by John Gwynne
‘It’s Corban’s sword,’ breathed Cullen.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
BLEDA
‘Tell me of the Shekam,’ Bleda said, as he rode beside Raina. They were at the head of a long column of Sirak and giants, threading through a wide, high-ceilinged tunnel. He was on Dilis, had been so relieved when he’d seen the skewbald mare led into the cavernous halls of the Kurgan giants. It was their third day of travelling underground, the dark constantly pressing in upon them, and Bleda longed for daylight and the sight of the sky.
‘The Shekam are a giant Clan,’ Raina said, ‘like my Clan, the Kurgan, who walk with us.’
‘But these giants, the Shekam, are allied to Asroth?’
‘Aye, it looks that way,’ Raina said. ‘They have been seen marching from their secret lands, and Kadoshim fly above them.’
‘That’s not a good sign,’ Drem said. ‘I have fought the Kadoshim. They are more than just an enemy. They are a sickness. A plague. How many of these Shekam are there?’
‘Two hundred, three hundred, maybe more.’
‘Ah.’ Bleda did not think that was too great a number. Of course, giants were formidable warriors; he had just seen what a hundred could do to the Cheren, but he knew the White-Wings at Ripa numbered in their thousands.
‘You think that is not so dangerous,’ Raina said, glancing at him.
Bleda shrugged. ‘A formidable foe, but their numbers – they’re not so great.’
‘Ah, but they are riding draigs,’ Raina said.
‘Draigs!’ Bleda almost spat. He had never seen a draig, had thought them more a campfire tale than real, living creatures. From the stories he had heard told, one of them was supposed to have been a match for a score of warriors.
‘Aye, draigs,’ Raina said.
‘Let’s hope Ethlinn and her bear-riders are marching for Ripa, then.’
Raina said nothing, just held her torch up and stared ahead. Silence settled between them.
‘You are Kurgan?’ Bleda asked after a while.
Raina looked at him.
‘You ask a lot of questions,’ she said.
Bleda smiled. ‘It’s a long walk in the dark, and I don’t like tunnels. Better to talk.’
‘I am Kurgan,’ she said.
‘And your husband Alcyon, he is Kurgan?’
‘Aye.’
‘Then why is he with Ethlinn, and not here with you?’
Raina blew out a long breath. ‘That is not a short story,’ she said.
‘I am going to be at your side for a hundred leagues,’ Bleda answered.
‘A fair point. But it is also a tale that I do not like to think on. I will not talk of it,’ she said.
Bleda nodded.
They walked on in silence awhile. Just the sound of boots and hooves on stone, the drip of water. One hundred of Bleda’s Sirak had survived the battle in the ravine, though most of them bore injuries of one sort or another. Yul, despite his wounds, was still sitting straight in his saddle. They had close to five hundred horses with them, taken from the Cheren dead and led into the tunnels.
That will speed our journey to Ripa, if we are reunited with Ellac. I hope he made it to our meeting point, that Jin has not caught up with him somehow.
Bleda heard something, at first thought it was the sound of wind, roaring through the tunnel. It got louder. And then he saw a pinprick of light, beyond Raina’s torch.
‘We are here,’ Raina said.
The roaring grew louder, constant and close to deafening. It was a waterfall, cascading over the exit to their tunnel. Fractured sunlight broke through in multi-hued beams.
‘Control your horse,’ Raina shouted to him over her shoulder, Bleda straining to hear her. She doused her torch in the water, and then walked on. The path they were following narrowed to a ledge. Bleda twisted in his saddle and looked back, over the three horses he was leading, and saw Ukran behind him, then Yul and Ruga. He signalled to them, and they moved into single file.
Then Bleda was moving forwards. Raina had disappeared, the path twisting just beyond the tunnel’s mouth. Water fell only a handspan from his horse’s hooves, the ground slick and slippery. He rode into a dense mist, moisture thick in the air. Bleda rested a hand upon his bow in its case, though he knew that it would be useless – the bowstring would be ruined by this water. He blinked as bright sunshine seared his eyes, and then he was outside, the sky opening up above him. He breathed in happily and rode on a few paces. Raina was ahead, standing on green grass, a wall of trees behind her.
