Elves: Beyond the Mists of Katura (12 page)

A howl of alarm dragged his gaze from the disaster in the distance. He saw elves swarming over the stern. Like rats, or perhaps it was monkeys, they came. Ystormun cursed:
TaiGethen. What in
all the hells were they doing here? How in all the hells could they possibly be here?

But here they were. They engulfed the wheel deck, executing captain and helmsman and murdering shamen in mere moments. The ship began to turn to the east, the wheel set over hard. And on they
came, vaulting the rail, hurling their damned jaqruis as well as themselves at the defending Wesmen.

And however courageous the tribesmen might be, they had little chance. The elves were so
fast
. Perhaps his memory had dimmed over the centuries, but he didn’t remember this
speed.

Ystormun moved. He raced to the forecastle rail and bellowed down to the main deck, ‘Defence! Shamen get up here and prepare. I want two lines of warriors in front of us now and I want
elvish eyes smoking before we crest another wave. Move!’

Shamen and Wesmen scrabbled to obey, knowing instantly who was in possession of the body. In an instant nine shamen had joined him with Wesmen guarding the stairs.

‘Get line of sight down the ship. One rank. Cast on my word,’ said Ystormun.

The wave of TaiGethen washed around the mainmast. Ystormun saw a Wesman begin to raise his blade to defend himself, but a sword pierced his gut and a foot crushed his windpipe so quickly he
didn’t manage to cry out when he fell. TaiGethen ran along the rails, slashing sheets and lanyards. Sails flapped lazily.

‘Ready!’ called Ystormun. ‘Cast.’

He heard a mourning sound repeating over and over. The air was full of flashing metal. He threw himself to the ground behind his shamen who screamed and jerked as dozens of crescent blades
thudded home. Blood sprayed in all directions and a body fell on top of him, its owner trying to pull the jaqrui from his forehead though his brain was oozing around it.

Ystormun shovelled the twitching body off him and stood, preparing to cast, determined to take at least one of them before this body was slain. He was greeted by the sight of a single elf
leaping high over the last of the Wesmen, turning a somersault and landing directly in front of him, blades poised.

Ystormun stared, his casting forgotten.

‘You,’ he gasped.

The TaiGethen’s eyes widened slightly but his mouth twitched up in the shadow of a smile.

‘Yeah,’ said Auum. ‘Me.’

The edges of his blades were so cold.

The
Soul of Yniss
had joined
Gyaam’s Blessing
in the pursuit of the one remaining enemy ship still sailing south. Drech with the rest of the survivors
of
Capricious
had come alongside the fast-moving elven vessel and clambered up rigging thrown over the starboard rail. Lines had been secured to the longboat and it had been hauled up the
side, complete with its injured passengers.

Ahead, the enemy flagship was wallowing, sails flapping in the breeze as it gradually came into the wind. TaiGethen were in longboats heading back to them. Others were going back through the
enemy vessels. Each one was to be scoured and stripped of anything useful.
Spirit of Tual
had been tasked to stand on station to take any cargo on board.

Drech was standing in the prow of the
Soul
with a strangely calm and thoughtful Takaar. Stein was aft, reporting to Esteren, and was intent on sleep, having spent every mote of
spell-casting stamina he possessed. Drech didn’t blame him for keeping his distance from the Il-Aryn’s finest but most flawed practitioner. The enemy ship before them was under full
sail and they would not catch her before nightfall. Drech felt the tension across the ship.

‘Can we not impel a wind to speed us up?’ asked Drech. ‘Surely we can find something in the paths of Ix that governs the heavens.’

‘Wind is too chaotic,’ said Takaar. ‘Harnessing it would take more skill than we possess. We’ve barely touched research on the powers that rush above our
heads.’

‘Over six hundred years of study, research and practice and we have done no more than scratch the bark of a single tree in the forest of our potential.’

Drech smiled at his own metaphor. Takaar was staring at him, a smile on his face that made Drech nervous.

