Elves: Rise of the TaiGethen

by James Barclay

  ‘Actually this sounds like the perfect opportunity. In fact keeping quiet now might cost us more lives, especially if we don’t change our tactics.’

  ‘And you know what the right tactics are, I suppose,’ said Hynd.

  Jeral felt his anger flare up. ‘Well I tell you something, those idiots certainly don’t. What’s your problem? I’m not making you come with me.’

  Hynd’s shoulders sagged. ‘It ought to be obvious. We’re friends, or I like to think we are, and I’ve watched you wind yourself up to a spitting fury ever since we left Aryndeneth. I’m with you, our generals are mismanaging this whole army, but getting yourself strung up on an insubordination charge isn’t going to help our cause, is it?’

  ‘Sorry, Mother, I’ll promise to try to stay calm.’

  Hynd sighed. ‘It’ll have to do, I suppose.’

  ‘So it will.’ Jeral felt his tension ease just a little. ‘Look, I hear you, all right? But I need them to hear me.’

  ‘Well, Loreb apart, I think you have a certain standing among the rank and file tacticians.’

  Jeral raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that a compliment?’

  ‘Nearly.’

  ‘Right.’ Jeral looked about him. The rest of Dead Company was waiting for his word, every one of them angry, feeling isolated, betrayed and looking to him to improve their lot. ‘Let’s make this easy on ourselves. You lot, no violence but don’t let anyone stop me joining the meeting either, all right?’

  Jeral led his men along the outer picket line, not wishing to draw unwanted attention to themselves. The meeting was being held right in the centre of the camp, inside a tent erected for the purpose. It was ringed with soldiers and mages, most drawn from Pindock’s personal company nicknamed the Yellow Guard. Aides were clustered outside the entrance and a table had been erected for some purpose that escaped Jeral.

  Jeral motioned his men to back away and spread out while he strode ahead with Hynd at his shoulder. One of Killith’s aides nudged Ishtak and Jeral gave him a broad smile. Ishtak’s expression was less than welcoming. Jeral saw his lips move and his whole body tense.

  ‘Pleased to see me, Ishtak?’ said Jeral, finding the aide’s evident discomfort extremely gratifying. ‘Or just disappointed to see I’m still breathing?’

  ‘That rather depends. What do you want?’

  ‘Well, as you can see, we are surprisingly well given our latest mission. And as you know, to complete the mission I am required to deliver my report to my commanding officer. So, here I am. Show me in.’

  Ishtak’s smile was thin to the point of vanishing. ‘I don’t think so, Captain. General Loreb is meeting the army leaders to prepare our tactics for the advance tomorrow. This is not the sort of company into which I am prepared to introduce you.’

  ‘My dear Ishtak – glad to see that bruise on your chin fading by the way – I have information which is vital to that discussion. I must have audience.’

  Another aide leaned in and whispered in Ishtak’s ear. Ishtak nodded and an oily smile spread across his face. He moved aside.

  ‘Then please, Captain, do go in. The generals and principal mage will be delighted to hear more words of wisdom from the man who oversaw the poisoning of his own company.’

  Jeral let his shoulder collide, hard, with Ishtak on his way into the pavilion. Inside, the smell of pipe smoke was nauseating. The generals were seated on a crude arrangement of fallen logs, a hastily drawn map on the ground in front of them. Both Pindock and Lockesh were puffing away on pipes stuffed with the most revolting of elven tobacco. Lockesh appeared bored to the point of distraction while Pindock was as nervous as Jeral would have expected.

  Of Loreb and Killith he could see little. Both had their backs to him. He cleared his throat.

  ‘My generals and honoured Lord Mage, please forgive my intrusion.’

  Loreb spat out whatever spirit he had been knocking back and jerked so violently Jeral thought he might slip from his log. He managed to regain his balance and turned, standing as he did.

  ‘I’ll forgive you nothing,’ he said. ‘Get out.’

  ‘No. Sir.’ Every head turned to watch him. ‘With respect, each of you needs to hear what I have learned. I have information that will save lives.’

  ‘Always so dramatic, Captain Jeral,’ said Pindock. ‘What do you say, Killith, shall we hear him?’

