‘No doubt running scared,’ said Killith. ‘And well they should.’
‘No, sir,’ said Jeral. ‘They knew we would mount an attack on their temple and they withdrew. They know what we’re going to do long before we do it. We are being out-thought. I know how we can change, how we can take the fight to them before we get to Katura. If we don’t, I fear for us. I fear we won’t make it to our prize at all, let alone reach it with the strength to take it.’
Guards had entered the pavilion but Lockesh waved them back outside. The trio of generals regarded Jeral, unsure what to say. Lockesh cleared his throat.
‘You have evidence?’
Jeral felt chilled by his words, as if they were working their way into his heart and cooling his blood.
‘Witness every attack they have staged so far. They strike and run. And we just stand there watching our comrades die. Our only, small success was in the first attack on the forward patrol and camp builders, and that was only won by chance. Since then we have not hurt a hair on any of their heads. Hynd tells me you are expecting an encounter tomorrow and that our route is a narrow one.’
‘Yes,’ said Killith. ‘We expect an ambush.’
‘Respectfully, sir, what counter tactics are in place or are for discussion?’
‘We have agreed that our current formation is our strongest defence. It is designed to fend off an ambush,’ said Killith.
‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ said Jeral.
‘I’ve heard enough of this!’ said Loreb. ‘I want this man out of here and stripped of his rank.’
‘Do you want to hear how we can survive?’ asked Jeral, looking at Pindock before turning his gaze on Loreb. ‘Or would you rather hear why I was sent to Aryndeneth?’
Loreb actually growled and, for the first time since Jeral had known him, looked dangerous — until he drank from the bottle still clutched in his right hand rather than smashing it across Jeral’s head.
‘I’d love to know why you were at the elvish temple,’ said Lockesh.
‘Reconnaissance,’ snapped Loreb. ‘Talk tactics, Jeral. Then you and I are going to have a quiet conversation.’
Chapter 22
Methian held an amnesty for edulis addicts wishing to find redemption. The crowd at the door was eight times larger than the room within could hold. Far more shocking was the number of Calen’s thugs looking for recompense for their lost business.
The Diaries of Pelyn, Governor of Katura
Rain thundered from the heavens. It had begun at dawn and showed no sign of letting up. Auum had briefed the TaiGethen before dawn and each cell had then spoken to those Apposans under their care. The village had emptied of life and those who could not fight were hidden in the forest far from the Scar.
‘Gyal blesses us today,’ said Merrat.
‘She makes the ground treacherous for our enemies, dulls their eyes and muffles their ears,’ said Grafyrre.
Auum smiled. ‘She was Katyett’s favourite god.’
‘Most useful god in combat,’ corrected Grafyrre.
‘We could do with her today,’ said Auum.
‘Every day,’ said Merrat. ‘And with fifty more like her.’
Katyett, former Arch of the TaiGethen and Merrat and Grafyrre’s cell leader, had been the single greatest loss to the calling during the human invasion. And not just for her extraordinary abilities; Auum was convinced that her death removed the last plank of Takaar’s bridge to sanity, leaving him the dangerous uncontrollable maverick he was today.
‘I wonder how far he’s got,’ said Auum half to himself.
‘Takaar?’ Merrat shrugged. ‘Well, we know he’s still alive and travelling in the right direction, don’t we?’
Auum recalled the fire and the fury in Takaar’s eyes outside Aryndeneth. It was not a break in his spirit, as it had been on Hausolis, but the effect was the same. Takaar was running, and tens of thousands of elves were at risk as a result. At least this time there was a chance to save some of them.
The TaiGethen fell silent on approaching Grafyrre’s position. Each was aware of the enormity of the task before them and how perfectly their ambush must work to give them any hope of victory.
Grafyrre was at the heart of it all, the elf who would trigger their attempt to break the enemy. Auum looked at the log construction. Four stout palm trunks were driven into the ground and braced by staked vines that doubled as the release mechanism. More than a hundred and fifty logs were stacked behind the palms, ready to roll.
The path down to the valley floor had been cleared with great care, leaving the lower branches of overhanging trees to obscure the run. A similar construct sat on the other side of the valley and a short distance north to double the intended chaos and destruction. Thirty-eight more runs were positioned along the length of the ambush, ready to inflict devastation.
‘You have the signal?’ asked Auum.
Grafyrre raised his eyebrows.
‘I set the signal,’ he said.
Auum nodded his head at the Apposans gathered above the log run.
‘See them safe. Don’t hesitate to call them clear if the ambush goes astray. Every death hurts us.’
‘Not one will die by my careless hand,’ said Grafyrre.
Auum stood.
‘Fight well,’ he said to them all, ‘and die old, not today.’
During these early hours Auum travelled every pace of the ambush site. He spoke to every cell and every band of Apposans, and he saw anticipation and determination in them all alongside a healthy fear. Ulysan joined him as he trotted back along the base of the Scar, bringing news of the human advance. Bird calls relayed the message across the valley.
They were coming.
‘How are they marching?’
‘A little differently as it happens. They are protecting their mages more: they are spread more evenly along the column with fewer protecting the flanks. It’s clear they expect something, but that is no surprise. The mages have done some scouting here and even humans can see the Scar is a good ambush site.’
‘And when will the first of them set foot in here?’
‘Two hours,’ said Ulysan.
‘Let’s pray the rain continues to fall.’
The two TaiGethen moved off the valley floor and away from the swelling tributary that ran in its centre. Rain pounded down even more heavily in response to Auum’s prayer. Water was running off the valley sides, bearing with it a sludge of mud and leaves. The ground was treacherous underfoot. The gods were bestowing what aid they could.
At the base of the valley, Auum led Ulysan up the safe path to Elyss and the band of Apposans tasked with driving the tail of the army into the swamp. Over a hundred Apposans, led by the ageing but capable Boltha and Methian, were positioned between two banks of traps which would guard their flanks when they attacked.
Auum’s cell would run with them. The atmosphere was relaxed. Methian was a veteran of many conflicts in his time as an Al-Arynaar, and his words, backed by the huge character of Boltha, kept spirits high.
‘We are set,’ said Auum. ‘Everyone is in position, every trap has been checked and every trigger point released. Remember your routes, your impact points, your escape calls and rally areas. Most of you are not warriors and I am proud to fight with you.
‘But I warn you, the thrill of the fight can blind and deafen you to the reality of victory or defeat. Do not become isolated. Know where your friends are standing and what they are facing. Respond to every call and order. All battle is a risk but do not throw your life away in the desire to be a hero. Die old, not today.
‘Tais, my Apposan brothers and sisters, we pray.’
They could hear the army long before they could see it. Despite the incessant downpour, the discordant, aggressive chatter from thousands of human mouths and the beat of feet carried along the Scar, as did the vibrations through the earth. Tual’s creatures were running before them.