Elves: Beyond the Mists of Katura

by James Barclay

  ‘While you’re thinking, there’s something else you should add to the mix,’ he said.

  ‘Oh yes?’ said Auum. ‘Please heap on more reasons to hate you.’

  ‘It’s obvious we’ll have to travel to Balaia with Il-Aryn and the TaiGethen.’

  ‘Very obvious.’

  ‘We have to take Takaar with us.’

  Auum’s heart was stone. ‘Absolutely not. If I have to kill him myself to stop him boarding a ship, I will.’

  ‘I know how you feel about him, Auum, but without him, you will not bring half the adepts with you. You’ll be ignoring the extraordinary talent he possesses.’

  ‘He will undermine everything we try to do. He’ll undermine you, Drech, you know he will. And sometimes he won’t even mean to. He isn’t strong enough to fight in Balaia. Yniss knows I’m not sure I am. I don’t care that he’s the most talented, or that he’s your spiritual leader, we’re going to be sailing into the teeth of a massive conflict, and if he freezes or disappears inside his head at the wrong moment it could be catastrophic.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t come, every adept who still agrees to travel will sail with little or no confidence.’

  Auum sucked his top lip. All those centuries of bizarre behaviour, and there must have been many more episodes than Auum was aware of, and still they held him in mythical, almost godlike awe. The only one of them who had really seen the light was Drech, and Auum pitied the path he trod, notionally leading the Il-Aryn but playing a poor second to Takaar at the mad elf’s whim.

  ‘What does he know about Dawnthief?’ asked Auum.

  ‘As much as any of us,’ said Drech. He nodded at Stein. ‘Julatsa shared the text of the theory with us, and he’s certainly read it.’

  ‘And that doesn’t worry you? It doesn’t make you wonder why he’s so intent on getting to Balaia?’

  ‘He wants to rescue the adepts trapped in Julatsa,’ said Drech.

  ‘And you don’t think he’ll be after the spell too?’ Auum searched Drech’s face for support but even he seemed blind to the obvious. ‘What an opportunity this gives him. Balaia presumably in total chaos, all eyes on the Wytch Lords and none focused on the search? For anyone with the ability, this is a good time to make progress unnoticed.’ Auum sighed. ‘Look, Drech, I don’t think for one moment that Takaar would want to cast the spell, even if he were able to. But I think he’d tinker with it, try and understand it, and he is not of sound mind. Worse, he’s clever enough to uncover it and deranged enough to leave it for someone else to pick up. On every level I can think of, we cannot afford his sort of liability.’

  Drech shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, Auum, he has to come.’

  Auum jabbed a finger at Drech. ‘Then he’s your patient. Keep him out of my way and off whatever ship I find myself on. And when he detonates, as he is sure to do, pray that you can confine the blast.’

  Chapter 6

  An elf born to life beneath the canopy is uncomfortable beyond it. You wear clothes. Would you feel at ease if they were denied you?

  Lysael, High Priest of Yniss

  Ystormun’s consciousness travelled inside the body of a shaman and with the strike force sailing across a heavy sea to Calaius. The Wesman spiritualists had proved so amenable to mind control and so accepting of Wytch Lord magics. They were given little choice of course, and the effects of long-term use of their minds and bodies were unfortunate, but there were plenty of other subjects available when they were beyond use.

  It amused Ystormun to watch the Wesmen work. They were unskilled as sailors, particularly of ocean-going vessels, but they were enthusiastic and strong, and their sheer energy made up in good part for their lack of experience. Enough skilled sailors had been put on board each of the ten ships to ensure they could survive the crossing, and the rest was left to the fates. Not even Wytch Lords could tamper with the elements. Not yet, anyway.

  Ystormun walked his host body all the way to the prow. Wesman sailors and soldiers alike made a path for him, seeing all the signs of possession in his face. He stared through the shaman’s keen eyes and could just about make out the dark on the horizon that was Calaius.

  He found himself experiencing a thrill that pushed aside the thoughts of revenge and the memory of his humiliation. Ystormun found he could recall the scents of the rainforest and the sounds echoing night and day in the deeps of the canopy. He could taste the sweetness of Calaian fruit and herbs, the potency of their root alcohols. And he could hear the screams of elves dying at his behest.

