Elves: Beyond the Mists of Katura (3 page)

Aviana bowed her head and placed the tips of her fingers to her forehead.

Why does she do that?

‘That is not necessary, Aviana,’ said Takaar, lifting her chin with his left hand. ‘We are friends, are we not? Now.’

‘We, well Ephemere mainly, were working on your Ixil transfer theory with Drech, trying to sustain one of his castings as he withdrew from it. She heard a call through the energy lines
and, as she already had her focus, she switched to him. He’s a long way away and he’s almost spent, but she’s keeping him in the air and bringing him here. She needs help, though.
Will you help us?’

Takaar felt the thrill of righteousness. Just one more thing Drech didn’t believe was possible and had only researched under protest.

‘Who is he?’

‘We don’t know,’ said Aviana. ‘But he’s a human, he’s injured and probably unconscious by now, and he’s still days out to sea. He’s coming from
Balaia.’

Takaar smiled. ‘Perfect. Show me the way. We must not fail.’

Congratulations.

Takaar almost tripped over his own feet in surprise.

The quartet of black orbs, each the size of a catapult stone, wove through the air and smashed into the stern mast in quick succession. The magical fire consumed the sail
canvas in the space of a breath, the blaze shedding wisps of ash to fall like feathers across the ship. A fifth orb struck. Flame roared down the mast and a wall of heat slammed into Stein, picking
him up and hurling him back.

Stein raised his hands to protect his face and felt the skin blister on his palms and forearms. His hair was scorched from his head and his heavy leather coat smouldered and blackened as he flew
through the air. He landed on his backside and slid hard into the port rail. He ignored the pain across his body and gathered his legs under him, staring back at the aft deck.

The captain and helmsman were gone, both taken by fire. A black stump was all that remained of the wheel, and the deck was awash with dark flames grabbing voraciously for new fuel and growing in
intensity.

‘Where was the shield?’ Stein asked of any who might listen.

But precious few were left. A handful of sailors were heading aft with buckets in a futile attempt to extinguish the fire. Survivors of the mage teams hurled flame and ice at the trio of enemy
ships closing on them and a small knot of defensive casters raised a new shield over the main deck.

The ship yawed, rudderless now and prey to the fifteen-foot swell. She swung broadside on and wallowed, shattering the concentration of the casting mages. Stein grabbed the rail with his burned
hands. The vessel steadied momentarily and he pushed himself off, wincing at the pain.

Across the shortening distance to the nearest enemy, he could see shamen readying again and the ranks of Wesmen crowding the rails, eager for their chance to taste blood. He knelt by the knot of
defensive mages and joined their casting, seeing the mana shape flicker before it steadied and deepened, widening to encompass the mid-mast and the deck on which their entire surviving mage
strength was now gathered.

‘Brace yourselves,’ said Stein. ‘Here they come.’

Orbs of dark fire raced across the sky. Stein could sense their force through the mana spectrum as they flew for the shield.

‘Steady,’ he whispered.

The orbs struck the shield with the force of a cavalry charge. The shield shivered and every mage was driven back across the deck. Black tendrils of shaman magic searched the invisible barrier,
seeking weakness. The shield held.

‘Well done,’ breathed Stein. ‘Let’s keep it strong.’

Stein took a breath and looked aft. The fire was raging over a third of the ship now. Sailors still tried to beat out the flames but it was a hopeless task. Clouds of smoke billowed across the
deck and out over the ocean. The ship would sink. The only question was whether or not they could cover an escape.

‘Incoming!’

The ship wallowed again, affording Stein a view of another enemy ship horribly close to their stern. Spells spiralled from her bow, slamming into the unprotected aft deck and burning mast. Stein
felt every blow through his feet. He heard the cracking of timber and the sharp whip of lines torn from their stays . . .

. . . as the aft mast fell along the length of the ship, colliding with the mainmast, bringing down rigging, pulleys, spars and sail on the defensive mage group.

