by John Gwynne
Asroth snarled and rushed in, wings beating, gripping his axe two-handed. Ethlinn stepped in to meet him, holding her spear in the same way, and their weapons met, a series of cracks and clashes. Ethlinn was taller than Asroth, but shockingly fast for her size. There was a flurry of blows, Ethlinn’s spear striking Asroth four times, three of them sparking on his black mail, the fourth slicing a red line down one forearm. He staggered away, off-balance, stood and looked at the blood on his arm. He looked at Ethlinn, then up at the sky above her.
‘TO ME!’ Asroth bellowed, and a swarm of Kadoshim disengaged from combat and swept towards him. Ethlinn disappeared within a storm of wings. Riv heard her shouting words of power, saw Kadoshim swept and hurled by strong winds, but there were so many.
Riv flew towards them, Meical breaking into a limping run, others trying to get to Ethlinn through the swirling Kadoshim. Meical cried out. Riv saw him on the ground, a Kadoshim standing over him. Without thought she threw her black knife, the blade punching into the Kadoshim’s back, high, between its wings. It shrieked, stumbled forwards, Meical rolling to one knee, standing, slashed with his sword across the Kadoshim’s belly. Mail links torn, a line of blood. The Kadoshim stumbled back.
Riv flew down, wanting her knife back.
‘This is why you will lose, Meical,’ the Kadoshim snarled. ‘Because you do not see these things for the vermin they are.’ He sneered at Riv.
‘You are the vermin, Sulak,’ Meical said, ‘and Riv is my friend.’ He stepped forwards, a straight stab into the Kadoshim’s throat. Sulak fell away, gurgling. Riv kicked him over and pulled her knife from his back.
A cry behind them, both turning to see Kadoshim stabbing down at Ethlinn, and she stumbled, her spear dropping from her hands. Asroth stepped in, Ethlinn’s mouth moving as she spoke words of power, but Asroth grabbed her wrist, heaved her towards him and slammed his helmeted head into her face. Ethlinn’s legs buckled and she dropped to her knees.
A roar from Balur, Riv glancing to see him running, cutting a Kadoshim from the sky without breaking stride.
Asroth stepped back and swung his axe, a sickening crunch as the blade chopped through mail and carved deep into Ethlinn’s back. She collapsed to the ground, her legs twitching, then still. Asroth put his boot on her back and wrenched the axe free.
Riv and Meical hurled themselves at Asroth. He swung the butt end of his axe, smashing into Riv’s side, sending her crashing into Meical. They tumbled away, Asroth striding after them, axe rising.
The ground trembled and a white bear shambled to stand over Riv and Meical, Drem upon its back. The bear lashed with a huge paw, caught Asroth halfway through his axe-swing and hurled him through the air.
Drem looked down at Meical and Riv.
‘Best be getting back on your feet, we’ll need to do this together.’
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTEEN
DREM
Drem slipped down from Friend’s back.
‘You stay out of this,’ Drem said to the bear. ‘Kill Kadoshim or acolytes, but leave Asroth to us.’ He offered his hand to Riv, helping her stand.
‘Take this,’ he said to Meical, offering the black axe.
Meical looked at it, saw black smoke coil, gave a cold smile. He sheathed his sword and took the axe.
Drem turned and faced Asroth.
Asroth beat his wings, righting himself, strode back towards them, his axe rising again.
‘You should have seen: I know how to deal with bears,’ Asroth growled.
‘You’ll kill no more of my friends today,’ Drem said, walking towards Asroth. Riv limped on his left side, Meical on the right.
Asroth laughed. ‘I’ll kill all of your friends today, and you as well.’ He shook his head. ‘Humans, thinking you can actually make a choice about how this will end.’
‘We’ll end you, you pale-faced bastard,’ Cullen called out, running to join them. A Kadoshim swept out of the sky, stabbing, but Cullen sidestepped and sliced with a black-bladed spear, the Kadoshim crying out, his intestines spilling to the ground.
Drem nodded at Cullen as he came to stand beside them.
Asroth looked at them, at the starstone weapons in their hands. Sword, axe, knife and spear. Something rippled across his face.
‘Nothing worthwhile is easy,’ Asroth said grimly, and started walking towards them.
