Elves: Beyond the Mists of Katura (16 page)

‘Break!’ ordered Auum.

With his Tai on his flanks, Auum cruised to a sprint, drawing both blades from their back scabbards and cycling them in his hands. The line of Wesmen ahead was two deep and seven wide. Behind
them and off to both sides, shamen were readying. He trusted Drech to sense them as he said he could.

Auum charged directly at the centre of the defence, where axe-wielding warriors blocked his path. He ran hard, dropped to his knees and slid across damp grass, his blades held out to either
side. He felt them bite into legs even as the axes swung over his head. Auum relaxed his arms, sliding past his targets before coming to his feet. He didn’t pause, running on at the back
line, hearing Ulysan and Duele finishing what he’d started.

The TaiGethen were among the Wesmen, who did not know which way to strike. Auum faced three, two with long swords and one with an axe. Blood dripped from his blades where he held them, one high
across his face and one low across his legs. He waited for a heartbeat, hearing the fight going on around him.

The three rushed him and Auum watched them come. The axe came overhead and he stepped aside, hacking his left blade in at waist height. From the right a long sword was thrust at his heart, and
he battered the blow aside, opening up his body and bringing his left blade across and into the exposed flank of his enemy.

The second swordsman had been blocked by the axe man. He backed off behind his comrade but the pause was his undoing. Auum spun to his left, jumped high and thudded his right blade into the
warrior’s shoulder. The Wesman screamed and dropped his blade.

Auum was in space. Shamen were either side guarded by nervous warriors. The elven column was coming on; Senserii now headed it, their
ikari
at the ready. The shamen were readying to
cast and Auum prayed Drech knew what he was doing as he headed out to the right, his Tai with him. Warriors barred the way to the shamen. Simultaneously, a large group of Wesmen ran at the head of
the elven advance. They had no idea what they were running into. Auum almost pitied them.

Shamen stood and cast. Auum threw himself to the ground and rolled. Black fire erupted from fingertips, but the moment it appeared, a modulating green light encased the shamen’s hands,
extinguishing the fire. It was momentary but enough to disrupt them.

Auum came back to his feet and charged at his enemies.

Safe behind his Senserii, Takaar felt serene but also fragile and useless.

Look at everyone doing their part while you cower behind your minders.

‘Auum said I may not cast.’

And you listen to him, don’t you? The mighty Auum. See Drech, see what he has your pupils doing? Did you even know that was possible?

‘We can all develop our own castings,’ muttered Takaar, but he stared at Drech, not three paces to his left behind two ranks of Senserii, marching confidently along with a smile on
his face.

He should have shared the secret with you.

‘Yes, he should have,’ said Takaar.

That’s the way of the Il-Aryn, is it not?

‘Yes, it is,’ said Takaar and a tear threatened.

Just worth mentioning. Probably just an oversight in all the excitement.

Wesman warriors struck the forward quartet of Senserii, who had spread to give themselves room to use their bladed staffs. Takaar felt a thrill course through him and it eased his anger. The
Senserii did not break stride. Gilderon jabbed out with his staff, piercing a Wesman above his heart. He brought the staff back, holding it as he would a quarterstaff in two hands. His movement
confused the onrushing warriors. The right end licked out and sliced an enemy face from forehead to chin. The left deflected a heavy downward strike and, faster than the Wesman could follow, the
blade was in his eye, turned and ripped clear.

The elves ran on. Takaar could see TaiGethen on their flanks. Horns echoed against the blank dark of the city walls, which loomed large, filling the horizon. Lights burned on the walls, and he
could see men and elves on the ramparts and inside the fire-blackened gatehouse.

Ahead, a large force of Wesmen was gathering just outside spell range of the city. Others moved to join them and more ran into the flanks of the column, where they met the steel, fists and feet
of the TaiGethen. At their rear, though, Takaar sensed trouble. Shamen were gathering. He could feel the Wytch Lord power there.

Takaar looked to his right. Drech was walking at an even pace, his eyes closed and his mind showing him the way through the streams of energy. Takaar tracked them for a moment, seeing his focus
ahead, managing the concentration of his Il-Aryn. He had no idea what was behind. Takaar turned and pushed back through the column.

