Beyond the Mists of Katura e-3

by James Barclay

  ‘Oh yes, Pamun, I will deliver Sentaya at the same time — that’s what this is about, isn’t it? My victory bringing about your shame.’

  Pamun stood across the table. ‘No, Ystormun, this is about your petty revenge on some southern barbarians. There is nothing else in your mind. Do not dare to claim otherwise.’

  Ystormun crossed his arms over his chest before sweeping them wide open. The six fires blew out, diminishing the light.

  ‘And I will have no more of this heat. Your protestations are based on the worst of all weaknesses, fear. You fear I will be defeated and our cadre will be left vulnerable to the Xeteskians’ new casting. Your lack of belief will undo you. Xetesk is locked on the other side of the mountains. I will not fall. I will not even be scratched. You would deny me glory because you fear my influence will grow. Fear. I had not thought to see it in you, my brothers.’

  Ystormun smiled at the blow he had struck. Arumun managed to hold his gaze.

  ‘Deny that you seek revenge.’

  ‘I do not deny it,’ said Ystormun. ‘Why should I deny myself the satisfaction even as I bring this conflict to a close? I will see the terror in Auum and Takaar’s eyes as I kill them. I want to see the knowledge of their failure as their last breaths leave their broken tortured bodies. I want them to know that I will be visiting the same pain on their homeland. I want to tell them so myself as the skin is flayed from their bodies.

  ‘Your proclivities bring nothing but fleeting arousal, Arumun. Mine bring joy. Indulge in hate, it is beautiful when it is released.’

  ‘It blinds you and will destroy us all,’ said Belphamun.

  ‘I am happy to be so pivotal to your survival.’

  ‘We are six or we are none,’ said Belphamun.

  ‘Then do not seek to stop me, or whether I live or die, we will be none.’

  By any measure Bynaar was well protected. He was a Circle Seven mage, not a position achieved by a lack of attention to detail. Even in his temporary accommodation in Understone, with Xeteskian forces dominating every approach and comprising the garrison, he had not neglected his personal security.

  His bodyguard of Protectors ringed the house he occupied. Others patrolled the ground floor, and he had guards positioned outside his rooms on the first floor. His most trusted mages watched the garrison and the lands beyond, and he was perpetually covered by a magical shield should any rival decide to disturb his sleep by attempting to murder him.

  Whenever he ate he had his own cooks prepare the food, and the castings he played over it would detect any poison. And when he slept or took to the quiet of his drawing room to rest and read, his familiar was the eyes in the back of his head.

  Bynaar was irritable but in the end unconcerned by the escape of some elves into the Blackthorne Mountains. He felt their survival was unlikely and, even if they did reach Wesman lands, their capacity to inflict damage could only help Xetesk’s cause.

  But he could not shake off an unwelcome anxiety. His latest contact with Kerela had not gone well. The Julatsans and their cursed elven allies had been irritatingly persistent. She had accused him outright of betrayal and said some unsettling things about the Septern Manse and the movement of the most powerful of the elves. If she was right then he could cause significant problems. He could not afford to have the Wytch Lords move until he was ready.

  Bynaar sat with a jug of wine in front of a dying fire as night closed in. He had much to read but had instead spent most of his time staring at the flames as they danced, rose and fell, finding comfort in their patterns.

  ‘What an interesting creature.’

  The words startled him enough to cause him to spill his wine and send his parchments tumbling to the floor. The voice was melodious, rolling the language easily and imbuing it with a unique and compelling rhythm.

  Bynaar pushed himself from his chair and turned from the fire, blinking the glamour from his eyes. At least the figure by the balcony doors wasn’t there to kill him or why had he chosen to speak? Bynaar wondered if he had fallen asleep but dismissed the notion the next instant. More pressing concerns raised themselves.

  His familiar was where he had left it, curled up on the back of his chair in classic feline repose. Of course it should have transformed by now and flown to the attack, but it appeared not to have noticed the intruder. It hadn’t even raised its head. That was quite impossible.