A whistling sound, something huge hurtling through the air between Drem and Riv. Sig’s sword, spinning end-over-end. It slammed into Asroth’s chest, point first, would have skewered a draig, but his coat of mail somehow held. The sword exploded into a thousand shards but the impact hurled Asroth from his feet, flying through the air, losing his grip on his axe.
Drem turned to see Balur One-Eye running towards them. He slowed at Ethlinn’s body, staring down at her, then looked at Asroth. His face was twitching and shuddering, grief a raw wound in his eyes. Slowly Drem saw it shift to rage. A cold, burning rage. Balur stalked towards them. He shrugged his war-hammer from his back, long-shafted, iron banded, a solid lump of pitted iron at its head. He rolled his shoulders, clicked his neck.
Asroth rose slowly, looked at Balur and the others. Looked to the sky.
‘TO ME!’ Asroth bellowed at his Kadoshim, as he took his whip from his belt, let the iron-bound cords drop to the ground, slid a short-sword from its scabbard.
Kadoshim tried to disengage from their battles, some flying to Asroth, gathering behind him, hovering. Fifteen, twenty of them.
Balur started to run at Asroth, Drem a heartbeat behind. Riv lifted into the air, Cullen and Meical following Drem and Balur.
Asroth’s whip cracked, straight at Balur, but somehow Balur swayed and swerved, the cords hissing through the air, past his face, and Balur was leaping.
Asroth stabbed out with his short-sword.
Balur parried the blow with his hammer-haft, iron bands screaming, a flare of sparks. He swung the hammer into Asroth’s head, a grating crunch, sending Asroth stumbling, reeling, his black helm spinning through the air, the leather buckle snapping. Asroth’s wings beat, steadying him, and he turned snarling at Balur, silver hair flowing down his back.
Balur strode at him, a Kadoshim diving, stabbing, Balur hammering it into the ground.
‘Talamh a shealbhú mo namhaid,’ Asroth yelled, and the ground around Balur’s feet shifted into a sucking bog, Balur sinking into it.
Drem was close, ducked a Kadoshim, slashed with his sword, a clang as his blade was parried. Cullen stabbed the Kadoshim with his spear, a shriek. Drem continued moving forwards, closer to Asroth, swept a Kadoshim’s spear away, slashed across the demon’s throat.
Asroth stepped towards Balur, his sword rising, the giant held firm in the ground. Asroth smiled.
‘Scaoileadh talún mo chara,’ a voice cried out, and Drem twisted to see Byrne heaving herself across the ground towards them, her legs dragging limp behind her. ‘Scaoileadh talún mo chara,’ Byrne shouted again, and the ground around Balur’s feet solidified, spitting him out. The giant stumbled, fell to the ground, rolled as Asroth’s sword hissed through air.
Asroth bellowed his frustration.
Meical reached Asroth, ducked his sword-swing and chopped the black axe Drem had given him into Asroth’s thigh.
A bellowing scream, Asroth lashing a backswing at Meical, Meical ducking, too slow, the sword blade slicing through his wing, sending him staggering a few paces. Asroth’s whip cracked again, wrapping around Meical, screams as black iron bit, and Asroth dragged Meical through the air, hurling him away, flesh tearing.
Riv swept down through a storm of Kadoshim, swerved around Asroth and his sword and slashed with her black knife, tearing a long rent in the black mail across Asroth’s ribs. Blood welled. Then she was sweeping up, out of range, Kadoshim falling upon her.
Asroth paused, looked at the blood, snarled, drew his arm back, cracked the whip at Riv.
‘Scuabann an ghaoth é,’ Byrne cried, and a funnel of wind rose around Asroth, rockin
g him, sending the strike of his whip wide.
A wordless scream from Asroth, rage and fury. He muttered words, eyes fixed on Byrne. Flames crackled to life along the wound on his arm, tongues of fire materializing; Asroth gathered them in his fist, pulled his arm back to hurl them at Byrne. Drem slammed into Asroth, staggering him, the tongues of fire flung to the ground, an explosion of flames and sparks; heat swept Drem, scorching hair, Drem leaping away.
Asroth roared.
Balur came at him, war-hammer swinging. Asroth’s legs bunched and he launched into the air, wings snapping wide and beating, the hammer hissing below his feet. He swung his sword at Balur, who raised his hammer, the sword chopping into the haft. A crack and the shaft was splintered. Balur dropped the two halves. Asroth kicked him in the face, Balur falling backwards, crashing to the ground, and Asroth’s whip cracked, wrapping around Balur’s arm, iron hooks biting deep.
