Rise of the TaiGethen e-2

by James Barclay

  To the south Pelyn’s Katurans and Al-Arynaar were holding against an organised defence, while in the centre mages with nothing but daggers were looking for soldiers to protect them. The cohesion of the army had gone completely and humans were scattered all over the central ring, most of them desperate to find a way out.

  ‘Get forward and break the attack on Pelyn,’ said Auum.

  Human bowmen were firing into the rear of Pelyn’s lines and up into the buildings on the edge of the ring, trying to dislodge his archers. Dead ahead, soldiers guarding the flank and the mages in their midst saw the TaiGethen charge and turned to face them.

  ‘Jaqrui,’ he called.

  Without their shields to protect them, the humans suffered the full force of the crescent blades. Auum threw two, both of them finding their targets. He heard the mourning sound of more jaqrui and saw one slice the top from an enemy’s skull, another chop away a mage’s dagger hand.

  Auum drew his twin blades and sprinted in at an angle calculated to take him towards Pelyn. The enemy readied but he had no time for them. Two paces in front of their line he jumped, turned a roll in the air and came down behind them in the midst of mages and bowmen.

  A mage in front of him screamed; Auum slashed him through the shoulder and barged him aside. A bowman turned and shot; Auum saw the flight of the arrow and swayed his body to the right then lashed out his blade and split the bowman’s skull. Auum thrust left and caught a mage’s dagger. He turned his wrist, drove the weapon down and jabbed his blade into the man’s face. Auum moved his right blade out, slicing deep into the side of another. He jumped above a clumsy hack. His feet licked out one after the other, smashing the soldier’s nose and breaking his jaw.

  Auum moved on, hearing his Tais driving into the fragile enemy flank. He glanced behind him, seeing the ClawBound beginning to fall back, their panthers tiring. They had done enough. Ahead, the humans had begun to make ground. Auum signalled archers on the wrecked courthouse to concentrate their fire on the enemy front line.

  Three men ran at him, seeing him alone and thinking him vulnerable. Auum watched them come and saw the intent in each of them. They would reach him simultaneously but it would do them no good.

  The first jumped in the air to hack his blade down two-handed. Auum simply stepped aside and reversed a sword into the man’s back, skewering vital organs. The second had gone low, but Auum was already jumping above his swipe. He landed while the man was off balance and kicked his standing leg from under him. Auum thrust his right fist into the mouth of the third before he could deliver his intended strike. He finished the second off, stamping hard on the back of his neck and feeling it crack beneath his foot.

  Auum paused. More came at him. Bowmen were also targeting him, but in the chaos he could crouch and run beneath their arcs of vision. With his own poison archers doing terrible damage to their ranks, he battered into the rear of the human lines, Ulysan once again at his shoulder.

  Pelyn sensed the shift in the army behind the front lines and knew the TaiGethen had joined the attack. She was blowing hard and her blade speed had dropped. Most of the Al-Arynaar about her were dead, and the Katurans were beginning to waver before the humans’ skilled blades.

  ‘One more time!’ she called, fending away a cut to her head and lashing a blow to a human’s gut. ‘We can break them.’

  To her left, a Beethan iad screamed. Her meat cleaver went spinning from her hand, which had been partly severed by a savage blow. The soldier drew back his blade to finish the job but the iad leapt on him, her other hand ripping at his eyes and her teeth clamped on his lower jaw.

  ‘That’s it!’ cried Pelyn. ‘Hit them with everything you have. For Katura!’

  Her words were taken up along the Katuran lines and they flew in once more. The enemy fell back a pace, regrouped and formed again, blades working hard, doing dreadful damage to the poorly trained city folk. The Katurans would not hold for long. Pelyn drew another shuddering breath and pushed forward.

  She faced a man with the mark of command on him. Pelyn dodged back, avoiding his thrust to her stomach by a whisker. She bounced forward, aiming a cut at his head which he blocked hard, sending a painful vibration through her arm.

  Katuran militia next to her lost their lives, their inadequate weapons breaking in the face of keen steel. One lost her intestines to a deep cut. Another’s heart was pierced by a blow which sliced straight through his unskilled defence. More took their places. Hope remained, but Pelyn could feel it it faltering.