  The figure moved from the balcony towards the pair of luxuriously upholstered chairs in front of the fireplace. Bynaar did not move, letting his eyes track and watch the elf, who had an effortless grace and a presence that utterly dominated his. He had a wild look to his eyes but it clashed with an equally frightening intelligence. He radiated power of a sort Bynaar could sense but not penetrate.

  ‘You must be Takaar,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Takaar.

  ‘You do understand that one word from me and your life is over.’

  Takaar muttered something to himself and smiled. ‘That I am in this room should tell you I do not fear that.’

  ‘What have you done to my. . pet?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Takaar pointed at a chair. ‘May I?’

  ‘Apparently I am powerless to stop you. Help yourself to wine.’

  Takaar sat but ignored the wine. ‘I had no wish to disturb its sleep so I have created a silence where it may continue to rest. It is not a cat, though, and it has energies that connect with your own. Very interesting.’

  Bynaar studied him. There was no way Takaar should be able to detect the bond between a mage and his familiar. He thought for a moment, realising it was unusually quiet in the house and without, even for this time of the night.

  ‘You’ve created silence for this whole room too, haven’t you?’

  Takaar smiled. ‘Was that inference or detection?’

  ‘I’m not about to reveal that.’

  Takaar’s smile vanished and he cocked an ear and tutted.

  ‘Well I think it’s clever even if you don’t.’

  ‘You think what is clever?’ asked Bynaar.

  Takaar stared at him for a moment. ‘I wasn’t addressing you.’

  Bynaar didn’t know how to take that so he ignored it. The elf was probably just thinking out loud. Bynaar clacked his tongue.

  ‘So, here you are. I’m assuming I am not an assassination target so what is it you want?’

  Takaar’s eyes widened and a childish grin came over his face. He leaned forward, his voice barely audible.

  ‘I want to help you win the war.’

  ‘That’s not something I expected you to say.’

  ‘You expected me to threaten your life if you didn’t call your dogs away from Julatsa’s walls?’ said Takaar.

  ‘Something like that.’ Against his better judgement Bynaar was curious. ‘So how do you propose to accomplish this, and why would you?’

  Takaar’s expression changed almost every time he spoke. The impishness had gone and in its place was gravitas. It was most unsettling. Bynaar wondered if Takaar was quite all there.

  ‘Because the elves desire the death of the Wytch Lords and because you are destroying this land in pursuit of a spell you can never recover. Knowing that, you must cancel your alliance with them and destroy the Wytch Lords now because it will be your only opportunity.’

  ‘But that leaves us with rivals, and we don’t want rivals,’ said Bynaar.

  Takaar’s expression darkened and he stared to his right, nodding his head.

  ‘You must not condescend to me. I am, as always, just clinging on. Sometimes I slip.’

  Bynaar frowned. ‘You’ve lost me completely. What do you mean, slip?’

  ‘I mean,’ said Takaar, now adopting the expression of a mother instructing a dim child, ‘that those who choose to laugh at me and undermine me are sometimes removed. Auum says I cannot control my anger. I am starting to think he is right.’

  The threat that flowed from Takaar was palpable and probably carried on lines of magical energy. Byna
ar felt weakened by it.

  ‘I meant no dishonour or disrespect. But I take it you are aware of Xetesk’s intentions? We will suffer no rivals.’

  Takaar’s hands fidgeted in his lap. ‘I don’t have much time and you aren’t listening. You have no rivals for Dawnthief because you will never find Dawnthief.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because Septern still has it.’

  This Takaar was nothing if not surprising.

  ‘And you know this because. .?’

  ‘I am a better mage.’

  Bynaar put his hands on his face and rubbed at the corners of his eyes with his index fingers. He declined the challenge and decided to approach from a different direction.

  ‘I can accept that. You are clearly extremely talented. So tell me, how do you propose to help me defeat the Wytch Lords?’

  Takaar chuckled and the humour remained in his eyes. Bynaar felt relieved and cursed himself for it.

  ‘Our greatest warrior has travelled to the east to challenge Ystormun. Ystormun will come to the battlefield because he hates Auum with a passion that has stood the test of centuries. It will prove his downfall. I will go to him to provide the strength of magical power needed to tame the beast. You are the college with the means of caging him.’

