Elves: Rise of the TaiGethen (29 page)

‘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

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.

Auum felt the mood change. Methian was still speaking but now he was directing the minds of the Apposans to the coming fight. Axe blades were being sharpened, short bows strung and prayers begun that would not cease until blood was spilled.

Auum turned to Elyss.

‘You take care of yourself,’ he said softly. ‘I will keep you in my sight.’

‘You will do no such thing,’ said Elyss. ‘Fight as you always have. To do otherwise is to risk yourself.’

‘But—’

‘No,’ said Elyss sharply. ‘Nothing matters but defeating the humans. Nothing.’

Auum felt stung. He glanced at Ulysan, who quickly turned his head away.

In an act of bitterness and petulance that was wholly unsurprising, Jeral had been ordered to lead the army into the narrow steep-sided valley. The rain had been as hard as he’d ever known it since he’d arrived on Calaius three years before and the mulch and mud would churn horribly underfoot before two hundred men had marched in, let alone three thousand.

The valley boasted a fast-running tributary that was shallow enough to cross with ease, and the army marched five abreast, split two and three either side of the water. Jeral’s plan had been adopted in its entirety. Mages and Sharps walked in single file within a twin skin of warriors. No mage walked on the flanks, and the warriors who did had standing orders to retreat if they encountered any trouble whatsoever.

‘Your lot know what to do?’

‘We won’t let you down,’ said Hynd.

‘It’s not just important; it’ll win us the day if we are attacked. No one can deviate from their brief.’

‘I get it,’ said Hynd. ‘Look, just because you’re effectively on trial—’

‘Damn right I am.’ Jeral felt good about it though, really good. He grinned at Hynd. ‘Best part is that, despite my advice, our trio of fools have chosen to travel in the centre of the army. At least Lockesh was listening to me.’

‘Lockesh just wants to be first out the other end.’

‘Yeah well, he’ll have to push past me first,’ said Jeral.

He looked around him. The valley sides along which the point troops were moving were dense with trees and bushes. He couldn’t see them even though they were only ten yards above him, and that thought made him nervous. He had to trust that their line of sight down to the valley floor was better.

Above them, the canopy was unbroken and the few mages flying as spotters would be able to see nothing at all. They’d be more use on the ground, but Lockesh had refused to travel without mages in the air, even though they only gave the illusion of a tactical advantage.

Every pace they took brought more of the same: rain, thick green vegetation and slippery, shifting ground underfoot. But after two hours of peaceful marching, the men were beginning to relax.

‘Idiots,’ he breathed. ‘Pass the word back, Hynd. We aren’t even at the point of greatest risk yet. I want to know the moment the last man enters the jaws of the valley.’

‘And then?’

‘If this is an ambush, that’s when the jaws will snap shut.’

Very soon afterwards, he received word that the army was now completely within the valley.

‘Now we go to work,’ Hynd whispered.

Above the battering of the rain, the valley sides had begun to rumble.

Grafyrre heard the destiny of the elves; he prayed the humans heard their deaths. The palm trunks had been dragged aside and the logs cascaded over each other, gathering momentum with frightening speed and thundering down the valley side, jostling and bouncing as if the wood fought to be the first to crush and break an invader.

Grafyrre held up his hands, keeping his party back. Across the valley, he knew Merrat would have released his log run as well. Timing was critical. If the elves arrived too early they would meet a similar fate to that which they wished upon the humans. Too late and their enemy might have time to regroup.

Below him, the logs forced their own route. Most barrelled straight down the intended path but others were knocked askance and rebounded from trees to either side of the cleared route, or turned on their ends and spun through the lower branches of the canopy. Grafyrre estimated the moment the enemy would see what was coming for them and visualised their reaction. He prayed he had it right.

Grafyrre dropped one arm. The Apposans came to ready, weapons free. He nodded at his Tais, Allyne and Borrune.

‘Yniss guide our hands,’ he whispered.

Grafyrre dropped his other hand. The TaiGethen sprang forward, leaving the Apposans in their wake. Mayhem first, bludgeoning hatred second. Grafyrre sprinted ahead with the TaiGethen, following the log avalanche.

He prayed while he ran and his strength grew. Yniss guided his footfalls and the air in his lungs broadened his senses. Life smelled sweet, looked more beautiful than ever and sounded like the death of man. The Scar was alive with the thunder of logs rushing towards the soft flesh and brittle bones of the enemy. Tual’s denizens were scattering into the sky and the upper boughs of the canopy. Below them, on the valley floor, the humans would hear their doom approaching and the panic would be spreading among them like a disease carried on foul water.

Grafyrre felt his cell with him. Allyne cruised down the slope with that easy sprinting style Grafyrre had always envied. Borrune, head thrust forward and eyes wide, charged ahead. He hurdled a dip in the ground and ploughed on. Below them, the logs were battering down the low brush.

Grafyrre heard one shatter against a standing tree along with the thudding sounds of collisions and rebounds. The forest echoed to the tumult, eclipsing all else. It was a benefit he hadn’t considered. If it raised his heart rate, it must be chilling the enemy to the bone.

Under his feet, the gradient lessened very slightly. The logs had left scars in the ground, catching up mud and leaf litter to further increase the weight that would strike the invaders. Grafyrre counted back from ten.
Now
. Now he could hear the cries of alarm and the drone of thousands of human voices finally seeing what was hammering down the sides of the valley towards them.

And at the last he could see them. Standing still and facing outwards. The logs tumbled over one another, bounced and spun and struck. Blue light flared up, guttered and died, and the men who had been cowering behind it were obliterated. Grafyrre exulted at the sight and charged in, bounding across still-moving logs with complete assurance.

The sheer scale of the noise in the Scar was extraordinary; thousands of logs colliding with one another as they bounced off magical shields or crashed through them, destroying whoever lay within. Grafyrre yelled orders to his Tai but he would not be heard. Beneath his feet, the muddy ground was covered with bodies and ran red with human blood.

Grafyrre turned south. Just ahead, soldiers cringed behind a shield that had not been struck. Grafyrre raced towards them, Allyne and Borrune on his flanks.

‘Target the mages.’

Soldiers came at them, spreading across the base of the valley. Grafyrre ducked beneath the sweep of a long blade. He shoulder-barged the wielder aside and carried on running. More soldiers were filling the path ahead. Grafyrre pulled out a jaqrui and threw it. Here, within the magical shield, the weapon flew true and sliced deep into the wrist of a warrior raising his sword to protect his face.