With the retreat of the enemy mages, he had advised everyone to rest. To gather together if they so desired, to eat and drink and tell stories. Or to visit a temple for quiet prayer, to walk the streets free of the threat of thread gangs or to simply spend time in the arms of those they loved and would die to protect.
Auum, though, was missing more than Elyss. He scanned the forest to the north-east and the skies above it, watching for a sign he was beginning to lose hope would come. When Ulysan came to bring him to eat, he refused.
‘Where is Corsaar?’ he asked. ‘Where is the Shorthian army?’
The following dawn he had part of his answer, and with it an end to any real hope. Mist hung over Katura as the sun came over the horizon, lifting sluggishly and only dispersed by a heavy downpour that in turn gave way to hot sunshine.
With the sky and horizon clear, Auum could see mages to the north-east and knew the second human army was only a day from their gates. Before them, emerging from the eaves of the forest to stand on the borders of the trap-strewn open ground, no more than two hundred yards away, was the Ysundeneth army.
Pelyn was standing on the gatehouse roof with Auum. So were Ulysan, Merrat and Grafyrre. The walkway behind the rampart was crowded with Katurans, as was every vantage point facing the forest.
The humans just kept coming, forming up in neat, professional ranks as they did. Mages flew overhead again, inviting the elves to look upon their death. Thousands of men all armed and armoured where, for the most part, the defenders wore everyday clothes and carried wooden clubs or farming implements.
Auum was taken back to that day on Hausolis when, standing on the Tul Kenerit ramparts, he had seen the Garonin horde emerge from the mists they had summoned to fog their approach. That day when Takaar’s courage had failed.
‘No wonder he left,’ said Pelyn, mirroring his thoughts. ‘How could he have faced this all over again?’
‘He couldn’t,’ said Auum. ‘But we need him nonetheless.’
A murmur swept along the rampart. The Katurans’ courage was wavering and the enemy were still massing before them. Around two and a half thousand would have to emerge before they were done, and the sheer number was terrifying.
‘We have to hold them,’ said Auum.
The enemy were chanting and shouting, clashing their blades together and stamping their feet. It was an ugly sound, powerful and discomforting, and it was having the desired effect.
‘Sing,’ said Ulysan. ‘ “The Triumph of Verendii” maybe. Everyone knows that one.’
Auum nodded. ‘Yes. Let’s show these barbarians how beautiful the voice can really be.’
Those gathered on the gatehouse began to sing. Quickly, the words were taken up to either side of them, the tune one full of energy and pace. It was a song of victory.
‘On ruined ground on shivered rock Verendii stood alone.
His enemies surrounded him, his courage was of stone.
Where blade did slice and arrow sing, Verendii walked so tall
He moved with such a grace and speed, he killed them one and all.
Verendii, o, of sword and bow, you stand as one alone
Verendii o, ne’er brought so low but died so far from home
Victory, great victory, the elven nation breathes
Victory, great victory, Verendii died for us.’
The song rolled out across the open ground and Auum watched the enemy fall silent. Few would have understood the words but their power remained undimmed. The last words echoed from the cliffs and the defenders roared a cheer.
‘Well done, Ulysan,’ said Auum.
Ulysan gripped his arm and pointed to the north-eastern edge of the open ground. Moving fast and low they came, spread wide to make harder targets for arrow or spell, haring up to the river and splashing through the shallows. Driving across the deeps they swam with measured strokes, heedless of any predator. Back onto dry land with no pause for breath, they charged for the gates.
‘Corsaar,’ Auum breathed and then he filled his lungs to shout. ‘Come on, you old dog! Show them some speed!’
Quickly, the crowd on the ramparts joined in. Corsaar’s name and those of his Tais were hollered out. Every shout demanded greater speed, to show their heels to the enemy or to howl an insult at the snail-like humans. They came across the open ground, leaping over traps and tripwires, skirting stakes and pits.
The response from the enemy was immediate. Mages in their wake, soldiers moved forward into the open ground but stopped short of the first run of traps.
