Gilderon inclined his head.
‘Thank you.’
‘It is not for you.’
‘Nevertheless, let’s not be enemies. We were once good friends.’
‘In another life, Auum. We both chose our paths and there is a chasm between them. I will do as you ask only because it is right for Takaar.’
Auum returned to the TaiGethen and relayed his intentions to Drech and Stein.
‘What now?’ asked Stein.
‘Now we wait. Just a little bit.’
Grafyrre led his seven cells towards the Wesman camp sprawling in front of Julatsa’s main gates. The gates themselves seemed remarkably undamaged given the amount of power the shamen must have brought to bear on them, but the walls to either side were looking ragged and were sagging.
‘Don’t lose your Tais and don’t lose your heads. When the shamen start to gather themselves, get out. Don’t leave anyone behind. Tais, we fight.’
The seven cells split from each other as they approached the outer pickets. Grafyrre had identified sets of fires for each one. He’d taken the most central route for himself, his cell of Ferinn and Lynees, two newly emerged TaiGethen, moving silently with him. Three Wesmen stood at the picket talking among themselves. Their fire was bright and cast a pool of light beyond which they would be able to see nothing at all.
‘Go,’ said Grafyrre.
He exploded from his crouched position, driving in as hard as he could. He came across the fire feet first and found his target’s head with both, driving him straight back. Knife in hand, Grafyrre dropped and slit his victim’s throat. He paused while his Tais completed their kills and stared ahead. They had not been seen.
Grafyrre moved in low, his chin brushing the top of the few stems of grass that had eluded the boots of the Wesmen, and headed for his next target fire. It was busy. Fourteen Wesmen lounged about it, others were asleep further away. Shamen were among them, one of them telling a story judging by the gestures he was making.
Grafyrre dropped prone and crawled over the rough ground towards a sleeping enemy. The snoring Wesman stank of spirit liquor. Grafyrre crawled up to his body, peering over his stomach at the fire. A few of the warriors had short weapons belted on, but most of their heavier blades and axes were gathered in one stand a few feet to the left of the campfire.
Grafyrre drilled a knife into the sleeper’s temple, who jerked, coughed and was still. He looked to his Tai and nodded. Both signalled that they were ready. Grafyrre re-sheathed his dagger and stood, drawing his twin blades as he did. Ferinn and Lynees stood to either side of him, three painted ghosts rising from the grass.
The Wesmen became aware of them slowly, the first who saw them nudging the warrior next to him. A third was sitting with his back to them, close enough to touch. He stopped tearing at the animal bone in his hands and looked round, took in Grafyrre’s camouflage, his weapons and his stance and made a grab for a weapon.
Grafyrre stamped on his wrist and chopped a blade through his shoulder. The Wesman howled and fell forward. Jaqruis sighed across the fire, striking targets in the face and throat. Ferinn and Lynees chased through after them. Ferinn lashed a kick into a Wesman nose. Lynees chopped her blade into the side of another scrambling to his feet.
Grafyrre headed right. Three shamen stared at him, their palms held up in front of their chests, mouths moving in quiet chant. Grafyrre whipped a blade across the neck of one, hacked his other into the arms of the second and landed a butt square on the bridge of the third’s nose.
Ahead of him, a warrior had stood and grabbed a dagger from his belt. Grafyrre moved in, blocked a straight thrust aside and thumped a kick into the Wesman’s stomach. He staggered back, winded. Grafyrre moved up a pace and thrust a blade through his heart.
Grafyrre could feel the camp coming alive around him. Shouts were going up, voices raised in alarm, and a horn sounded, urgent and anxious and cut off abruptly. He nodded.
‘Good, good.’
Lynees leaped high, kicking out to either side, her feet connecting with shamen heads. She landed, her blade blurring in the firelight. Blood blew across the smoke and hissed on the fire. Grafyrre moved to join her. The Wesmen were beginning to organise themselves. A knot of eight or so was gathered under a standard, weapons bristling as they tried to cover every angle.
Shamen were running for the dubious security of their warriors. Grafyrre led the charge at the knot by the standard. He hurled a jaqrui in first, seeing it deflect off an axe blade and spin away, its target never seeing it and alive only by good fortune.