  Pelyn’s opponent advanced. He feinted right and struck left. She deflected the blade but its edge sliced into her side. Pelyn gasped at the sudden pain. She moved her blade left to right in riposte and the man leapt back. Her sword point cut into the leather at his neck.

  Pelyn heard shouts from behind and felt the Katurans press in around her, their sudden move forcing the enemy back again. Her enemy weaved his sword in front of her. As she tried to follow the blade, nausea gripped her. She felt weak and her mouth was dry. Pelyn took half a pace back and waved her blade in front of her chest, trying to give herself a moment.

  The enemy moved in. He butted her, his forehead smashing into her nose before she could lift her blade. Pelyn staggered back, dazed. Other humans moved to either side, driving her flanking militia back. The man stepped in again and Pelyn struck out. Her thrust was blocked and the next instant she felt a terrible cold pain in her chest.

  The soldier put his hand out and pushed her away. His blade came clear, its edges dragging against her ribs. Her mouth filled with blood. Pelyn dropped her blade and fell, the pain gone to be replaced by a roaring in her ears that grew and grew with each slow heartbeat. She looked around and saw nothing but the gaping mouths and wide eyes of dead Katurans.

  Her head fell back against the ground. There were shapes in the air, tumbling and rolling. Someone called her name but she didn’t have the strength to reply.

  ‘Pelyn!’ Auum landed astride her body, Ulysan a couple of paces to his right. ‘Fight! Fight for Pelyn! Fight for your lives!’

  The Katurans had paused and some had lost their lives as a result. Auum’s arrival energised them once more, lent confidence to flagging spirits and turned them on their human foe one last time.

  Ulysan led the charge, driving a wedge into the enemy lines that the Katurans filled. Jeral stood in front of Auum, his blade dripping with Pelyn’s blood. He pointed at Auum.

  ‘Kill him,’ he said.

  Four rushed in. Auum held one sword across his forehead and the other with its tip touching the ground. His body was forward and his legs straddled the breathing but dying Pelyn. He didn’t wait for them to strike. Auum lashed his high blade across the face of the leftmost, his low blade up through the thigh of the rightmost. He balanced himself instantly, jumped straight up and kicked both feet into the chest of the third soldier. Auum landed on the unfortunate’s chest and brought his blades across his body, batting aside the blade of the last with one and opening up his stomach with the other.

  Auum walked over the soldier on which he stood, crushing his throat on his way to Jeral. The human commander stood alone. The human line wavered behind him, its flanks weak and its centre fatally pierced by Ulysan.

  Jeral swept his sword left to right. Auum ducked under it and with his left blade blocked it down and aside. He took a pace forward and drove his right blade into Jeral’s chest. The two locked eyes momentarily before Jeral’s gaze began to fade. Auum dragged the blade clear with his next motion and cut as hard as he ever had across Jeral’s exposed neck with his left.

  Jeral’s body teetered for a moment then crumpled sideways, his head rolling off his neck to fetch up at Auum’s feet. The elf stared into the eyes of the men behind Jeral and fought for the word he needed in the clumsy human tongue.

  ‘Flee,’ he said.

  They fled. Auum took Jeral’s head by the hair and held it high.

  ‘Their commander is dead!’ he roared. ‘Their magic is gone and the
ir beast has no head. Fight, Katura! Break them.’

  Katurans hanging back behind Auum roared their support and rushed past him. Auum watched them go. He flung the head towards the wavering enemy.

  ‘Here, have him. I have no use for him.’

  He saw the head bounce once in the mud and roll a couple of times before stopping, the eyes staring up and the mouth hanging open. Auum turned to Pelyn and dropped to his knees by her side. She was almost gone but still she managed a faint smile when she saw him.

  ‘You did it,’ said Auum. ‘You showed your true self. Shorth will welcome you and the ancients will honour your arrival among them.’

  Pelyn tried to speak but her mouth was clogged with blood.

  ‘Shhh,’ said Auum. ‘All is forgiven, Pelyn. They are broken. We have won. You have saved Katura and the elves.’

  Pelyn gripped his hands and hauled her head from the ground. Blood flowed from her mouth and she coughed violently, spraying his face with a red mist.

