Rise of the TaiGethen

Chapter 7

When I first visited Garan, he thought I was there to kill him. He was wrong. I was there to kill Ystormun and had climbed into the wrong room. It was an error which saved my life in more than one respect.

Takaar, First Arch of the Il-Aryn

Takaar scaled the wall and climbed through the small window left deliberately ajar for him. Night was full, clouds were gathering to disgorge new rain and the city was pitch black but for the torchlight illuminating the entrances to key buildings. He could smell the filthy conditions of the elven slaves even more clearly than the stench of man.

His eyes pierced the night, giving him a clean view of the bedroom he entered. It was large. One door led to a washroom, another to a landing where guards and helpers stood. Within the room, a plain single bed and a large threadbare armchair stood in the centre of a wooden floor covered in thick rugs. Tapestries hung on the walls to keep out the draughts, but the room was otherwise without furnishing or decoration, barring a pewter chamber pot and a mug of water at the bedside.

The man in the bed watched him drop lightly to the ground, his eyes shining wet. Takaar heard a gravelly clearing of the throat and a dry chuckle.

‘I wondered how long it would take you to get here,’ said Garan, his voice a rasping whisper that Takaar could barely hear. ‘I’m sorry about what happened.’

Takaar sat, as he always did, somewhere Garan could see him without having to raise his head.

‘Really? Is that why you forgot to warn me last time I was here?’

Garan sighed. ‘You have a rather exaggerated view of my influence and knowledge.’

‘You are not yet deaf.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Nor are you a comedian.’

‘Spare me one thing in my ridiculously endless life.’

Takaar smiled. ‘Friendship with an elf?’

‘I guess that’ll have to do.’

Takaar knew that Garan could barely make him out, the natural human inability to see in the dark combined with Garan’s poor eyesight. In some ways it was a shame they could only meet during darkness. To Garan, Takaar was little more than a silhouette.

‘So? No need to be shy,’ said Takaar. ‘Tell me which new part of your body has stopped working or else dropped off entirely.’

Garan’s eyes closed for a few moments before he spoke. ‘Sadly, I am slightly recovered. A couple of days ago one of Ystormun’s researchers tried a new technique for cleansing my kidneys and it appears to have worked.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Bullshit. If I died who on earth would you talk to?’

‘No, I meant it. But you’re right of course.’ After all these years, he still couldn’t reconcile his feelings towards this human. ‘And don’t deny you love being a paradox.’

‘I want to be dead,’ whispered Garan.

Takaar felt a squeeze on his heart. ‘Then let me kill you. Such a gift, to send you to Shorth’s embrace.’

‘I can’t let you. After all, then who would you have to talk to?’

‘Now who’s talking bullshit?’

Garan was silent for a while and Takaar wondered if he’d fallen asleep. But his eyes opened presently and when he spoke again, his rasping voice was softer.

‘Why are you really here, Takaar? Not to chastise me for the attack on your people, I’m sure.’

Garan gasped and Takaar tensed, but he knew better than to mop his brow or clutch a hand.

‘I thought you said you were improving?’

‘They haven’t quite sorted out my gut yet. Still dissolving in its own acid, or so it feels. So. Why are you here?’

‘I’m sure your mages have been able to detect the Il-Aryn and its principal location for decades. So this attack is… a change in strategy, isn’t it? It’s provocative. I expect humans across the rainforest are already dead as a result. And none of your temple attackers survived.’

‘Oh? I thought you always let one go to spread the fear.’

‘I changed my mind.’ Takaar shrugged. ‘I was going to, but I didn’t hear what I needed to.’

‘Which was?’

‘An answer to the question I just asked you. And I’m happy to kill you too, whether you answer it or not. Just say the word.’

‘I see I’m not the only one who’s not a comedian.’ Garan was wheezing. ‘Damn. Need to turn over. No muscle to speak of in the chest you see, so eventually my lungs slide together. Or that’s how it feels. Quite painful.’

‘I can imagine,’ said Takaar.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. And don’t even think about helping me or I’ll call the guards.’

Ah, another test for your oh so fragile emotions.

‘Leave me,’ hissed Takaar.

I don’t think so. This promises to be such fun.

Garan began to move and Takaar’s eyes brimmed on the instant. He couldn’t take his eyes from Garan’s face, twisted in agony. His features, so aged and wrinkled, his flesh so thin and loose that he was utterly unrecognisable as the man who had escorted Takaar, bearing the body of his beloved Katyett, from the city a hundred and fifty years ago. Only his eyes, which retained their cynicism and surprising intelligence, gave the man within away.

Garan grunted and began to roll, having worked one arm beneath his body. He was a featherweight but his muscle was so withered that moving himself when he was prone was a true physical trial. His features contorted, hiding his already screwed shut eyes completely. Small whimpers escaped his lips and his body moved with agonising slowness. His right arm juddered and shook as he forced it straight. Drool ran from the corner of his mouth and Takaar heard tendons crack.