‘Break!’ roared Stein, scrambling away. Others weren’t so quick and were able only to cover their heads as the avalanche of heavy rigging fell on them.
‘Dammit!’

Stein and a handful of crew ran back to try and pull the mages clear, but all three enemy vessels were on them now, their shamen preparing to cast the killing spells and the Wesmen ready to mop
up any survivors. Stein felt a hand on his shoulder and spun to face the first mate.

‘You have to go.’

‘No,’ said Stein. ‘We can’t leave anyone. They’ll offer no mercy.’

‘Casting inbound!’ yelled a voice.

Spears of black fire tore into the ship, ripping up timber, throwing deadly splinters into the air to bury themselves in the bodies of the mages still at the rails, trying to fight back. More
dark orbs crashed into the mainmast and landed nearer the bow. The ship shuddered and Stein fell. The mate dragged him back to his feet.

‘It’s too late for the rest of us. Go. Now. Someone has to take the message south.’

‘I—’

‘Stein! We knew what we were facing. I am proud to die for my college and my country.’

Stein stared into the first mate’s eyes and saw belief shining through fear. Stein nodded, bit down on his guilt and began to cast. ‘The council will hear of your courage.’

Another volley of spells crashed into the ship, and water burst through already shattered deck timbers. The first mate turned from Stein, took a single pace forward and was struck by a tongue of
flame. His burning body was flung clear over the port rail, his screams lost in the tumult of the dying ship.

Stein cast his Wings of Shade and shot straight up into the air. Fingers of black fire chased him, ripping into his boot and up his left leg. He screamed and barely clung on to the casting,
feeling the wings gutter on his back and his stomach lurch as he lost altitude, plunging back towards the deck.

Black smoke billowed across the ship. He could just make out some of his mages trying to cast, but the shamen were too close and the dark fire was all-consuming. Stein focused, strengthened the
spell and climbed once more, orbs still chasing him into the heavens but unable to reach him before they fell back to the ocean.

Below him the wreckage of his ship was sinking fast while the three enemy vessels circled like sharks contemplating their kill. Stein banked and flew south. They had been six days’ sail
from Calaius – an enormous distance for a fit mage, and Stein was far from fit. His head and arms were burned and raw and his left leg was a throbbing agony. The spells he had cast had
depleted his stamina and he felt a gnawing shock at the ease with which the enemy had caught and destroyed them.

Stein focused on managing his stamina, trying hard not to think about the futility of his escape attempt. He tried even harder to stop making bets with himself about how long it would be before
his wings flickered out and he plunged into the southern ocean. Instead he concentrated on the feeling of the air across his face and the chill in his hands, using it to remind himself he was still
alive.

Stein lost track of time fairly quickly once he’d been through one night. The endless ocean below him had started to look like the most comfortable of blankets beneath which to sleep.

Stein welcomed the pain of his injuries because it kept him awake. His left leg was a particular torment, constantly prey to the buffeting of the wind. The cloth of his trousers was burned into
his flesh, and his boot had contracted around his foot to create a hideous throbbing that sent pain all the way up to his hip.

His face and arms were raw and blistered. The rain that whipped into him periodically made him cry out, begging for it to stop. But at least it meant he was still alive, still flying, even
though he knew it could not last. It was a shock when he noticed how close he was to the waves. His speed was barely above a trotting run and the shape of his spell had become so ragged that his
wings were holed and torn in sympathy with his concentration.

Stein had absolutely no idea how far Calaius was and he found no satisfaction in the knowledge that he had tried to deliver his message. He had failed and he would drown; the elves would never
know of their peril in time. The thought made Stein angry, and he shouted with both voice and mind even though none would hear him barring the gulls following him.

‘Congratulations, Ephemere. Note that following my teaching produces wonder, excitement and progress simultaneously.’

Stein gasped and almost dropped into the ocean. He was sure it was his mind playing tricks but it sounded so real . . . so close.

‘We’ve got him. I don’t believe it, we’ve got him.’

‘There was never any doubt in my mind that this would work.’

