by John Gwynne
Hooves thudded, steel clashed, letting Jin know other Sirak and Cheren were in the glade about her. She glimpsed Gerel and Tark in her peripheral vision, both of them fighting furiously against Sirak warriors.
Bleda swung at her, a scything blow. She parried, though late, a flash of pain in her wrist, her sword smashed off-line. Bleda backswung and she had no time to bring her sword back into play. She threw herself forwards, inside his strike, and punched him in the face. Blood spurted from his lip and she grabbed at him with her free arm, Bleda trying to pull away, to give himself room to swing his sword. But Jin clung to him, hit him in the head with the pommel of her sword, a clang of iron from his helm. Bleda moved in his saddle, Jin’s weight pushing into him, and he began to topple, reached out and grabbed her as he fell from his horse, dragging her with him.
They crashed to the ground, pain erupting in Jin’s shoulder as Bleda’s arrow snapped with the impact. She rolled away, sword gripped tight in her fist, felt bile rise in her throat, shook her head to clear the black dots that blurred her vision. Then she was climbing to her feet, saw Bleda on one knee.
Warriors were fighting around her. She saw Gerel was still mounted and was fighting Yul, their swords a blur. Tark was trading spear-blows with Old Ellac.
A crashing and splintering of branches above her and two figures plummeted to the ground, a Kadoshim and Ben-Elim, locked in combat, rolling on the forest litter.
Then she was on her feet, striding at Bleda.
He stood to meet her, raised his blade and parried her overhead blow, slipped to the side, sending her blade wide, putting her off-balance, and he was cutting at her waist. She twisted on her heel, her blade smashing his away, and elbowed him in the face, stepped in as he stumbled. His blade came back up, parried her chop at his head, sliced down, striking her coat of mail, a trail of sparks from her chest to belly, mail links shattering. She stepped away, sword levelled at him.
‘No more running,’ she said to him. Bleda was still, his blade held high, two-handed. ‘Today you die.’
Bleda just watched her, focused on her. She saw recognition dawn in his eyes.
‘That’s my sword,’ he said.
‘Yes, and I’m going to kill you with it,’ Jin said.
Two horses rode between them, Gerel and Yul. They were hacking and slicing at one another, blades so fast Jin could only see the after-image of their movement. Blood spurted in the air, raining on Jin’s face, and Gerel reeled back in his saddle, blood jetting from his throat. He gurgled and toppled from his saddle.
Jin just stared, struggling to believe what she had just seen. Gerel. He had been with her since her father’s first visit to Drassil. Loyal, brave, skilled, a constant reassuring presence.
And Yul had just killed him.
Jin leaped forwards and hacked at Yul in front of her, chopped deep into his thigh, blood welling. He cried out, kicked his horse on. Bleda was in front of her again.
Their blades clashed, a rush of blows. Jin pressed hard, her attack relentless. Her cold-face was gone, no mask of her feelings. Hate blazed in her eyes, giving her an edge that Bleda could not match. She pushed him back across the glade, past Ellac and Tark, still mounted. Bleda tripped over a branch, stumbled backwards, fell, Jin rushing at him, sword raised.
Yul appeared on his horse, crashing into Jin, sending her flying through the air. She slammed to the ground, rolled, Yul riding after her.
Jin climbed to her feet, saw Yul bearing down upon her and raised her sword. Beyond Yul she heard a cry and glimpsed Ellac toppling from his horse, a spray of blood. Tark twisted in his saddle, saw Jin and Yul. He drew his arm back, hefted his spear.
‘NO!’ Jin heard Bleda cry.
Tark’s spear flew through the air and slammed into Yul’s back, shattering mail, slicing through leather. Yul cried out, fell forwards in his saddle with the blow, straightened and reached over his back, pulled the spear free.
Jin stepped forwards and stabbed her sword up, into Yul’s belly. He stiffened, gasped, his sword dropping from his fingers. Jin twisted her blade, ripped it free, blood pouring, Yul fell from his saddle onto the ground before her.
A scream: Bleda, he was running at her, sword raised.
Jin set her feet, mouth a hard line.