No, no. Don’t close your eyes. You swore you wouldn’t do that.

‘I have to help him.’

You could end his pain but he won’t let you, and you are so crucified by your respect for a human that you acquiesce to that. Or is it that your hatred for him is so intense that you drink the pain of your enemy like the sweetest of honeys?

Garan fell onto his back, an exhalation of relief ending in a violent coughing fit that sprayed a fine mist of blood into the air and left him clutching at his stomach. There was a thud on the door. Takaar froze. He saw the handle move ever so slightly downwards.

‘Garan, do you need assistance?’

Garan’s response was another fusillade of coughs.

‘Garan!’

The handle moved further and the door opened a crack. Takaar readied to flee.

‘I’m fine,’ croaked Garan. ‘Never felt better. Now bugger off and let me sleep in peace.’

The door closed on a muttered insult. Takaar smiled.

‘So what happens now? Will your lungs sink through your back and into the mattress?’

Garan choked back a laugh. His voice dropped back to a whisper.

‘Listen to me, Takaar. We don’t have long before someone comes in to check I haven’t suffocated myself with my blanket.’ Garan’s eyes bored into Takaar’s face, searching for his features in the darkness. ‘Change at home will bring changes here. Unless we are fortunate indeed, there is going to be a hideous struggle for magical dominance, so bad that those stationed here will be glad they are.

‘There are more styles of magic than you have seen. Four schools dominate and the ethics controlling them mix poorly. Ystormun and his ilk represent a school of magic that deals in things best left untouched. You and your kind deal in a far purer magic which Ystormun has been under pressure to repress ever since it flared all those years ago. Now he is tasked with destroying it.

‘And you’re playing into his hands.’

Takaar felt slapped. ‘How?’

‘Because those you assume are the natural practitioners of elvish magic are not.’

‘The Ynissul are the natural masters of the elves and the only thread to demonstrate any feeling for the Il-Aryn.’

Garan closed his eyes and brought trembling hands to his face.

‘And you call yourself the father of the harmony? Your prejudice is entrenched as firmly as Sildaan’s. Did it never occur to you to wonder why Ystormun wanted to exterminate the Ixii and the Gyalans? The Ixii? Didn’t that give you the smallest clue?’

Takaar opened his mouth to reply but closed it sharply against a rising nausea.

Oh for shame. A hundred and fifty years passed and so much of it wasted on the wrong elves. How does it feel to know you have failed again, through your own blindness? I’d be running for the forest to hide again if I were you.

‘You’ve known this all the time?’

‘Of course.’

‘But-’

‘Don’t be naive, Takaar. We’re friends. Friends of the most curious kind, to be sure, but friends nonetheless. But when have you or I ever passed each other useful information, eh? Never forget that I believe in our occupation. Or I did.’

The last was almost inaudible.

‘And now?’

‘This occupation is no longer to the benefit of Triverne. It is merely a resource base that will tip the balance in the magical struggle to come. Ystormun and his dark magic must be driven out before he becomes unstoppable. The future of both Calaius and Balaia depend on it. You understand what I’m saying?’

Takaar nodded, mumbled his assent.

‘There’s something else,’ said Garan.

The bedroom door slapped open, lantern light flooded in. Takaar leapt straight upwards, his fingers snagging on the timber roof supports high above the bed. He swung his legs up and his body swivelled, planting him astride a central beam. He flattened his body along it, one eye peering down through the dust he had dislodged, which spiralled towards the ground.

Ystormun swept into the room flanked by four of his cabal of mages and two guards. Garan watched him come and, though any other man might quail, he rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically.

‘He’s been here. I can smell the mana on him. Give him to me.’

‘Naturally,’ said Garan. ‘He’s hiding under my blanket.’

One of the mages moved to pull the blanket back. Ystormun stopped him with a hiss.

‘Idiot,’ he snapped. ‘Don’t waste my time, Garan. Where is he?’

Garan, lying prone, shrugged extravagantly. ‘There are so many places to hide in this room.’

Ystormun glared at Garan. He snapped his fingers and gestured towards the door to the washroom. A mage scurried off to check.

‘You are testing my patience,’ said the mage lord.

‘It is the only pleasure remaining to me,’ said Garan.

Takaar was calm. Seven enemies in all. He could kill six before they touched him, three of those before they even knew he was there. But Ystormun was an unknown factor. There was an aura of invulnerability about him mixed up with the reek of magical power that enveloped him. And something else too: something seething and malevolent that ran through his veins and every cell of his being.

Takaar waited and watched. He needed Ystormun to move directly beneath him. Dropping on him like a constrictor from a tree was his best and only chance. But as if he could sense Takaar’s intent, Garan stared upwards for a heartbeat and gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

‘Last chance,’ said Ystormun.

‘Or what?’ rasped Garan. ‘You’ll torture me for the truth? Have me executed? There is nothing you can do to me that I do not crave, nothing you have not already done that I fear. Even a demon-addled skeleton like you should realise he left through the window some time ago. Now get lost, Ystormun, and let me sleep. I’m an old man in case you hadn’t noticed.’