  ‘Always… believed in… you,’ she said and fell back, her chest heaving and bubbles forming on her lips.

  Auum nodded. He leaned over her and kissed her forehead and her eyes.

  ‘Hero of Hausolis. Hero of Ysundeneth. Hero of Katura. Sleep. Your work is done. Yniss takes you for other tasks beyond death.’

  Pelyn was dead. Auum smiled and rose back to his feet.

  ‘Stretcher!’ he called. ‘Take Pelyn to the temple of Tual. See that she is comfortable.’

  Auum looked to his people. The Katurans, with Ulysan in their midst, were driving the humans back across the marketplace. Thrynn and Ataan were fighting their way towards Ulysan through the tattered group of men. The ClawBound had re-entered the fray from the right and soldiers were scattering from their path.

  Auum could see through the thinning smoke, down a street that led towards the eastern walls, that the enemy had been broken there too and was running with Katurans slaughtering any they caught. Auum strode through the marketplace. Here and there he found a human still breathing and sent them to the eternal torment of Shorth.

  He stopped when he reached Jeral’s head and spat on it.

  ‘This is our forest. No man will ever conquer the elves.’

  Chapter 38

  Ystormun believes my spirit needs to evolve to enjoy the extraordinary pain I experience with every waking moment. That’s what happens when you sell your soul to the demons, isn’t it? Idiot.

  Reminiscences of an Old Soldier, by Garan, sword master of Ysundeneth (retired)

  Don’t let the whining get to you, will you? It’s natural for some to complain even though you’ve saved them from certain death and are offering them power beyond their most fevered imaginings.

  Takaar increased his pace towards the river and the boats ready to take the slowest and neediest back to Loshaaren. There he would leave his new recruits with their teachers while he concluded his business in Ysundeneth with the only human worthy of life. It was a paradox of the cruellest nature, given his final task there.

  There were almost two hundred Il-Aryn-in-waiting: Gyalans, Ixii, Orrans and Cefans. A good number, and a challenging task for the Ynissul who would be trying to teach them under his and Onelle’s guiding hands. But getting them to Loshaaren was proving a trial in itself.

  Indeed. They’re utterly helpless, aren’t they? Did you see even the Senserii’s expressions flicker? Just think what would happen if they deserted you. Who would hunt, gather and protect then?

  Takaar scratched his chin, muttering. ‘Soon to the river, soon to quick and calm travel. Let’s not dally here or worry there. Can’t help, only hinder and we don’t need any more of that, now do we?’

  ‘Takaar? Takaar!’

  Drech, it was always Drech. He was the self-appointed speaker for every one of the elves traipsing moodily through the glory of the forest, whose spirits Takaar seemed unable to lift. He heard the young Ynissul’s footsteps through the easy undergrowth like thunderclaps in the heavens.

  Turn and smile.

  Takaar stopped and turned. He looked past Drech to the elves behind him, who had stopped. Again.

  ‘What is it?’

  What, no smile?

  Takaar muttered under his breath. Drech raised his eyebrows and Takaar waved for him to speak.

  ‘Many of your students are complaining of fatigue. There is much desire to rest until morning.’

  Takaar looked up. The afternoon was just past its midpoint. There were four more hours of good walking left in the day.

  ‘What do you say?’ asked Drech.

  Hmm. Tough one.

  ‘Not tough at all. I’ll tell you what I say.’

  Takaar pushed past Drech and strode back down the deer trail. He scratched at his left arm where a fearsome itch had sprung into life. Blind, all of them, and stupid too. Did they really think-

  ‘-that this is some sort of game, and you can decide to sit it out when your boots start to rub?’

  The increasingly unhappy group was gathered among the trees surrounding a small pool where rainwater ran off the rock a few feet above. The delineation between them was clear. Those who had been forced to march to the palm of Yniss all those years ago and then build a city from nothing were on their feet, but they were few. Those who had been born and lived their lives within Katura’s questionable security were seated. There were the majority, with the greatest potential.

  ‘Do you think we are playing track and chase?’

  Barely one of them would look at him. Some were still arriving and others sat with their backs to him. Takaar scratched harder at his arm through his shirt, where the itch was spreading. He jutted his chin in the direction of Katura.

