by John Gwynne
‘Cré, coinnigh mo namhaid,’ Asroth growled as he strode after Meical, and the ground around Meical began to bubble and seethe. Roots burst from the earth, wrapping around Meical’s wrists and ankles. Meical struggled and heaved, veins bulging purple, but he could not break free.
‘Fréamhacha agus sosanna,’ Meical gasped, and the roots began to wither, some snapping.
‘Greim a choinneáil air, fréamhacha an domhain,’ Asroth commanded as he approached Meical, his long axe rising. More roots burst from the ground, snaring Meical. ‘You are no match for me, with blade or with the earth power.’ He smiled, looming over Meical.
Riv slammed into Asroth’s back, her sword cutting into the small of his back with all of her strength. Impossibly, his mail held, the sword turned away, only scraping across it. Asroth twisted, snarling, his elbow crunching into Riv’s nose, even as she lashed out with the black knife. It stabbed into Asroth’s arm, piercing the black mail easily, on into the meat of his bicep. He cried out, dropped his axe, swung his arm, throwing Riv off, his gauntleted fist crunching into her head and she spun through the air, hit the ground, slammed into Meical.
Black stars speckled Riv’s vision. She shook her head, pushed herself to her knees.
‘Help, me,’ Meical grunted beside her, straining against his bonds. Riv still had sword and knife in her fists. She slashed with the knife at the roots about one of Meical’s ankles and they fell away.
A battle-cry behind them: Hadran was thrusting his spear at Asroth’s chest, a blow that should have torn through the coat of mail and stabbed deep. But the spear just . . . exploded in a shower of splintered wood. Hadran gazed down at the shattered shaft, confusion on his face.
Asroth laughed and backhanded Hadran with an iron-gauntleted fist, lifting him from the ground, sending him spinning through the air to land a dozen paces before Riv and Meical.
Hadran climbed to his feet, blood dripping from his mouth, and stood guard before Meical and Riv, drawing his sword from his scabbard.
Riv slashed at the roots binding Meical’s other ankle.
‘You can’t save him from me,’ Asroth said. He drew a short-sword from his hip with a grimace of pain, blood dripping from his arm where Riv had stabbed him. With his other hand he unclipped a whip from his belt. Riv saw the gleam of iron shards and black wire in the leather. Asroth looked up at Hadran and smiled.
Riv cut Meical’s last bonds. Meical lurched to one knee, grasping for his sword.
Asroth threw his arm out and flicked his wrist, the crack of leather and iron as the fronds of the whip hissed out.
Hadran screamed, iron hooks biting into him, wrapping around his arms and torso, his neck and face. Tentacles of black mist swirled around him. He slashed his sword at the leather strips, but they did not break, only pulled tighter.
Asroth heaved on the whip, Hadran fell, screaming, dragged until he lay at the Lord of the Kadoshim’s feet, lacerated and bleeding into the ground.
Riv started to run.
Asroth stabbed down with his short-sword and there was a gurgled cry as Hadran spasmed. A tremor through his wings, then he was still.
Riv screamed, behind her Meical was yelling.
Behind the demon king a bank of black mist poured through the gap between the blue flames. A figure emerged from it, one red eye glowing.
Gulla.
He alighted behind Asroth, stabbing his spear at a cluster of White-Wings locked in combat with shaven-haired acolytes.
A horn rang out from behind Riv and Meical, a voice shouting.
‘RETREAT!’ it cried, the horn blasts taken up, blaring across the battlefield. All around Meical and Riv, White-Wings were turning and running, filling the space between them and Asroth. Above them Ben-Elim tried to disengage from their battle with the Kadoshim.
Riv looked for Asroth, glimpsed him through the crowd. She took a step towards him.
A fist grabbed her arm, part turning her. Meical.
‘Stay and die, or fly and live,’ he said to her, an echo of the words she had said to him, so long ago, it seemed, on the day she had saved his life in Drassil.
Riv snarled, her face twitching, tears blurring her eyes.
‘Hadran,’ she said.
A twist of Meical’s lips. ‘Only alive can we avenge him.’ He looked beyond Riv, at the black mist spreading. ‘We can’t win this battle, not with a fresh wave of those Revenants. Not here, not right now.’