  ‘Never mind Killith,’ snapped Loreb. ‘Captain Jeral, you will excuse yourself or you will be escorted out under guard and brought up on charges.’

  ‘I’m sick of your posturing, you pissed old oaf,’ Jeral muttered under his breath.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ demanded Loreb.

  ‘I’m so sorry. Let me repeat myself more clearly.’

  ‘Jeral!’ said Hynd.

  ‘Out!’ shouted Loreb.

  ‘No,’ said Jeral. ‘Sir.’

  Loreb roared for the guards. Killith was shouting something incoherent and Pindock had already retreated across the pavilion. Then Lockesh spoke, his voice reaching into every mind and prompting mouths already open with accusations to slam shut.

  ‘Hynd,’ said Lockesh. ‘Saddling yourself with this troublemaker. Why?’

  ‘Because I believe he must be heard,’ said Hynd.

  Jeral nodded his gratitude to Hynd. Lockesh was a tall man with heavy features and a powerful frame that would have served him well as a warrior. He stood. The generals seemed to shrivel in response. Jeral was pretty sure he’d cast some kind of spell to achieve that effect but it was hard to tell. He was a particularly skilled mage.

  ‘Then he shall be heard.’ Lockesh’s eyes fixed on Hynd. ‘And he had better have something civil and pertinent to say, or you will both pay for this interruption.’

  ‘No pressure, Captain,’ whispered Hynd.

  Jeral shrugged. ‘Aryndeneth was empty, General Loreb. The Sharps had gone long before we got there.’

  ‘No doubt running scared,’ said Killith. ‘And well they should.’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Jeral. ‘They knew we would mount an attack on their temple and they withdrew. They know what we’re going to do long before we do it. We are being out-thought. I know how we can change, how we can take the fight to them before we get to Katura. If we don’t, I fear for us. I fear we won’t make it to our prize at all, let alone reach it with the strength to take it.’

  Guards had entered the pavilion but Lockesh waved them back outside. The trio of generals regarded Jeral, unsure what to say. Lockesh cleared his throat.

  ‘You have evidence?’

  Jeral felt chilled by his words, as if they were working their way into his heart and cooling his blood.

  ‘Witness every attack they have staged so far. They strike and run. And we just stand there watching our comrades die. Our only, small success was in the first attack on the forward patrol and camp builders, and that was only won by chance. Since then we have not hurt a hair on any of their heads. Hynd tells me you are expecting an encounter tomorrow and that our route is a narrow one.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Killith. ‘We expect an ambush.’

  ‘Respectfully, sir, what counter tactics are in place or are for discussion?’

  ‘We have agreed that our current formation is our strongest defence. It is designed to fend off an ambush,’ said Killith.

  ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ said Jeral.

  ‘I’ve heard enough of this!’ said Loreb. ‘I want this man out of here and stripped of his rank.’

  ‘Do you want to hear how we can survive?’ asked Jeral, looking at Pindock before turning his gaze on Loreb. ‘Or would you rather hear why I was sent to Aryndeneth?’

  Loreb actually growled and, for the first time since Jeral had known him, looked dangerous – until he drank from the bottle still clutched in his right hand rather than smashing it across Jeral’s head.

  ‘I’d love to know why you were at the elvish temple,’ said Lockesh.

  ‘Reconnaissance,’ snapped Loreb. ‘Talk tactics, Jeral. T
hen you and I are going to have a quiet conversation.’

  Chapter 22

  Methian held an amnesty for edulis addicts wishing to find redemption. The crowd at the door was eight times larger than the room within could hold. Far more shocking was the number of Calen’s thugs looking for recompense for their lost business.

  The Diaries of Pelyn, Governor of Katura

  Rain thundered from the heavens. It had begun at dawn and showed no sign of letting up. Auum had briefed the TaiGethen before dawn and each cell had then spoken to those Apposans under their care. The village had emptied of life and those who could not fight were hidden in the forest far from the Scar.

  ‘Gyal blesses us today,’ said Merrat.

  ‘She makes the ground treacherous for our enemies, dulls their eyes and muffles their ears,’ said Grafyrre.

