and ran harder for the tall striding figure in his tattered robes, brimful with hideous magic.

  An enemy Wesman stood in his path having downed his opponent. Auum feinted left, ran right and lashed a blade up into his lower jaw, barely breaking stride. Ahead Sentaya still stood, his legs astride a fallen warrior who Auum recognised as one of his sons. The Wesman lord bore the grief on his face and used it to power his axe. He was roaring for his men to stand, and they did wherever they could. Not one had run in the face of his enemy, but they were going to lose this battle because Auum had entirely misunderstood Ystormun’s power here in his hinterland. Stein had known; Stein had said, and Auum had ignored him.

  ‘Defend the casters!’ called Auum on his way past. ‘Ystormun attacks.’

  Sentaya nodded to him. Auum indicated his son and put a hand to his heart in sympathy. Sentaya seemed to understand and Auum felt a weight of guilt. He had brought this on Sentaya.

  Breaking into open space, the Senserii spread out and moved up to take on Ystormun’s warrior guard which was already turning towards them. Ulysan and Auum went directly for the Wytch Lord, neither knowing what he could do beyond buying a moment’s delay for Takaar, should he still be alive.

  Ystormun poured his hate into another casting and obliterated a barn, the house adjoining it and all the souls within it. It was enough. Auum couldn’t help himself.

  ‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘Over here, you bastard. Come and get me!’

  He and Ulysan dropped into the shetharyn, streaking past the Senserii moving to engage the Wesmen. Auum paced easily around an enemy warrior, who knew he was coming but couldn’t follow him, and kept his eyes on Ystormun. The Wytch Lord was turning his head in their direction and bringing up a hand.

  Auum changed direction, but the hand and eyes tracked him despite his speed. Ystormun opened his palm then closed his fist. A sheath of black flame encased it for a blink before shooting out at incredible speed, fast even within the shetharyn. Auum couldn’t dodge it. He felt an impact about his midriff and flew sideways, Ulysan’s arms about him, the big TaiGethen’s body pressed against his and sent the pair of them tumbling over and over in the dust and bowling into the legs of warriors.

  Auum came to rest on top of his friend and pushed himself to his feet. His swords were gone and he was amid enemies. He lashed a kick into the face o
f one, drew a jaqrui and slashed it into the body of another. He squared up for another blow and the Senserii flowed past him.

  Auum reached down a hand to Ulysan to help him up. The big TaiGethen’s chest heaved in breaths fast and let them out in a rush, his body juddering each time. Auum looked down and saw the black wound all along his right flank and the blood pooling beneath him. Auum wanted to roll him on to his side but he was terrified what he would see.

  ‘Ulysan? Please, speak to me.’ There was no response and Auum roared, ‘Stein! Stein, please be alive, I need you here! Stein! ’

  Ulysan lay there, his eyes closed and his breathing so pained. Auum straightened, his mind submerged by fury. He turned and ran, the shetharyn taking him just as it had when Elyss had fallen. Ystormun was close, distracted for a moment by the Senserii wiping out his guards. He killed one and sent another flying back, screaming and encased in a sheath of black.

  Auum ran for him. Belatedly the Wytch Lord turned. Auum leaped and powered in a spear kick which caught the bastard square in the mouth and sent him staggering. Auum landed, dimly aware of the Senserii’s ikari weaving their patterns as they kept Ystormun’s guards away.

  Ystormun snapped his head round, glared at the elf and raised a hand, but Auum was on him again. He lashed a roundhouse kick into his temple, continued the movement and thudded a heel into Ystormun’s groin. Auum planted his feet, slapped Ystormun’s hand aside and smashed his fists into Ystormun’s face again and again, feeling his skin rasp against the inhuman creature’s hide.

  Ystormun retreated under the onslaught as Auum powered forward, now thumping a kick into his midriff or up into his chin but wanting nothing more than to feel his fists pounding away at that face, his nose, his teeth, his eyes. And with every blow he prayed that Ulysan would live, that the black fire had missed his vital organs, and with every blow he was so scared by the memory of his ragged breathing that he dared not hope.

  Auum drew back his fist again as Ystormun reeled back, his face looking bruised through the greyness of his skin but unbroken. Auum punched his jaw. A skeletal hand, skin mottled and stretched tight over the bones, shot out and clamped on Auum’s neck, lifting him from the ground. He clawed at the hand, tried to angle his head to bite it and chopped at his wrist with a jaqrui blade he grabbed from his dwindling supply, but he could not cut Ystormun’s skin. The Wytch Lord held him at arm’s length, his legs flailing uselessly.

  ‘Enough,’ rasped Ystormun. ‘Seven hundred years and now I have a prize.’

  ‘You will die today, you bastard,’ spat Auum.

  Ystormun squeezed a little harder and Auum choked.

  ‘You cannot kill me,’ he said. ‘But I am not impervious to pain.’

  ‘Then all my blows were worth my death,’ said Auum.

  Ystormun pulled Auum close and the TaiGethen hung limp, his breath hard to draw and his strength beginning to fail. Still the sounds of battle carried to him and the day was not yet lost.

  ‘It is over, Auum of the TaiGethen; for you, for man and soon enough for all of your kind. What strength remains when I have wiped you out here?’

  ‘Come to Calaius and find out,’ said Auum.

  ‘I have every intention of doing just that,’ said Ystormun.

  The Wytch Lord studied Auum’s face while he squeezed. Auum tried not to panic, but every breath sounded like fear and he could no longer force the words out. He stared into Ystormun’s eyes, wishing upon him the most enduring agony that Shorth could inflict while commending his own soul to Yniss for the struggles yet to come beyond the halls of the ancients.

  ‘Put him down.’

