A Time of Courage

by John Gwynne

  Ruga grabbed Bleda’s wrist and punched it into the air.

  ‘BLEDA!’ she screamed, Ellac and Yul and the others taking up the chant.

  ‘BLEDA!’

  Bleda pulled his arm free and rode on a few paces, turned so that all could see him, waited for the chanting to stop.

  ‘This is not the time to celebrate our victory,’ he cried. ‘The Cheren are killing our people. We are the only hope of saving them. Search the camp, tend the wounded, put all who can ride and hold a bow in a saddle. Then we ride.’

  His warriors turned and made their way back into the camp. Old Ellac was sitting on his horse, staring at Bleda. Their eyes met and Ellac smiled at him, dipped his head.

  That meant more to Bleda than a thousand voices shouting his name.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  DREM

  Drem stood in the weapons-field of Dun Seren, dawn’s light washing over him, high cloud tinged with pink and orange. The air was sharp and crisp, a freshness to the day’s start that filled Drem’s lungs.

  It feels pure.

  Others were rowed either side of Drem, ninety or a hundred in total. Many of them were young, no more than sixteen or seventeen summers. Cullen had told Drem that they were warriors from Ardain who had travelled here with Sig over a year ago, hoping to become warriors of the Order. And then there were the half-breeds from the caverns. Faelan stood with around sixty of his kin, an assortment of wing colours. Faelan appeared utterly focused, his back straight.

  Byrne stood before him, Kill and Tain either side of her, Craf perched upon Tain’s shoulder. And behind them, all of the Order of the Bright Star. Around two thousand warriors, dressed in their war gear, looking at Drem and those around him. He could see Keld and Cullen watching him, both of them solemn-faced. Rab the white crow was sitting on Cullen’s forearm, Cullen absently scratching his feathers. Shar was there, her face still marked by her grief. So many others.

  Behind Drem he heard the murmuring of a crowd. Many who were not warriors of the Order were gathered; Ethlinn and her giants, a few hundred warriors, Meical and Riv and the Ben-Elim, Queen Nara, Elgin, Madoc and a thousand others.

  So many people, all staring at me and a handful of others.

  It was making Drem feel uncomfortable. He fought the urge to put his fingers to his neck and take his pulse.

  You have fought two battles. Faced a Revenant horde. Stop being an idiot.

  Byrne stepped forwards.

  ‘These are exceptional times,’ she said, ‘and they call for exceptional measures. Usually, to join the Order of the Bright Star, you would take your warrior trial before us all; sword, shield, spear, net, the running mount. But to do that would be to disrespect you. You have come through the furnace of combat. You have stood with us, shoulder to shoulder, and risked your lives in the defence of this fortress. Not just the rock and stone, but the values this fortress is built upon, that our lives are built upon.’ She paused, taking a moment to look each one of them in the eye.

  ‘Truth and Courage. Those are the words that define a warrior of this Order. They are more than words; they are a way of life. Would you choose them? You will be swearing to a life of hardship, a life where you put aside your own pleasures and desires, and place yourself in danger’s way. Again, and again, and again.’

  My mother and father stood here once, on this field, and swore this oath.

  A moment’s silence. Then, as one, Drem and the others responded.

  ‘I will.’

  Byrne nodded. ‘Then say these words after me.’ She sucked in a deep breath.

  ‘Tru–’

  The flapping of wings from above and a figure descended from the sky, dapple-grey wings beating, breaking her fall, and Riv alighted before Byrne. Her wings drew in tight, a twitch and ripple as Riv stood there, dust settling around her.

  ‘Will you take me?’ she asked Byrne.

  Byrne stared at her.

  ‘You would take our oath?’

  ‘I would,’ Riv said.

  ‘Have you thought this through? You have other allegiances.’

  ‘I have a mother, whom I love more than life. But she is a warrior; she knows the life we choose. She would be proud of me.’

  ‘And your father?’

  ‘I care not what he thinks. I have thought this through. Being here, standing with you . . . it is hard for me to put into words. It is like coming home . . .’ She shrugged. ‘So, I ask you again. Will you take me?’

  A small smile touched the edges of Byrne’s mouth. ‘I would be glad to hear you take our oath,’ she said. ‘And proud to call you sister.’

  Riv looked at her, almost as if she was surprised Byrne had said yes.