What are you doing?

‘Disobeying Auum and saving his precious TaiGethen.’

Senserii fell into place next to him, and they moved quickly down the line past the Il-Aryn casting their distraction constructs at the hands of the shamen. At the rear the TaiGethen knew what
was coming and had spread out to defend against it. Three cells ranged against a muster of fifty or more warriors.

Takaar stood behind them and let his mind sample the energy lines. Every moment isolated the group further from the main column. Takaar concentrated on what was below his feet. Earth and rock
dominated and a clay layer separated the two. This was no time for finesse. The shamen were coming, fifty yards away and closing quickly. The TaiGethen prepared to attack.

‘Faleen, trust me,’ said Takaar. ‘Too many of them.’

Takaar felt for the line of force running through the clay layer. It was sluggish and easy to grab. He let the power of the land flood him, teasing out strand after strand to dance before
him.

Takaar spread his hands, palms up. He took the power of the land across his shoulders, forced his arms up over his head, and a wall of mud and clay thirty yards wide and ten high erupted from
the ground. Takaar staggered under the weight of it and felt the steadying hand of a Senserii on his back. He shifted his focus, drying the clay and hardening the barrier, moving the water aside
and letting it fall on the enemy behind.

He dropped his arms by his side and drew in a shuddering breath.

‘Now I suggest we all run,’ he said.

Auum tore into the flank of the Wesman force, hacking left and right with his blades, fighting power with power. An enemy axe clashed against his right blade, sending sparks
into the night, its edge opening a shallow cut on Auum’s cheek. Ulysan ducked a wild swipe and buried a blade in a Wesman gut, slicing it clear and spilling entrails across the ground.

Duele flew in at head height with his blades cocked in front of his face, left leg outstretched to connect with a Wesman chest. He landed behind the warrior line and in front of the shamen
readying to cast their fire. Auum drove his shoulder into the warrior in front of him and rammed a blade into the top of his thigh. The tribesman went over, grabbing at Auum and pulling him down
too.

Black fire slashed overhead. Il-Aryn castings responded, but their effect was diluted now. Auum heard an elven scream behind him. He rolled away from the Wesman, breaking his grip. Ignoring him,
Auum drew a jaqrui and threw at the shamen, seeing it take the fingers from both hands of one on its way to jut from the skull of another.

‘Get the shamen!’ roared Auum.

Duele was already among them. His blades were in their scabbards and his fists and feet snapped out, breaking concentration, buying time for support to arrive. Auum saw Ulysan down a warrior
with a sword pommel to the chin. The big TaiGethen moved forward. In front of him shamen moved the focus of their fire. Auum wanted to shout in warning but it would do no good.

Ulysan struck the head from one, but the other, standing two paces behind, was too far away. But the shaman didn’t get the chance to strike his killing blow. The black fire died on his
fingertips as he clawed at the ikari jutting from his chest. Auum turned. The Senserii swept over the remains of the Wesman defence, which broke and scattered before them.

Auum nodded his thanks to Gilderon, who did not acknowledge him, stooping to twist his staff before dragging the blade clear.

‘Reform!’ called Auum.

The column came together and hurried on towards the opening gates. Horsemen galloped out followed by archers and swordsmen to form a corridor. The horsemen swept either side of the elven column,
clearing Wesmen from their flanks. Spells arced out over their heads, crashing into the ground behind. Walls of fire erupted from the ground alongside them. Black fire fizzed and crackled. Auum saw
a horseman taken from his mount, an axe in his back. Another flailed at the fire unpicking his chest.

‘Move! Run!’ shouted Auum. ‘Men are dying for us. Go, go!’

Auum ran down the column, urging them on. The Senserii made the gates, turning to stand and usher the Il-Aryn inside. Auum ran beside Drech.

‘What happened? Your castings stopped working.’

‘They drew on more power,’ said Drech. He looked exhausted. ‘So much to learn.’

‘You saved many.’

‘And lost some.’