Balur bellowed his pain.
Asroth tensed, pulling on the whip, flesh flaying along Balur’s arm.
Drem stepped in and swung his black sword, severing the whip’s cords. A crack like thunder, black smoke exploding where sword and whip met. Asroth tumbled away, the resistance suddenly gone.
Balur climbed to one knee.
‘Think I’ll see how this suits me,’ he growled. He lifted Asroth’s long axe from the ground, climbed to his feet.
Asroth stared, wings beating, rose hovering into the air.
Drem saw it in Asroth’s eyes.
Fear. He’s going to fly away.
Asroth’s wings beat, lifting him higher.
Cullen’s spear slammed into Asroth’s side, punching through the mail, into his ribs.
Asroth screamed, ripped the spear from his body, another lurching beat of his wings taking him higher, blood cascading from the spear-wound.
Riv crashed into him, the two of them spinning together. Drem saw Riv’s knife rising and falling, stabbing into Asroth’s back, slicing one of his wings to tattered ribbons. Riv was screaming her mother’s name, again and again. Asroth bellowed his pain, punched his sword hilt into Riv’s head, Riv falling away, limbs suddenly boneless. She crashed to the ground in a heap, Asroth lurching down behind her, his tattered wing failing him. He stumbled to the ground and Cullen leaped at him, slashing with Corban’s sword. The blade crunched into Asroth’s shoulder, mail turning the blade, but Drem heard the sound of bone breaking. Asroth grunted, slashed his short-sword across Cullen’s shoulder, slicing through mail and deep into muscle, blood spurting.
Cullen cried out. Asroth punched him with his gauntleted fist. Cullen’s nose broke, blood pouring. He fell flat on his back, Asroth standing over him, short-sword rising.
Drem stepped in, held his sword as his da had taught him, high in a two-handed grip.
Stooping falcon.
He slashed at Asroth, right to left, shattered black mail, a red gash from shoulder to ribs. Asroth cried out, falling away.
Kadoshim swooped at Drem. There was a hiss of air and body parts were raining down upon him – Balur swinging the black-bladed long axe.
Drem and Balur walked after Asroth, stepped left and right.
‘TO ME!’ Asroth cried, backing away, short-sword flitting from Drem to Balur. But no one answered his call, his Kadoshim dead or entangled in battle. Asroth beat his wings, rose lurching into the air.
‘Fréamhacha an aeir, greim air,’ Byrne yelled, and roots burst from the ground, leaping into the air like striking snakes, wrapping around Asroth’s ankles, snaring him, dragging him crashing back to earth.
Drem stepped in, sword in guard across his body.
Iron gate, his father’s voice whispered.
Asroth staggered, slashed at the roots, saw Drem and lunged at him, a clang as Drem swept the sword wide, then stepped in quickly, stabbing from low to high, two-handed.
Boar’s tusk, his father breathed in Drem’s mind.
Drem yelled as his black sword punched into Asroth’s belly, pierced mail, deeper, through linen, wool and into flesh. Asroth stared at him, surprise, shock, disbelief crawling across his face.
Drem stepped into the blow, forcing his blade deeper, Asroth grunting, gasping. Black blood pulsed around the wound.
‘That is my oath fulfilled, Father,’ Drem whispered. Then he ripped the sword free, blood flowing. Asroth stumbled back a pace.
Then Balur’s black axe crunched into Asroth’s neck, a downwards stroke, shearing through mail, collarbone, deep into Asroth’s chest.
Asroth opened his mouth to say something, but only blood bubbled on his lips.
He fell backwards, crashed to the ground, and lay still.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND NINETEEN
RIV
Riv groaned, opened her eyes.
Am I dead?
The pain pulsing through her, from so many places, all clamouring for her attention, told her she was definitely alive.
‘Here,’ a voice said, Meical, standing over her. His arm, shoulder and part of his face were sliced to ribbons, flesh lacerated, blood flowing, but he had a smile on his face.
Riv took his arm and climbed to her feet.
‘Asroth?’ she said.
‘Dead,’ Meical nodded.
It was quiet.