  ‘My thanks,’ Riv said.

  ‘Join the line,’ Byrne told her, and Riv stepped backwards, Drem shuffling to his left to make room for her. He nodded to her as she slipped in beside him, one of her wings squashing against him.

  She looks more nervous than when we went into battle.

  Riv drew in a long, deep breath, her shoulders rising, held it and then blew it out slowly.

  ‘Repeat these words after me,’ Byrne called out, her voice ringing in the morning air. ‘Truth and courage are the banners I live by.’

  ‘Truth and courage are the banners I live by,’ Drem said, slow and clear, his voice mingling with Riv’s and a hundred others.

  ‘Love, loyalty and friendship shall be my guiding light.’

  Drem echoed Byrne’s words, the weight of them resonating within him. He could almost hear his da whispering them in his ear, his father’s voice, cracked with the years, the voice that had cared for him, taught him, loved him.

  ‘I will be the bright star in the night sky, the candle in the darkness.’

  Drem spoke on, tears running silently down his cheeks as the ghost of his father said the oath with him.

  Oh, Da, I miss you so.

  ‘The defender of the innocent, protector of the weak. I will bring hope to the lost, give my life for the helpless.’ He swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat.

  ‘With Truth as my shield,’ Byrne called out, and Drem echoed her. ‘And Courage as my sword, I shall stand against the darkness.’

  I will, Drem thought. I belong here, with these people, living this life.

  The field seemed to ring with the words, Drem’s heart pounding.

  ‘From this day on, until the time of my death.’

  The words faded, a ringing echo returning from the high northern wall.

  Byrne stood before them, a silence settled.

  Drem glanced at Riv, saw tears staining her cheek.

  Byrne opened her mouth one last time.

  ‘This is my oath,’ she cried, ‘sealed with my blood.’

  ‘This is my oath,’ Drem said, and drew his seax, slicing it across his palm, making a fist that dripped red droplets of blood onto the grass.

  ‘Sealed with my blood.’

  A stillness settled over the field, Drem staring at Byrne and the Order of the Bright Star behind her. He saw Keld and Cullen, though their faces were blurred through his tears.

  Then the Order erupted in cheering.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  RIV

  A wall of sound hit Riv, the Order’s cheering almost deafening her.

  Riv blew out a long, shaky breath, her chest rising and falling as if she’d run a dozen leagues.

  What have I done? A White-Wing becoming one of the Order of the Bright Star, our greatest rivals. She wanted to laugh, felt the emotion bubbling in her chest. But it feels so right. My life at Drassil was a lie. All of it a deceit to keep me in my place, and to further the Ben-Elim’s cause. But this place is not like that. These people are not like that. They accept me for who I am. So I too can accept what I am. The real me, and a fresh start.

  I feel as if I’ve been reborn.

  She smiled, a grin that made her face ache, at everyone and no one.

  ‘Truth and courage,’ she wh
ispered.

  ‘Welcome, sister,’ a voice said beside her. Drem. He was smiling at her, and offering her his arm. His smile changed his face. It was not something she remembered seeing on him, unlike his friend, Cullen, who seemed to smile all the time.

  And especially when he’s going into battle.

  She took Drem’s offered arm in the warrior grip.

  ‘Brother,’ she said, liking the sound and feel of that.

  Byrne was the first to reach them, a hand on each of their shoulders, emotion bright in her eyes. She stepped back and straightened, looking at them both. Tain and Kill appeared at Byrne’s shoulder, each of them holding something. Tain had a folded grey-green cloak of simply spun wool. Kill held something out in her palm, an iron cloak brooch about the size of Riv’s fist. It was fashioned into the shape of a four-pointed star.

  ‘Welcome to the Order of the Bright Star,’ Byrne said formally, taking the cloak from Tain and throwing it around Riv’s shoulders. She then took the brooch from Kill and pinned the cloak in place, adjusting the brooch so that it sat upon the left side of Riv’s chest.

  ‘My thanks,’ Riv said, not knowing what else to say, her emotions too complicated to articulate.

  Byrne gave her a formal nod and moved on to Drem. Tain grinned at her.

  ‘Welcome,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you,’ Riv murmured, still trying to master the emotions in her veins.

  Craf was perched upon Tain’s shoulder.