Riv let out a strangled growl, then grabbed his arm, part dragged him through the air, over the ranks of acolytes and White-Wings. Below her she saw Raina preparing to light the second ditch.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
BLEDA
The world opened up before Bleda, a cold wind blowing off the bay, stirring his warrior braid. It felt good on his skin, which was damp with sweat. To his left was a clifftop and the sea glistening far below. Straight ahead he saw Ripa’s white tower, and down to his right the camp of their war-host spread across a hillslope and vale, and beyond that, the plain of the battlefield.
Far out on the plain the wall was a burning, smouldering wreck. Within its boundaries the field was studded with fire, clouds of smoke billowing across it. He saw the outer ditch had been lit with Raina’s giant’s fire, a blue line curving around the battleground. Either side of the blue-flamed ditch black mist swirled, crossing into the southern part of the field through a small gap.
Bleda’s lip curled. More Revenants.
Even as Bleda was staring, trying to make sense of the battleground, he saw the second ditch spark into blue flame. It began around the centre, flowing rapidly in both directions, in heartbeats dissecting the battlefield again, curling as far as the river to the west and the hills to the east.
The sign to retreat. We’ve been pushed back, then. Gulla needs to die. It would make this battle winnable.
Gulls screeched and Bleda looked to the south, out to sea. Black specks on the horizon, swirling in a slow-moving circle.
They could not be birds, they were too big. He strained his eyes, peering hard, saw the faintest silhouette, and felt a sliver of ice run down his spine.
‘Ruga, what do you see?’ he asked, knowing her eyes were as keen as a hawk’s.
‘Kadoshim and ships,’ she eventually said.
They curled around the headland, into the bay, moving steadily towards Ripa.
‘I don’t like the look of that,’ Ellac muttered behind him.
Bleda touched his reins and his horse turned away, breaking into a canter.
Hooves drummed as Bleda rode through the empty camp, the plain below him. He could see the survivors of the battle now. Ben-Elim in the air, above the giant’s fire, two blocks of White-Wings, the reserves that had been held back, each over a thousand strong. Between those blocks milled more White-Wings, maybe a thousand. Bleda searched for Riv, but couldn’t see her, a seed of worry in his belly.
‘Get their attention,’ Bleda said to Ruga. She put a horn to her lips, others behind her doing the same, and then horn blasts were ringing out. Bleda saw figures turning, looking up at him on the hillside, and then he saw what he was searching for: grey-dappled wings rising into the air, flying towards him.
Riv gave him a relieved smile as she drew close. She was covered in blood, sweat-stained, a gaunt, haunted look in her eyes.
‘There are Kadoshim flying above the bay,’ he called up to her, ‘and ships fast approaching Ripa.’
Riv’s wings beat and she rose higher in the sky, straight up, hovering. After long moments she dropped back down to him.
‘Help me spread the word,’ she said, ‘and meet me at the quayside.’
She turned, speeding back towards the war-host at the foot of the hill.
Moving into a fast canter, Bleda led his warband on.
‘Kadoshim and ships in the bay,’ he shouted, his Sirak taking up the cry. Bleda turned west, riding along the rear line of the war-host. Word spread quickly, and Bleda saw Riv descending to the front lines befor
e the fired ditch. Behind him he heard the tramp of many feet, looked back to see one of the White-Wing reserve regiments marching after him, towards Ripa’s port. Others were moving his way, too, giants, and many of the White-Wings. They were battered and bloody, survivors from the wall and battlefield, he guessed.
He entered Ripa through a wide street, buildings of timber and thatch rising about him. The calls of gulls grew louder, the smell of salt and fish oil thick in the air, and then he was cantering onto stone, the port and harbour of Ripa spread around the curl of the bay. Wooden piers jutted out into the sea, all manner of ships bobbing on the swell, anchored or roped to piers.
Bleda reined in, his warband spreading behind him in disciplined rows.
The Kadoshim were clear in the sky now, flying low over a fleet of red-sailed ships. They were huge vessels, low in the water, moving sluggishly. As Bleda watched, sails were furled and oars appeared, banks of fifty a side. They dipped into the water, the ships moving faster.