Lynees and Ferinn were at his shoulders.
‘Over the blades,’ he said.
The three TaiGethen tore in, jumping high two paces from the Wesman blades. Grafyrre’s front foot caught a warrior on the forehead, snapping his head back and putting him down. Grafyrre landed astride him, pierced his chest with a blade and spun to his left, fielding a fast strike on his sword. The Wesman drew back to strike again but failed to see Ferinn coming from his right. Her kick caught him in the side of the head, knocking him senseless.
Grafyrre dropped to his haunches to avoid a swipe. He bounced back up, kicked out into his target’s knee and followed up with blows from both blades, seeing one blocked and the other bite deep into the Wesman’s side. Lynees swept the legs from another Wesman and jabbed a blade hard into his gut. She turned a forward roll across his body, rose in the same movement and jammed her sword into the groin of another.
Horns were blaring across the Wesman camp now. Grafyrre turned to face the last of the knot of Wesmen. Behind him the standard exploded under the force of black fire.
‘Get to shadow!’ he called.
He rushed the Wesman, swaying outside a thrust to his midriff and hacking into the small of the tribesman’s back. He grabbed the injured man around the throat and turned him into the path of two shamen. Black fire ripped into his body, seeking the elf who held him.
The Wesman screamed. Grafyrre held him upright and pushed him into the shamen, his body colliding with them on its way to the ground. Grafyrre dropped his blades, pulled a jaqrui from his belt pouch and threw. The blade mourned across the short space and thudded into a shaman’s temple, knocking him down. Grafyrre ran hard at the other one, seeing him stretch out his arms to cast. He leaped above the black fire that raged from the shaman’s fingertips and landed with his legs around the man’s shoulders.
Grafyrre grasped his head in both hands and twisted hard. The shaman grunted and fell. Grafyrre went with the fall, rolling away, coming to his feet and tearing back in to smash a foot into the enemy’s windpipe. He ran to pick up his swords and headed for the shadows beyond the ring of campfires.
Ferinn and Lynees joined him to look at their work. The camp was in uproar. TaiGethen were still among them, doing awful damage. Wesmen tried to organise themselves but had no idea where their enemy was coming from in the confusing firelight and the puddles of dark night.
To the left and the right Grafyrre could see others hurrying to join the defence. If the elves escaped unscathed it would have been the perfect attack. But now it was time to break. He had to trust that each cell leader would see the signs. Some were already moving back into the night. Howls of pain told of others still deep in the skirmish.
Grafyrre heard the crackle of black fire and saw fingers of it pick at the ground where elven feet had run. He tracked back to the source and saw a defended group of shamen looking for targets.
‘Let’s get them and get out,’ he said. ‘Tai, with me.’
Auum watched the concerted movement away from the main gates and nodded his approval. Stein had long since flown into the college to seek assistance and Auum hoped he could muster some cover at the city walls by the rear gates.
‘Time to go,’ he said. ‘Let’s keep the pace high. TaiGethen to the flanks. Drech, stay near Takaar and the Senserii. Il-Aryn, don’t cast unless you must; you’ll only attract attention. Take Drech’s lead. Let’s go.’
&nb
sp; The run was about half a mile. Though a good number of Wesmen had answered the horn calls, hundreds had stayed put, warriors and shamen both. Auum moved off, Ulysan and Duele with him, spread to cover the front. The Senserii with Takaar and Drech among them ran immediately behind, and the rest of the Il-Aryn came in their wake, TaiGethen running a defence around them.
At the outer pickets the TaiGethen moved to take out the guards, leaving Auum clear space in which to run. They gathered momentum. Two cells ran wide either side of Auum as they approached the first fires.
‘Keep it up, don’t get stalled.’ Auum drew a jaqrui and cocked it ready. ‘Tai, break on my word.’
Auum watched Wesmen rushing in ahead of them. Horns sounded close and more were readying themselves on both flanks. Auum glanced behind him. Gilderon watched everything and missed nothing. There was no one Auum trusted more to make the right decision every time in a fight.