‘Corsaar!’ roared Auum though his voice was surely lost. ‘Casting! Casting behind you!’
Corsaar and his five ran on. Three hundred paces from the gates, they found the main trail and sprinted along it. Ulysan called for the gates to be opened. Auum stared out at the humans wondering why they hadn’t—
Six, seven, eight bright blue orbs tracked across the sky, trailing smoke. They fizzed and crackled, white light like spears of lightning flashing within them. They travelled horribly fast, hunting down their quarry. Auum was standing dead in line with their path. He watched the orbs rush in, each one the size of a boulder. He could feel the heat begin to grow, even from his position on the gatehouse roof. The cheers along the ramparts trailed off. Elves pointed, shouting warnings. Corsaar looked over his shoulder.
Auum heard his desperate order.
‘Split left! Split right!’
The orbs crashed into the ground in a flare of blue light and the explosions rattled the walls. Waves of fire consumed the ground, scorching grass and threatening some of the traps hidden with it. Smoke billowed and was blown away by the force of the blasts. Auum looked out to the scorched black and burning earth. Of Corsaar and his people, six priceless TaiGethen, there was no sign at all.
Katura fell silent.
The sound of cheering and celebration was deafening. Next to Jeral, Loreb was applauding heartily, and both Killith and Pindock were laughing. Lockesh had not even broken a smile.
‘Good shooting,’ said Jeral.
Loreb turned to him.
‘Let’s ram this victory home. We will suffer no delay. Captain Jeral, lead the advance to within spell range of those walls. The barrage is to begin as soon as you reach your positions. Concentrate on opening up that western corner. I want you leading an attack along the open side before midday.’
‘With respect, General, I urge caution. Your plan is sound, but that is too simple a route to victory for the Sharps not to have planned for it. We should scout the open ground before marching in. Their ambush surely taught us that much could be hidden in there. Attacking will lead us into a trap. We should wait for the balance of the army to join us.’
‘Are you questioning my order?’ Loreb’s face had turned red and his voice was rising in volume. ‘Well, Captain?’
‘I am offering an alternative.’
‘There is no time for alternatives,’ said Loreb, his words ground out between his teeth. ‘The barrage must begin immediately. Order the advance.’
Hynd saw Jeral look up at Lockesh, whose expression was stoney.
‘With the greatest respect,’ said Jeral, ‘I cannot risk my men like that.’
‘How dare you,’ grated Loreb. The three generals gathered like vultures over imminent carrion. ‘You coward. Consider yourself relieved of your command and under arrest. Court martial at sundown and execution at midnight.’
Jeral’s restraint was commendable. He unbuckled his sword belt and handed it to Loreb, who tossed it to the ground. Before walking away, the sneering Ishtak as his guard, he nodded to Hynd.
‘Take care out there. Hang back.’
Loreb squared his shoulders.
‘I think I’ll do this myself,’ he said.
He moved before the waiting ranks, opened his mouth and used his booming voice to considerable effect.
‘Companies One through Six. Forward barrage positions! March.’
Company captains roared orders. Three rank
s of soldiers moved forward with two ranks of mages behind them. Hynd moved off as well, behind Dead Company, urging them to fight for Jeral, for honour and for tomorrow. He began to prepare an orb casting, aiming to land it behind the walls and create whatever mayhem he could. He fought his fear that the flow might gutter and die on him as he cast. If it did, the backwash from his spell would incinerate him. And he envied the mages around him their ignorance of the risk they were taking with every casting.
Loreb was positioned in the midst of the front rank. Hynd could see him glorying in his decision, his men behind him and a massive blow about to be struck which would further his personal aspirations. He swaggered through the dense thigh-high grass, calling out the castings and marking the targets.
Hynd imagined rather than heard the crack of wood, but he quite clearly saw the branch that snapped up from the grass under Loreb’s foot. It had a slice of tree trunk laid with spikes lashed to it, which struck Loreb square in the face, its momentum slamming the general’s twitching body flat to the ground beneath it.
