Jatha inclined his head. ‘There is one other way.’ Sha-Kaan retracted his head sharply, his neck describing an ‘s’. He hissed.
‘No human shall ever ride the Kaan. We are the masters here.’ Sha-Kaan breathed out long. ‘It is your task to see them safe to Teras. Have you thought of the battle there would be if we were seen with humans on our necks? No carrying Kaan would stand a chance of survival; our place would be gone.’ He moved his head groundwards once more. ‘Banish that thought, Jatha. Though I understand the desperation in which it was formed, it must never be uttered again. The Kaan shall never bow their necks to humans. We would die first.’
‘I am sorry, Great Kaan. And I thank you for your understanding.’
‘Consider that were you not so important to me, my reaction might have been different.’ Sha-Kaan’s admonishment was tinted with humour. ‘You are a faithful attendant and companion, Jatha. Now, we will sweep the way ahead of you and seek out your enemies on the ground and in the sky. Do not move until night falls and we have gone. I expect your signal when you reach the gateway.’
Jatha stood and spread his arms wide in deference, dropping back to one knee before he spoke again.
‘It shall be done, Great Kaan.’
‘Skies keep you.’ Sha-Kaan extended his wings and rose lazily into the sky, calling to his Brood to do his bidding.
Senedai’s patience broke on the fourth day. There was no warning, no new ultimatum. With the coming of a blustery dawn, heavy with cloud and the cloying damp that signalled the approach of rain, Barras was awakened by a general alarm that ran through the Council Rooms.
Instantly alert, he belted on his yellow robe of the day before, slid on boots without socks and rushed to the courtyard, dimly aware that his grey hair was wild in the wind, blowing into his eyes. He smoothed it back as Kard joined him.
‘Senedai?’ asked Barras. The old General nodded.
‘And he’s brought prisoners.’
‘Damn it.’ Barras increased his pace. ‘I thought we could bluff him longer.’
‘You’ve already saved fifteen hundred innocent lives. He was bound to lose patience eventually.’
Behind them, the sound of running feet grew in volume. Soldiers clattered by, heading for their guard posts on the North Gate and walls. Kerela and Seldane joined Barras.
‘So now it starts.’ Kerela was grim. Barras nodded.
‘If only I could have bought more time.’
Kerela squeezed Barras’ shoulder.
‘You bought us more time than we could possibly have dreamed of. Senedai’s fear of magic is more deeply ingrained than all but you imagined. You saw that and you made it pay. Be satisfied.’
‘More likely he was just in no hurry then, but now he is. It worries me that something has happened elsewhere that demands his taking of the College urgently. Perhaps one of the others has already fallen.’ They began ascending the stairs to the gate-house and ramparts.
‘He is under pressure, certainly,’ said Kard. ‘But don’t assume it’s because of further victory. Lack of success by other armies has probably forced him to act.’
The desire for conversation and the search for reason ceased as they looked down on the cobbled square before the gates. There stood Senedai, arms crossed over his chest, feet placed deliberately apart, dark cloak billowing in the breeze that accompanied the early morning chill. His hair, heavy with braids, barely stirred.
Behind him, better than one hundred Wesmen circled a group of fifty Julatsan children and older folk. All looked confused, all fearful, knowing only that they were a bargaining counter of some sort. None could know the fate that awaited them, their faces holding no panic or terror.
‘I said it would take six days,’ said Barras. Senedai shrugged.
‘And in four, you have done nothing but drilled your soldiers in full view of my observers. I will not debate this further.’ He raised an arm.
‘Wait!’ said Barras. ‘You can’t expect to see the results of our efforts. There is no physical dismantling of magic. We will be ready soon.’
‘You have lied to me, mage,’ said Senedai. ‘Such is the thinking among my captains. And for that, I will have your head as our bargain allows.’
‘It took him long enough to work it out,’ muttered Kard.
‘Now, how long you stay is up to you. But as the mound of corpses rises and its stench drifts across your faces, so will the hatred among those of your people left alive rise against you.’
A murmur and movement stirred among the prisoners and Barras could all but feel their hearts beginning to race as the awful realisation of possible death brought sweat to bead on the back of necks, cold as the grip of night. Barked shouts from the Wesmen guards restored order, but the fear etched deeper into faces and the blank incomprehension of children tore at Barras.
‘I had thought you to be a man of honour,’ said the elder elven mage. ‘Not a murderer of the weak and helpless. You are a soldier, by the Gods. Act like one.’
Senedai wiped a hand across his mouth, apparently attempting to conceal a smile.
‘You are a skilled speaker, mage, but your words no longer move me. It is not I who shall murder them. None of my prisoners will die under a Wesman hand or blade. I am merely releasing them into your hands. If you drop your devil’s curtain, they will live.’ He pointed at the group on the ramparts. ‘You are the murderers. Watch fifty lives be lost, their deaths on your conscience.’ He raised his hand again, this time sweeping it down before Barras opened his mouth to speak. The guards pushed through the crowd, one pair to each prisoner. They were marched struggling in a four-deep line towards the DemonShroud directly under the North Gate, stopping less than three feet from the modulating grey spell. That close, its aura must have been terrible.
Senedai walked behind the first row of prisoners almost as if he was inspecting soldiers under his command. He stopped at the mid-point.
‘Senedai, no,’ urged Barras.
‘Take down your defence.’ He paused, looked up into Barras’ eyes. ‘Take down your defence.’ Barras said nothing.
‘Don’t give in.’ The voice came from Barras’ left. There stood an old mage in the front row, tall and proud, a balding pate atop fierce eyes and a sharp nose. Senedai walked quickly behind him, grabbing his neck in one gloved hand.
‘You see anxious to die, old man,’ he rasped. ‘Perhaps you would like to be the first.’
‘I am proud to die protecting the integrity of my College,’ spat the mage, meeting Senedai eyeball to eyeball. ‘And most of those here will follow me gladly.’ He shook his arms. ‘Let go of me, dammit. I can stand unaided.’ At a signal from Senedai, the guards released him.
‘I’m waiting,’ said the Wesman Lord. The old mage turned and addressed the Julatsans.
‘This day, I ask you to join me in giving your lives to save the College of Julatsa and all who stand safe behind her walls. Many of you, I know, have no affinity with magic but, as native Julatsans, you are blessed by it and its force for good every day. We cannot let that force die. For hundreds of years, Julatsan mages have given of themselves for their people. Witness how many were killed trying to defend the city. Now, in our time of direst need, it is time to give something back. All that would walk willingly with me into the Shroud, say aye.’
A ragged response gained in volume, ending with the shrill ‘Aye’ of a child. The mage looked again at Senedai.
‘Your words writhe like maggots in a rotting corpse. You have ordered our deaths, you are killing prisoners. Julatsa has the right to protect herself and your blackmail will return to visit death upon you and your kinsmen. But we will not give you the satisfaction of seeing us beg for your mercy.’