The waterfall crashed into a wide pool that frothed and spumed, a permanent mist of water hanging in the air before the tunnel entrance. Yul, Ruga and Ukran appeared through the mist, blinking as Bleda had done. Riders and giants filed out into the daylight behind them. Bleda looked up, following the waterfall. It fell from a great height, a cliff rising almost to the clouds, it seemed.
‘Where are we?’ Bleda breathed.
‘Arcona is up there,’ Raina said. ‘We are now in the Land of the Faithful. Those trees mark the south-eastern fringe of Forn Forest.’
Bleda looked around, imagining the maps he had pored over during his lessons in Drassil. He wished he’d paid more attention. Vaguely he could see it in his mind’s eye. The plain of Arcona filling the east, Forn Forest its western border. To the south-west lay Ripa, on the coast.
But before Ripa I must find Ellac and my Clan.
‘Can you take us to the Tethys Pass from here?’ Bleda asked.
Raina pointed to the south, at something that shimmered on the horizon.
‘That is the Tethys Sea,’ she said, ‘and your kin should be less than half a day from here.’
‘There it is,’ Raina said, pointing.
Bleda was sat upon his horse beside Raina, Ukran and Ruga. The rest of Bleda’s warriors were stationed deeper in the forest with Yul and over a hundred giants.
They had ridden south from the waterfall, seen the plateau of Arcona sink towards the sea, turning into a white-rocked land of mountains and sheer cliffs.
Raina was pointing at a wide road that led from the forest into those mountains.
‘Where is your Clan?’ Ukran asked.
Bleda looked at the road, at the forest it emerged from, and the mountains it disappeared into. Beyond the road the land slowly levelled and the sea shimmered, a glistening blue. Bleda could smell salt on the air, and the cry of gulls drifted on a breeze.
‘I don’t know.’ He shook his head. ‘I have never been here before, and Ellac only as a child.’
‘That would be a hundred years ago, then,’ Ruga said.
Bleda snorted a laugh.
‘Ellac?’ Ukran said. ‘Is he a giant?’
‘No,’ Bleda said. ‘He is just old. Ruga was making a joke.’
‘This is not a joking time,’ Ukran grunted.
That is a truth.
Is Jin out there?
Raina had assured Bleda that it was impossible for Jin to have ridden through the mountains and reached this pass before they had, using the giants’ tunnels. Three days it had taken them to reach here, and Raina said above land it was a four-day journey, at least.
But Jin rides fast, and rage and revenge will be a fire in her belly.
‘I told Ellac to wait for me at the Tethys Pass,’ Bleda said.
‘For how long?’ Ukran asked him.
‘One day. Any longer, and the gap he’d opened between him and Jin could have been closed.’ He scanned the mountains and forest again. There was no sign of Ellac, or of Jin, but either of them could have been hidden in the ravines or shadowed forest.
Hooves drummed and Ruga was riding out from their cover into the stretch of land that separated mountains from forest.
Bleda made to go after her but Yul put a hand upon his reins and held him there, the warrior grimacing as his wounds pulled.
‘It is too late,’ Yul said. ‘The deed done. Following will not help.’
‘He is right,’ Raina said.
Bleda watched as Ruga trotted across the open ground. It was stony, with patches of sun-bleached grass. She reached the road and reined in, looking east and west to the mountains and then the forest. A touch of her reins and her mount turned in a tight circle, showing herself to any eyes that might be watching. Ruga wore a Sirak deel of grey, a coat of mail over it, sleeves ending at the elbow for bow work, splits up each leg for riding.
‘It is I, Ruga of the Sirak,’ Ruga called out. ‘If you are hiding in the shadows, Jin of the Cheren, come out and fight me. Or are you too much of a coward?’
Bleda heard Yul grunt his respect.
A silence, only crows squawking in the forest.
Ruga turned a circle again.
Where the road met the trees of Forn a rider emerged.
Ruga’s hand dropped to her bow in its case.
The rider was a man, dressed in grey and mail. His head was shaved, one long, grey warrior braid coiling around his shoulder. He raised an arm to Ruga, revealing a stump where his fist should be.
Ellac.
Bleda clicked his tongue and spurred his horse on, bursting from the trees. Yul was close behind him, and together they rode across the ground ululating a welcome, Raina and Ukran following them.
Ruga was already with Ellac, but Bleda saw the old warrior staring at him. They met upon the road, Bleda grinning at the old man, gifting him with his open emotions. He did not think he could have hidden them if his life depended upon it.