‘Now there is something we might try. It should work, even at this range because there is nothing to block its path, and no other fuel directly ahead as long as the impression is cast
directly outwards. I wonder if any would mind if I tried. I would need your help of course, your strength and your focus; mine alone will not be enough, but together we can do it. I doubt
we’d even need any of the others. The poor souls are exhausted anyway. Better they rest in case we need the shield again. The Ixii and Gyalans possess such ability but their stamina is so
much less than that of the Ynissul, don’t you think? So we must attempt this. Nothing to lose and so much time to gain. Another day, even. What do you say? Will you help me? Shall we try?
Just think how much it would advance our knowledge if I was proved correct, and I very much think I am. Another step taken. Another notch in the tree of understanding.’

Drech was desperately trying to follow what Takaar was saying. The elf was staring at him, eyes teetering on the brink of a sharp descent into the pit of his madness, unless it was tears that
threatened.

‘How much of that were you saying directly to me?’ he asked carefully.

Fury shot across Takaar’s expression, but he forced a faint smile and nodded.

‘All of it,’ he said, his stare intensifying. ‘All of it.’

‘And what are we going to attempt?’

Takaar’s smile became conspiratorial. He took Drech’s arm and turned him to follow his gaze to the enemy ship.

‘We’re going to make it sink.’

‘From this distance?’

‘You doubt me?’

Drech thought about that for a moment.

‘No, not at all.’ He gestured ahead. ‘Lead on.’

‘Let yourself see the energies of Ix,’ said Takaar, closing his eyes.

The first joy of the Il-Aryn was the moment the lines of energy that travelled the earth and everything living on it or under it became visible. Until you made sense of it, the scene was nothing
more than the heaviest of rainforest deluges travelling in every direction. But slowly every adept could unpick sets of threads from the flood because, as Takaar first preached, every individual
plant and animal has a different density of energy. Wood has energy of a deeper density than a liana but not as deep as stone. A panther’s energies are less dense than those of an elf. The
energies of the core elements of earth, air, fire and water have signature flows and enormous strength to set them apart from any individual creature or plant.

Takaar’s next breakthrough was to understand that single energy lines almost always represented combinations. For instance, water is the most common element of all and is critical to the
make-up of every living thing. Drech had found the idea that he was mostly water absurd, but Takaar had created some demonstrations that persuaded him otherwise.

And there was the third joy: understanding the innate ability to manipulate the energies to produce something different. That had been central to unlocking the potential of the Il-Aryn as a
magical force. It had given them a basis for learning and research and the development of a range of castings and constructions. There was no end to it that Drech could see, and that was a
thrilling thought.

Drech saw the thundering energy lines that made up the ocean and took time to wonder at the way they clashed and spat at each other but never broke apart and how, despite the apparent chaos,
there was an order to the sea that was only truly challenged by the actions of the wind.

Ahead was their target, picked out in ten and more differing pulses of energy density. Water of course was the ship’s greatest constituent, but the complexities that made up wood, and the
simple ones representing the sail canvas and indeed the rigging ropes were there for the skilled adept to see.

‘Now then, let’s see how far we can push ourselves,’ said Takaar.

‘What do you plan to do, take out a mast or something?’ joked Drech.

‘I think we can do an awful lot better than that. A shame most of them won’t see this, but we can reprise it another time.’

‘See what?’ asked Drech, excitement edging his mind.

‘Lend me your strength. Keep the flow steady. No spikes, because I’m going to try something a little reckless.’

‘You do surprise me.’

‘Concentrate!’

Drech did as Takaar asked. He placed his hands on Takaar’s shoulders to make the transfer more solid and fed his mind’s energy into Takaar’s body for him to use in bolstering
his own. Takaar accepted the gift with a grunt and set to work. Drech watched him and quickly saw what he was attempting.

Every impulse within him bade him pull away and shout at Takaar to try something else, because what he was doing, if it went astray and fed back through the elemental lines, would kill them both
instantly. But he resisted. Takaar had never been wrong. He clung to that thought while Takaar teased at the water energies across the divide between the two ships.

Drech was watching elven magic’s greatest practitioner at work, and he never ceased to wonder at the combination of delicacy and strength of will that Takaar brought to bear. It was
artistry, and no one could ever hope to better him. Takaar was channelling the unbridled force of elemental water through himself, using himself as a stopper in a bottle, keeping the raw
destructive power inside and releasing only that which he required to do his work. No wonder he had need of Drech’s energy.