  Auum wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the words, so full was his head with the thumping of his heart and the roaring of his blood. His chest heaved but so little came in and he felt his consciousness slipping away.

  ‘Ah, my second prize. Another who thought to hurt me only to find he could not.’

  ‘Wrong.’

  Auum felt a sudden rush of energy. Ystormun gave a shriek and Auum was airborne, flying backwards, gulping in air through the raw agony of his throat. The Senserii flowed around him. He felt a brief touch on his shoulder and looked up at Gilderon while the rest of them threw a screen of whirling death around Takaar as he circled Ystormun.

  ‘We will protect him. See to your brother.’

  Auum frowned and looked to where Gilderon had indicated before joining his people. The thwack of wood on blade and the singing of the ikari were rejoined. Auum heard both Takaar and Ystormun cry out, and a huge pressure of magical energy settled across Auum’s shoulders.

  Ulysan lay on the ground where Auum had left him. Auum scrabbled over to him and took his hand. He was still breathing but it was in short whistling gasps now. The blood seemed to have stopped, but the wound, dear Yniss, the wound was horrible. Auum could see a great gash that led from beneath Ulysan’s ribs all the way down his right leg in which burned flesh and bone were visible.

  Auum felt the tears rush and fall down his cheeks. He didn’t care that the fight for Balaia, for Calaius, the whole dimension was going on right behind him. This was his fight right here, to save his greatest friend, his conscience, his rock. . his life beyond the haunting pain of the loss of Elyss.

  ‘Stein!’ he roared. ‘Where are you?’

  Auum heard footsteps run towards him and stop. He looked up, but it was not Stein; it was Marack, Nokhe and Hohan.

  ‘The right is holding,’ said Marack. ‘I. . Oh, Auum, no. We’ll. . we’ll stand over you. See to him. Tai, with me.’

  ‘I need Stein,’ said Auum, weeping and hoarse. ‘Please bring me Stein.’

  Auum looked down on Ulysan and the pain that crossed his face every time he breathed.

  ‘It’s all right, old friend,’ he said. ‘Help is coming.’

  ‘Liar,’ said Ulysan, his eyes flickering open.

  Auum gasped. Elyss had said the same thing, and she had died.

  ‘He’ll be here,’ said Auum. ‘Just don’t die, Ulysan, please don’t die.’

  Auum gulped, and the tears fell on Ulysan’s face. The big TaiGethen focused on him anew and frowned, clutching his hand tight.

  ‘It was you who saved me, wasn’t it? Back in Hausolis? It was you.’

  Auum nodded. ‘And you’ve been saving me ever since.’

  ‘Are we even?’ asked Ulysan.

  ‘Yes, old friend, we’re more than even.’

  Ulysan smiled. ‘That’s good. Can’t go dying if I still need to save your sorry hide.’

  ‘You’re not dying,’ said Auum.

  Ulysan’s hand slipped from his and his eyes closed. His body, so tortured by pain, relaxed. He was at peace.

  Auum bent forward and kissed his eyes, his forehead and his mouth.

  ‘Shorth’s embrace will be eternal for you, my brother.’

  Here on the battlefield, surrounded by his friends and beset by his enemies, Auum sat down next to Ulysan’s mercifully undamaged face and stroked the top of his head while the tears rolled unchecked down his face. There was nothing left. Marack was fighting right in front of him. The Senserii were fighting behind him. The elves he’d brought here were struggling to save the lives of countless thousands, and he had nothing left.

  Auum wept.

  Chapter 37

  You cannot kill a Wytch Lord, only remove him to a place where he no longer has the capacity to do you harm. Thus, you can never be free of the fear of his return and you must remain watchful because he will never cease his search for a way to break free.

  Bynaar, Circle Seven Master, Xetesk

  Ystormun gave an ululating cry and every head turned towards him.

  Bring blades. Bring the fire. Break him.

  Wesman warriors, weak of mind but strong of body, turned and ran from their petty squabbles. But the fire was gone. No shaman touched his mind. Ystormun pushed back against the wall Takaar had erected about him and experienced what he had to assume was fear.

  The words of his cadre
echoed in his memory. How he longed for their chiding now, their thundering voices in his head, because they would be able to lend him the strength to unpick the casting that threatened to bind him. But inside the spell they were lost to him.

  Ystormun opened his eyes. His arms were outstretched and the fire roared from them only to be swallowed by the shimmering sphere that dipped below the earth as if Takaar knew he could attack through the rock itself. But Takaar was not a Wytch Lord and had neither their strength nor their stamina. Again he battered his fire at the construct and Takaar winced, standing holding his palms open and his wrists side by side.

  Ystormun looked at the burn on the arm that had held Auum. Another moment and he would have seen the warrior’s light go out. The pain had been a shock. It had blistered his skin and he had thought only his brothers could channel such energy. He flared again, and this time Takaar moved back across the ground.

  There. A pin hole. A place to work myself free.

  ‘You are weak, Takaar. You cannot destroy me and you cannot hold me. You will fail and then I will tear out your heart with my bare hands.’

  Takaar opened his eyes, stared at Ystormun, and Ystormun flinched. There was no sanity within, just a strength born of madness and of a desire he could only guess at. The hatred matched his. Ystormun’s heart, for he still thought of it as such, trilled with anxiety.

  ‘I don’t have to hold much longer. I know you will kill me, but here I stand. Look and see what is coming for you. Pound with all your might and know it won’t be enough. We have you.’

  Ystormun looked and this time his shriek was of desperation and panic.

  Gilderon whirled his staff in front of his face too fast for any foe to track, too strong a defence for their swords and axes to pierce. He stilled the motion and snapped out left and right, striking his blades into his foes, seeing great cuts open up in their faces, across their chests or across their necks.