The threat that flowed from Takaar was palpable and probably carried on lines of magical energy. Bynaar 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?
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.