Elves: Beyond the Mists of Katura (28 page)

His silence was cold. ‘Your implication is beneath contempt.’

‘Then prove to me that they are still at the Manse. Still alive.’

‘I would not lower myself to do any such thing. Your team, your problem.’

‘And there I was thinking we were all working together. Last time we spoke to our people, they felt close to a breakthrough. Funny how we heard nothing more, isn’t it?’

‘It is not something I can explain, nor feel duty bound to investigate. Now is that all?’

‘No, it is not. You told me our Il-Aryn had an unusual style. How could you possibly know that all the way from Xetesk?’

‘Don’t be naive. It is no concern of mine that you have no people embedded here. We have not made the same error. Give my regards to Sipharec. May he recover quickly.’

The contact was broken and Kerela’s relief was instant and wonderful. She drank off a goblet of heavy red wine.

‘Lying bastard,’ she said.

There was a knock on her door.

‘Yes?’ she called. One of the Communion chamber mages poked her head around the door. ‘Yniss bless you, Syvra, you look tired. What is it? Bynaar has gone, if you wanted
him.’

‘No, but thank you. I’ll pass that on. We have another who wants to speak to you rather urgently. Can I give him permission to Commune with you?’

‘Who is he and is he one of ours?’

‘Yes, and he would not give his name. His lore is Julatsan, he is genuine.’

‘Then yes, have him contact me.’

Kerela settled back in her chair, awaiting the intrusion of Communion contact. When it came, all her growing suspicions were realised.

It was Stein.

Auum couldn’t muster any anger, consumed as he was by an overwhelming sadness. He had looked about him once the survivor group had got as far up into the foothills as
they could for the day and had shaken his head at the truly pitiful band they had become.

Forty-three TaiGethen were still able to fight, plus a further seven seriously wounded, burned or with limbs broken or blown off entirely. At least four of them would not survive, even with
castings. Seventy-eight Il-Aryn had survived but fourteen carried injuries and eight of those were unlikely to survive. The Julatsan cavalry was entirely gone, barring one young man whom Auum was
delighted to see smile: Tilman. He had burns on his face and hands but he was not broken, and castings would heal him. Finally, just twenty-nine Julatsan-trained elves were walking. Another twelve
were alive but struggling. Most of them would die.

It was an appalling result; thirty-two TaiGethen dead, murdered by magic; twenty-six Il-Aryn gone in mere instants, helpless against a greater power; thirty-seven Julatsan elves immolated or
dismembered by castings they themselves studied but had failed to detect; forty-nine cavalrymen downed by spell or blade.

No one had escaped completely unscathed, and in addition to those who would not last the night there were others who could not survive the journey Auum was planning. That was another reason he
was calm; it finally all made some sort of sense. But there were a few loose ends.

Stein and Merrat had been with the Xeteskian mage all the way to this chill, fireless campsite on the banks of a narrow stream that almost certainly fed Triverne Lake. His name, Auum had been
told, was Ryol. He was a young man of very average proportions barring his face, which was swollen from his wounds.

He had not been treated unkindly during his captivity. In fact he had not been treated at all. He had his own water and scraps of food, which no one had seen fit to take away, nor had he been
spoken to at all other than to find out his name.

Ryol had tried to ask questions about his likely fate and had promised, so Stein said, to tell them anything as long as they didn’t kill him. No one had responded and that silence had
worked its way into the core of his will. When Auum finally walked over to question him, he was sitting on a flat rock staring at the water in the dark, seeing it sparkle in the starlight.

Stein translated Auum’s questions and Ryol’s responses.

‘Nyann,’ said Auum. ‘Hassek. Vaart. Iriess. Jerren. Some of them were my friends for thousands of years. They were all on their way to join your people and fight a common
enemy. You murdered them without honour. So you will answer my questions truthfully because there is no limit to the pain I can inflict on you in the name of Shorth and I already know you have no
stomach for it.’

Ryol shuddered and held up his hands.

‘Just give me a chance to answer. Please.’

‘It is more than you gave my friends,’ said Auum. ‘That must make me merciful. Why would you kill us rather than let us fight with you?’

‘We . . . we didn’t need you at the pass.’

‘That is no answer; you should have just sent us where we were needed. Surely the pass is the focal point of the battle?’