‘Ah, but my old heart soars to see you,’ Ellac said as Bleda leaned in his mount and gripped the old warrior’s arm.
‘You made it,’ Bleda said.
‘Of course,’ Ellac grunted. ‘That was never in doubt. You, on the other hand.’ He looked into Bleda’s eyes. ‘I have worried . . .’
Other riders emerged from the forest where Ellac had appeared, more Sirak, some fanning wide, bows in fists, eyes on the mountains.
‘We should move from here, it is too open,’ Yul said, looking up at the mountain pass.
Ellac looked at the bandaged wounds on Yul.
‘You have a tale to tell,’ he said.
‘Aye, and allies to introduce to you,’ Bleda said, gesturing at Raina and Ukran.
Ellac raised an eyebrow, then dipped his head to the two giants.
‘Well met, Ellac of the Sirak,’ Raina said.
‘We should move,’ Ukran said. He was looking up at the mountains.
Bleda followed his gaze, into the mountains, and then up, to where something was becoming visible in the sky, a few leagues distant.
A cloud of dust.
‘Jin,’ Bleda said. ‘Best we save the introductions and ride.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
DREM
Drem stood by the stream, looking up at warriors climbing down the ravine wall. Ropes had been tied to trees, making the descent easier and safer than his had been. Faelan and a handful of his kin circled in the stark sky. Drem looked over his shoulder, saw Cullen still standing over the bed in the cabin, looking down at the skeleton and sword.
Faelan had taken word to Byrne at Drem’s request.
And there she was, Byrne almost at the ravine’s floor. Her feet touched onto ground and she strode towards Drem, a handful of her honour guard about her. She glanced down at the corpse of the Revenant as she passed it, then looked up at Drem. Their eyes met, no words. Byrne strode up the creaking steps and into the cabin, eyes flickering to the Kadoshim skull nailed above the doorway.
Drem followed, saw Cullen lean forwards, reaching out. Gently the young warrior extricated the sword from the skeleton and held it up, his eyes bright with emotion. Byrne stopped in front of Cullen.
She just stood and stared.
‘By the Otherworld,’ she breathed.
‘It’s his sword,’ Cullen murmured, turning the blade in his hand. It was long, a-hand-and-a-half grip, the blade wide at the hilt. Dust had thickened to a kind of congealed skin upon the blade, but Drem had a feeling the blade beneath was sharp and bright. Cullen sliced the air with it, then a roll of his wrist, turning it, holding the hilt out to Byrne.
She took it, her eyes wide, contemplated the blade for long, silent moments. Then she looked down at the skeleton upon the bed.
‘It must be Coralen,’ Byrne said. Drem remembered Cullen telling him of the tale, Coralen riding out of Dun Seren with Storm after Corban’s cairn had been defiled. Byrne knelt beside the bed, tentatively put a hand out and lifted long strands in her fingers.
Hair, Drem realized. It was mostly grey, though Drem caught a hint of red.
‘Coralen had red hair, flaming like fire, the tales say,’ Byrne said. She looked up at Cullen. ‘Like yours.’
Cullen smiled then, an awed, joyful expression sweeping his face.
Gently Byrne lifted the book from the skeleton’s chest. She held it as if it could crumble in her fingers, blew dust from the leather cover, wiped more away. The leather was cracked and worn, but Drem could see markings upon it. Letters, like the ones he had seen upon his seax, runes. And two symbols; one shaped like a black teardrop, the other the eyes and snarling teeth of a wolven.
Byrne gasped. ‘This book bears the sigils of Cywen and Coralen.’
Cullen leaned over Byrne’s shoulder.
‘A chaitheamh amach,’ he said clumsily.
‘To cast out,’ Byrne breathed.
Drem checked Friend’s wounds. Dawn was brightening the world around him, mist from the river and dew dripped from trees. Drem looked at the vapour curling up from the water and onto the bridge, but this was ordinary mist, not black and seething with taloned monsters.
He was standing in Brikan’s courtyard, cleared now of countless Revenant corpses and the bodies of fallen warriors. Dark stains dotted the flagstoned ground. Everywhere was movement, warriors mounting horses, giants climbing onto bears. Auroch bellowed and stamped their feet, harnessed to wains.