The sound of wings and two shapes were dropping out of the sky, alighting beside him. Riv and Meical. He was cut and bloody, pale-faced, a bandage wrapped around the arch of one of his wings.
Marching feet behind them and the White-Wing regiment moved into the harbour, spreading wide along the dockside. They were around a thousand strong: a hundred shields wide, ten rows deep.
The ground shook, Alcyon upon his bear, a coat of mail rippling across its muscles. Raina, Ukran and the Kurgan giants came with them, a hundred warriors in mail, leather and fur. A few hundred White-Wings marched with them, led by Aphra.
‘Why is the whole war-host not coming?’ Bleda asked. ‘I don’t like the look of those ships.’
‘Asroth can breach the giant’s flame somehow. Some kind of Elemental magic,’ Riv said. ‘Someone has to try and hold him.’
‘So we are likely to be attacked from two fronts?’ Bleda said.
Riv nodded grimly.
A fluttering in the sky and a white bird flew down towards them, the crow, Rab. He alighted on Riv’s shoulder.
‘Looks bad,’ the crow squawked. ‘Follow Rab, leave now. Rab take you to Byrne and friends.’
Bleda looked to the west, the river and giant’s fire a barrier, beyond it a plain and then the trees of Sarva.
‘We can’t just leave everyone,’ Riv said to Rab.
The sound of many wings above and Ben-Elim were flying over the port, some sweeping down. Kol and a dozen others alighted on the ground before Bleda, Riv and Meical. Kol’s face was a mask of cuts and blood, splinters of wood embedded in his cheek and forehead. A bruise was spreading across one eye and cheek, and he held his left arm close to his side, as if to protect his ribs.
Bleda withheld a smile.
‘Our White-Wings will meet them, whoever they are,’ Kol said. ‘Bleda, try to contain them, stop them from flanking the shield wall. Thin their numbers.’
‘You don’t command here,’ Bleda said, even though the strategy was sound. It was exactly what he intended to do, anyway.
‘I do for now,’ Kol said. ‘Dumah is dead, Hadran is dead, every high-ranking Ben-Elim fallen or unaccounted for.’
Bleda blinked at that.
‘Hadran?’ He looked at Riv, knew they had been close. She said nothing, but her cheek twitched.
The ships were closer, now, movement on the decks discernible. A banner was unfurled, above the high prow of the first ship. It was a red, long-taloned claw upon a black field.
‘A bear’s claw?’ Kol said, frowning.
‘No,’ Raina said, approaching them. ‘A draig’s claw. They are the Shekam, and they ride upon draigs.’
Kol looked up at her, his face draining of what little colour it had left.
‘Rab told you things bad,’ the white crow squawked.
CHAPTER NINETY
RIV
Riv felt those words hit her like a fist in the belly. Raina had warned them that the Shekam were marching to war. But Ben-Elim scouts had flown out to watch all the approaches to Ripa from the east, and there had been no reports of them. No one had thought to watch the sea.
How do you get a draig on a ship?
Raina stepped forwards with Ukran and a dozen giants. They were carrying three chests between them.
‘Guard us from above,’ she said to Kol.
The ships were close now, oars powering them towards the many piers and quays that jutted out from the harbour-side.
Raina and the other giants strode down a wooden pier, put the chests down and unbolted them, started taking out long chains and cook-pots.
Raina was pouring something into her pot; Ukran and the other Kurgan were all doing the same. Riv saw sparks and blue flame ignite. Then Raina was gripping chains in her fist, swirling the pot around her head in wide, looping circles. Once, twice, three times around her head, and then she released it, the pot arcing high into the sky, trailing blue flame. It began its descent, crashed onto the deck of the closest ship, just below the mast. An explosion of blue flame, flaring bright, catching on the wooden deck immediately, running up the mast like a hungry beast, the furled sail igniting with a crackle. Other pots were flying through the air, three more smashing into the same ship, others flung higher, further. Some splashed into the sea, a ripple of blue fire on the waves, but others landed onto other ships, blue flame spreading in heartbeats.
Shrieks in the sky and Kadoshim were sweeping down, a hundred, two hundred, more, straight at Raina and her kin on the pier.
Riv heard Bleda curse and then his horse was leaping forwards, his bow rising, Sirak behind him following in a thunder of hooves.