  ‘You’re naive if you think Ystormun will leave the cadre to kill one elf. Even if he wanted to, the cadre would not allow it. Together they are a considerable power since the Sundering. With even one gone, they are severely diminished. It would hand us the. .’

  Bynaar sat back, suddenly understanding.

  ‘Now explain to me again why Dawnthief is beyond our grasp.’

  Chapter 32

  The Wesmen are routinely misunderstood. How is their ‘tribal savagery’ any different to the posturing and fighting of our own barons and lords?

  Sipharec, High Mage of Julatsa

  TaiGethen scouts were several hours run out of Carusk, Sentaya’s home village, covering all the approaches to gauge the size of the oncoming force and to ensure no Wesman scouts could view their defensive preparations.

  While the Il-Aryn trained hard to respond to various situations with defensive castings, Stein had organised his mages to set wards across wide swathes of the countryside. Half a day out and the castings were not dense, but there were enough of them to seed doubt in the minds of the marching warriors.

  Closer to the village borders and its rough stockade, the wards became more tightly packed and focused, designed to inflict the maximum damage by spreading fire or ice across many more than those unfortunate enough to trigger them. And when the damage was dealt, the remaining wards were designed to obscure the defenders until the last moment and provide opportunities for bowmen and elven mages to cast freely.

  ‘Anyone else feel a little uncomfortable about laying wards to murder unsuspecting warriors on the march?’ asked Stein.

  ‘No,’ said Auum. ‘After all, we’re trying to kill enemies, not allies.’

  ‘Can Ystormun divine wards?’ asked Ulysan, changing tack quickly.

  ‘Given time I’m certain he can, but there’s only him and he’s careless of his fighters,’ said Stein. ‘He won’t have the patience to wait, and anyway it’s a task so far beneath him I suspect he’d rather lose warriors than step from his carriage.’

  The three of them were standing outside the stockade, watching mages at work and waiting for Faleen to run in and deliver her report on the enemy. She was just a few hundred yards away now and running hard.

  ‘There is that,’ said Ulysan. ‘Is someone chasing her or something?’

  ‘Just a Wytch Lord,’ said Stein.

  ‘Not bad,’ said Ulysan. ‘You’ve still got a lot to learn, though.’

  Faleen slid to a stop in front of Auum, who kissed her forehead.

  ‘Did you enjoy the run? Come on, let’s go to Sentaya. We don’t want to be seen discussing your news before we’ve shared it with him. It’s his village under attack, after all.’

  ‘How far have you run?’ asked Stein.

  ‘I don’t know how far but for about seven hours,’ said Faleen.

  Stein blinked. ‘But you aren’t even breathing heavily.’

  ‘Our host is waiting,’ said Auum.

  ‘Nor are you sweating,’ said Stein. ‘Unbelievable.’

  It was two days since Gyarth’s beheading, and the look of disgust had not softened on Sentaya’s face. He had watched the mages and Il-Aryn practising and setting wards, and seeing magic being employed on his lands and in his name was causing a major conflict within him.

  No caster had been allowed within the village, and the TaiGethen were treated with suspicion, angry eyes following them wherever they went. Tilman had been admitted, but his halting knowledge of tribal Wes had made conversation very difficult. Even so, Auum and Stein knew that Sentaya was wavering, that his tribesmen were not all behind him and that there were sections of the Paleon spread around the lake and further south that wanted the intruders dead. It seemed that only Sentaya’s respect for Auum kept their shaky alliance in place. Stein set alarm wards around their camp when they slept.

  Sentaya met them where they would not be overheard. He nodded to Auum and pointedly ignored Stein before fixing his gaze on Faleen.

  ‘What has she seen?’ he demanded.

  Faleen spoke and Stein translated. Sentaya refused to look at him.

