by James Wilde
Something was pressed into his hand and his fingers brushed supple leather, a pouch perhaps.
‘The fever will break soon,’ she murmured. ‘When it does, chew on these leaves. They will give you all the strength you need, and more.’ As she spoke, her voice drifted away from him. ‘From here, you are on your own, Wolf. We cannot watch over you. Live or die, now, that is down to you. But if you survive, you will be changed. Death changes everyone, Lucanus. Lead into gold. That is the secret that no one tells, but now it has been told, to you.’
Digging deep into what little strength he had left, he levered himself up on his elbow and looked around, but though it was too dark to see anything, he felt sure they were gone.
A moment later, he heard a voice calling his name.
‘Here,’ he croaked.
Feet pounded up and Marcus dropped down beside him.
‘I went in search of food and then couldn’t find my way back to you and you didn’t answer.’ The boy’s voice was cracking with emotion.
‘All is well now,’ Lucanus comforted, praying that it was true. ‘Rest a while, but only a while. We have a long march ahead.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Season Turns
‘THAT CANNOT BE true.’ Solinus screwed up his nose. ‘Falx is a sly bastard, but even he wouldn’t steal gold from his own men’s purses.’
‘Have you been drunk for the last few years? Falx would sell his own mother,’ Comitinus snorted. The two men had been bickering from the moment the Grim Wolves had left the shelter of the fort.
Mato searched the rolling grasslands in that curtain between wall and endless gloomy forest. When the moon eased out from behind the clouds, bands of silver and black sailed across the empty landscape and his heart beat faster. ‘Enjoy this moment, brothers. Here, at least, there is peace.’
Comitinus jabbed a finger at Solinus, ignoring Mato’s urging. ‘The wagon bringing the wages from Londinium was robbed on the Stanegate, this we know. The thieves had cloths tied across their faces so they could not be identified. And Falx needs gold to complete his bargain with Varro the merchant.’
Solinus scrubbed the scar tissue on his face. ‘If that were true and the men found out, they would hang Falx from the wall. It’s been an age since anyone’s been paid, and—’
‘We’re here to do a job,’ Bellicus snapped. ‘You’d do well to keep your minds on it.’ He crouched, resting his fingertips on a patch of flattened grass.
Chastened, Comitinus rubbed his skinny wrists despite the spring warmth. ‘I say the Attacotti have returned to whatever place spawned them. We should go back to our beds.’
Solinus sniffed the wind. ‘You’re a whining bastard, and I’m loath to say it, but this time you’re right. If those flesh-eaters were camped out here, there’d be some trace. We’re wasting our time.’
An owl swooped overhead, its screech mournful. Mato watched its silhouette sweep by. ‘On a night like this, no one wastes their time.’ He realized that Bellicus had fallen silent. The red-bearded man was still hunched over the patch of grass. ‘What is it, brother?’ he asked.
‘Someone has passed this way before us. See? Here, and here. I would say four, perhaps five. They’ve not tried to hide their trail.’
Solinus crouched beside him. ‘Bollocks. You’re right.’
Mato turned to Comitinus, whose eyes were the sharpest. ‘What do you see?’
Comitinus shook his head. ‘Nothing, for now. They may well have reached the trees already. When I was a boy—’
‘Not another of your stories,’ Solinus grumbled. ‘What, the Attacotti came to your house and thought you were too scrawny to eat?’
Comitinus cocked an eyebrow. ‘If you don’t want to learn, it’s your loss. You’ll be wishing you did, the next time you’re looking death in the eye.’
Solinus thought for a moment, then said, ‘Go on, then.’
‘Too late.’ Comitinus turned his back.
Mato sighed. Sometimes it was like shepherding children. ‘We have no choice,’ he said, standing. ‘We follow the trail. But we keep our wits about us. If it is the Attacotti, we shouldn’t get too close. Not unless we want to go the way of the Ravens.’
‘Live to take the word back to the fort,’ Comitinus affirmed. ‘That’s the wise course.’
As Bellicus loped ahead, Mato bowed into the breeze and ran after him. He heard the other Grim Wolves pounding tight at his heels.
On the edge of the woods, Bellicus held up a hand to bring them to a halt and they stood for a moment, listening to the screech of the owls and staring into the darkness among the trees. The wind had dropped and all was serene, yet Mato felt his neck prickle with unease. They could all sense it, he knew; instinct built up by years in the Wilds.
He sniffed the air again. ‘Sweat.’ His voice was a whisper but it seemed as if he had shouted.
Comitinus pushed his wolf pelt back from his face. ‘We should turn back.’
‘We can’t.’ Bellicus’ voice was firm. ‘Not until we know for sure.’
