Elves: Rise of the TaiGethen

by James Barclay

  ‘So they won’t kill me, they’ll merely put me in positions where I am likely to be killed.’

  ‘Now you’re getting it.’ Lockesh smiled for the first time. ‘And should you manage to make it all the way to this mythical elven city we’re seeking, then you will see how quickly an experienced general can take centre stage when victory seems assured. And how easily a figurehead such as yourself can find himself face down drinking his own blood.’

  ‘You think all three of them are incompetent as leaders, do you?’ asked Jeral.

  ‘I’m walking at the head of the column, not in the middle,’ said Lockesh.

  ‘But leadership is what this army lacks,’ said Jeral, finding himself exasperated and unsurprised in equal measure. ‘Surely I make them look better by doing their bidding and succeeding, don’t I?’

  ‘It depends on your point of view. If you are a genuine career soldier risen to the rank of general, then yes, absolutely. If, however, you are a political animal choosing the army as your route to power in Triverne, or indeed greater Balaia, then above all things you must not be undermined by any under your command. And you, my dear captain, have undermined first Loreb, and then all three of them in very quick order.

  ‘Now you are marked. Accept it. Check your food. Check your boots before you thrust your feet into them. And the moment we are out of this valley and in slightly less dangerous terrain, look behind every order Loreb gives you. None of them will be to the benefit of the army.’

  ‘I’ve always said the wrong people are in charge of this army. It needs changing,’ Jeral said and regretted his words instantly.

  Lockesh caught and held his gaze and Jeral expected the rage he saw in the mage lord’s eyes be given voice. But instead Lockesh’s eyebrows lifted the merest fraction and his head inclined by the smallest degree.

  ‘I must return to the generals before my continued presence here is noted,’ said Lockesh. ‘And you, Jeral, must heed my words. And your own.’

  Lockesh turned aside. Jeral fought not to watch him go, keeping his eyes on his feet.

  ‘Still got that spell going, Hynd?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Hynd, his voice small.

  ‘Did he really just suggest what I think he did?’

  Hynd’s next affirmation was even smaller.

  Chapter 25

  Today, I told Tulan and Ephram to forsake the Cloak and wait for the chance to strike back. It could be a long wait. I know what I must do to keep them alive. Methian tells me I will lose my sense but I have placed my trust in Tual. My soul is pure. I am strong enough to resist the nectar’s charms.

  Final entry in the Diaries of Pelyn, Governor of Katura

  Takaar stood for a moment to let his raging emotions subside. Of all the things he had expected to see in this room, this was not it. Ten days before, he had felt the sick rush of mass castings and had known the TaiGethen were failing against the might of human magic. He had known his path was the only one which could save the elves and that he must reach Katura quickly to remove those he needed from the enemy’s path.

  So he had run as only a TaiGethen can, while the Senserii brought his young practitioners towards the agreed meeting point half a day shy of the palm of Yniss and hidden from the suspicious eyes of Katura.

  Night had given him the anonymity he needed and his faded skills were more than enough to see him into the hall of the Al-Arynaar and unseen into the Governor of Katura’s chambers.

  All for this. To have his brief flicker of hope crushed, leaving only emptiness and anger, disgust and betrayal behind. The stench in the bedchamber was dreadfully familiar. Smoke still rose from the pipe that lay discarded on a low wooden table by the bed and a small leather bag lay next to it, the merest hint of its contents sprinkled near the neck.

  Pelyn lay on the filthy sheets. She was naked. One arm hung, elbow locked and hand limp, over the edge of the bed. She was probably unconscious but it was impossible to be sure with the three Tuali ulas obscuring Takaar’s view. Two watched the third abusing her body, which moved slackly in response to his thrusts.

  All three had their backs to him and he crossed the floor in complete silence. Two paces behind the watchers, able to hear their repulsive comments over the sick grunting of the third, he stopped and drew his blades.

  Let it flow.

  For once, he was in total agreement with his tormentor.

  ‘I think you’ve seen enough,’ he said.