  ‘More warriors with wings,’ the crow muttered. He didn’t sound too impressed.

  Riv looked up at the bird.

  ‘I am honoured to share the skies with you, Craf,’ she said.

  Craf looked at her with a far too intelligent eye. ‘Welcome to the Order,’ he squawked down at her.

  Byrne leaned close to Drem and said words Riv could not hear, but Drem blinked away a tear and smiled, and then Byrne, Kill and Tain were moving along the line and Cullen was upon them, all laughter and hugs. Keld was just behind him, and more of the Order offering congratulations. Even the white crow, Rab, was there, flapping and squawking excitedly. Shar suddenly appeared before Riv, her eyes still red-veined with his grief.

  ‘Welcome, sister,’ she said. Riv remembered Shar kneeling in the dirt, Utul’s body in her lap.

  ‘You slew my Utul’s killer,’ she said. ‘I am in your debt.’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ Riv said. ‘No debt. I did what any one of us would have done, given the chance.’

  ‘What happens in our heads,’ Shar said, tapping her temple, ‘and what we actually do, can be a world apart.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, I have made you a gift, for avenging Utul.’ She held a linen-wrapped package out to Riv, tied with leather.

  Riv stared at it, hesitated. She was not used to compliments, or gifts.

  ‘Do not offend me by refusing,’ Shar said. ‘My heart is wounded enough.’

  Riv tugged on the leather and opened the bundle.

  She gasped.

  It was two swords in polished leather scabbards. They were short, like her own White-Wing blades, the hilts leather-wrapped. The cross-guards were gently curved, wings engraved upon them.

  ‘They are rune-marked,’ Shar said, ‘by my own hand. They will never fail you; they will stay sharp as any razor, never notch or break.’

  ‘I-I don’t know what to say,’ Riv said, not able to tear her eyes away. She reached out and took one in her hand. The scabbard was soft and freshly waxed. With a hiss of steel she drew the first sword, then drew the other one and touched them together, a gentle chink, and held them close to her ears, listening to their sword song.

  She smiled and held them before her, rolled them in her wrists. They caught the rising sun, glowed red.

  ‘Beautiful,’ she whispered. ‘You honour me, Shar. My thanks. A thousand times, my thanks.’

  Shar smiled at her. ‘We shall kill Revenants together,’ she said. ‘And avenge Utul again and again, until these Revenants are no more.’

  ‘That is a pact I will gladly agree to,’ Riv said, unable to keep a grin from splitting her face.

  She sheathed the swords and Shar helped her strap them to her weapons-belt. When she was happy that all was right and that no adjustments needed to be made, Shar bade her farewell and left.

  Riv stood there, looking about the field. Drem was close by, with Keld and Cullen, others of the Order congratulating the new recruits. Byrne and Kill were talking with Faelan.

  A tremor in the ground and Riv turned.

  Balur One-Eye was looking down at her, Queen Ethlinn beside him.

  ‘Well, you have come a long way since you failed your warrior trial a year ago,’ he rumbled.

  ‘Ha,’ Riv said. A flash of Israfil the Lord Protector, High Captain of the Ben-Elim, as he fought her, goaded her with insults and half-truths, testing her temper and self-control.

  That did not end well.

  ‘I have not thought on that for a long while,’ Riv said. ‘At the time I thought my world had ended, that my life was over.’

  ‘And look at you now,’ Ethlinn said. She gave Riv a long, appraising look that made Riv feel uncomfortable. ‘I am glad for you, young one,’ Ethlinn said. ‘You blaze bright as the sun. The world is a better place for having you in it.’

  Riv blinked at that. She could not remember ever having spoken to Ethlinn before, although she had admired her many times in the weapons-field, especially her skill with a spear.

  ‘Well, got nothing to say to my daughter?’ Balur grunted.

  ‘Forgive me,’ Riv said. ‘I am not often lost for words.’

  Balur barked a laugh at that.

  ‘I did not know that you had even noticed I was alive, all my years at Drassil,’ Riv said to Ethlinn. ‘And, I should also say that I am not used to compliments.’

  ‘Ha, Ethlinn notices everything and everyone.’ Balur smiled. ‘It is her gift. And she is not given to handing out compliments, either.’

  ‘A warrior does not just fight,’ Ethlinn said, a wry smile on her face. ‘First a warrior must see. And I give compliments where I see them due,’ she added, looking at Balur.