Friend had new wounds, most of them shallow. Only one had needed stitching. Thankfully there had been no bites. Drem was spooning fresh honey onto a gash beneath Friend’s eye, the bear’s mouth open, huge tongue lolling, trying to reach some of the sweet liquid.
Mostly the wounds were around his muzzle and face, where spears had been jabbed at him. His coat of mail had served him well. Drem had tended to the rent links last night, patching them up, and his own mail coat as well. He’d had a pile of harness to fix and stitch, buckles torn loose, a gash in his coat of mail, more rips in his breeches.
‘Here you go,’ Drem said, dolloping a spoonful of honey onto Friend’s tongue. The bear rumbled contentedly.
Horns blew, the warband preparing to move out. Queen Nara had led a force out already, a vanguard moving along the road out of Forn Forest.
Drem sucked in a deep breath and stroked Friend’s cheek.
‘Something I need to do, first,’ he muttered, then walked away, across the courtyard. Friend eyed him, then followed.
Drem skirted the keep. He paused at a wain, prised open a barrel and pulled out a butchered leg of lamb, wrapped in linen. He walked on until he was in a walled area behind the keep, strode past an open gateway, the entrance to Brikan’s weapons-field, and on, past buildings and then trees, until he saw cairns before him. Lots of cairns.
There was a row of fresh-built ones. Cullen stood before one, head bowed. Rab was perched on his shoulder and Fen the wolven-hound lay close to the stones.
Drem walked up, stood silently at Cullen’s side, and looked at Keld’s cairn.
He felt the pain again, a fist around his heart as grief bubbled within him.
Cullen knelt and placed a hand upon the cairn.
‘I never had the chance to tell you anything,’ Cullen whispered, voice thick with grief. ‘But you were my rock, my friend. I loved you like a father, and I miss you more than I can bear. Only the thought of avenging you, and Sig, keeps me moving.’ He looked up at Drem, tears in his eyes.
Drem looked back through blurred vision, images i
n his mind of his father in the snow, of Sig strapping herself to a post, of Keld in his arms.
‘We will never forget,’ Drem breathed.
‘We will never forget,’ Cullen echoed. He stood. ‘Gulla’s a dead man walking,’ he snarled.
‘And Morn,’ Drem breathed, remembering her black knife punching into Keld’s back.
Cullen drew his knife from his belt and cut a red line along his forearm, held it out.
Drem, understanding, took his seax and sliced his arm, drawing blood.
‘For Keld,’ Cullen said.
‘For Keld,’ Drem replied, and gripped Cullen’s arm, blood mingling and dripping onto the stones of Keld’s cairn.
A horn rang through the fortress.
‘Rab peck Gulla’s other eye out,’ the crow squawked.
‘Good,’ Cullen said. He looked at Drem. ‘Let’s go find those bastards and kill them,’ and then he was striding off.
Drem looked down at Fen, the huge wolven-hound lying beside Keld’s cairn. Fen still wore his coat of mail, blood crusted in patches. Another cairn lay beside Keld’s. Ralla’s body was inside it. Wolven-hounds of the Order were honoured and remembered, just like any other warrior who fought for the Bright Star.
‘Ah, but you’re a faithful lad, and you’re grieving, too,’ Drem said, kneeling beside Fen and placing his hand upon the hound’s chest. ‘Keld has been like your da, your pack leader from when you were a cub.’ Fen looked at him with one yellow eye, gave out a mournful whine.
‘You can’t stay here, Fen,’ Drem said. He looked the wolven-hound in the eye, stroking his furry, scarred cheek. ‘I don’t know if you understand me, but you should know that Keld asked me to look after you. With his last breath he did that, caring about you.’ He reached inside his cloak and took out the leg of lamb. Friend sniffed behind Drem.
‘This isn’t for you, Friend,’ Drem said to the bear, and offered it to Fen. The wolven-hound sniffed the meat, then opened his jaws and took it. Dropped it on the ground and put one of his paws over it.
‘I can’t look after you here. You have to come with me and Friend, Cullen and Rab. We’re going after those that slew our Keld, and we are going to make them pay. It’ll be dangerous, might not live through it. But at least we will have tried.’ He stood. ‘What do you say? Coming? We are pack, now; you, me, Friend, Cullen and Rab. Riv when she comes back. And we are going to make Gulla and Asroth wish we had never been born.’