Bleda struck at her, a flurry that drove her back, his blade a blur, a combination of blows, one merging into the next, Jin parrying, retreating across the glade, no time to counter-strike. He lunged in, stabbing at her belly, and she pivoted, steering Bleda’s blade wide, kicked out at his knee, and he dropped to the ground. Jin struck his sword hard, sending it spinning out of his grip, sliced at his throat, but he rolled away, her blade scoring a line across his chest. She followed, felt victory’s breath on her neck, so close, her sword slashing. Bleda kicked at her legs, swept her off her feet. She fell with a crunch, a sharp pain, ignored it, rising to one knee, her sword swinging at Bleda as he rolled beneath her blade, his hand grasping at the sleeve of his lamellar coat, then lashing out. Too late she saw the glint of steel, a knife slashing close.
She felt an impact, a few heartbeats before she realized something was wrong. The taste of blood. Tried to take a deep breath, choking as liquid filled her lungs.
A frozen moment as she stared at Bleda. Her sword arm was drooping, the blade suddenly too heavy for her, and she fell back, sitting on the ground.
Fight him, kill him, she told herself. You are better than him, you have won. She tried to tell him how much she hated him, choked on more blood, her hands rising to her neck, felt the open wound, slick and slippery.
Bleda stared at her, a bloody knife in his fist. She stared back at him, hating him, hating herself as she realized what was happening.
He had beaten her.
‘For my mother,’ Bleda said, and stabbed his blade up through the bottom of her jaw, thrusting it until the cross-guard slammed into flesh.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND ELEVEN
BLEDA
Bleda tore his knife from Jin’s dying body, saw her slump to the ground. He stumbled to his feet, chest heaving, staring at Jin’s lifeless face.
I’ve done it, avenged my mother. It didn’t feel real. A vision of Jin stabbing down into his mother’s neck. He yelled at her body, a wordless, grief-filled roar.
The sound of combat pulled him back.
He saw Ellac and Tark wrestling on the ground, rolling. Tark had a knife, was trying to stab Ellac, but the old warrior had the huntsman’s knife arm in a lock, and with his other arm was punching Tark in the head with the buckler strapped to his arm. The iron boss cracked into Tark’s temple and the warrior went slack. Ellac rained blows upon him, again and again, Bleda hearing the sound of bone cracking as Tark’s skull caved in.
‘Ellac,’ Bleda called out, and the old warrior looked up, stopped pounding the dead man, raised a hand.
Bleda turned and ran to Yul.
He was lying on the forest floor, blood seeping into the ground. Bleda dropped to his knees beside the warrior, stroked his head, tears in his eyes.
Yul’s eyes flickered open. He was waxy-pale, blood on his lips. His fingers twitched and Bleda gripped his hand.
‘Mightiest of the Sirak,’ Bleda said to him. He called over his shoulder, ‘Ellac, find a healer!’
‘I saw you,’ Yul breathed, a half-smile touching his lips. ‘My King.’ A long, sighing breath, and then his eyes closed and his head slumped.
Bleda dropped his head, silent tears running down his cheeks.
The sound of fighting and he turned, saw a Kadoshim and Ben-Elim rolling together, punching, biting at one another. They came to a halt, the Kadoshim on top, pinning the Ben-Elim’s arms, reaching for a knife at his belt.
Bleda ran at them.
The knife raised high, was stabbing down.
Bleda chopped into the neck of the Kadoshim, half-severing its head. It fell to the side, blood spurting, a tremor through its wings, and then it was still.
Bleda looked down at the Ben-Elim on t
he ground.
It was Kol.
Bleda stood there, looking down at Kol. His sword hovered. He hated this man. The killer of his brother and sister. A tremor ran through his blade, the desire to drive it down into Kol overwhelming.
The rustle of footsteps, Old Ellac was walking towards him. He did not say anything, just looked at Bleda.
Bleda looked back at Kol, the Ben-Elim staring up at him with his half-sneer.
With a shuddering breath Bleda lowered his sword.
‘I’ll let the Ben-Elim Assembly deal with you,’ he said, and turned away, strode to Ellac, wrapped his arms around the old warrior and hugged him. Ellac hugged Bleda back, shaking with emotion.
A wet cough behind Bleda and Yul moved.
‘Ellac, go and find a healer,’ Bleda exclaimed as he rushed to Yul, saw blood on the warrior’s lips, but his chest was moving, his eyes open, fixed on Bleda. He dropped to his knees and gripped Yul’s hand.
‘Hold on, my friend.’