‘It was unavoidable,’ said Auum.

He gripped Drech’s shoulder and rushed him through the guard and into the city before letting him go. Beyond the gates the night was ablaze. Horsemen thundered back into the city. Volleys
of arrows and more spells covered their retreat. The last of the elves ran in, Auum seeing one of his TaiGethen in the arms of another, bleeding from a wound to the head. Takaar was carried in on
the back of one of his Senserii.

Ulysan limped up to Auum, blood coming from a wound in his calf. Auum sheathed his blades.

‘That could have been worse,’ said Ulysan.

‘What happened to you?’

‘Stray arrow,’ said Ulysan. ‘Not deep.’

‘Get it seen to.’

Auum paused and drew breath. Now they were inside, the elves had stopped, as much cowed by the alien atmosphere of the city as they were fatigued by the run. Many were sitting by the side of the
cobbled street, while people were emerging from tall houses to see who had come to their aid. Horsemen milled about, and from further up the street of tight-packed buildings he heard shouting.

Auum pushed through the crowd and a smile broke on his face.

‘I see you made it,’ he said.

Stein shook his hand. ‘Did you like the welcome committee?’

‘Just what we needed.’

‘Bring your people to the college. We can billet them all there, get the wounded seen to and work out what’s next. This isn’t going to go unchallenged by the Wytch
Lords.’

They had reached the city with fewer casualties than Auum feared. Three Il-Aryn were dead, another five were wounded but responding. One TaiGethen had fallen and another three
had severe wounds. Auum did not expect them to survive the night despite the ministrations of Julatsa’s keenest mages.

Grafyrre had arrived with his full complement of raiders about two hours later. They’d crawled their way to the walls and scaled them, surprising a defender or two before heading for the
college and some hard-earned rest.

The college itself was dominated by its tower, the building that housed the growing Heart of Julatsa, the very centre of Julatsan magic. Auum felt burdened by the atmosphere within the building
and knew it to be the pressure of the magical focus created by the Heart.

After a bath and the application of balms to ease a few muscle aches and to soothe the cut on his face, Auum had been led to a large circular chamber high up in the tower itself. From there he
could see the city from the balcony that encircled the chamber. It was about half the size of Ysundeneth and felt cramped. Everything was forced within the walls, buildings rose three or four
storeys high and the hubbub of noise was ceaseless.

The walls and guard towers were manned by swordsmen, archers and mages, a powerful defence against the attacking Wesmen, and yet within the atmosphere was anxious. Presumably food supplies would
be getting short before too long, and there was always the fear of that which you could hear but not see.

The arrival of the elves had caused quite a stir and had, he was told, lifted the spirits of the entire city. The apparent ease with which they had broken through the enemy ranks had encouraged
the populace to believe that victory was possible. But Auum did not like the role in which he and his small band of raiders were being cast. They were not here as saviours of the human race.

That thought remained with him when he was invited to sit at a long oval table with elves and men, most dressed in lavish robes that presumably signified some sort of status within the college
and city. There were senior soldiers present too. Auum sat flanked by Stein and Drech on one side, Takaar on the other. Ulysan was on a chair behind him and Gilderon sat behind Takaar.

Twenty people in all were at the meeting, and the round of introductions made Auum’s head spin. High mage, mayor, elder council, general of the militia, general of the college army . . .
and an Il-Aryn
iad
called Kerela who had achieved high office. She was someone Auum needed to speak to in private. The meeting took place in a mixture of elvish and human, with translators
at the ears of any struggling to understand one or the other.

‘First of all my apologies for keeping you from your beds or for dragging you from them,’ said the High Mage, Sipharec. He was a middle-aged man, clean-shaven, tall and slender to
the point of being gaunt. His eyes were a powerful bright blue but there was something behind them, a sadness. ‘But what we have to discuss cannot wait until dawn when the Wesmen resume their
efforts to knock down our walls. Walls which we have defended for more than ten days without help from any on the outside, until now. Auum, Drech, Takaar and all your people, welcome, and thank you
for giving us fresh hope. Stein, I doubted you could succeed. I am sorry.’