‘You’re whining like a babe.’ Solinus swung a foot at Comitinus’ arse. The other man jumped out of the way, cursing. ‘The trail is clear. If we follow it with care we’ll see them before they see us.’
‘But if those bastards turn and look at us with their devil eyes, we run.’ Bellicus pushed his way into the trees.
Another world existed in the woods, one of shadow and stillness. Sometimes Mato enjoyed the calm there, away from the buffeting winds of the grasslands. Not this night. It seemed as though all of the Wilds were holding their breath.
As the Grim Wolves fanned out and became one with the trees, Mato slipped to the right flank. When he glanced over at his brothers, he nodded. Any watchful eyes would barely see them, or would think them beasts searching for prey.
Silence.
He fixed one eye on Bellicus, watching for their leader’s signals. Head down above the trail, Bellicus crept forward. The smell of hot bodies was stronger now. Whoever was there was not far ahead.
He frowned. If this was a war-band, there should be some other sign. Voices, the crunch of footsteps.
Far off through the trees, a figure hove into view in the centre of a moonlit clearing. Mato stiffened. The man was looking their way, seemingly waiting for them.
The Grim Wolves eased behind oak and hawthorn and grew still. Mato exchanged a look with Bellicus. For a while they waited, testing the moment.
The more Mato stared, the more he thought the outline of this man looked familiar. Bellicus must have seen it too, for he slipped out from behind an ash tree and edged forward. Mato watched their leader draw himself up as he neared, and then he raised one arm and flicked his hand to summon the Grim Wolves out of hiding.
At the edge of the clearing, Mato loosened his shoulders and sighed. Motius of the Carrion Crows grinned back, the black spiral tattoos on the left of his face stark in the moonlight.
‘Brothers,’ he greeted them.
‘You are far from your grounds,’ Bellicus said.
The Crow furrowed his brow. ‘We were sent here by Blaesus at Banna, on the trail of Scoti scouts. Were you not told?’
‘Atellus made no mention.’ Bellicus looked around. ‘Where are the others?’
‘Searching ahead. An old wife in one of the villages to the east said the Attacotti had also been seen near here. We have found no tracks so far.’
‘You heard us coming?’ Mato said. ‘Then we are a poor excuse for arcani.’
Motius smiled. ‘I have good ears.’
‘And you left a good trail,’ Mato continued. ‘That’s not like the Carrion Crows.’ He sensed his brothers shift as they all reached the same conclusion. Motius’ smile hardened. He saw the conclusion they had reached too.
The Crow raised his right hand.
Mato backed away, feeling his heart begin to race though he was not yet sure why. As his eyes darted around, he sensed movement above him.
The Carrion
Crows dropped from the low branches. When they hit the ground, they snatched out their short swords and threw themselves into a run. Mato gaped, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Surely their brothers could not be attacking them?
But then Bellicus barked an order to flee and he was darting back towards the grasslands, the other Grim Wolves whipping through the trees on either side.
What treachery is this? His confused thoughts stumbled over each other. They were brothers, a bond built over long years. Why … why …?
And then his feet were skimming across the forest floor, his head swimming with shock and his heart thundering.
As he crashed out of the blur of trees, he heard Motius’ voice ringing out: ‘All things are coming to an end, Grim Wolves. The season has turned.’
Mato raced ahead across the grasslands and felt a rush of relief when he glanced back and saw Bellicus, Solinus and Comitinus scrambling across the mounds and hollows behind him. With Motius at their head, the Carrion Crows bounded out of the treeline in pursuit.
The world had gone mad. Mato’s head swam, but he didn’t slow his step until he could see the torches flickering along the wall and he knew safety was in their grasp. Only then did he look back. No doubt realizing they had lost their chance, the Crows fell away and melted back into the night.
‘The Crows lured us out there to kill us,’ Solinus spat.
‘This makes no sense … our brothers … arcani …’ Realizing he was starting to ramble, Comitinus caught himself.
‘They are always filled with vinegar, those bastard Crows,’ Solinus continued, his fists bunching. ‘Eaten away that they are never paid on time, grumbling and carping and looking for blame. They don’t care for anything but their own comfort.’ He grimaced as if he were thinking of clamping his teeth on Motius’ throat. ‘They’d kill one of their own for a pouch of coin.’
Mato saw that Bellicus was looking away into the dark, lost to his thoughts. ‘What is it, brother?’
Bellicus began slowly. ‘Everyone knows the frontier can’t be kept safe without the work the arcani do. Yet are we treated with respect? No, we’re treated like dogs, thrown crumbs of comfort. And for all that, they can’t even pay us on time. So yes, that eats away at a man’s guts, makes him question who his friends are.’
‘You’re talking as though you’re in your cups,’ Solinus said. ‘Make some sense.’