  Ystormun allowed himself the briefest of hidden smiles. Incredibly, he had actually missed the place, and there was some form of faint excitement at the thought of his return, however vicarious.

  How long he had waited for this moment to come; his pleas to the cadre, his plotting and planning, his aborted attempts to defy them and mount an invasion of his own to make himself independent from them. And now, thanks to Septern, his spell and the wars engulfing Balaia, the full force of his fury could be unleashed. This time slavery would be replaced with the glory of genocide. Wesmen would sail the barges, wield the axes and skin the animals for their rich fur. This time Calaius would be the wealth mine it would already have been but for the cadre’s endless meddling.

  But first the elves would suffer, and he would force two of them to watch it all before he freed them. Free to endure their failure for the rest of eternity, to know that their gods had deserted them. Ystormun had pondered so many excruciating tortures but none other would provide the end he desired for them: endless mental pain, now that was a delicious thought.

  Ystormun let their faces play in his memory one more time and their names touched the shaman’s lips.

  Takaar and Auum: the twin architects of his diminution. If they still lived, and he had no doubt that they did, he would visit upon them such misery as to eclipse the sun and leave them only darkness on which to feed. It would be the crowning moment of his life. It would satisfy his every craving.

  Ystormun withdrew from the shaman to rest.

  He did not hear the shout of warning from the crow’s nest.

  Auum spent most of his time in the mainmast crow’s nest because only there could he imagine he was above the canopy, taking in the elements unfettered by his beloved rainforest. It also gave him peace from the bedlam on board ship. The creaking of the timbers wasn’t as permeating of his consciousness; the rattle of rigging up and down the length of the vessel was muted by the roar of the wind and the snap of sails in his ears. And he was away from the claustrophobic presence of so many elves in such a confined space.

  It didn’t matter that many of them were his people. Enough were Il-Aryn or sailors to ensure he constantly felt uncomfortable. He had trouble sleeping, his appetite was gone and he craved the room just to run.

  Auum looked down past the sail canvas to the deck over a hundred feet below. The ship was in a light swell, the yawing exaggerated way up here. Faleen was engaged in combat training with her Tai, inviting them to attack her two on one. He watched them for a while, smiling at their instant innate balance despite the shifting of the deck at the sea’s whim. Sailors with a lifetime on the ocean had nothing like the same skill. Such was the talent of the TaiGethen.

  Having seen Faleen’s Tai dumped on their backsides twice by their veteran leader, Auum sat down facing aft, his legs stretched out before him. He studied the sky, watching gulls circling overhead waiting for scraps while the high cloud whipped across the heavens. Three days was the longest Auum had ever gone without feeling Gyal’s tears, and it did nothing to improve his mood.

  Ulysan’s head appeared through the hole in the centre of the crow’s nest, a broad smile on his face.

  ‘Still alive, then,’ he said.

  ‘Did you miss the part where I said I wanted total solitude up here?’

  ‘Nope,’ said Ulysan, heaving his body though the gap. ‘Budge up, budge up.’

  ‘Beeth drop a branch on your head, Ulysan, what are you doing? I’m tryin
g to think up here.’

  ‘Carry on, I won’t interfere.’

  Ulysan sat down opposite Auum and stared intently at the knots in the wooden frame of the nest. Auum tried to muster some genuine anger but succeeded only in feeling a sense of relief he was not alone. He scowled at the big TaiGethen nonetheless.

  ‘All right, what are you really doing up here?’

  ‘Making my morning report, my Arch.’

  Auum snorted to hide a laugh and played his part.

  ‘Ships still afloat?’

  ‘All four, skipper.’

  ‘TaiGethen still on board?’

  ‘No reports of any individuals attempting the swim home, skipper.’

  ‘Il-Aryn still puking their guts up?’

  ‘Unfortunately there has been some improvement in that area. The seagulls have lodged a complaint. We suspect some form of casting might be settling stomachs.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that but you can’t have everything.’

  ‘Indeed you can’t.’

  The friends fell silent for a time.