  ‘I snatched you from death at the hands of man. The TaiGethen are fighting there right now, giving you the time to escape. Is this how you choose to repay their sacrifice?’ Takaar walked among them. ‘Perhaps I was wrong to save you. Perhaps you are too weak to become Il-Aryn.’

  Takaar dragged up the sleeve of his shirt and looked at the raw patch. He scratched harder, his nails raking at his skin.

  ‘I do not have time for a stroll through the woods. I have work to do. There are things I must do and places I must go. You must not rest here. You may not. Dammit.’

  Takaar stared at his arm again, seeing something move beneath the skin. He scraped harder, drawing blood. He hissed through his teeth.

  ‘See? See? The reach of the human evil is long indeed. They send insects to crawl through my skin and steal the Il-Aryn from me. I will not let that happen. Not to me, or the elves are finished. All of us!’

  Oh, wonderful. Your powers of motivation are undimmed.

  Takaar stared once more at his bloodied forearm and fingers. Nothing moved there now.

  As if anything ever had.

  ‘Drech, Gilderon, to me.’

  Takaar walked to the rainwater pool. Drech and the speaker of the Senserii joined him. He spoke loud enough for all to hear him.

  ‘You know the way to the river and you know the safest paths to Loshaaren,’ he said to Gilderon. ‘Use the boats well. Make haste. Guard our people. They are weak and they must be made strong. Do not listen to complaints or excuses. Any who cannot keep up must be left where they fall.’

  Takaar locked his gaze with Drech’s.

  ‘I will not lose any more time and you will not give succour to the feeble. I travel to Ysundeneth because I owe a debt to a human who is greater than all of those sitting and whining at my feet. Find Onelle and begin your studies to control the Il-Aryn. I will return as soon as I am able.’

  Drech’s face darkened. ‘I will not leave any of these elves to die in the rainforest.’

  ‘Then stay with them. It is your choice. Gilderon, you understand. You will lead.’

  Gilderon inclined his head. ‘Yes, my Arch Takaar. Three will run with you.’

  ‘You can’t spare them.’ Takaar itched again. ‘I have to go. They are seeking me.’

  Without another glance a
t the elves he had beguiled into travelling to an uncertain future in the depths of the forest, Takaar turned and ran into the rainforest. It was ten days to Ysundeneth. He looked down at his arm. Tea tree oil would fix it and the warmth of the Il-Aryn would bind it.

  ‘I’m coming, my friend. You will not die alone.’

  Rain beat down on Katura. The falls swelled and the cascades sang in victory. Blood washed off the few remaining cobbles and into the drainage channels running along most of the streets. It pooled, diluted, in the churned mud of the battlegrounds.

  As many as could had crammed onto what remained of the ramparts to see the remnants of the human army flee into the forest. Perhaps six hundred had survived the ferocity of the elves’ revenge, just a tenth of those who had come to conduct their slaughter.

  Fervour had overtaken the city in the wake of the rout. The Katurans had set about clearing their streets of the dead. Thousands of bodies lay witness to the intensity of the battle. Through the night, work continued. The elven dead were taken to the wrecked temples to be prepared for reclamation. The humans were piled on dozens of makeshift pyres out on the scorched open ground and burned, while the wind blew from the cliff tops and the smoke was taken north towards Ysundeneth.

  At first light the following morning the work was still going on. Auum walked with the surviving TaiGethen towards the gates, where the ClawBound had gathered before leaving the city for the last time. Faleen and Hassek, both injured in the avalanche, were helped by others and the walk was necessarily slow.

  Everywhere they went, Katurans paused to thank them, pray with them and bless them. Auum wished that more than fourteen Tais lived to witness their gratitude. Rebuilding the TaiGethen would be a long path which could not begin until their work was complete. More could still fall in the liberation of their cities.

  In the marketplace the benches and gardens had been destroyed but a new flagpole had already been cut and erected. It was still bare but was a symbol of the city and a sign that healing had already begun. Auum saw Nerille talking to Tulan of the Al-Arynaar. He had a jagged cut down the left side of his face, which bore signs of grief for Pelyn’s death, and for Ephram’s.