(Laughter)

‘It’s amazing. Is he still conscious?’

‘Barely, but it doesn’t matter. We can sustain the casting for two reasons: it is a very basic construct, and we can feed the necessary strength through the energy lines I always
told you were there.’

‘I wonder why he’s coming here?’

‘I don’t care. This is purely an experiment in energy transfer. And it is one that will succeed. It really doesn’t matter whether he lives or dies.’

‘You have no heart.’

‘There is no room for heart. You’ve felt the sickness in the north. We have to be ready, and that means we have to understand our craft more keenly than they do
theirs.’

‘Then we need him to live, don’t we? He might have critical information about why our voices in the north can no longer be heard.’

‘I already know why.’

‘You know the answer to absolutely everything, don’t you?’

‘Almost.’

The voices stopped after that, and Stein’s consciousness slipped away.

Stein had an itch. Actually his whole body itched but his face was the worst. He put his hands to his cheeks then pulled them away with a start. Strange. Stein opened his eyes,
blinking against the light and waiting while they dragged themselves into focus. He was bandaged from fingertips to elbows. This was not death as he had imagined it.

Stein closed his eyes. He was lying down. He’d got the impression of a small room filled with a drumming noise and possibly with two or three people staring down at him. It felt hot and
humid too. He opened his eyes again and found he was right on all counts.

He was in a small room with wooden walls. Curtains billowed before an open window beyond which he could see rain falling in sheets. The odd drip was coming through the thatched roof above him.
He was lying in a bed and there were three people gathered about him. One of them had a wild and unkempt aspect and his eyes would not stay still. Nor would his mouth, as if he was in constant
conversation though there were no words.

There was another man there – no not a man, an elf, a male elf. Male elves were called
ulas
, weren’t they? Whatever, he was a stern-looking individual, and whenever he
looked at the unkempt one, which he seemed to do a lot, he scowled. The third was a female, an
iad
. She was young and bright and excited, and when she spoke to the stern one and he
answered, he realised he’d heard their voices before.

‘Where am I?’ asked Stein, using the elvish that he and thirty-five generations of his family had been tasked to learn.

‘You are on Herendeneth, largest island of the Ornouth Archipelago, north of Calaius,’ said the stern one.

Stein relaxed back into his pillow.

‘I made it,’ he breathed. ‘It’s a miracle.’

‘I’m so glad you’re alive,’ said the
iad
. ‘I’m Ephemere; pleased to meet you.’

‘The credit should be given to those of us who found you and brought you here, not to some ethereal notion.’

Stein turned to the unkempt one, and knowledge clicked in his head, knowledge that had been passed down over seven hundred years of family secrets.

‘You are Takaar,’ he said. ‘Your name and face are noted in the historical records of my family.’

Takaar, for it was Takaar, paused and his eyebrows rose in surprise.

‘And your name is . . . ?’

‘Stein.’

There was a silence and Takaar hissed a breath in and out.

‘Then your arrival is welcome but the message you bring is not,’ he snapped.

‘Didn’t you mention that Stein’s survival was irrelevant to the experiment that brought him here?’ asked the stern one, a smirk on his face.

‘Your tongue will bring you to harm one day, Drech,’ said Takaar.

‘What is it you came all this way to say?’ asked Ephemere, her smile bright and fragile amid the sudden tension.

Stein looked at Drech and Takaar, waiting until they were both paying him their full attention and the atmosphere had softened a little.

‘War has engulfed my country and it is a war we’re losing. You must help us, or when they are done with Balaia, they will visit their fury and revenge on Calaius next.’

‘Who are “they”?’ asked Takaar.

‘The Wytch Lords,’ said Stein.

‘You speak that name as if it should chill our souls,’ said Takaar.

‘Ystormun is a Wytch Lord,’ said Stein, and he saw Takaar’s expression change from confidence to anxiety in a kind of weary slow motion.

Drech and Takaar exchanged a glance.

‘We must speak to Auum,’ said Drech.

Takaar spun on his heel and left the room.