  The two ulas spun around, their mouths dropping open in almost comical synchronicity. One held out a hand in a placatory gesture. Takaar rammed a blade up through each chin, skewering their mouths shut. He left the swords where they were and walked between the ulas, who grasped at the hilts while blood trickled from their mouths, their voices silenced by desperate drowning gurgles.

  The other ula was so focused on rape he hadn’t even realised his friends were dying. Takaar reached forward and clamped a hand on the back of the his neck, dragging him off Pelyn and throwing him to sprawl over the bloodied, still moving bodies of the others.

  He screamed and scrambled off them, tried to cover himself while backing away towards the door and an unlikely escape. Takaar checked Pelyn was breathing before he pounced on the rapist. He pushed the Tuali towards the centre of the room and pulled a dagger from its ankle sheath.

  ‘This is how you choose to rebuild the strength of elves? By defiling my Pelyn?’

  The ula frowned, confusion briefly replacing the fear in his eyes. Takaar whipped a cut into his chest, drawing a line of blood. He yelped.

  ‘Do you know me, boy?’ bellowed Takaar into his face. ‘Do you know me?’

  ‘You . . . ? I—’

  Takaar danced around him. He sliced the skin across his back three times before the ula turned to face him. There were tears in his eyes and a dread fear caused his body to shake. He held out his hands, pleading.

  ‘I am Takaar, and though my crimes cost the lives of so many, I never stooped so low as you have.’

  ‘How—’

  Takaar’s blade flashed across the Tuali’s abdomen. He cried out and tried to back away. Takaar capered about him, pushing him, cutting him.

  Good, good.

  ‘That you dared defile my Pelyn earns you an eternity of torment before Shorth. But your crimes are far worse than that. Who do you represent?’

  ‘What?’

  Takaar’s dagger hand twitched and a cut appeared above the ula’s eye. Blood beaded, ready to drip. He whimpered and lost control of his bladder.

  ‘I am unused to repeating myself.’

  ‘The Tualis rule here. I am Tuali.’

  Takaar opened another cut in the ula’s face, this time across his left cheek.

  ‘And so is Pelyn, making her your property, I suppose.’

  ‘She made her choice.’

  ‘That is a lie.’ Takaar laced three cuts into the Tuali’s ribcage. ‘Do you know what you have done here?’

  ‘We have taken Katura for the Tuali. The other threads can’t thwart us for long. Not without the Al-Arynaar.’

  ‘You’ve taken it for the Tuali and made a gift of it for man!’

  Takaar nodded, slashing the blade deep into the Tuali’s forehead.

  ‘Oh yes, they are coming. Where will your power be when the spells start to fall?’

  He opened up the ula’s chin.

  ‘You’ve told me what I need to know. Now you must answer to Shorth.’

  Takaar drove his dagger blade through the ula’s eye and into his brain, killing him instantly. Takaar let the body fall. He looked at his hands and saw they were trembling. On the floor he saw what he had done to Pelyn’s rapist with fresh eyes, and he felt sick at the sight.

  You should be proud.

  ‘Only that he is dead. This is not me. It can’t be.’

  Oh dear, reality bites you again.

  Takaar cleaned the dagger on the ula’s ripped grey shirt and turned away. The other Tualis were dead, their blood soaking into a
rug whose original pattern had already been wholly obscured by grime. Blood was pooling on the timbers and filling the gaps between them. Takaar bent over the bodies and pulled his blades clear. He moved to the bed and cleaned them on the edge of the base sheet before sheathing them.

  Finally, he covered Pelyn’s body with the greasy damp top sheet and knelt by her head. She stank. There was mould on the threadbare pillow and dried vomit in her tangled, long and prematurely greying hair. The pillow, mattress and sheet were covered in sweat, blood and vomit stains.

  Pelyn displayed all the symptoms of an abiding addiction to the worst of all elven narcotics. Crusted blood clung to her nostrils, and frothy drool ran from the corner of her mouth. Veins in her reddened ears pulsed and there was an intermittent twitch in the muscles of the right side of her face.

  Her breathing was terribly faint and her face was pale to the point of whiteness, excluding the deep red and black smudges beneath her eyes. Her skin was cold to the touch and slack against her body, which was just so much skin and bone, so thin had she become.