  ‘Thank you, Ulysan,’ said Auum.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For not letting me retreat too far inside myself.’

  ‘It’s not good for you, you know, spending all this time up here. Not good for our people, either.’ Ulysan raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s about time you shared whatever’s got you so worried.’

  ‘Is it that obvious?’

  ‘It is to me.’

  Auum sighed. ‘We don’t have a plan. We’ve rushed out to sea because Stein says there’s probably a fleet headed our way and if we meet them we know what to do, but what about when we get to Balaia? We’ve scarcely discussed it, and I’m as much to blame as anyone. It’s like we’re hoping it’ll all be laid out for us like a recipe for bread.’

  ‘I think you’re being a little harsh.’

  ‘Really? We don’t know the size of the forces against us. We don’t know where they are. We don’t know the true state of alliance between the four colleges of idiots. We only know the geography of this accursed place through a very poor map and Stein’s guesses of distances, heights and terrain. We can speculate endlessly about all these things but we have to make a plan.’

  Ulysan frowned. ‘But we do know what we’re doing, don’t we? We’re going to Julatsa, we’re rescuing our adepts and we’re leaving. Right?’

  ‘That’s just naive, Ulysan, and you know it.’

  ‘I’m just making the point that it’s not quite so bleak as you paint it.’

  ‘Not quite. I’m starting to regret not being on the same ship as Drech and even Takaar. At least then we could make a few decisions. I’m feeling in limbo and I shouldn’t. I’m Arch of the TaiGethen.’

  ‘This isn’t really about the lack of a plan though, is it?’ said Ulysan.

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘We all feel the same to a greater or lesser degree. Most of the TaiGethen spend most of their time below decks trying to remember the canopy over their heads. You’re up here trying to escape the crowds. We’re born to the rainforest and we’re heading for a barren wasteland.

  ‘It’s natural to be fearful, to try to cling to tight organisation. But if we place faith in our gods, keep Yniss in our souls every step of the way and believe in our skills, we’ll prevail.’

  ‘Bless you, Ulysan,’ said Auum, feeling his spirit flicker more strongly than it had in days.

  Ulysan stood and stretched, looking forward. He stilled, staring into the distance.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Auum.

  ‘Dust off your jaqruis,’ said Ulysan. ‘Stein was right. I see sails.’

  Auum and Ulysan trotted aft to the wheel deck. Halfway there, Auum stopped and stared about him at his surroundings, the vastness of the Sea of Gyaam and the ships flanking them.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Ulysan.

  ‘I’ve spent too much time up top,’ said Auum, his eyes tracking a wave, the pitch of a ship and the crew busy with such focused purpose.

  ‘We’ve just been through this,’ said Ulysan.

  ‘I’ve been blind to how majestic it is, how quiet and how very, I don’t know . . . efficient.’

  Four ships had sailed from Ysundeneth, each with a crew of sixty, a TaiGethen contingent of thirty and forty Il-Aryn. Plenty more had been left on the dockside, and despite Takaar’s outbursts, there they remained to defend the capital should this expedition fail.

  There was a bleak beauty to the scene of white canvas, dark-stained wood and grey sea. It was so different from the rainforest and its multitude of greens and browns studded with colours as vibrant and wonderful as new birth. Auum’s nose was full of the scents of sea spray, fresh paint and oil; his ears found joy in the sounds of the ocean passing beneath them, the creak of timbers and the snap of sailcloth.

  Elven cargo ships were lower, longer and faster than their human counterparts but not as reliable in heavy seas and storms. The high-sterned ships favoured by humans had little style to them but were effective and their cargo capacity was huge, perfect for the timber they so desired. Elven traders needed greater speed to get perishable goods to Balaia quickly, and their hulls and rigging had developed along a different path as a consequence.

  Auum smiled.

  ‘I could get used to sailing.’

  ‘You’re only saying that because we’re sailing towards a fight.’

  Auum punched Ulysan’s shoulder. ‘Cynic.’