For a heartbeat there was no reaction. The soldiers continued to march on. Then there was a scream from the flank as men disappeared into a pit, their shrieks cut off by the spikes lining the bottom. Closer to him, three were caught when two tensioned branches snapped together, mowing the grass down in twin semicircles before smashing their ankles to fragments.
Panic struck as the front rank halted but those behind them did not. The order to halt rang out, but not before more were pushed stumbling on to their deaths. Hynd glanced into a pit where three men lay impaled on spikes.
‘Fall back! Fall back!’
Soldiers turned and ran back to the sanctuary of the army. Hynd walked more slowly, trying to retrace his footsteps, suddenly mistrustful of the ground and what lurked there. There were screams for help from the impaled and the broken, and word of Loreb’s death swept through the army like a monsoon wind. Two and a half thousand men who had been so confident of victory a moment ago shuffled away from the grass in fear.
Pindock had disappeared. Killith stood gesturing hopelessly, his mouth open but silent. Only Lockesh retained any sense.
‘Mages to me! Let’s show our dim-brained soldiers the way ahead. Hynd, get yourself to the centre; you’re in charge. Burn the grass. Burn it all to ash.’
Auum watched the fire eat away the grass, exposing and destroying the remaining traps. It was an effective and quick solution. Smoke billowed into the sky where clouds were gathering but would not douse the flames before they had burned themselves out. Yet it was still a victory of sorts, and Pelyn had been quick to make sure every defender knew it. One senior human had perished and the stamina of a good many mages was being exhausted with the fires.
It was good but they needed more, much more.
Well before midday the city approaches held no more secrets. Auum watched the army mass to advance once more, and this time there was little they could do but shelter and pray.
‘Ulysan. Sound the general alarm. Clear the streets, clear the gate zone and the wall approaches. Ready the fire teams and stretcher parties. Who’s taking the wall and gatehouse?’
Ulysan gestured below. Well over a hundred elves had been painted and garbed as TaiGethen. Auum smiled. They were a good imitations, good enough to fool the humans anyway.
‘They are brave. It’s going to be hard up here. Make sure they remember their cover positions.’
‘Consider it done.’
‘Then meet me at the western corner. We need to be ready.’
Ulysan gripped Auum’s upper arms. ‘This is it, my Arch. The battle that will determine our fate is here.’
Auum returned the gesture. ‘And while we stand, while Elyss looks down on our beating hearts, there is still hope.’
Orders carried on the light breeze. Behind Auum, Katura braced itself. Doors and shutters were fastened. Buckets and butts were checked for the hundredth time. The streets emptied. Elves stood proud and tall along the walls. Auum climbed down into the gatehouse proper and looked across the scorched ground.
The enemy marched. Their mages prepared.
The battle of Katura had begun.
Chapter 33
Nothing compares to the joy of union unless it is the grief of parting. As Bound elves, we are blessed and cursed many times. The Ynissul are immortal. The lifespan of a Claw is terrifyingly brief.
Serrin of the ClawBound
Nerille fastened her shutters and hurried down the stairs. She was shaking. Her sons were gone, two with Takaar and one to the ramparts dressed as a TaiGethen. Ulysan had told them if they took cover when the castings hit they should be all right, but the wall seemed a flimsy barrier.
Nerille had been in Ysundeneth when man’s magic had been unleashed for the first time. She would never forget the cries she had heard or the devastation she had witnessed that morning; and she was about to live through it all again.
She had done everything she could to help and was stationed with the quartermasters, handing out rations and keeping note of stock levels. Yesterday she’d seen the masses of food that had been brought in from the forest and the lake. She didn’t think the battle would last long enough for them to consume it all.
She’d overheard TaiGethen talking to the Al-Arynaar: the humans were not interested in a siege. This fight could well be finished in a day.