  Takaar sniffed and let his tears fall. His hand shook when he placed it on her chest to confirm the febrile heartbeat, finding her breast shrunk to nothing and her ribs far too prominent. He moved his hand down over her stomach, drawing on the Il-Aryn to help him discover the full extent of her physical degradation. Her vital organs were swollen and barely functional.

  ‘How did you fall so far?’ he whispered.

  That’s what happens when those you love desert you.

  ‘It isn’t as simple as that and you know it.’

  Strangely, I’m not solely blaming you. So many left her.

  ‘She was never strong enough for this.’

  Takaar’s eyes came to rest on the table with its pipe and leather bag. Edulis. The whole city was rife with it, and here, at the heart of what should have been government, it held sway. A sweep of his hand scattered dust and bag and sent the clay pipe flying to shatter against a wall.

  Takaar pushed himself to his feet, unable to sit and do nothing. There was a jug and bowl on a stand across the bedroom. Takaar filled the bowl, catching his reflection in the mirror above the stand. The elf who stared back at him was pinched and drawn, close to exhaustion. His eyes were wide to make sense of the dark and his hair needed cropping back down to his scalp. But in that face he could still see desire and belief.

  Beautiful, aren’t you?

  ‘I’ve never been beautiful. But at least I’m still fighting.’

  Yes, but fighting your inner demons doesn’t count.

  ‘That was almost funny.’

  I do my best.

  Takaar put a passably clean towel over his shoulder and brought the bowl over to the bedside table. He fed warmth into the water through his hands and let the steam invade his nostrils for a few moments before he dipped a corner of the towel into the water and began to clean her face.

  ‘This is bringing you back to life,’ he said. ‘Back to me. The dirt will wash away and you will break from the prison of your addiction. Together we will find the new Il-Aryn adepts and so the race of elves will survive the plague of man.’

  It’s amazing what a little warm water can do, isn’t it?

  Takaar heard footsteps outside the room. The door opened and light spilled in from the landing. He did not turn, leaving whoever it was to take in the blood and bodies on the floor as well as the bedside scene. Takaar dipped the towel in the water again and cleaned Pelyn’s mouth and nose.

  ‘Take the dead and go,’ said Takaar. ‘Pelyn is mine once more.’

  Takaar heard the hiss of a sword leaving its scabbard. He turned his head and looked over his right shoulder. Two elves stood there. More Tualis. They couldn’t make up their minds whether to attack or run for help.

  ‘You really do not want to do that,’ said Takaar quietly.

  The pair moved into the room a few paces.

  ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’

  ‘I am Takaar. I am bathing Pelyn. Washing the Tuali filth from her.’ He turned back to Pelyn, who had begun to shiver. She moaned and her eyes moved back and forth beneath their lids. ‘Shhh, my love. It will pass. Morning will see you open your eyes to a new life.’

  A floorboard creaked. Takaar had a jaqrui cocked to throw. They had advanced but there was no will to fight in them.

  ‘Take the bodies or run for help. It makes no difference to me.’

  ‘You cannot stand against us all.’

  ‘I am not here to fight you.’ Takaar waved a hand. ‘Now leave me. You are intruding.’

  Takaar rose to his feet and walked towards them, fighting to contain the anger that sought to control him.

  ‘Pelyn needs rest and peace,’ he hissed. ‘She needs cleansing. She does not need you, nor the bodies of her rapists, here to remind her of her suffering while she was helpless to resist.’

  The two elves took a pace back. Takaar stepped over the two he had killed first.

  ‘Or perhaps you had come to join in . . . to take your turns? Why else would you come here?’

  Takaar growled and his tormentor cackled. One of the elves shook his head and the other pointed at the blood-soaked floor.

  ‘The blood,’ he said. ‘It was dripping through the ceiling.’

  ‘You are right to be scared,’ said Takaar. ‘What you have done to Pelyn shall be revisited upon you tenfold when they arrive.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Man. Now leave. Let no one disturb us before dawn. Then I shall meet whoever it is who claims to lead you.’

  ‘You are in no position to make such demands.’

  Want to bet?