  Auum smiled. ‘She was Katyett’s favourite god.’

  ‘Most useful god in combat,’ corrected Grafyrre.

  ‘We could do with her today,’ said Auum.

  ‘Every day,’ said Merrat. ‘And with fifty more like her.’

  Katyett, former Arch of the TaiGethen and Merrat and Grafyrre’s cell leader, had been the single greatest loss to the calling during the human invasion. And not just for her extraordinary abilities; Auum was convinced that her death removed the last plank of Takaar’s bridge to sanity, leaving him the dangerous uncontrollable maverick he was today.

  ‘I wonder how far he’s got,’ said Auum half to himself.

  ‘Takaar?’ Merrat shrugged. ‘Well, we know he’s still alive and travelling in the right direction, don’t we?’

  Auum recalled the fire and the fury in Takaar’s eyes outside Aryndeneth. It was not a break in his spirit, as it had been on Hausolis, but the effect was the same. Takaar was running, and tens of thousands of elves were at risk as a result. At least this time there was a chance to save some of them.

  The TaiGethen fell silent on approaching Grafyrre’s position. Each was aware of the enormity of the task before them and how perfectly their ambush must work to give them any hope of victory.

  Grafyrre was at the heart of it all, the elf who would trigger their attempt to break the enemy. Auum looked at the log construction. Four stout palm trunks were driven into the ground and braced by staked vines that doubled as the release mechanism. More than a hundred and fifty logs were stacked behind the palms, ready to roll.

  The path down to the valley floor had been cleared with great care, leaving the lower branches of overhanging trees to obscure the run. A similar construct sat on the other side of the valley and a short distance north to double the intended chaos and destruction. Thirty-eight more runs were positioned along the length of the ambush, ready to inflict devastation.

  ‘You have the signal?’ asked Auum.

  Grafyrre raised his eyebrows.

  ‘I set the signal,’ he said.

  Auum nodded his head at the Apposans gathered above the log run.

  ‘See them safe. Don’t hesitate to call them clear if the ambush goes astray. Every death hurts us.’

  ‘Not one will die by my careless hand,’ said Grafyrre.

  Auum stood.

  ‘Fight well,’ he said to them all, ‘and die old, not today.’

  During these early hours Auum travelled every pace of the ambush site. He spoke to every cell and every band of Apposans, and he saw anticipation and determination in them all alongside a healthy fear. Ulysan joined him as he trotted back along the base of the Scar, bringing news of the human advance. Bird calls relayed the message across the valley.

  They were coming.

  ‘How are they marching?’

  ‘A little differently as it happens. They are protecting their mages more: they are spread more evenly along the column with fewer protecting the flanks. It’s clear they expect something, but that is no surprise. The mages have done some scouting here and even humans can see the Scar is a good ambush site.’

  ‘And when will the first of them set foot in here?’

  ‘Two hours,’ said Ulysan.

  ‘Let’s pray the rain continues to fall.’

  The two TaiGethen moved off the valley floor and away from the swelling tributary that ran in its centre. Rain pounded down even more heavily in response to Auum’s prayer. Water was running off the valley sides, bearing with it a sludge of mud and leaves. The ground was treacherous underfoot. The gods were bestowing what aid they could.

  At the base of the valley, Auum led Ulysan up the safe path to Elyss and the band of Apposans tasked with driving the tail of the army into the swamp. Over a hundred Apposans, led by the ageing but capable Boltha and Methian, were positioned between two banks of traps which would guard their flanks when they attacked.

  Auum’s cell would run with them. The atmosphere was relaxed. Methian was a veteran of many conflicts in his time as an Al-Arynaar, and his words, backed by the huge character of Boltha, kept spirits high.

  ‘We are set,’ said Auum. ‘Everyone is in position, every trap has been checked and every trigger point released. Remember your routes, your impact points, your escape calls and rally areas. Most of you are not warriors and I am proud to fight with you.

  ‘But I warn you, the thrill of the fight can blind and deafen you to the reality of victory or defeat. Do not become isolated. Know where your friends are standing and what they are facing. Respond to every call and order. All battle is a risk but do not throw your life away in the desire to be a hero. Die old, not today.