  He chuckled at that, too.

  He laughs a lot more here, at Dun Seren, than he ever did at Drassil.

  ‘I’ve watched you, too,’ Balur said. ‘You’ve still got a bit of a temper, though.’ He ruffled Riv’s hair.

  ‘Aye,’ Riv conceded. ‘I’m still working on that.’

  ‘Self-control is overrated,’ Balur said with a smile.

  ‘Truth and courage,’ Ethlinn said, tapping Riv’s new cloak brooch. ‘You could do much worse than live your life by those values.’

  ‘That’s what I think,’ Riv said, looking at the cut on her palm, starting to scab, now. ‘That is my oath. That’s what I’ll do.’

  A horn rang out over the field, long and haunting. It fell silent and then sounded again.

  All conversation stopped.

  ‘That is it, then,’ Balur said. ‘It’s time to go.’

  ‘What is that horn?’ Riv asked.

  ‘The call to war,’ Ethlinn said.

  Riv stood on the wall above Dun Seren’s gates, staring at the statue of Corban and Storm. Meical and Hadran were beside her, seven more Ben-Elim close by. They stood in silence, waiting.

  The crack of hooves on stone, and the thud and rumble of bears.

  Byrne appeared, mounted at the head of a host. She was clothed in mail and leather, sword at her hip, a spear couched in a saddle-cup. Kill rode one side of her, gleaming in mail, Tain striding on the other, a long spear in his fist. Behind them rode the Order of the Bright Star, the sun shimmering on their helms and coats of mail, spear-tips glinting, shields with the bright star painted upon them slung across backs or hanging from saddle straps. Amongst them all, one warrior stood out to Riv: Drem, black-haired and tall in his saddle, his mail glinting, a helm and shield hanging from saddle straps. His new cloak brooch shone bright upon his chest.

  He was riding the white
bear.

  Riv grinned to see it. The warriors of the Order were all around him, Cullen and Keld there, but Drem sat above them. He was a big man, tall and broad, but he still looked small upon the bear’s back.

  Byrne rode through the courtyard, looking up at the statue of Corban and Storm as she passed them, then looking up at Riv and Meical as she passed through the gates and out into Dun Seren’s streets.

  A raucous squawking and flapping of wings and Riv saw a cloud of crows burst from the keep’s tower, swirling lower and following the battle-host.

  ‘WAR,’ they croaked, as they passed over Riv, ‘WAR,’ repeating their chant again and again.

  In the courtyard the last of the Order passed through the gates, over two thousand warriors, and then Queen Nara rode in, Madoc at her side and Elgin behind, leading her warriors. A grey-cloaked warband a thousand strong, the banner of a snarling wolven rippling above them.

  Nara and her warband passed through Dun Seren’s gates and finally Ethlinn and her giants appeared, wrapped in mail and leather, the ground trembling with their arrival. Riv guessed at a hundred and fifty bears that came lumbering into the courtyard, perhaps fewer, another hundred or so giants striding amongst them. As they passed through the courtyard Meical nodded down at Balur and Ethlinn, and then his wings were spreading and beating and he was airborne. Riv crouched and jumped, wings powering her up, Hadran and the Ben-Elim around her.

  Wind filled her wings and she laughed with the joy of it, Meical glancing at her, a smile cracking even his serious face. They spiralled upwards together, and from behind the keep Riv saw more winged figures appear: Faelan and his kin, flying to join the war-host as it left Dun Seren.

  Meical led Riv, Hadran and the Ben-Elim on a wide loop of the warband, swooping back over Byrne as she rode through the outer gates of Dun Seren, out into a rolling meadow. Byrne reached a fork in the road and she turned east, towards the dark of Forn Forest.

  At Byrne’s council of war they had talked long into the day, debating the best strategy to pursue. A strike on Drassil, Cullen had advocated. Meical had petitioned that Byrne march south-east to Ripa and join forces with Kol and the White-Wings. In the end they had all agreed that they could not waste time at Dun Seren while scouts travelled the land to ascertain where Asroth was. Byrne proposed that they wait at Dun Seren until all who were fit to march to war were equipped with a rune-marked blade. It had taken fifteen nights for that goal to be achieved. In the meantime crows had flown east, sent to scout Drassil and report.