Elves: Rise of the TaiGethen (42 page)

Auum hoped they had seen enough to give them pause, and to hurry their decision to attack across the western space. He had stood on the gatehouse roof all day while final preparations and patches were made to the walls. Below him, the briefings and drills had become dress rehearsals for the battle to come.

Everyone knew their post. Everyone had their tasks to perform. The great question was whether the unskilled, utterly inexperienced elves would stand when the spells rained down and the enemy soldiers charged the city.

They had a pitiful number of skilled defenders. Just twelve full TaiGethen cells along with Auum and Ulysan, making thirty-eight warriors in all. Plus the hundred and eighteen Al-Arynaar who followed Pelyn. She hadn’t the fitness for a day’s fight and her eyes betrayed the depth of her enduring desire for edulis.

More than two thousand had been drilled as militia and some had proved themselves capable, but the raw fact was they were not soldiers. They were youngsters, or old
ulas
and
iads
. . . plus farmers, fishers and potters. Hardly a formidable force, and while some had the ability to command, Al-Arynaar were at the head of most. The rest of Katura’s twenty-thousand-strong population would have to fight with tooth and nail if the time came.

Only the hunters gave Auum cheer. There were fifty of them, all with good skills with bow and spear. He had entrusted Takaar’s tree frog poison to them, with a roving brief to shoot down as many of the enemy as they could, whenever they could get away a certain shot.

With the retreat of the enemy mages, he had advised everyone to rest. To gather together if they so desired, to eat and drink and tell stories. Or to visit a temple for quiet prayer, to walk the streets free of the threat of thread gangs or to simply spend time in the arms of those they loved and would die to protect.

Auum, though, was missing more than Elyss. He scanned the forest to the north-east and the skies above it, watching for a sign he was beginning to lose hope would come. When Ulysan came to bring him to eat, he refused.

‘Where is Corsaar?’ he asked. ‘Where is the Shorthian army?’

The following dawn he had part of his answer, and with it an end to any real hope. Mist hung over Katura as the sun came over the horizon, lifting sluggishly and only dispersed by a heavy downpour that in turn gave way to hot sunshine.

With the sky and horizon clear, Auum could see mages to the north-east and knew the second human army was only a day from their gates. Before them, emerging from the eaves of the forest to stand on the borders of the trap-strewn open ground, no more than two hundred yards away, was the Ysundeneth army.

Pelyn was standing on the gatehouse roof with Auum. So were Ulysan, Merrat and Grafyrre. The walkway behind the rampart was crowded with Katurans, as was every vantage point facing the forest.

The humans just kept coming, forming up in neat, professional ranks as they did. Mages flew overhead again, inviting the elves to look upon their death. Thousands of men all armed and armoured where, for the most part, the defenders wore everyday clothes and carried wooden clubs or farming implements.

Auum was taken back to that day on Hausolis when, standing on the Tul Kenerit ramparts, he had seen the Garonin horde emerge from the mists they had summoned to fog their approach. That day when Takaar’s courage had failed.

‘No wonder he left,’ said Pelyn, mirroring his thoughts. ‘How could he have faced this all over again?’

‘He couldn’t,’ said Auum. ‘But we need him nonetheless.’

A murmur swept along the rampart. The Katurans’ courage was wavering and the enemy were still massing before them. Around two and a half thousand would have to emerge before they were done, and the sheer number was terrifying.

‘We have to hold them,’ said Auum.

The enemy were chanting and shouting, clashing their blades together and stamping their feet. It was an ugly sound, powerful and discomforting, and it was having the desired effect.

‘Sing,’ said Ulysan. ‘ “The Triumph of Verendii” maybe. Everyone knows that one.’

Auum nodded. ‘Yes. Let’s show these barbarians how beautiful the voice can really be.’

Those gathered on the gatehouse began to sing. Quickly, the words were taken up to either side of them, the tune one full of energy and pace. It was a song of victory.

The song rolled out across the open ground and Auum watched the enemy fall silent. Few would have understood the words but their power remained undimmed. The last words echoed from the cliffs and the defenders roared a cheer.

‘Well done, Ulysan,’ said Auum.

Ulysan gripped his arm and pointed to the north-eastern edge of the open ground. Moving fast and low they came, spread wide to make harder targets for arrow or spell, haring up to the river and splashing through the shallows. Driving across the deeps they swam with measured strokes, heedless of any predator. Back onto dry land with no pause for breath, they charged for the gates.

‘Corsaar,’ Auum breathed and then he filled his lungs to shout. ‘Come on, you old dog! Show them some speed!’

Quickly, the crowd on the ramparts joined in. Corsaar’s name and those of his Tais were hollered out. Every shout demanded greater speed, to show their heels to the enemy or to howl an insult at the snail-like humans. They came across the open ground, leaping over traps and tripwires, skirting stakes and pits.

The response from the enemy was immediate. Mages in their wake, soldiers moved forward into the open ground but stopped short of the first run of traps.

‘Corsaar!’ roared Auum though his voice was surely lost. ‘Casting! Casting behind you!’

Corsaar and his five ran on. Three hundred paces from the gates, they found the main trail and sprinted along it. Ulysan called for the gates to be opened. Auum stared out at the humans wondering why they hadn’t—

Six, seven, eight bright blue orbs tracked across the sky, trailing smoke. They fizzed and crackled, white light like spears of lightning flashing within them. They travelled horribly fast, hunting down their quarry. Auum was standing dead in line with their path. He watched the orbs rush in, each one the size of a boulder. He could feel the heat begin to grow, even from his position on the gatehouse roof. The cheers along the ramparts trailed off. Elves pointed, shouting warnings. Corsaar looked over his shoulder.