  They moved to the wheel deck. The skipper, Master Esteren, was standing next to his wheel hand, his view of his ship uncluttered. Auum was yet to see him smile, and a trademark frown dominated his weathered and deeply tanned face. His powerful arms were folded and he rolled with the ship without need of support, muttering corrections to the helm or barking orders to his hands that carried clear from stern to bow. His crew, plainly in awe of him, snapped to fulfil his orders with an alacrity and accuracy that Auum could only admire.

  ‘Master Esteren,’ said Auum.

  ‘Auum,’ said Esteren. ‘Enjoying the view from aloft?’

  ‘It has improved considerably of late. You need your lookout up there to give you an accurate measure because there are sails a way off to the north-west. Distant yet but we don’t have time to waste.’

  Esteren barely acknowledged Auum, switching his gaze along the deck.

  ‘Selas, to the nest. Sails reported north-west. Distance, course and closing speed, please.’

  ‘Done, skipper,’ came the reply.

  ‘The accepted term is aye, Selas. Be right or . . .’

  ‘. . . be off. Sorry, skipper.’ The lithe, small and very young iad streaked up the mainmast rigging and onto the iron spikes to the crow’s nest.

  ‘Auum, find me your chosen adept. We need to set up ship-to-ship communication.’

  ‘To back up your signals?’

  ‘No, to relay my true orders. When the time comes, all my signals are going to be lies.’

  Auum smiled. ‘I like that.’

  ‘That’s why I’m in charge,’ said Esteren.

  Selas’s voice echoed down from the crow’s nest.

  ‘Ten sails. Seven points off the port bow, heading south-south-east, on a run. Our speed, five knots on a long starboard tack, closing speed approximately nine knots. Distance sixty nautical. That’s all, skipper.’

  ‘Stay up, Selas.’ Esteren nodded. ‘Less than seven hours to contact. Enough time to set ourselves properly and come on them in the right formation. I need that adept. Have your people rest. If this goes right it’ll be over quickly enough, but even for a TaiGethen it’s going to be draining. I’ll call you when you need to prepare.’

  ‘Seven hours?’ said Ulysan. ‘I thought we were faster than that.’

  ‘We’re close-hauled, Ulysan,’ said Esteren. ‘And we aren’t going to get any quicker until we can turn with the wind for a return attack if we need it.’

  ‘Thank you, skipper,’ said Auum. He turned to go, but Esteren called him back.r />
  ‘They outnumber us comfortably, more than two to one. My crews are going to have to perform miracles to get us where we need to be to get you aboard and fighting. That means you have to be ready to go on my word. And the adepts have to be ready to combat any magic they deploy. We’re vulnerable when we’re close.’

  ‘So are they,’ said Auum.

  ‘Don’t let me down.’

  ‘Aye, skipper.’

  Esteren almost smiled.

  Takaar watched the enemy vessels approaching, and with them came a growing dread.

  ‘Can you feel that?’ asked Drech, standing by him near the bow.

  Takaar stared at Drech and could only feel sorry for him.

  ‘I have been feeling it for some time,’ he said. ‘It is the energies of the Wytch Lords. An amazing force, isn’t it?’

  ‘You admire it?’

  ‘I respect it and I try to understand it. How else can we seek to defeat them?’

  Drech looked forward. In a little less than two hours they would be in the thick of combat. Takaar could tell he was scared, although he sampled exhilaration and anticipation himself.

  Until the first attack comes and you scurry below decks to cower under a tarpaulin. Were you ever a mighty warrior?

  ‘The very best,’ muttered Takaar, though the jibe had struck home.

  Drech seemed not to have heard him. ‘Are they on board? The Wytch Lords?’

  Takaar smiled indulgently. ‘No, Drech. Can you not feel how the energies are spread across the vessels? It is just as Stein said. Their shamen are conduits. There is no focus for the power, is there?’

  ‘So they’re weak,’ said Drech, and the shiver that had been running through his hands calmed.

  Takaar sighed

  How is he in charge of training?

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Takaar.

  ‘What?’ asked Drech.

  You put him there.

  ‘He was the best we had. Still is, probably.’

  ‘You’re not . . .’ began Drech. ‘Yniss preserve me, are you talking to me, Takaar?’

  Takaar waved his hand in front of his face as if trying to deter a persistent fly.