Ryol’s eyes gave away his torment as he balanced betrayal against his own imagined pain.

‘We were ordered to attack. The pass is forbidden to you.’

‘To the elves?’ asked Auum. Ryol hesitated and Auum made the connection. ‘No. To anyone from Julatsa?’

Ryol shrugged, unwilling to speak the words. Stein drew in a sharp breath.

‘Why?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ said Ryol.

Auum pounced on him, bearing him to the ground flat on his back and placing a knife to his throat. Ryol whimpered and tried to back away into the stream but Auum held him firmly.

‘Speak. I can bleed you very slowly.’

‘Just rumours,’ said Ryol, his eyes on Stein, seeking mercy. He would find none there. ‘I heard . . . I’m just a mage – they don’t tell me
anything.’

‘Tell us what you’ve heard.’ Auum did not release the mage but withdrew the knife. ‘Whether you live or die is in your hands.’

He waited while Ryol drew breath, a little colour returning to his cheeks.

‘There was a story that Julatsa was close to getting Dawnthief. Everyone knows the Circle Seven wouldn’t like that, right?’

‘Who are the Circle Seven?’ asked Auum.

‘The rulers of Xetesk,’ said Stein. ‘Not the most pleasant of men.’

‘Continue,’ said Auum.

‘So they decided to take Julatsa out of the race,’ said Ryol. ‘Or so I heard. I mean, this attack does back that up, right? You do believe me, don’t you?’

‘How long have you been here?’ asked Auum.

‘Since before the siege was laid at Julatsa. We had orders to stop any Julatsan force. We knew you were coming – we had word.’

Auum stared into Ryol’s eyes and saw the desperation haunting them. He let the young mage sit up.

‘Don’t as much as twitch,’ said Auum before turning to Stein. ‘What do you think?’

‘Well it explains the loss of contact at the Manse. You?’

‘Why stop there?’ said Auum. ‘It’s just like I said. They want Julatsa gone.’

‘That’s a big step. Killing a team at the Manse is low, but destroying a whole college? A whole city?’ Stein was shaking his head.

Auum turned back to Ryol. ‘Is the battle at Understone Pass really so fierce it takes up all of your forces?’

Ryol smiled and Stein punched him square on his broken nose. Ryol squealed and fell back, clutching his face as fresh blood poured from his nostrils.

‘Funny, is it?’ shouted Stein. ‘Hundreds of my people died because your masters deem us surplus to their requirements! Do you think I’d worry too much at seeing one more
Xeteskian perish?’

Auum raised his hands to Stein for calm.

‘What did you just say?’ he asked. Stein translated. Auum nodded. ‘You see, Ryol, I may not hate you but my friend here does. Answer my question or I may not stop him punching
you again. And again and again.’

Ryol mumbled, blood dribbling down his face, ‘Seems to me you can stop anyone you choose.’

‘Choice is something I have and you have not. Answer. What’s happening at the pass?’

Auum could see Ryol weighing up how much his answer might cost both him and his college. Auum could respect his loyalty, however strained it was by his current predicament.

‘You’ll let me go? Really?’

Auum shrugged. ‘We should really stake you out with your entrails about you for the beasts to feast on. That’s what would happen on Calaius to one who murdered so many elves. But you
. . . well, mercy is probably the right course. I can see you did not do this by choice.’

‘I’m sorry so many of your people have died today.’

‘Thank you,’ said Auum. ‘That makes a difference. Now, the pass.’

‘There is no battle there,’ said Ryol in lowered tones. He wiped away the blood dripping from his nose onto his lips. ‘The Wesmen are inside and we are outside. No blow has
been struck and no spell cast there for at least fifteen days.’

‘It’s a stand-off?’ asked Auum.

Ryol shook his head, keen to speak now. ‘No, there is an agreement. I don’t know what it means other than that no blood has been spilt in the pass for a long time. Can I go
now?’

Auum was looking at Stein. Even as he was translating for Auum, his eyes were widening as if he was receiving some great wisdom.

‘It all makes sense now,’ said Stein. ‘How so many Wesmen could have been at our gates so quickly.’

Stein had to stop. He put a hand to his mouth and sat down on a slab of rock, his feet on the edge of the stream. He stared at Ryol.