Auum threw his jaqrui. The crescent blade keened across the thirty-yard space and lodged in a Wesman chest. The warrior coughed blood and pitched forward. Others roared and charged.
‘Break!’ ordered Auum.
With his Tai on his flanks, Auum cruised to a sprint, drawing both blades from their back scabbards and cycling them in his hands. The line of Wesmen ahead was two deep and seven wide. Behind them and off to both sides, shamen were readying. He trusted Drech to sense them as he said he could.
Auum charged directly at the centre of the defence, where axe-wielding warriors blocked his path. He ran hard, dropped to his knees and slid across damp grass, his blades held out to either side. He felt them bite into legs even as the axes swung over his head. Auum relaxed his arms, sliding past his targets before coming to his feet. He didn’t pause, running on at the back line, hearing Ulysan and Duele finishing what he’d started.
The TaiGethen were among the Wesmen, who did not know which way to strike. Auum faced three, two with long swords and one with an axe. Blood dripped from his blades where he held them, one high across his face and one low across his legs. He waited for a heartbeat, hearing the fight going on around him.
The three rushed him and Auum watched them come. The axe came overhead and he stepped aside, hacking his left blade in at waist height. From the right a long sword was thrust at his heart, and he battered the blow aside, opening up his body and bringing his left blade across and into the exposed flank of his enemy.
The second swordsman had been blocked by the axe man. He backed off behind his comrade but the pause was his undoing. Auum spun to his left, jumped high and thudded his right blade into the warrior’s shoulder. The Wesman screamed and dropped his blade.
Auum was in space. Shamen were either side guarded by nervous warriors. The elven column was coming on; Senserii now headed it, their ikari at the ready. The shamen were readying to cast and Auum prayed Drech knew what he was doing as he headed out to the right, his Tai with him. Warriors barred the way to the shamen. Simultaneously, a large group of Wesmen ran at the head of the elven advance. They had no idea what they were running into. Auum almost pitied them.
Shamen stood and cast. Auum threw himself to the ground and rolled. Black fire erupted from fingertips, but the moment it appeared, a modulating green light encased the shamen’s hands, extinguishing the fire. It was momentary but enough to disrupt them.
Auum came back to his feet and charged at his enemies.
Safe behind his Senserii, Takaar felt serene but also fragile and useless.
Look at everyone doing their part while you cower behind your minders.
‘Auum said I may not cast.’
And you listen to him, don’t you? The mighty Auum. See Drech, see what he has your pupils doing? Did you even know that was possible?
‘We can all develop our own castings,’ muttered Takaar, but he stared at Drech, not three paces to his left behind two ranks of Senserii, marching confidently along with a smile on his face.
He should have shared the secret with you.
‘Yes, he should have,’ said Takaar.
That’s the way of the Il-Aryn, is it not?
‘Yes, it is,’ said Takaar and a tear threatened.
Just worth mentioning. Probably just an oversight in all the excitement.
Wesman warriors struck the forward quartet of Senserii, who had spread to give themselves room to use their bladed staffs. Takaar felt a thrill course through him and it eased his anger. The Senserii did not break stride. Gilderon jabbed out with his staff, piercing a Wesman above his heart. He brought the staff back, holding it as he would a quarterstaff in two hands. His movement confused the onrushing warriors. The right end licked out and sliced an enemy face from forehead to chin. The left deflected a heavy downward strike and, faster than the Wesman could follow, the blade was in his eye, turned and ripped clear.
The elves ran on. Takaar could see TaiGethen on their flanks. Horns echoed against the blank dark of the city walls, which loomed large, filling the horizon. Lights burned on the walls, and he could see men and elves on the ramparts and inside the fire-blackened gatehouse.
Ahead, a large force of Wesmen was gathering just outside spell range of the city. Others moved to join them and more ran into the flanks of the column, where they met the steel, fists and feet of the TaiGethen. At their rear, though, Takaar sensed trouble. Shamen were gathering. He could feel the Wytch Lord power there.