Ellac nodded and hurried limping to his horse. He picked up his spear on the way, then climbed into his saddle and rode out of the glade.
Behind Bleda, Kol found his spear and levered himself upright with it.
‘There is no Assembly left,’ Kol said. ‘All of them are dead.’
‘You’ll stand a trial,’ Bleda said over his shoulder. ‘Of that I am certain.’
Kol curled a lip at him. ‘If I do, I’ll be found innocent.’
‘No, you won’t,’ Bleda said. He coughed, blood in his mouth, spat it out. ‘You are a liar and a murderer. I have seen the glade of cairns where slaughtered babies have been hidden to sate your hubris and lust. I will testify that to any who will listen.’
The rustle of wings and Bleda half-turned, saw Kol flying towards him. He started to move, then Kol’s spear punched into his throat. He tried to raise his sword, but it was too heavy. He dropped it, lifted his arms, tried to grab Kol, but the Ben-Elim ripped the spear free and stepped back.
‘Will your kind never learn their place?’ Kol said, shaking his head.
Bleda fell to his knees, swayed, toppled onto his back. Kol reached down, plucked an arrow from Bleda’s quiver and stabbed it into Bleda’s thigh.
Bleda hardly felt it.
Yul grunted, moved.
Kol stood over them both, gripped his spear two-handed and stabbed it down into Yul’s chest. A tremor passed through the warrior, a sigh.
Bleda’s hand twitched for his sword, but his body would not obey. He saw Kol become a silhouette that spiralled upwards, the sky a bright, white light behind him. Darkness blurred the edges of his vision, crept slowly inwards.
His last thought was of Riv.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWELVE
RIV
Riv opened her eyes. She could see booted feet, could hear the grunt and yell of combat. Everything was pain. She moved, her wings twitching.
‘Careful,’ a voice said to her. She turned her head, looked up to see Jost looming over her.
‘What happened?’ Riv said.
‘You fell out of the sky, with two arrows in you. Lucky for you that you landed on a pile of dead Revenants.’
‘Don’t feel lucky.’ Riv grunted, trying to climb to one knee. Nausea swept through her, making her eyes water. Bile rose in her throat.
‘Well, you’re lucky to be feeling anything at all,’ Jost said, heaving her up.
Riv saw a bandage around her thigh, put some weight on it. There was a tremor, but it held.
‘Had to cut the arrows out of you. The one in your leg was deeper than the one in your back. A coat of mail helps.’
She spread her wings, gave them a beat. The muscle of her right wing-arch ached, but she thought her wings would take her weight.
‘Here,’ Jost said, holding out Riv’s short-sword and her black knife.
Riv was standing in the centre of a shield square, two rows deep, facing in four directions, maybe eighty or ninety warriors, a mixture of White-Wings and warriors of the Order. Riv glimpsed Kill standing in the front, shoulder pressed into her shield and stabbing her short-sword through the gap. Ert was beside her. They were surrounded by acolytes, grunting and pushing back with their own shields and short-swords. But this wall was made up of White-Wings and warriors of the Order of the Bright Star.
Acolytes were dying.
A half-dozen warriors were standing or sitting in the space within the shield square. Sorch was there, tall and broad. He nodded a greeting to Riv.
Dimly she heard a booming laugh, recognized it from the battle on Ripa’s plain.
‘Asroth,’ she whispered.
‘Aye. He’s chopping his way through shield walls,’ Jost said, with a shudder. ‘Fortunately, he’s over there, somewhere.’ He nodded west.
‘WARE THE DRAIG!’ a voice yelled, from the eastern side of the shield square.
An ear-splitting roar rang out, a tremor in the ground, and then warriors were flying through the air, screaming. A draig’s head and shoulders appeared, head lashing, jaws snapping, sweeping up a White-Wing and crunching down. Fritha sat upon its back. She stabbed down at a warrior of the Order with her spear.
The draig lumbered forwards, scattering the wall, warriors thrown, scrambling away. Acolytes started to push into the gap the draig had made.
Riv snarled, flexed her wings and leaped into the air, a wave of pain in her leg, but her wings worked and she flew towards Fritha, building speed.
Something crashed into Riv and she was hurled through the air, crunched back to the ground. She rolled, a shape moving after her, sinuous and reptilian.
Fritha’s snake-woman.