‘His college has made a pact with the Wesmen, with the Wytch Lords. Dear Gods burning, we should have listened to you, Auum, though it’s worse than even you think. Xetesk
wasn’t just
allowing
the Wesmen to attack us, the Circle Seven
sent
them to our gates.’

‘And this is all about Dawnthief?’ asked Auum.

‘What else can it be?’

‘Then why stop at Julatsa? Xetesk has freed the Wesmen and the shamen to attack not just you but the other colleges too. That’ll leave Xetesk and the Wytch Lords in a straight fight
– winner takes Dawnthief and Balaia along with it. I told you we were allied to the wrong side.’

‘I’ve got to . . . What do you mean by that?’

‘Later,’ said Auum. ‘I think our friend has had enough of our questions.’

Stein nodded vaguely. His hand was trembling when he raised it to scratch his forehead. He looked pale, haunted even.

‘I must speak to Sipharec. They have to warn Lystern and Dordover what is happening. They’re going to come back, aren’t they? The Wesmen.’

‘I think that’s the plan. Right, Ryol, on your feet.’

Stein was still translating but Ryol seemed to understand anyway.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

‘You fulfilled your part of the bargain,’ said Auum. ‘Now on your way. Don’t look back and don’t even think to cast. My elves are quiet and they kill faster than
you can work a spell.’

‘Of course,’ gushed Ryol. ‘I would never . . . I mean—’

‘Go.’

Ryol could not believe his luck. He turned and began to jog away, thought better of it and walked instead. With a glance at Stein, Auum paced silently up behind him, drew a sword from its
scabbard and chopped it hard and double-handed into Ryol’s neck, beheading him. His body flopped to the ground and his head bounced into the stream with a heavy splash.

‘Fuck!’ yelled Stein. ‘Auum, what have you done?’

Auum turned back, wiping his blade on the dead man’s jacket before resheathing it. Stein was staring alternately at him and Ryol’s headless corpse, gesturing uselessly.

‘You said you were going to show him mercy!’

‘That is mercy,’ said Auum. ‘He deserved a far more painful death. He killed my people, he showed no honour and he betrayed his own to save his life. Shorth will judge him. Now
I will speak to my people. I need you with me, Stein. We have our countries to save.’

Ystormun strode across the rotunda, desperate to reach his rooms and rest. But he was not quick enough. Giriamun and Weyamun spotted him from across the great chamber. They
were seated in two of the six ornate but terribly uncomfortable thrones built for the ceremonies of obedience and the swearing of loyalty from the Wesmen lords at the heart of the temple of Parve,
but they pushed aside the advisors and slaves attending them in order to stand. Giriamun called his name.

His tone was laced with such malice that the mortals in the rotunda scattered, seeking refuge from whatever was to be unleashed about them. Ystormun paused mid-stride and held his head high,
though he wanted nothing more than to let it fall to his chest, such was his weariness.

Instead he turned and walked towards them, steadily and with pride in his bearing. Weyamun chose simply to glare but Giriamun was allowing mana to crackle across his face and down his cloaked
arms to spit from his fingertips.

‘Very impressive,’ said Ystormun. ‘Do you have some new slave you wish to amaze with your little show?’

‘With your every move, meddling in tasks not appointed to you, you weaken us further,’ said Giriamun, shutting off the mana stream. ‘And you do not even show us the respect of
admitting your failures.’

‘I think the real sadness is that you were so absent from your duties that you did not notice my attempts to advance our cause until now.’

‘Absent?’ roared Weyamun. Chill fled around the rotunda. There were mortals screaming nearby. ‘Your hold on your position in the cadre is wafer thin, Ystormun. Our tasks took
us to the brokering of a deal that will all but hand us Dawnthief on a plate. Meanwhile, you were stealing my forces and failing utterly to break Julatsa. Not only that; hundreds of your precious
elven enemies escaped and you have no idea where they are.’

‘That is an interesting take on events, Weyamun, but I would expect little more from one as feeble-minded as you. You were a very long time negotiating something that will leave our ground
forces scattered across Balaia and vulnerable to Xetesk the moment they choose to betray us – which of course they will and sooner than we think to betray them. It is a fool’s pact that
we did not need to accept.’