Brothers. Is that what they told you? You have no power here, Stein.
Then do your worst and prove it.
‘Advance,’ ordered Stein. ‘Press and then hold. Do not let him in, do not look at him — he will be seeking your soul.’
The elven mages tightened their arc and sought to encircle Ystormun. Stein could feel his eyes tracking across them, seeking weakness he could exploit. Stein felt as if he was toying with them and anxiety flooded him briefly before he quashed it, knowing it was what Ystormun desired.
‘Strike,’ said Stein, his word carrying across the construct and into the mind of each mage. ‘Strike hard.’
They pushed out and forward. The construct came into contact with Ystormun’s aura, sick and malevolent. Stein crushed his eyes closed and heaved with his mind. Spikes pierced the aura and darkness flooded out.
That is far enough.
Stein pushed again. His mages were with him, all of them using every mote of energy they possessed. But they could go no further, as if cement had hardened across the surface of their net, holding it secure and immovable.
Now it is my turn.
Stein’s eyes snapped open. Ystormun was staring at him.
‘I warned you,’ he said. ‘No one stands in my way.’
Sickness flooded into the construct and Stein dropped back into the mana spectrum to see the net tangled with a mass of grasping black tendrils. Each found purchase, locked on tight and hardened. The darkest of night pulsed within Ystormun’s aura and flashed towards them.
‘Out!’ screamed Stein.
He dropped the construct, risking dire psychological damage, and turned, barrelling into the mage next to him, clawing at a third and reaching for a fourth. But he only had moments, and as his hand reached out to the serene figure her expression turned to dread. She saw what was coming.
Her body turned to blood and burst asunder.
Chapter 35
It will for ever be a source of sorrow and regret that the Sundering which gave wing to the powers of the four colleges also gave wing to that of the Wytch Lords.
The screams stopped the fighting. Shamen staggered back feeling the force of something ricocheting through their bodies. Wesman warriors stared past the TaiGethen, backing up, fearing something more than the unseen cut of an elven blade.
Grafyrre paused in mid-strike, spinning to look back at Stein and Ystormun. The Wytch Lord was gesturing towards the mages as if shooing children gently from his path. And they were standing there, transfixed and shuddering, unable to move, and their expressions tore at his heart.
Their screams gained in volume, splitting the sky with the purest terror he had ever heard, and one by one their faces reddened, darkened and split open as if smashed from the inside. Grafyrre started to run to their aid but Merrat grabbed his shoulder.
Grafyrre turned, barely taking in the surreal scene of Wesman and TaiGethen standing almost shoulder to shoulder, beguiled by the horror Ystormun had unleashed. Movement among the mages caught his eye, and he saw three get to their feet and flee. But the rest could not break themselves free. Seeing their friends die one by one, they died too, shrieking their terror, consumed by the darkest of magic and taken to a place where even Shorth would fear to tread.
The last of the transfixed mages perished, and a merciful peace replaced the dread cries. Ystormun raised his head, glanced at the three escaping mages, turned and strode towards the village, towards Grafyrre and his TaiGethen. Merrat’s hand tightened on Grafyrre’s shoulder, who swallowed, a chill coursing through his veins as the Wytch Lord’s eyes fell on them.
He had never experienced fear before but he did now. In that moment he understood what it was to be truly helpless in the face of your greatest terror. You could not strike a thing like that. You could not do it harm or defeat it. You could only do one thing.
‘Run.’
For the briefest of moments Auum thought Stein would succeed at the first attempt. The shamen moving to strike at them had stopped and turned as if lacking direction, and the press of magic had eased. Seizing the moment, Auum had led a counter-charge which Sentaya had joined.
Stein’s remaining mages had dumped fire on the shamen they could reach and blasted ice through the Wesman lines. If the numbers he was facing were anything to go by, they had killed a third of the remaining enemy warriors and reduced the shaman numbers by half. Not enough, given the casualties among Sentaya’s people.
Auum sidestepped a downward chop, jabbed his right elbow into the Wesman’s temple and carved his left blade across the back of his neck, half-severing his head. He dragged his blade clear and kicked the body aside. Tilman, gaining in confidence and using Auum’s knife as a second weapon, jabbed his blade into the mouth of his opponent and drove him back and over with a decent kick to the gut.
Auum was weighing up his next foe when the screams rolled across the battlefield. The tenor of the sound cut across the roar of the melee, and the fighting stopped. Auum stepped back and jumped into the air to see the scene further up the shallow rise. He saw blurred shapes streaming towards them, TaiGethen under the shetharyn; and behind them he saw Ystormun marching towards the battle.
Auum landed, pirouetted and smashed a kick into the face of his enemy. He felt cold. Stein was gone, then, and most of his mages with him. Ystormun had destroyed them in the blink of an eye and was moving to finish the job.
‘Hold!’ he yelled, hearing Sentaya pick up the call. ‘Break on my word.’
The shamen had turned and the Wesmen ahead of them returned to the battle with renewed energy. The defensive line was forced back by weight of numbers.
‘What’s happened?’ shouted Tilman over the din.
Auum angled his right blade and deflected away a strike meant for the human’s flank. He thrashed his left blade into the enemy’s neck and reversed it immediately back across the face of his next opponent, who jerked back, avoiding the cut by a hair.
‘Concentrate!’ barked Auum. ‘Ulysan!’
Ulysan snapped a side kick high into the face of his enemy, stepped into the space and rammed a blade into his gut.
‘With you, skipper.’
‘He was waiting for it,’ said Auum. ‘That bastard was waiting for us to go for him.’
‘What now?’
‘Go for the skirmish points. Wait for the signal. Make sure the left flank watches the shamen.’
Auum blocked an axe blade left, reached in and nicked his right blade through the leather jerkin of his enemy and slashed it up across his chest. He stepped back and let the axe crash back down. He stepped on the haft and chopped down into the Wesman’s shoulder, putting him on the ground.
Tilman took a heavy blow on his blade and staggered back. He was off balance and his knife arm was flailing to recover. The axe man circled his weapon ready for the decapitating blow and Auum moved fast right, leaning over hard and swiping his blade in to out, chopping into the axe man’s arm, carving deep. His left flank was exposed. A Wesman stepped in, hacking with his sword. Auum snapped his left leg up and kicked under the warrior’s wrist, holding the blade high. Ulysan jammed a blade under his arm. The Wesman fell back, and the axe man dropped his weapon.
‘Thank you,’ managed Tilman.
‘A TaiGethen is never alone,’ said Auum. ‘Ulysan, shamen approaching. On my go. .’
Ulysan yelled a command to the TaiGethen holding the left flank. Sentaya understood it and carried the word to his people. In moments it had travelled to the elves on the right flank too. Some of Sentaya’s warriors broke away and ran back into the village. The Julatsan elves lined up with them in the oval.