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Authors: James Barclay
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almost godlike awe.
The only one of them who had really seen the light was Drech, and Auum pitied the path he trod, notionally leading the Il-Aryn but playing a poor second to Takaar at the mad elf’s whim.
‘What does he know about Dawnthief?’ asked Auum.
‘As much as any of us,’ said Drech. He nodded at Stein. ‘Julatsa shared the text of the theory with us, and he’s certainly read it.’
‘And that doesn’t worry you? It doesn’t make you wonder why he’s so intent on getting to Balaia?’
‘He wants to rescue the adepts trapped in Julatsa,’ said Drech.
‘And you don’t think he’ll be after the spell too?’ Auum searched Drech’s face for support but even he seemed blind to the obvious. ‘What an opportunity this
gives him. Balaia presumably in total chaos, all eyes on the Wytch Lords and none focused on the search? For anyone with the ability, this is a good time to make progress unnoticed.’ Auum
sighed. ‘Look, Drech, I don’t think for one moment that Takaar would want to cast the spell, even if he were able to. But I think he’d tinker with it, try and understand it, and
he is not of sound mind. Worse, he’s clever enough to uncover it and deranged enough to leave it for someone else to pick up. On every level I can think of, we cannot afford his sort of
liability.’
Drech shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, Auum, he has to come.’
Auum jabbed a finger at Drech. ‘Then he’s your patient. Keep him out of my way and off whatever ship I find myself on. And when he detonates, as he is sure to do, pray that you can
confine the blast.’
Chapter 6
An elf born to life beneath the canopy is uncomfortable beyond it. You wear clothes. Would you feel at ease if they were denied you?
Lysael, High Priest of Yniss
Ystormun’s consciousness travelled inside the body of a shaman and with the strike force sailing across a heavy sea to Calaius. The Wesman spiritualists had proved so
amenable to mind control and so accepting of Wytch Lord magics. They were given little choice of course, and the effects of long-term use of their minds and bodies were unfortunate, but there were
plenty of other subjects available when they were beyond use.
It amused Ystormun to watch the Wesmen work. They were unskilled as sailors, particularly of ocean-going vessels, but they were enthusiastic and strong, and their sheer energy made up in good
part for their lack of experience. Enough skilled sailors had been put on board each of the ten ships to ensure they could survive the crossing, and the rest was left to the fates. Not even Wytch
Lords could tamper with the elements. Not yet, anyway.
Ystormun walked his host body all the way to the prow. Wesman sailors and soldiers alike made a path for him, seeing all the signs of possession in his face. He stared through the shaman’s
keen eyes and could just about make out the dark on the horizon that was Calaius.
He found himself experiencing a thrill that pushed aside the thoughts of revenge and the memory of his humiliation. Ystormun found he could recall the scents of the rainforest and the sounds
echoing night and day in the deeps of the canopy. He could taste the sweetness of Calaian fruit and herbs, the potency of their root alcohols. And he could hear the screams of elves dying at his
behest.
Ystormun allowed himself the briefest of hidden smiles. Incredibly, he had actually
missed
the place, and there was some form of faint excitement at the thought of his return, however
vicarious.
How long he had waited for this moment to come; his pleas to the cadre, his plotting and planning, his aborted attempts to defy them and mount an invasion of his own to make himself independent
from them. And now, thanks to Septern, his spell and the wars engulfing Balaia, the full force of his fury could be unleashed. This time slavery would be replaced with the glory of genocide. Wesmen
would sail the barges, wield the axes and skin the
The only one of them who had really seen the light was Drech, and Auum pitied the path he trod, notionally leading the Il-Aryn but playing a poor second to Takaar at the mad elf’s whim.
‘What does he know about Dawnthief?’ asked Auum.
‘As much as any of us,’ said Drech. He nodded at Stein. ‘Julatsa shared the text of the theory with us, and he’s certainly read it.’
‘And that doesn’t worry you? It doesn’t make you wonder why he’s so intent on getting to Balaia?’
‘He wants to rescue the adepts trapped in Julatsa,’ said Drech.
‘And you don’t think he’ll be after the spell too?’ Auum searched Drech’s face for support but even he seemed blind to the obvious. ‘What an opportunity this
gives him. Balaia presumably in total chaos, all eyes on the Wytch Lords and none focused on the search? For anyone with the ability, this is a good time to make progress unnoticed.’ Auum
sighed. ‘Look, Drech, I don’t think for one moment that Takaar would want to cast the spell, even if he were able to. But I think he’d tinker with it, try and understand it, and
he is not of sound mind. Worse, he’s clever enough to uncover it and deranged enough to leave it for someone else to pick up. On every level I can think of, we cannot afford his sort of
liability.’
Drech shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, Auum, he has to come.’
Auum jabbed a finger at Drech. ‘Then he’s your patient. Keep him out of my way and off whatever ship I find myself on. And when he detonates, as he is sure to do, pray that you can
confine the blast.’
Chapter 6
An elf born to life beneath the canopy is uncomfortable beyond it. You wear clothes. Would you feel at ease if they were denied you?
Lysael, High Priest of Yniss
Ystormun’s consciousness travelled inside the body of a shaman and with the strike force sailing across a heavy sea to Calaius. The Wesman spiritualists had proved so
amenable to mind control and so accepting of Wytch Lord magics. They were given little choice of course, and the effects of long-term use of their minds and bodies were unfortunate, but there were
plenty of other subjects available when they were beyond use.
It amused Ystormun to watch the Wesmen work. They were unskilled as sailors, particularly of ocean-going vessels, but they were enthusiastic and strong, and their sheer energy made up in good
part for their lack of experience. Enough skilled sailors had been put on board each of the ten ships to ensure they could survive the crossing, and the rest was left to the fates. Not even Wytch
Lords could tamper with the elements. Not yet, anyway.
Ystormun walked his host body all the way to the prow. Wesman sailors and soldiers alike made a path for him, seeing all the signs of possession in his face. He stared through the shaman’s
keen eyes and could just about make out the dark on the horizon that was Calaius.
He found himself experiencing a thrill that pushed aside the thoughts of revenge and the memory of his humiliation. Ystormun found he could recall the scents of the rainforest and the sounds
echoing night and day in the deeps of the canopy. He could taste the sweetness of Calaian fruit and herbs, the potency of their root alcohols. And he could hear the screams of elves dying at his
behest.
Ystormun allowed himself the briefest of hidden smiles. Incredibly, he had actually
missed
the place, and there was some form of faint excitement at the thought of his return, however
vicarious.
How long he had waited for this moment to come; his pleas to the cadre, his plotting and planning, his aborted attempts to defy them and mount an invasion of his own to make himself independent
from them. And now, thanks to Septern, his spell and the wars engulfing Balaia, the full force of his fury could be unleashed. This time slavery would be replaced with the glory of genocide. Wesmen
would sail the barges, wield the axes and skin the
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