Auum heard his desperate order.

‘Split left! Split right!’

The orbs crashed into the ground in a flare of blue light and the explosions rattled the walls. Waves of fire consumed the ground, scorching grass and threatening some of the traps hidden with it. Smoke billowed and was blown away by the force of the blasts. Auum looked out to the scorched black and burning earth. Of Corsaar and his people, six priceless TaiGethen, there was no sign at all.

Katura fell silent.

The sound of cheering and celebration was deafening. Next to Jeral, Loreb was applauding heartily, and both Killith and Pindock were laughing. Lockesh had not even broken a smile.

‘Good shooting,’ said Jeral.

Loreb turned to him.

‘Let’s ram this victory home. We will suffer no delay. Captain Jeral, lead the advance to within spell range of those walls. The barrage is to begin as soon as you reach your positions. Concentrate on opening up that western corner. I want you leading an attack along the open side before midday.’

‘With respect, General, I urge caution. Your plan is sound, but that is too simple a route to victory for the Sharps not to have planned for it. We should scout the open ground before marching in. Their ambush surely taught us that much could be hidden in there. Attacking will lead us into a trap. We should wait for the balance of the army to join us.’

‘Are you questioning my order?’ Loreb’s face had turned red and his voice was rising in volume. ‘Well, Captain?’

‘I am offering an alternative.’

‘There is no time for alternatives,’ said Loreb, his words ground out between his teeth. ‘The barrage must begin immediately. Order the advance.’

Hynd saw Jeral look up at Lockesh, whose expression was stoney.

‘With the greatest respect,’ said Jeral, ‘I cannot risk my men like that.’

‘How dare you,’ grated Loreb. The three generals gathered like vultures over imminent carrion. ‘You coward. Consider yourself relieved of your command and under arrest. Court martial at sundown and execution at midnight.’

Jeral’s restraint was commendable. He unbuckled his sword belt and handed it to Loreb, who tossed it to the ground. Before walking away, the sneering Ishtak as his guard, he nodded to Hynd.

‘Take care out there. Hang back.’

Loreb squared his shoulders.

‘I think I’ll do this myself,’ he said.

He moved before the waiting ranks, opened his mouth and used his booming voice to considerable effect.

‘Companies One through Six. Forward barrage positions! March.’

Company captains roared orders. Three ranks of soldiers moved forward with two ranks of mages behind them. Hynd moved off as well, behind Dead Company, urging them to fight for Jeral, for honour and for tomorrow. He began to prepare an orb casting, aiming to land it behind the walls and create whatever mayhem he could. He fought his fear that the flow might gutter and die on him as he cast. If it did, the backwash from his spell would incinerate him. And he envied the mages around him their ignorance of the risk they were taking with every casting.

Loreb was positioned in the midst of the front rank. Hynd could see him glorying in his decision, his men behind him and a massive blow about to be struck which would further his personal aspirations. He swaggered through the dense thigh-high grass, calling out the castings and marking the targets.

Hynd imagined rather than heard the crack of wood, but he quite clearly saw the branch that snapped up from the grass under Loreb’s foot. It had a slice of tree trunk laid with spikes lashed to it, which struck Loreb square in the face, its momentum slamming the general’s twitching body flat to the ground beneath it.

For a heartbeat there was no reaction. The soldiers continued to march on. Then there was a scream from the flank as men disappeared into a pit, their shrieks cut off by the spikes lining the bottom. Closer to him, three were caught when two tensioned branches snapped together, mowing the grass down in twin semicircles before smashing their ankles to fragments.

Panic struck as the front rank halted but those behind them did not. The order to halt rang out, but not before more were pushed stumbling on to their deaths. Hynd glanced into a pit where three men lay impaled on spikes.

‘Fall back! Fall back!’

Soldiers turned and ran back to the sanctuary of the army. Hynd walked more slowly, trying to retrace his footsteps, suddenly mistrustful of the ground and what lurked there. There were screams for help from the impaled and the broken, and word of Loreb’s death swept through the army like a monsoon wind. Two and a half thousand men who had been so confident of victory a moment ago shuffled away from the grass in fear.

Pindock had disappeared. Killith stood gesturing hopelessly, his mouth open but silent. Only Lockesh retained any sense.

‘Mages to me! Let’s show our dim-brained soldiers the way ahead. Hynd, get yourself to the centre; you’re in charge. Burn the grass. Burn it all to ash.’

Auum watched the fire eat away the grass, exposing and destroying the remaining traps. It was an effective and quick solution. Smoke billowed into the sky where clouds were gathering but would not douse the flames before they had burned themselves out. Yet it was still a victory of sorts, and Pelyn had been quick to make sure every defender knew it. One senior human had perished and the stamina of a good many mages was being exhausted with the fires.

It was good but they needed more, much more.

Well before midday the city approaches held no more secrets. Auum watched the army mass to advance once more, and this time there was little they could do but shelter and pray.

‘Ulysan. Sound the general alarm. Clear the streets, clear the gate zone and the wall approaches. Ready the fire teams and stretcher parties. Who’s taking the wall and gatehouse?’

Ulysan gestured below. Well over a hundred elves had been painted and garbed as TaiGethen. Auum smiled. They were a good imitations, good enough to fool the humans anyway.

‘They are brave. It’s going to be hard up here. Make sure they remember their cover positions.’

‘Consider it done.’

‘Then meet me at the western corner. We need to be ready.’

Ulysan gripped Auum’s upper arms. ‘This is it, my Arch. The battle that will determine our fate is here.’