  ‘Tais, my Apposan brothers and sisters, we pray.’

  They could hear the army long before they could see it. Despite the incessant downpour, the discordant, aggressive chatter from thousands of human mouths and the beat of feet carried along the Scar, as did the vibrations through the earth. Tual’s creatures were running before them.

  Auum felt the mood change. Methian was still speaking but now he was directing the minds of the Apposans to the coming fight. Axe blades were being sharpened, short bows strung and prayers begun that would not cease until blood was spilled.

  Auum turned to Elyss.

  ‘You take care of yourself,’ he said softly. ‘I will keep you in my sight.’

  ‘You will do no such thing,’ said Elyss. ‘Fight as you always have. To do otherwise is to risk yourself.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No,’ said Elyss sharply. ‘Nothing matters but defeating the humans. Nothing.’

  Auum felt stung. He glanced at Ulysan, who quickly turned his head away.

  In an act of bitterness and petulance that was wholly unsurprising, Jeral had been ordered to lead the army into the narrow steep-sided valley. The rain had been as hard as he’d ever known it since he’d arrived on Calaius three years before and the mulch and mud would churn horribly underfoot before two hundred men had marched in, let alone three thousand.

  The valley boasted a fast-running tributary that was shallow enough to cross with ease, and the army marched five abreast, split two and three either side of the water. Jeral’s plan had been adopted in its entirety. Mages and Sharps walked in single file within a twin skin of warriors. No mage walked on the flanks, and the warriors who did had standing orders to retreat if they encountered any trouble whatsoever.

  ‘Your lot know what to do?’

  ‘We won’t let you down,’ said Hynd.

  ‘It’s not just important; it’ll win us the day if we are attacked. No one can deviate from their brief.’

  ‘I get it,’ said Hynd. ‘Look, just because you’re effectively on trial—’

  ‘Damn right I am.’ Jeral felt good about it though, really good. He grinned at Hynd. ‘Best part is that, despite my advice, our trio of fools have chosen to travel in the centre of the army. At least Lockesh was listening to me.’

  ‘Lockesh just wants to be first out the other end.’

  ‘Yeah well, he’ll have to push past me first,’ said Jeral.

  He looked around him. The valley sides along which the point troops we
re moving were dense with trees and bushes. He couldn’t see them even though they were only ten yards above him, and that thought made him nervous. He had to trust that their line of sight down to the valley floor was better.

  Above them, the canopy was unbroken and the few mages flying as spotters would be able to see nothing at all. They’d be more use on the ground, but Lockesh had refused to travel without mages in the air, even though they only gave the illusion of a tactical advantage.

  Every pace they took brought more of the same: rain, thick green vegetation and slippery, shifting ground underfoot. But after two hours of peaceful marching, the men were beginning to relax.

  ‘Idiots,’ he breathed. ‘Pass the word back, Hynd. We aren’t even at the point of greatest risk yet. I want to know the moment the last man enters the jaws of the valley.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘If this is an ambush, that’s when the jaws will snap shut.’

  Very soon afterwards, he received word that the army was now completely within the valley.

  ‘Now we go to work,’ Hynd whispered.

  Above the battering of the rain, the valley sides had begun to rumble.

  Grafyrre heard the destiny of the elves; he prayed the humans heard their deaths. The palm trunks had been dragged aside and the logs cascaded over each other, gathering momentum with frightening speed and thundering down the valley side, jostling and bouncing as if the wood fought to be the first to crush and break an invader.

  Grafyrre held up his hands, keeping his party back. Across the valley, he knew Merrat would have released his log run as well. Timing was critical. If the elves arrived too early they would meet a similar fate to that which they wished upon the humans. Too late and their enemy might have time to regroup.

  Below him, the logs forced their own route. Most barrelled straight down the intended path but others were knocked askance and rebounded from trees to either side of the cleared route, or turned on their ends and spun through the lower branches of the canopy. Grafyrre estimated the moment the enemy would see what was coming for them and visualised their reaction. He prayed he had it right.