She loomed over Riv, rising high on her coils, a fair-haired woman, her arms and torso covered in a coat of mail, a round shield on one arm, a black-bladed spear in her fist.
Black-bladed. Byrne wants that spear.
‘Frithaaaa wants you,’ the snake-woman hissed, and she surged forwards. Riv stabbed with her short-sword, but the snake-woman’s shield batted it away, then coils were wrapping around Riv, crushing her legs together, pinning her arms tight.
Sorch and Jost appeared, a dozen warriors behind them. They charged the snake-woman, shields up. Jost’s sword rang on her shield boss, Sorch chopped at the white-scaled body of the woman, cutting a shallow gash through thick scales. A pale, milk-like substance oozed from the wound and the creature let out a hissing scream. She slammed her shield into Jost, hurling him away, her strength prodigious. Sorch stabbed at her, his blade sinking deeper, and she shrieked again, turned on him and stabbed her spear. He raised his shield, but the black-bladed spear punched through the layers of linen and linden wood as if they were a cobweb. Sorch grunted, sank to his knees, his shield falling away, a red hole in his chest. He looked at Riv and then fell flat on his face.
Riv yelled, writhed and strained in the snake-woman’s coils, but she could not break free.
The snake-woman whirled her spear above her head, a looping slice at the remaining warriors. Her spear cut through the shields like wheat, carving across three warriors, all of them falling back with red wounds gaping. She surged forwards, leaving trails of blood and black smoke in the air, and warriors fell dead or wounded about her. Then she was dragging Riv across the field towards Fritha and her draig, who were only twenty or thirty paces away, destroying White-Wings and warriors of the Order with a savage glee.
Another roaring, from the east, the ground trembling, and Riv saw White-Wings parting, leaping out of the way. A huge white-furred bear lumbered into view, a battered and torn coat of mail upon it, the white fur of its muzzle stained pink with blood. Drem was sitting upon its back, a shield upon one arm, white star upon a black field, a sword in his fist.
The bear paused a moment. Drem looked around, saw Fritha upon her draig, and then the snake-woman slithering towards Fritha.
‘ELISE,’ Drem bellowed at the snake-woman, ‘LET HER GO!’
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN
DREM
/> Drem snapped a word to Friend and the white bear burst into a shambling run after Elise, who was slithering away, coils undulating, speeding her across the battleground to Fritha. But Friend was faster. The bear slammed into the serpent-woman, a clawed paw raking her tail, his chest crunching into her torso. Elise screamed, as she was thrown through the air, her coils loosening around Riv, who beat her wings and wriggled free, stabbing deep with her black knife. Riv raised her arm for another blow, but there was a rushing of air and Morn was sweeping down from above. Riv screamed a challenge and leaped into the air, the two of them stabbing and slashing at each other, swirling up and away.
Friend’s jaws clamped around Elise’s torso, tearing through mail into flesh, blood spurting, and he shook her. Elise screamed, her snake-body shaking like a whip.
Wrath looked up, started to lumber towards them.
Elise lashed out with her tail, Drem blocking it with his shield. The blow cracked timber, numbed his arm. She swung her spear, raked a line along Friend’s shoulder, slicing through mail and into flesh.
Friend roared.
Drem leaned in his saddle and chopped down at her, his sword biting into Elise’s neck.
Her spear fell from her grip and Friend spat her twitching body on the ground, then stamped on her head. A hissed cry cut short. A tremor quivering through Elise’s tail and then it flopped still.
There was a scream from Fritha, high-pitched, grief and rage mingled, and the draig was charging at Friend, roaring, the ground shaking.
Drem looked at them, a moment of fear, then he thought of his da, hefted his shield and gripped his sword, shouted a word to Friend.
The white bear charged.
Draig and bear crashed together, an impact that rattled Drem to his bones.
Teeth cracked as the draig’s and bear’s jaws lunged at each other, trying to find purchase in head or neck. The draig’s talons raked Friend’s chest, the mail coat tearing but taking the brunt of the blow. Friend’s paw slapped the draig’s head, claws tearing red strips from its muzzle. Fritha stabbed with her spear, the blade turned by Friend’s mail. Drem leaned and chopped with his sword, opened a red wound on the draig’s thick neck. It roared, backed away, bunched its legs and hurled itself at them again, jaws clamping around Friend’s chest and shoulder, biting down.