the valleys since the day before. The enemy would reach them before nightfall.
Auum, along with the defenders and the population of Katura, had watched the mages fly overhead out of bowshot range. Sending abuse and threats skywards had eased the tension, and a sudden downpour had brought cheers when it sent the mages scurrying back to their camp.
Auum hoped they had seen enough to give them pause, and to hurry their decision to attack across the western space. He had stood on the gatehouse roof all day while final preparations and patches were made to the walls. Below him, the briefings and drills had become dress rehearsals for the battle to come.
Everyone knew their post. Everyone had their tasks to perform. The great question was whether the unskilled, utterly inexperienced elves would stand when the spells rained down and the enemy soldiers charged the city.
They had a pitiful number of skilled defenders. Just twelve full TaiGethen cells along with Auum and Ulysan, making thirty-eight warriors in all. Plus the hundred and eighteen Al-Arynaar who followed Pelyn. She hadn’t the fitness for a day’s fight and her eyes betrayed the depth of her enduring desire for edulis.
More than two thousand had been drilled as militia and some had proved themselves capable, but the raw fact was they were not soldiers. They were youngsters, or old ulas and iads… plus farmers, fishers and potters. Hardly a formidable force, and while some had the ability to command, Al-Arynaar were at the head of most. The rest of Katura’s twenty-thousand-strong population would have to fight with tooth and nail if the time came.
Only the hunters gave Auum cheer. There were fifty of them, all with good skills with bow and spear. He had entrusted Takaar’s tree frog poison to them, with a roving brief to shoot down as many of the enemy as they could, whenever they could get away a certain shot.
With the retreat of the enemy mages, he had advised everyone to rest. To gather together if they so desired, to eat and drink and tell stories. Or to visit a temple for quiet prayer, to walk the streets free of the threat of thread gangs or to simply spend time in the arms of those they loved and would die to protect.
Auum, though, was missing more than Elyss. He scanned the forest to the north-east and the skies above it, watching for a sign he was beginning to lose hope would come. When Ulysan came to bring him to eat, he refused.
‘Where is Corsaar?’ he asked. ‘Where is the Shorthian army?’
The following dawn he had part of his answer, and with it an end to any real hope. Mist hung over Katura as the sun came over the horizon, lifting sluggishly and only dispersed by a heavy downpour that in turn gave way to hot sunshine.
With the sky and horizon clear, Auum could see mages to the north-east and knew the second human army was only a day from their gates. Before them, emerging from the eaves of the forest to stand on the borders of the trap-strewn open ground, no more than two hundred yards away, was the Ysundeneth army.
Pelyn was standing on the gatehouse roof with Auum. So were Ulysan, Merrat and Grafyrre. The walkway behind the rampart was crowded with Katurans, as was every vantage point facing the forest.
The humans just kept coming, forming up in neat, professional ranks as they did. Mages flew overhead again, inviting the elves to look upon their death. Thousands of men all armed and armoured where, for the most part, the defenders wore everyday clothes and carried wooden clubs or farming implements.
Auum was taken back to that day on Hausolis when, standing on the Tul Kenerit ramparts, he had seen the Garonin horde emerge from the mists they had summoned to fog their approach. That day when Takaar’s courage had failed.
‘No wonder he left,’ said Pelyn, mirroring his thoughts. ‘How could he have faced this all over again?’
‘He couldn’t,’ said Auum. ‘But we need him nonetheless.’
A murmur swept along the rampart. The Katurans’ courage was wavering and the enemy were still massing before them. Around two and a half thousand would have to emerge before they were done, and the sheer number was terrifying.
‘We have to hold them,’ said Auum.
The enemy were chanting and shouting, clashing their blades together and stamping their feet. It was an ugly sound, powerful and discomforting, and it was having the desired effect.
‘Sing,’ said Ulysan. ‘ “The Triumph of Verendii” maybe. Everyone knows that one.’
Auum nodded. ‘Yes. Let’s show these barbarians how beautiful the voice can really be.’
Those gathered on the gatehouse began to sing. Quickly, the words were taken up to either side of them, the tune one full of energy and pace. It was a song of victory.
‘On ruined ground on shivered rock Verendii stood alone.
His enemies surrounded him, his courage was of stone.
Where blade did slice and arrow sing, Verendii walked so tall
He moved with such a grace and speed, he killed them one and all.
Verendii, o, of sword and bow, you stand as one alone
Verendii o, ne’er brought so low but died so far from home
Victory, great victory, the elven nation breathes
Victory, great victory, Verendii died for us.’
The song rolled out across the open ground and Auum watched the enemy fall silent. Few would have understood the words but their power remained undimmed. The last words echoed from the cliffs and the defenders roared a cheer.
‘Well done, Ulysan,’ said Auum.
Ulysan gripped his arm and pointed to the north-eastern edge of the open ground. Moving fast and low they came, spread wide to make harder targets for arrow or spell, haring up to the river and splashing through the shallows. Driving across the deeps they swam with measured strokes, heedless of any predator. Back onto dry land with no pause for breath, they charged for the gates.
‘Corsaar,’ Auum breathed and then he filled his lungs to shout. ‘Come on, you old dog! Show them some speed!’
Quickly, the crowd on the ramparts joined in. Corsaar’s name and those of his Tais were hollered out. Every shout demanded greater speed, to show their heels to the enemy or to howl an insult at the snail-like humans. They came across the open ground, leaping over traps and tripwires, skirting stakes and pits.
The response from the enemy was immediate. Mages in their wake, soldiers moved forward into the open ground but stopped short of the first run of traps.
‘Corsaar!’ roared Auum though his voice was surely lost. ‘Casting! Casting behind you!’
Corsaar and his five ran on. Three hundred paces from the gates, they found the main trail and sprinted along it. Ulysan called for the gates to be opened. Auum stared out at the humans wondering why they hadn’t-
Six, seven, eight bright blue orbs tracked across the sky, trailing smoke. They fizzed and crackled, white light like spears of lightning flashing within them. They travelled horribly fast, hunting down their quarry. Auum was standing dead in line with their path. He watched the orbs rush in, each one the size of a boulder. He could feel the heat begin to grow, even from his position on the gatehouse roof. The cheers along the ramparts trailed off. Elves pointed, shouting warnings. Corsaar looked over his shoulder.
Auum heard his desperate order.
‘Split left! Split right!’
The orbs crashed into the ground in a flare of blue light and the explosions rattled the walls. Waves of fire consumed the ground, scorching grass and threatening some of the traps hidden with it. Smoke billowed and was blown away by the force of the blasts. Auum looked out to the scorched black and burning earth. Of Corsaar and his people, six priceless TaiGethen, there was no sign at all.
Katura fell silent.
The sound of cheering and celebration was deafening. Next to Jeral, Loreb was applauding heartily, and both Killith and Pindock were laughing. Lockesh had not even broken a smile.
‘Good shooting,’ said Jeral.
Loreb turned to him.
‘Let’s ram this victory home. We will suffer no delay. Captain Jeral, lead the advance to within spell range of those walls. The barrage is to begin as soon as you reach your positions. Concentrate on opening up that western corner. I want you leading an attack along the open side before midday.’
