Beyond the Mists of Katura

Chapter 32

TaiGethen scouts were several hours run out of Carusk, Sentaya’s home village, covering all the approaches to gauge the size of the oncoming force and to ensure no Wesman scouts could view their defensive preparations.

While the Il-Aryn trained hard to respond to various situations with defensive castings, Stein had organised his mages to set wards across wide swathes of the countryside. Half a day out and the castings were not dense, but there were enough of them to seed doubt in the minds of the marching warriors.

Closer to the village borders and its rough stockade, the wards became more tightly packed and focused, designed to inflict the maximum damage by spreading fire or ice across many more than those unfortunate enough to trigger them. And when the damage was dealt, the remaining wards were designed to obscure the defenders until the last moment and provide opportunities for bowmen and elven mages to cast freely.

‘Anyone else feel a little uncomfortable about laying wards to murder unsuspecting warriors on the march?’ asked Stein.

‘No,’ said Auum. ‘After all, we’re trying to kill enemies, not allies.’

‘Can Ystormun divine wards?’ asked Ulysan, changing tack quickly.

‘Given time I’m certain he can, but there’s only him and he’s careless of his fighters,’ said Stein. ‘He won’t have the patience to wait, and anyway it’s a task so far beneath him I suspect he’d rather lose warriors than step from his carriage.’

The three of them were standing outside the stockade, watching mages at work and waiting for Faleen to run in and deliver her report on the enemy. She was just a few hundred yards away now and running hard.

‘There is that,’ said Ulysan. ‘Is someone chasing her or something?’

‘Just a Wytch Lord,’ said Stein.

‘Not bad,’ said Ulysan. ‘You’ve still got a lot to learn, though.’

Faleen slid to a stop in front of Auum, who kissed her forehead.

‘Did you enjoy the run? Come on, let’s go to Sentaya. We don’t want to be seen discussing your news before we’ve shared it with him. It’s his village under attack, after all.’

‘How far have you run?’ asked Stein.

‘I don’t know how far but for about seven hours,’ said Faleen.

Stein blinked. ‘But you aren’t even breathing heavily.’

‘Our host is waiting,’ said Auum.

‘Nor are you sweating,’ said Stein. ‘Unbelievable.’

It was two days since Gyarth’s beheading, and the look of disgust had not softened on Sentaya’s face. He had watched the mages and Il-Aryn practising and setting wards, and seeing magic being employed on his lands and in his name was causing a major conflict within him.

No caster had been allowed within the village, and the TaiGethen were treated with suspicion, angry eyes following them wherever they went. Tilman had been admitted, but his halting knowledge of tribal Wes had made conversation very difficult. Even so, Auum and Stein knew that Sentaya was wavering, that his tribesmen were not all behind him and that there were sections of the Paleon spread around the lake and further south that wanted the intruders dead. It seemed that only Sentaya’s respect for Auum kept their shaky alliance in place. Stein set alarm wards around their camp when they slept.

Sentaya met them where they would not be overheard. He nodded to Auum and pointedly ignored Stein before fixing his gaze on Faleen.

‘What has she seen?’ he demanded.

Faleen spoke and Stein translated. Sentaya refused to look at him.

‘It’s a considerable force and it will be here at first light tomorrow. I estimate nine hundred warriors and forty shamen plus their supply wagons. There’s a single covered carriage pulled by a two-horse team and attended by shamen in dark red clothing. It is guarded by warriors on horseback, clearly a personal guard. Ystormun is riding in the carriage. I saw him walking among his shamen last night.’

Sentaya shook his head and regarded Auum with something akin to awe. He gave a dry chuckle.

‘I had thought you were bluffing, Auum. And now it is real, isn’t it? Ystormun has come. For the remainder of the day you and I will set our tactics. When night falls we will feast together in my village.’ Sentaya glanced at Stein. ‘All of us. For one night we will be brothers and for one day we will fight as kin.’

‘It is the greatest honour you could bestow on my people,’ said Auum. ‘Thank you. The elven gods will bless you and keep you for greater tasks to come.’

Sentaya bowed his head. ‘I must speak with my people.’

Sipharec was dead. From healthy old man to corpse in so short a time, and no magic could save him. Kerela turned from his tomb, her head bowed. She whispered prayers as she walked through the college and out into streets packed with anxiety and rising panic.

So soon after the siege had been broken, the hopes of ordinary Julatsans had been crushed. Kerela spoke to no one and acknowledged no one as she walked, though she was aware that Harild, wonderful, strong, brave Harild, had fallen into step beside her.

She had known Sipharec’s death was imminent but deep inside her had hoped he would rise, heal himself and stand before them as he had done for so long. But of course he had not, and his last hours had been spent unconscious with his pain dulled by magic.

Kerela walked to the city’s main gates and ascended the stairs to the gatehouse. It was still under repair as were wide sections of the ramparts. Mages were busy investing strength into the walls, and she could hear the sounds of industry echoing around the city, manufacturing arrows, blades and bows.

Kerela stared out and her heart fell. She still remembered the stark beauty of the approaches to Julatsa and the horizon where you could see the sea sparkle on clear hot days. The scent of the long grass on the gentle rolling rises lingered in her memory and the laughter of children playing in the wide open spaces sounded in her head, hollow and bleak, a dream long shrivelled and dead.

The Wesmen were still gathering, and the clamour would be ceaseless until they attacked. There were so many more of them than before: thousands with ladders and sharp blades and with their shamen already chanting and dancing to gain the favour of the spirits. They were spreading out to encircle the city and this time they were not going to besiege Julatsa; they were going to come straight for the walls.

‘When will they attack?’ asked Kerela.

She felt completely overwhelmed and incapable of being in charge of any kind of defence. How she longed for Sipharec, Auum, Takaar and Drech. Powerful individuals blessed with knowledge and belief. She had been born well after the liberation of Calaius. She knew nothing of war.

‘No later than first light tomorrow,’ said Harild. He was gazing up at the sky where the light of afternoon was on the wane. ‘We’ve done all we can. The mages are briefed, the wards are laid outside, and we will power the grid the moment they advance. We know their tactics.’

‘But we have no TaiGethen, no capability to take down their shamen.’

Harild nodded, his head moving quickly. ‘I know, but our duty is to hold them at bay for as long as we can. In the meantime we must pray that Auum and Takaar do what they set out to do.’

‘And if they don’t? If they fail?’

‘They won’t.’

‘But if they do?’

Harild smiled a little sadly. ‘Then we must save what we can and make sure our lives come at great cost to our enemies. What else is there to do?’

Night was falling. Takaar had been waiting for a day and his patience was spent. He had called the Senserii from their hiding place in the hills above Understone Pass and now waited with them while the tortuous discussions among the Circle Seven of Xetesk went on and on. He could not settle to eat or rest. His mind was ablaze and his tormentor wouldn’t leave him be. He watched Gilderon watching him, and the suspicious Xeteskian mages and soldiers guarding the pass entrance watching all of them, wondering why their master had ordered them not to be touched.

Takaar half wished they’d try. Anything was better than this dreadful waiting, and he had not unleashed his energies in what seemed an age.

A small demonstration might speed up their decision.

‘Or my demise,’

Either works for me, you know that.

‘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.’