‘With respect, General, I urge caution. Your plan is sound, but that is too simple a route to victory for the Sharps not to have planned for it. We should scout the open ground before marching in. Their ambush surely taught us that much could be hidden in there. Attacking will lead us into a trap. We should wait for the balance of the army to join us.’
‘Are you questioning my order?’ Loreb’s face had turned red and his voice was rising in volume. ‘Well, Captain?’
‘I am offering an alternative.’
‘There is no time for alternatives,’ said Loreb, his words ground out between his teeth. ‘The barrage must begin immediately. Order the advance.’
Hynd saw Jeral look up at Lockesh, whose expression was stoney.
‘With the greatest respect,’ said Jeral, ‘I cannot risk my men like that.’
‘How dare you,’ grated Loreb. The three generals gathered like vultures over imminent carrion. ‘You coward. Consider yourself relieved of your command and under arrest. Court martial at sundown and execution at midnight.’
Jeral’s restraint was commendable. He unbuckled his sword belt and handed it to Loreb, who tossed it to the ground. Before walking away, the sneering Ishtak as his guard, he nodded to Hynd.
‘Take care out there. Hang back.’
Loreb squared his shoulders.
‘I think I’ll do this myself,’ he said.
He moved before the waiting ranks, opened his mouth and used his booming voice to considerable effect.
‘Companies One through Six. Forward barrage positions! March.’
Company captains roared orders. Three ranks of soldiers moved forward with two ranks of mages behind them. Hynd moved off as well, behind Dead Company, urging them to fight for Jeral, for honour and for tomorrow. He began to prepare an orb casting, aiming to land it behind the walls and create whatever mayhem he could. He fought his fear that the flow might gutter and die on him as he cast. If it did, the backwash from his spell would incinerate him. And he envied the mages around him their ignorance of the risk they were taking with every casting.
Loreb was positioned in the midst of the front rank. Hynd could see him glorying in his decision, his men behind him and a massive blow about to be struck which would further his personal aspirations. He swaggered through the dense thigh-high grass, calling out the castings and marking the targets.
Hynd imagined rather than heard the crack of wood, but he quite clearly saw the branch that snapped up from the grass under Loreb’s foot. It had a slice of tree trunk laid with spikes lashed to it, which struck Loreb square in the face, its momentum slamming the general’s twitching body flat to the ground beneath it.
For a heartbeat there was no reaction. The soldiers continued to march on. Then there was a scream from the flank as men disappeared into a pit, their shrieks cut off by the spikes lining the bottom. Closer to him, three were caught when two tensioned branches snapped together, mowing the grass down in twin semicircles before smashing their ankles to fragments.
Panic struck as the front rank halted but those behind them did not. The order to halt rang out, but not before more were pushed stumbling on to their deaths. Hynd glanced into a pit where three men lay impaled on spikes.
‘Fall back! Fall back!’
Soldiers turned and ran back to the sanctuary of the army. Hynd walked more slowly, trying to retrace his footsteps, suddenly mistrustful of the ground and what lurked there. There were screams for help from the impaled and the broken, and word of Loreb’s death swept through the army like a monsoon wind. Two and a half thousand men who had been so confident of victory a moment ago shuffled away from the grass in fear.
Pindock had disappeared. Killith stood gesturing hopelessly, his mouth open but silent. Only Lockesh retained any sense.
‘Mages to me! Let’s show our dim-brained soldiers the way ahead. Hynd, get yourself to the centre; you’re in charge. Burn the grass. Burn it all to ash.’
Auum watched the fire eat away the grass, exposing and destroying the remaining traps. It was an effective and quick solution. Smoke billowed into the sky where clouds were gathering but would not douse the flames before they had burned themselves out. Yet it was still a victory of sorts, and Pelyn had been quick to make sure every defender knew it. One senior human had perished and the stamina of a good many mages was being exhausted with the fires.
It was good but they needed more, much more.
Well before midday the city approaches held no more secrets. Auum watched the army mass to advance once more, and this time there was little they could do but shelter and pray.
‘Ulysan. Sound the general alarm. Clear the streets, clear the gate zone and the wall approaches. Ready the fire teams and stretcher parties. Who’s taking the wall and gatehouse?’
Ulysan gestured below. Well over a hundred elves had been painted and garbed as TaiGethen. Auum smiled. They were a good imitations, good enough to fool the humans anyway.
‘They are brave. It’s going to be hard up here. Make sure they remember their cover positions.’
‘Consider it done.’
‘Then meet me at the western corner. We need to be ready.’
Ulysan gripped Auum’s upper arms. ‘This is it, my Arch. The battle that will determine our fate is here.’
Auum returned the gesture. ‘And while we stand, while Elyss looks down on our beating hearts, there is still hope.’
Orders carried on the light breeze. Behind Auum, Katura braced itself. Doors and shutters were fastened. Buckets and butts were checked for the hundredth time. The streets emptied. Elves stood proud and tall along the walls. Auum climbed down into the gatehouse proper and looked across the scorched ground.
The enemy marched. Their mages prepared.
The battle of Katura had begun.
Chapter 33
Nothing compares to the joy of union unless it is the grief of parting. As Bound elves, we are blessed and cursed many times. The Ynissul are immortal. The lifespan of a Claw is terrifyingly brief.
Serrin of the ClawBound
Nerille fastened her shutters and hurried down the stairs. She was shaking. Her sons were gone, two with Takaar and one to the ramparts dressed as a TaiGethen. Ulysan had told them if they took cover when the castings hit they should be all right, but the wall seemed a flimsy barrier.
Nerille had been in Ysundeneth when man’s magic had been unleashed for the first time. She would never forget the cries she had heard or the devastation she had witnessed that morning; and she was about to live through it all again.
She had done everything she could to help and was stationed with the quartermasters, handing out rations and keeping note of stock levels. Yesterday she’d seen the masses of food that had been brought in from the forest and the lake. She didn’t think the battle would last long enough for them to consume it all.
She’d overheard TaiGethen talking to the Al-Arynaar: the humans were not interested in a siege. This fight could well be finished in a day.
Downstairs, in the gloom behind her shuttered windows and with the armoured city wall just across the street from her, she paused to listen. Not even an addict was crying out. Those poor souls had been removed to the lakeside to fend for themselves while the capable worked for the TaiGethen and the wonderful Auum, who had suffered so much.
Straining her ears, she could hear the approaching army and a smattering of conversation from the ramparts. But otherwise the city was silent. Thousands upon thousands waited for their chance to fight. They’d all do well to pray.