Drech watched him tease out strand after strand and gather them as if they were threads caught in his fist. And when Drech was sure he had enough, Takaar carried on, never once faltering but
whispering words to himself that gave him the confidence to continue.

When at last he was done, Takaar gave a little laugh. ‘So. Let’s see what we have learned today,’ he said.

With his mind he jerked the strands aside. For an instant, ephemeral and terrifying, nothing happened. Then water cascaded from the air around the target’s hull and fell to the sea in a
myriad drops. The hull was reduced to dust scattered across the water. Drech caught the merest glimpse of cargo, furnishings and men tumbling towards the water when the ship’s deck, deprived
of support, slapped down on the surface.

Takaar roared with laughter.

‘Look what I’ve done! Look!’

Drech stared. For a few moments the hull-less deck slid on, and then the weight of the mast, sails and superstructure defeated it and it tipped onto its side, balanced by the sailcloth and mast
timbers before beginning to settle.

‘Yniss preserve us!’ yelled Drech, and his voice bounced across the ocean to their floundering and confused enemies in the water. ‘I see it and only because you did it before
my eyes do I believe it.’

Drech turned to call anyone he could to come to the rail and look, only to find himself pressed by Stein and every one of the Il-Aryn, all drawn by the power Takaar had employed. Everyone was
charging forward to see for themselves. Well, nearly everyone. Takaar was leaning on Drech’s shoulder, utterly spent.

‘What did you do?’ asked Stein, gesturing weakly towards the remains of the enemy ship.

Takaar, exhausted but drunk on his success, leaned forward and placed a finger on Stein’s chest, tapping it gently as he spoke.

‘Remove water from any of us, a ship, an elf . . . or a human, and all that remains is dust,’ he said.

The bell at the helm rang and Esteren’s voice rang out.

‘Ready to bring us about, heading north by north-west,’ he ordered. ‘Stand by. Selas, get up to the forward nest. I don’t want to collide with any wreckage. Bosun, you
are not in position. Let’s come around, wait for our passengers and head on. Tell Takaar he is not to employ that casting on any of my timbers, under any circumstances, or he’ll feel my
boot in his arse.’

Esteren’s chuckle was as loud as his voice.

‘Good work, everyone. Now let’s get north.’

It was full night and calm had returned to the diminished elven fleet. Only topsails, jibs and spankers were running to keep speed low and manoeuvrability high for the skeleton
crews during the hours of darkness. The first mate of the
Soul of Yniss
doubled as the helm. The crow’s nests were empty.

Services had already been held for the lost, and as they drifted across the waves, dirges and prayers for those to be committed to the sea and Shorth’s embrace would continue until first
light. Combined with the creaking of ships’ timbers, the rush of the sea, the ripple of sailcloth and the lonely call of stray gulls, the elven voices lent a surreal quality to the
darkness.

In the captain’s cabin of the
Soul of Yniss
, on a rug woven in a likeness of the stone apron of the temple at Aryndeneth, sat Auum, Ulysan, Esteren, Takaar, Drech and Stein. They
had been served a herb and boar broth and now had plates of fruit, sweet leaves and steaming broad-based mugs of earthy root tea before them.

They had barely spoken a word, choosing to listen to the songs and chants, occasionally joining in or mouthing silent prayers of their own.

‘We should get to it,’ said Esteren. ‘I don’t know about you, but I require sleep before dawn.’

‘We’ll try not to keep you,’ said Auum, a glint in his eye. ‘So, Ulysan, let’s go through the numbers, depressing as they are.’

Ulysan swallowed the remains of his drink and reached for the jug, talking while he poured and set the jug back down.

‘We lost a single TaiGethen,
Gyaam’s Blessing
lost four,
Spirit of Tual
lost two. None of us lost a single crew hand or Il-Aryn adept. That’s the good news.
Obviously we lost
Capricious
. Thirty-seven crew lost including the captain. Eight TaiGethen lost. All the Senserii survived. Twenty-eight Il-Aryn lost.’