‘One should not question the Wytch Lords.’
‘I am Sentaya. I will never bend the knee. Leave your shamen to their tasks. Should we be attacked, you know what to do.’
When Sentaya saw the small force approaching he understood exactly what Tiral had meant. They moved as if they were part of the land on which they walked. It was hypnotic and, yes, graceful. He was backed by sixty of his warriors, all fresh off the boats from Sky Lake and angry that their bellies would not be filled for the time being. Gyarth was with him and Sentaya wished he wasn’t. He was too quick of tongue, too far under the Wytch Lords’ influence. Sentaya feared being undermined and he had warned Gyarth to keep his mouth shut.
Sentaya stood front and centre of his warriors, his arms across his chest, his cloak about his shoulders and his decorated leather breastplate secured over his clothes and furs. His shaven head was uncovered because he would not hide his face from anyone.
The strangers slowed as they approached, the failing light obscuring their features until they had come close, though they made it obvious they had no weapons in hand. Most were dressed in leather and cloth; some, the most graceful, were plainly warriors but he could not be sure about the others.
Sentaya stiffened as they resolved fully out of the gathering gloom. Walking in the centre was a man, without question a mage and therefore an enemy. But those around him gave him pause and he would not signal an attack yet. They had strange-shaped ears and eyes. Their faces were hard and cruel and their presence reeked of danger. Word had spread about these people. They had broken the siege at Julatsa. They were elves from a land far to the south, warriors to be respected and feared.
‘Draw no blade,’ ordered Sentaya. ‘I do not believe they are here to fight us.’
Wesman hands moved from weapon hafts and an elf walking next to the mage nodded.
‘An unwise strategy,’ said Gyarth. ‘These creatures are responsible for the deaths of Gorsu, Hafeez and many shamen and warriors.’
‘You are not giving me reason to hate them. This is a war. I have lost rivals; you have lost dark strength, and I remain free. Perhaps I should be embracing them.’
‘You cannot refuse the Wytch Lords for ever.’
‘That is yet to be proven. I will speak with their leaders.’ He regarded Gyarth, puffed up as he was with his own self-importance and borrowed power. ‘Alone.’
Sentaya carried the satisfying image of Gyarth’s rage with him when he walked forward. The mage and the elf detached themselves from the group and came to meet him. The elves fascinated him, at once so alien in appearance but so at home with the land, as if they were bonded to it. He chose not to begin in aggressive tones. A formal approach to the strangers was appropriate.
‘I am Sentaya, lord of the Paleon tribes. These are my lands.’
‘The men of Balaia know you and respect your strength in battle and your right to live free on your lands.’
It was the mage who spoke, and his dialect, if heavily accented, was accurate enough.
‘Then you may speak. Those who come to challenge me die here. Those who seek trade leave satisfied. Which are you?’
The mage spoke to the elf in a curious language Sentaya could not follow at all. It was a brief exchange and the mage turned back.
‘My apologies, Lord Sentaya. My brother, Auum of the TaiGethen, cannot speak your language and I must relate to him what is being said. I am Stein, mage of Julatsa. I know I am your enemy but I ask that you hear us. Auum has a proposal. It is for your ears only.’
Stein’s eyes flicked briefly to Gyarth standing behind him. He nodded and turned to his warriors.
‘Bring fire and food. . bread and fresh meat too. Slaughter a cow. Our guests may not enter the village but that is no reason for them to starve. I will hear what they have to say before deciding their fate. No respected warrior should face death on an empty stomach, should I decide they die. You will guard me. Gyarth, with respect, you must return to the village. Your duties await you.’
‘And should the creatures rise up and strike you while your warriors stand guard, unable to assist you, who will save you?’
Sentaya faced down Gyarth’s humiliation and fury. ‘They have not come here to kill me.’
‘You are staking your life on that assumption.’
‘I am staking all our lives on it.’
Sentaya turned away from his shaman, a smile on his face. He was aware Gyarth could kill him instantly but knew that he would not because his masters needed Sentaya and all the warriors at his command when the invasion through the pass was ordered.
‘Sit,’ said Sentaya. ‘Fire and food will be brought. The rest of you must retreat to a distance equal to my own warriors. That is the condition of my parley.’
‘Most acceptable,’ said Stein.
He spoke briefly to Auum, who issued a simple command. His elves trotted away without a backward glance. Auum was a true leader, commanding trust and respect. He stood until Sentaya sat, then did so himself. He was deferential too. Sentaya inclined his head in welcome and the gesture was returned.
‘Tell me,’ said Sentaya, studying Stein and seeing in him an honesty he had not expected of any mage, although his magic remained repulsive. ‘How did you get here? By boat, I presume, since the pass is closed.’
‘We came across the mountains,’ said Stein and, reacting to Sentaya’s expression of surprise, added, ‘The elves are particularly determined as well as keen climbers. Even so, we lost friends on the crossing.’
Auum placed his hand on Stein’s arm and Stein related his words.
‘Auum says this: it was not our choice. We were betrayed by those we sought to join in a war against you. Now we seek to join you in a war against our shared enemy.’
‘Really?’ said Sentaya, steepling his hands beneath his chin. ‘And who is this shared enemy?’
‘The Wytch Lords.’
Sentaya glanced over his shoulder to check Gyarth was gone. He saw some of his warriors approaching, carrying torches and pulling two handcarts. One was piled with wood, the other carried food and wine. Another warrior was leading a cow.
‘You’re so sure they are my enemy?’
Stein spoke at length then, pausing whenever a warrior laying fire or food could hear him. Mostly he related Auum’s words but added his own colour. Sentaya found himself amused at some of the things Stein was compelled to say on behalf of his elven brother.
Sentaya heard about Dawnthief, the alliance and the treachery of Xetesk and the Wytch Lords. He heard of the elven warrior’s personal distrust of magic, and in that they were truly kindred spirits. Auum spoke of the future, should human magic be destroyed and the Wytch Lords have no rivals in power. He painted a picture of desolation and slavery, such as the elves had already suffered at their hands. Auum’s was a compelling story and his desires matched Sentaya’s own for the most part even though his vision of the world beyond this war left Sentaya dissatisfied. But still the Wesman lord smiled when he spoke to Stein and he was becoming used to the pauses in conversation while Stein translated for Auum.
‘He is your brother yet he despises your magic almost as much as I do. It must have taken some effort to speak his words.’
Stein’s eyes sparkled with humour, and Sentaya surprised himself by feeling a vestige of warmth towards the mage.
‘Auum wishes there was no magic, and I can understand his point of view though naturally I disagree with it. But he can see certain of its benefits and would admit it has saved his life on more than one occasion. That is his dilemma.’
‘One I don’t suffer. Auum’s solution destroys the Wytch Lords and their magic but it leaves yours to blossom. That does not serve me. Make me see otherwise.’
Stein shrugged.
‘There is no perfect solution. You desire our destruction and, as a result, we desire yours. The truth is that neither state will ever be achieved and we will eventually battle ourselves to a standstill. Our problem is here and now. Should the Wytch Lords win, they will dominate all who survive, and none of us wants that. Can we agree on that point?’