  ‘It’s a considerable force and it will be here at first light tomorrow. I estimate nine hundred warriors and forty shamen plus their supply wagons. There’s a single covered carriage pulled by a two-horse team and attended by shamen in dark red clothing. It is guarded by warriors on horseback, clearly a personal guard. Ystormun is riding in the carriage. I saw him walking among his shamen last night.’

  Sentaya shook his head and regarded Auum with something akin to awe. He gave a dry chuckle.

  ‘I had thought you were bluffing, Auum. And now it is real, isn’t it? Ystormun has come. For the remainder of the day you and I will set our tactics. When night falls we will feast together in my village.’ Sentaya glanced at Stein. ‘All of us. For one night we will be brothers and for one day we will fight as kin.’

  ‘It is the greatest honour you could bestow on my people,’ said Auum. ‘Thank you. The elven gods will bless you and keep you for greater tasks to come.’

  Sentaya bowed his head. ‘I must speak with my people.’

  Sipharec was dead. From healthy old man to corpse in so short a time, and no magic could save him. Kerela turned from his tomb, her head bowed. She whispered prayers as she walked through the college and out into streets packed with anxiety and rising panic.

  So soon after the siege had been broken, the hopes of ordinary Julatsans had been crushed. Kerela spoke to no one and acknowledged no one as she walked, though she was aware that Harild, wonderful, strong, brave Harild, had fallen into step beside her.

  She had known Sipharec’s death was imminent but deep inside her had hoped he would rise, heal himself and stand before them as he had done for so long. But of course he had not, and his last hours had been spent unconscious with his pain dulled by magic.

  Kerela walked to the city’s main gates and ascended the stairs to the gatehouse. It was still under repair as were wide sections of the ramparts. Mages were busy investing strength into the walls, and she could hear the sounds of industry echoing around the city, manufacturing arrows, blades and bows.

  Kerela stared out and her heart fell. She still remembered the stark beauty of the approaches to Julatsa and the horizon where you could see the sea sparkle on clear hot days. The scent of the long grass on the gentle rolling rises lingered in her memory and the laughter of children playing in the wide open spaces sounded in her head, hollow and bleak, a dream long shrivelled and dead.

  The Wesmen were still gathering, and the clamour would be ceaseless until they attacked. There were so many more of them than before: thousands with ladders and sharp blades and with their shamen already chanting and d
ancing to gain the favour of the spirits. They were spreading out to encircle the city and this time they were not going to besiege Julatsa; they were going to come straight for the walls.

  ‘When will they attack?’ asked Kerela.

  She felt completely overwhelmed and incapable of being in charge of any kind of defence. How she longed for Sipharec, Auum, Takaar and Drech. Powerful individuals blessed with knowledge and belief. She had been born well after the liberation of Calaius. She knew nothing of war.

  ‘No later than first light tomorrow,’ said Harild. He was gazing up at the sky where the light of afternoon was on the wane. ‘We’ve done all we can. The mages are briefed, the wards are laid outside, and we will power the grid the moment they advance. We know their tactics.’

  ‘But we have no TaiGethen, no capability to take down their shamen.’

  Harild nodded, his head moving quickly. ‘I know, but our duty is to hold them at bay for as long as we can. In the meantime we must pray that Auum and Takaar do what they set out to do.’

  ‘And if they don’t? If they fail?’

  ‘They won’t.’

  ‘But if they do?’

  Harild smiled a little sadly. ‘Then we must save what we can and make sure our lives come at great cost to our enemies. What else is there to do?’

  Night was falling. Takaar had been waiting for a day and his patience was spent. He had called the Senserii from their hiding place in the hills above Understone Pass and now waited with them while the tortuous discussions among the Circle Seven of Xetesk went on and on. He could not settle to eat or rest. His mind was ablaze and his tormentor wouldn’t leave him be. He watched Gilderon watching him, and the suspicious Xeteskian mages and soldiers guarding the pass entrance watching all of them, wondering why their master had ordered them not to be touched.

  Takaar half wished they’d try. Anything was better than this dreadful waiting, and he had not unleashed his energies in what seemed an age.

  A small demonstration might speed up their decision.

  ‘Or my demise,’

  Either works for me, you know that.