Takaar felt the air chill and saw the mages shrivel in anticipation of Ystormun’s response. But the mage lord merely nodded. Takaar’s heart began to thrash in his chest. Ystormun was going to leave. Alive.

You don’t have the guts. You never did.

Wrong.

Takaar dropped head first from the rafters, arms outstretched. A guard stood below him. Takaar caught the man’s head in his hands, twisting his neck while his body slammed into the victim’s back. The guard crumpled. Takaar turned a forward roll and was on his feet, twin blades in his hands.

Takaar slashed the first through a mage’s midriff and the second through the neck of a guard still trying to draw his sword from its scabbard. Takaar ran forward, turned a roll over Garan’s bed, thumped to the floor the other side and cracked a roundhouse kick into the second mage’s temple.

Takaar kept his momentum into the turn, ducked a flailing fist and sliced up through the guard’s face. The final mage was casting. Takaar dropped his left-hand blade, reached into the jaqrui pouch at his waist and threw the crescent blade. The keen edge buried itself above the mage’s nose.

Takaar stretched out his right arm, the blade he held touched Ystormun’s neck.

‘Your turn.’

Takaar pushed hard. The blade would not penetrate Ystormun’s flesh. He pulled back and hacked at it. The blade bounced, not even unbalancing the mage lord, whose fleshless face modelled a parody of a smile.

‘Very impressive, Takaar of the TaiGethen, but as you can see I am made of sterner stuff.’ Ystormun pushed Takaar’s blade aside. ‘Now, what to do with you, I wonder. I’m disappointed in you, Garan. Didn’t you warn him about me?’

‘I tried to.’

Ystormun was deceptively quick of hand. He loomed over Takaar and grabbed him by the throat, pulling him close. Takaar gagged. There was a reek to the man that was unlike any other he had experienced. The odour of power clad in the darkest of nights. It was as if his soul was a channel for an extraordinary malevolence.

Takaar reached up to try and dislodge Ystormun’s fingers but instead the grip on his neck tightened, the mage lord’s nails drawing blood. Ystormun studied him as though he could see right through his flesh to the mind and soul that lay within.

‘In many ways it would be a pity to kill you. Such conflicts within a creature so primitive would be a pleasure to examine at length, after all. But you are dangerous alive. You have… ability. The question is whether your martyrdom would make you more dangerous still?’

Ystormun glanced down at Garan.

‘I know what your answer would be, but I know better than to trust anything you say.’

‘I’m hurt,’ said Garan. ‘But I urge you to keep Takaar alive. Yes, he is my friend, and friendship is a rare beast between our races, but your idea of his influence and popularity is exaggerated. Dead, his memory will gain power. Alive, he does himself more damage every day.’

He really knows you well, doesn’t he?

Takaar swallowed as hard as he could. Ystormun’s grip had not slackened. He weighed up what to say and concluded that silence was his best choice. Ystormun’s eyes bored into him once more.

‘I see. I am aware my men all died in the attack, but what of your

… adepts, Takaar?’

‘Your magic was stronger than ours but not every adept was at the temple,’ said Takaar in the clipped human tongue Garan had taught him. ‘You may consider your action a victory but the full price for it is yet to be exacted.’

Any hint of humour or humanity disappeared from Ystormun’s face.

‘Any reprisals on behalf of your warrior force, such as still exists, will be met with vengeance you can only shudder to consider,’ he said.

Takaar tried to shake his head but Ystormun’s grip made it an impossible gesture.

‘You don’t understand. You attacked Aryndeneth. The temple at the heart of our faith. Now the ClawBound are cleansing the forest. No human may step beneath the canopy again and hope to live.’

Ystormun hissed a fetid breath over Takaar’s face and dragged him from his feet. Takaar began to choke, his hands scrabbling uselessly at Ystormun’s fingers.

‘They will cease or you will all perish. We have only let you live so long as you do not harm us. Do not think we fear you. Not now, not after so long. Especially not now we are so strong.’

Abruptly, Takaar was released. He dropped to a crouch, massaging his throat and gulping in a painful breath. He caught Garan’s eye and the human could do nothing but shake his head in resignation.

‘So the decision is made. You will live for now and you will carry a message to your ClawBound, whoever they are. Their reprisals will end immediately. If they do not, I will fire the forest and everything in it. You have three days to bring me their response.

‘Remember who rules this accursed continent, Takaar. I will suffer no further loss at the hands of elves.’

Takaar stood slowly and faced Ystormun.

‘Guarantee that Garan will be free from harm and I will deliver your message,’ he said.

Spoken like a true coward.

Ystormun laughed. It was a hollow sound, quite without soul.

‘Oh I am happy to guarantee that. In fact, my temporary loss of interest in Garan the experiment has been quite reversed and he can look forward to a long, long life to come.’ Ystormun leaned forward. ‘Go.’