Downstairs, in the gloom behind her shuttered windows and with the armoured city wall just across the street from her, she paused to listen. Not even an addict was crying out. Those poor souls had been removed to the lakeside to fend for themselves while the capable worked for the TaiGethen and the wonderful Auum, who had suffered so much.
Straining her ears, she could hear the approaching army and a smattering of conversation from the ramparts. But otherwise the city was silent. Thousands upon thousands waited for their chance to fight. They’d all do well to pray.
A glint from the plate set on the small table by the front door caught Nerille’s eye. Her heart tumbled. It was her son’s charm, a silver pendant of Gyal blessing the forest with rain.
‘Jio, you idiot,’ she muttered.
His courage would falter without it. She snatched it up and ran outside, heading for the gatehouse and access to the ramparts. The street behind the wall was completely deserted but the sound of her people up on the wall was loud enough for her to know she was not alone.
Nerille trotted to the main road and to the gatehouse door, pulling it open. She darted inside, and straight into Auum’s arms. He caught her easily and looked at her, a moment’s confusion clearing quickly.
‘You can’t be here,’ he said, his face bright with tension. ‘Head to the stores; you’ll be safe there.’
‘I have to give this to Jio,’ said Nerille, holding out the pendant. ‘He’ll be lost without it.’
‘Where is he?’ asked Auum.
‘On the rampart, dressed like one of you. He said he was going to be positioned towards the river.’
‘I’ll take it to him,’ said Auum.
‘No,’ said Nerille. ‘He is my son and this is my chance to help him. I need to do this. I need to look into his eyes and know he will live.’
Auum kissed her forehead. ‘And it is your city. I understand. Go, but stay low and do not linger. Listen to the callers, and push hard into the wall if the alarm is given. Don’t take any chances.’
‘Bless you,’ she said.
Auum let her go and she made for the ladder up to the first level. He spoke just before she disappeared from his view.
‘Don’t you dare get hurt,’ he said. ‘I’m doing this for you.’
She smiled at him and climbed the last few rungs. City folk and Al-Arynaar looked at her. Some protested, but most were only concerned with what was coming towards them and turned away.
‘Jio,’ she said. ‘Where is Jio?’
An Al-Arynaar turned to her. It was Pelyn. Nerille caught herself before she gasped. Pelyn was sweating heavily, but not f
rom the humid afternoon heat or from the weight of her cloak. Her eyes were sunken back into her head and her face was terribly pale. She looked fit to drop and was leaning on the gatehouse wall.
‘He is halfway along towards the river, but you shouldn’t risk going out there.’
‘I have to,’ she said.
Pelyn merely nodded. Nerille passed her on the way to the rampart and stopped to rest a hand on her arm.
‘How many days has it been now?’
Pelyn managed a smile but it was brief. ‘Eleven. It seems like a thousand years.’
‘You will break it,’ said Nerille. ‘You have the strength, I know it.’
‘Thank you,’ Pelyn whispered.
Nerille hurried out onto the rampart. Her eye was drawn to the blackened field below her and her breath caught in her throat. There they were, thousands of men all bent on her destruction. They came on with such precision, the soldiers with bows and swords ready and the mages behind them.
They marched in three sections: one directly at the gates, the second to the west and the open ground they all feared would be their undoing, and the third going straight for Jio and his friends. Each section boasted hundreds of soldiers and more mages than she had ever seen gathered in one place, not even during the dark days of the fall of Ysundeneth.
They couldn’t defeat this army. It was going to be a slaughter.
‘You’re not just going to stand there all day, are you?’
Nerille flinched and came back to herself. She looked round. Pelyn was at the gatehouse door.
‘No, I—’
‘Hurry,’ she said. ‘And then get to safety. There’s not much time.’
Nerille nodded, sucked in a deep breath and hurried along the rampart, asking after Jio every pace of the way. The rampart was narrow and crowded and her progress was slow. Ladders leaning against it every thirty paces or so merely added to the hazards she faced. She had to pick her way past swords and stands of arrows, apologising with every breath.
Elves: Rise of the TaiGethen Page 31