There was no more combat in the air above, or on the field around them. Riv saw half-breed Kadoshim on their knees, arms in the air in surrender, acolytes dropping their weapons.
Riv and Meical walked slowly, the ground littered with the dead. Cullen was climbing to his feet, his nose twisted, clearly broken, his lower face slick with blood. Together the three of them joined Drem and Balur, staring down at Asroth.
He looked smaller, in death. His skin translucent-pale, silver hair splayed around his head. He was covered in wounds, their collective effort.
You are avenged, Mam.
‘Got to admit, he was hard to kill.’ Cullen was breathing hard. ‘Good fight, though.’
Drem shook his head wearily.
Balur spat on Asroth’s corpse and walked away. An arm wrapped around Riv’s shoulder and she looked to see Jost. Tall, skinny, impossible-to-kill Jost, his shield arm was hanging limp.
‘Should have known you’d be one of the God-Killers,’ he said, grinned at her.
She hugged him, so much emotion sweeping through her.
The tremor of giant feet and Balur returned. He was holding a figure cradled in his arms.
Byrne.
Drem saw her and stepped aside for Balur. Byrne was pale, pain pinching her features, but her eyes were aware. She looked at Drem and he reached out and squeezed her hand.
‘We did it,’ he whispered, ‘with your help.’
A tear dropped from Byrne’s eye.
‘Look, Byrne,’ Balur grated, his voice full of grief. ‘Look at the accomplishment of your life’s work.’ Gently he stroked hair from Byrne’s face and angled her so that she could see Asroth.
‘It’s over,’ Balur rumbled.
Those words sank into Riv, slowly, like raindrops into wool.
‘It’s over,’ she breathed. Somehow saying the words out loud made it feel real. Her legs felt weak and she held onto Jost, who grinned at her.
‘It’s over,’ she said again. Felt a rush of relief flood through her, a flicker of joy. And then all she could think of was one thing. One person.
Bleda.
Because when you love someone, you have to share your joy with them.
She looked around at the gathering crowd, hundreds strong, now, but couldn’t see him, or any of the Sirak. She spread her wings, people shuffling away behind her, giving her space.
‘Have you seen Bleda?’ she asked Jost. He shook his head. Faelan was close by and heard her.
‘I saw the Sirak near the forest,’ he said.
Riv beat her wings and took to the sky, spiralling up.
Most of the field was still now, crows circling. The living were mostly moving to look at Asroth, though others were walking amongst the fallen, search
ing for survivors, tending to the injured. She saw Kill organizing the guarding of prisoners. Riv flew west, across the field, dead draigs strewn beneath her, and far in the distance one running, its lurching, shambling gait taking it towards Ripa. There was movement within the eaves of the forest. She saw Sirak upon horses, and giants. Her wings beat, taking her further, and she angled downwards, skimmed the treetops, saw more Sirak and giants passing through the forest. And then she was flying over a glade, saw bodies strewn upon the ground, Sirak lined around the glade’s edge, in a deep circle.
Worry uncoiled in her belly like a wyrm, slithering, stealing her joy away in a heartbeat.
She circled lower, level with the trees now, then lower.
The Sirak were there, hundreds of them ringing the glade, and she saw Old Ellac, sitting on the grass and staring, at a body.
And then she saw him.
‘No,’ she breathed, felt her stomach lurch, dived the last distance, landing, her wounded leg almost giving way, and she was dropping to the ground, throwing herself upon Bleda’s body, holding him, pulling him into her arms, sobbing, kissing his face. His cold, cold face.
‘No, Bleda,’ she said, ‘it’s over, you have to wake up, it’s over, we’ve done it. We can go home now.’ She shook him, willing him to take a breath, for her to see his eyes focus on her. His beautiful, beautiful eyes, that always seemed to look into her, and know her. She stroked his cheek, her tears falling onto him, her body shaking with sobs. She hugged him tight, rocking back and forth.
She didn’t know how long she had been there, but dimly she became aware of other people around her. Faelan, looking down at her with sad eyes. His kin were about him; others were in the trees. Drem and Cullen rode into the glade, Drem upon Friend, the bear limping, his fur bloodied and torn. Meical rode with them, fresh bandages wound about his face and shoulder. They were looking at Riv with such concern in their eyes that her grief surfaced again, a fresh wave. She drew in a shuddering breath, then looked up at Ellac.