  Takaar turned away and resumed bathing Pelyn. She had sweat covering her face and neck and the shivering had intensified. Her breathing had become shallow and gasping.

  ‘I am sorry,’ said Takaar softly. ‘I should not have left you.’

  Some who knew he was in the hall of the Al-Arynaar still had a spark of decency, and word of who he was had undoubtedly reached the ears of those who mattered. He was brought food, fresh hot water, clean towels and bedding and a long white shirt in which to dress Pelyn when he was done.

  Takaar did not acknowledge any who entered the room. Whether they brought things in or took the bodies away they were all similarly ignored while he saw to his task. To thank them would have been pointless. It did not change what they wanted. Shows of generosity from enemies were only ever a means to a bloody end.

  When he was done, he looked down on Pelyn. The marks of her addiction would never truly wash away. But at least she looked more like herself. And when she awoke to the sound of a lengthy deluge outside, he could at least bear to look at her.

  Takaar could tell her eyes were slow in focusing. Several times she wiped shaking hands across her face. Eventually she recognised him. He smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. The shutters were thrown open to admit light, air and water spray. The stench of filth and edulis was finally obscured by the fresh scent of rain.

  ‘Pelyn, can you forgive me for my long absence?’ he asked, his voice quiet, knowing her ears would be tremendously sensitive while the drug left her body.

  Pelyn stared at him, those dark circles around her eyes giving her gaze a malevolent quality. She licked her dry lips and switched her gaze to the bedside table, which now held a bowl draped with towels. She shook her head and stared at Takaar again. Then she lunged at him. Takaar caught one of her wrists but her free hand slapped him across the face and she kicked at him, tried to bite and scratch him. She was weak, however, and he pushed her back onto the bed, holding her there while she bucked and twisted in fury.

  ‘Where’s my nectar!’ she shrieked. ‘What have you done with my nectar? Get it now. I paid for it. It’s mine by right.’

  ‘Pelyn, listen to me. Pelyn.’

  ‘I. Need. It.’

  ‘No, you don’t. Not any more.’

  She stopped struggling for a moment while his words sank in. Her eyes widened a
nd she screamed so high that Takaar had to release her and cover his ears. She scrambled off the bed and ran to her dresser, dragging open drawers, pulling at doors, throwing the contents about the room while she searched for the edulis Takaar knew she would not find.

  He stood in the centre of the room and watched her, hoping her anger would burn out. Her weakened body gave way first and she sagged to the floor next to the connecting door that led to her office. She began to weep, muttering her desire over and over.

  Congratulations. You have found the only elf on Calaius further down the path to madness than you.

  ‘Then it is up to me to bring her back.’

  Yes, I’m sure she’d be delighted to achieve your level of sanity.

  Takaar shrugged his shoulders as if that might dislodge his tormentor. He crouched by Pelyn but did not attempt to touch her. She was sitting with her back to the door, her legs stretched straight out and her eyes staring ahead. There were fresh beads of sweat on her brow and her whole face twitched as if beset by palsy.

  ‘Let me help you,’ said Takaar.

  Pelyn barked out a bitter laugh and stared straight through him.

  ‘Your help. Prayers, platitudes and promises. All empty. What I—’ she drew in a shuddering breath ‘—need, you will not give me.’

  ‘It is a testament to the strength of your spirit that you are not already dead from this poison.’

  ‘Poison? Typical of the pious who have never tried the sweet nectar and lived the life of a mind without boundaries.’

  ‘I’ve seen that life, Pelyn. I saw it last night. I wish I could show you how it looked.’

  ‘Let me show you. I need more. Now.’

  Pelyn was getting agitated again. She wiped her hands down her shirt and rubbed at her face. She wrinkled her nose.

  ‘You need to come back to me. I want Pelyn back. I want the Arch of the Al-Arynaar.’

  Pelyn’s stare was so cold.

  ‘I haven’t seen you in a hundred and fifty years! Not you, and not Auum for fifty. The only one who stood by me was Methian, and even he has gone now. Where were you when it all began to unravel? Where were you when the thread gangs took over the streets and we were too few to turn back the tide?’ Her voice became a whisper. ‘Where were you when I had to sell myself to keep those loyal to me alive?