Takaar looked to his right. Drech was walking at an even pace, his eyes closed and his mind showing him the way through the streams of energy. Takaar tracked them for a moment, seeing his focus ahead, managing the concentration of his Il-Aryn. He had no idea what was behind. Takaar turned and pushed back through the column.
What are you doing?
‘Disobeying Auum and saving his precious TaiGethen.’
Senserii fell into place next to him, and they moved quickly down the line past the Il-Aryn casting their distraction constructs at the hands of the shamen. At the rear the TaiGethen knew what was coming and had spread out to defend against it. Three cells ranged against a muster of fifty or more warriors.
Takaar stood behind them and let his mind sample the energy lines. Every moment isolated the group further from the main column. Takaar concentrated on what was below his feet. Earth and rock dominated and a clay layer separated the two. This was no time for finesse. The shamen were coming, fifty yards away and closing quickly. The TaiGethen prepared to attack.
‘Faleen, trust me,’ said Takaar. ‘Too many of them.’
Takaar felt for the line of force running through the clay layer. It was sluggish and easy to grab. He let the power of the land flood him, teasing out strand after strand to dance before him.
Takaar spread his hands, palms up. He took the power of the land across his shoulders, forced his arms up over his head, and a wall of mud and clay thirty yards wide and ten high erupted from the ground. Takaar staggered under the weight of it and felt the steadying hand of a Senserii on his back. He shifted his focus, drying the clay and hardening the barrier, moving the water aside and letting it fall on the enemy behind.
He dropped his arms by his side and drew in a shuddering breath.
‘Now I suggest we all run,’ he said.
Auum tore into the flank of the Wesman force, hacking left and right with his blades, fighting power with power. An enemy axe clashed against his right blade, sending sparks into the night, its edge opening a shallow cut on Auum’s cheek. Ulysan ducked a wild swipe and buried a blade in a Wesman gut, slicing it clear and spilling entrails across the ground.
Duele flew in at head height with his blades cocked in front of his face, left leg outstretched to connect with a Wesman chest. He landed behind the warrior line and in front of the shamen readying to cast their fire. Auum drove his shoulder into the warrior in front of him and rammed a blade into the top of his thigh. The tribesman went over, grabbing at Auum and pulling him down too.
Black fire slashed overhead. Il-Aryn castings responded, but their effect was diluted now. Auum
heard an elven scream behind him. He rolled away from the Wesman, breaking his grip. Ignoring him, Auum drew a jaqrui and threw at the shamen, seeing it take the fingers from both hands of one on its way to jut from the skull of another.
‘Get the shamen!’ roared Auum.
Duele was already among them. His blades were in their scabbards and his fists and feet snapped out, breaking concentration, buying time for support to arrive. Auum saw Ulysan down a warrior with a sword pommel to the chin. The big TaiGethen moved forward. In front of him shamen moved the focus of their fire. Auum wanted to shout in warning but it would do no good.
Ulysan struck the head from one, but the other, standing two paces behind, was too far away. But the shaman didn’t get the chance to strike his killing blow. The black fire died on his fingertips as he clawed at the ikari jutting from his chest. Auum turned. The Senserii swept over the remains of the Wesman defence, which broke and scattered before them.
Auum nodded his thanks to Gilderon, who did not acknowledge him, stooping to twist his staff before dragging the blade clear.
‘Reform!’ called Auum.
The column came together and hurried on towards the opening gates. Horsemen galloped out followed by archers and swordsmen to form a corridor. The horsemen swept either side of the elven column, clearing Wesmen from their flanks. Spells arced out over their heads, crashing into the ground behind. Walls of fire erupted from the ground alongside them. Black fire fizzed and crackled. Auum saw a horseman taken from his mount, an axe in his back. Another flailed at the fire unpicking his chest.
‘Move! Run!’ shouted Auum. ‘Men are dying for us. Go, go!’
Auum ran down the column, urging them on. The Senserii made the gates, turning to stand and usher the Il-Aryn inside. Auum ran beside Drech.
‘What happened? Your castings stopped working.’
‘They drew on more power,’ said Drech. He looked exhausted. ‘So much to learn.’
‘You saved many.’
‘And lost some.’
Beyond the Mists of Katura e-3 Page 12