Riv jumped into the air, wings beating, shouted at Kol to help. Meical’s wings beat but he rose into the air with difficulty.
Riv drew her short-sword and black knife, and flew at the Kadoshim.
There were flames in the bay, the ship closest to Raina a maelstrom of blue flame, black smoke billowing into the sky. Timber was cracking, breaking, water flooding into the hull, and Riv heard a terrible roaring, screaming as the ship began to sink.
More pots of flame flew through the air. They crashed onto ships, flames exploding.
Kadoshim swept around the fire and smoke, forcing Raina and the Kurgan to turn and run back along the pier, one pausing to hurl one last fire-pot. Many ships were burning. Spears were flung by the Kadoshim, a giant on the pier crying out, toppling to her knees. Riv saw Raina slip her huge shield from her back and run back for the fallen giant. Ukran and others were faltering under the attack of the Kadoshim, gripping weapons in their fists – axes and war-hammers.
Riv slammed into the first Kadoshim. It never saw her coming, so intent was it upon Raina and the giants. They rolled in the sky, Riv’s sword sheared through its wing-arch, knife jabbing into its throat, and it was plummeting through the air, sinking into the sea with hardly a splash. Riv flew on, amongst the Kadoshim, now, slashing and stabbing, arcs of blood, bodies falling, but there were too many.
Screams from below, giants.
Riv glimpsed white-feathered wings, saw that Kol and the Ben-Elim with him had entered the battle.
There is much I’d say about Kol, but my father is no coward.
Time passed in fragmented moments, punctuated with blood and screams. Riv felt impacts, some blunt, some lines of white-hot fire, saw a burst of her dapple-grey feathers floating through the air, but she fought on. It was who she was, what she did. She was rolling in the air, locked in a grip with a half-breed Kadoshim, the thick muscles of its arm binding her sword arm. She saw its other arm reach for a knife at its belt. Then it was choking, gurgling, dark blood vomiting from its mouth, an arrowhead bursting through its throat.
Its grip went slack and the half-breed began its slow, spiralling tumble to the sea.
Riv looked down, saw Bleda upon the pier, Sirak all around him, scattered along the quayside, their arrows reaping Kadoshim from the skies. Raina and her giants were back on solid ground, running back to Aphra’s shield wall.
Bleda was waving for her, signalling for her to fly clear.
She did, or she tried to, but Kadoshim were swooping for her. Arrows hissed through the air, more Kadoshim dropping around her and then Riv was clear of them and flying over stone again, circling above Aphra and Raina.
Bleda came cantering back, Ruga and a hundred Sirak with him.
‘My thanks, little man,’ Ukran said.
‘Ha, we have taught them to fly higher,’ Bleda said.
Riv looked and saw that the skies were clear, the Kadoshim retreating higher into the blue.
Ships were burning, flames and smoke sweeping across the bay, but more vessels appeared, rowing through the chaos, navigating the sinking hulls. One of the burning ships was still moving through the water; it crashed into a jetty, wood splintering. Blue flames jumped from the ship to the jetty, found some wood and crackled into furious life.
Oars banked and a ship’s hull grated on wood, others crunching into the quayside. Riv had not realized how huge the ships were. They towered over the piers and harbour.
Ropes with iron hooks were cast from the deck, sinking into the timber of quays and jetties, wrapping around pillars and buildings on the dockside.
There was a moment of silence, ships creaking on the rise and swell of the sea.
A shouted command from the shield wall, bodies shuffling tighter together. A thousand shields came up and pulled tight with a crack, like a thunderclap.
Muted voices from within a ship grating against the dockside. The sound of great bolts being drawn, a creaking sound, a thud, and then an enormous panel in the ship’s prow dropped down, crashed onto the harbour-side, leaving a hole in the hull of the ship, like a gaping mouth.
A shadow loomed within that hole, and then a draig was bursting out of the ship and lumbering down the gangplank, a male giant upon its back. The draig thundered onto the dockside, long, razored talons scraping on stone, short legs bowed, its body wide, heavily muscled and low to the ground. The giant upon its back barked an order, pulled on reins and the draig stopped. Its head swayed from side to side, scaly skin a greenish brown, tail lashing. Huge, curved teeth protruded from a long, flat muzzle.