‘What if they found better work? Work which earned good coin, and paid on time?’
Mato watched Solinus’ exasperation drain away and his brow furrow. He glanced at Comitinus and their eyes widened at the same time.
‘You say the Crows are taking the pay of our enemies?’ Mato said.
‘They helped the Attacotti cross south of the wall. Did they bribe the guards?’ Solinus continued, growing animated. ‘Bastards. What fucking bastards.’
‘They wouldn’t.’ Comitinus was shaking his head. ‘Would they?’
‘They sold us out, all of us in Vercovicium, I’m sure of it,’ Bellicus said.
Mato paced, trying to bring some order to his racing thoughts. ‘They lured us out … why would they lure us out to kill us? Not because they have any grudge against us, but because … because … we are arcani. And we see all. And we hear …’ He clamped down on the word as another thought burst free. ‘What if the Crows are not alone? If the scouts along the length of the wall have been in the pay of the barbarians and lying to the army, we have no true knowledge of what’s happening in the north.’
Bellicus looked round at him. ‘What did Motius mean, “The season has turned”?’
A moment later they were running to the wall. At the nearest crossing point, only one soldier peered down at them, his face sullen, and he barely passed a word when he cranked open the gate. On the road to the fort, Mato looked back, but the wall now looked deserted.
As they neared Vercovicium, voices rose up into the night.
‘What in the name of the gods,’ Bellicus breathed. ‘Has everyone gone mad?’
Groups of soldiers roamed around the barracks, voices cracking with anger. From their flushed faces and clouded eyes, Mato could tell some of them had been drinking, but that was a sign of trouble, not the true cause.
‘Where is our pay?’ someone yelled.
‘Good wine? Food that isn’t foul?’
‘The reinforcements we asked for months ago?’ another shouted.
‘This place is falling down around our ears.’
‘Rome’s abandoned us.’
Mato glimpsed Atellus in the midst of the mob. He was barking orders, his face red, but no one was listening to him.
Bellicus thrust his way through the crowd and grabbed the commandant’s arm. Over the din, Mato heard his friend yelling about the Crows and the threat they posed, but Atellus only waved him away and plunged into another fit of shouting at his men.
‘They’re on the brink of rebellion,’ Comitinus said, looking round. ‘Everything is falling apart.’
Mato peered over their heads and past the barracks. ‘Who mans the gates … the walls?’
As the words left his lips, a star shot up into the heavens out over the Wilds. He watched its arc and knew instantly this was no sign from the gods. It was an omen, though, but one from an earthly origin.
The blazing arrow lit the northern sky, and then fell to earth.
Mato scrambled up the steps to the top of the wall. He could hear the angry voices of the soldiers ebb into a rustle of querying cries.
Squinting against the gusting wind, he leaned on the parapet and looked out into the night.
‘I see nothing,’ Bellicus grunted.
Mato continued to stare. After a moment, he pointed deep into the dark. ‘No. There.’
The forest was moving. And the hills, and the grasslands, the whole of the Wilds. Heaving, seething.
Beside him, Bellicus shook his head and frowned. ‘What am I seeing?’
‘Barbarians,’ Mato uttered.
Thousand upon thousand of them, sweeping down from all sides, to bring judgement on them all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Fall
‘RUN, MARCUS. RUN.’ Lucanus grabbed the boy’s hand and hauled him so hard his feet almost left the ground.
They were halfway across the grasslands with the wall a silhouette against the starry sky ahead when the flaming arrow had lit up the night. The Wolf allowed himself one glance back and wished he hadn’t. A sea of fire reached as far as the eye could see into the black gulf, torches raised high and sweeping southward.
He reeled at the sight, trying to comprehend the true size of this army.
Now he understood the meaning of that council where he’d been taken captive. Scoti, Picts, Attacotti, the envoys from so many tribes across the waves, all of them had come together to plan for this assault, an attack so immense that the empire’s forces would be overwhelmed in an instant.
The ground shook and his ears ached with the din of the battle cries.
‘What is it, Lucanus? What’s happening?’ Marcus’ voice cracked with terror.
‘Keep running,’ the Wolf yelled. ‘Don’t look back. We’ll be safe soon enough.’
Though his heart pounded fit to burst, he’d not escaped death by the skin of his teeth to lose everything now, not when he was so close to home.
His feet flew over the grass and he silently gave thanks for the pouch of herbs left by the three women which had put fire in his limbs.
‘We won’t reach the gate,’ Marcus cried. Lucanus sensed the boy flagging. The long journey had taken its toll.
‘I won’t leave you. I’ll fight them all if I have to.’ Lucanus swept the lad up into his arms as the roar of the army engulfed them. Growing closer by the moment, it sounded as if the very world was coming to an end.
He fought to keep his eyes on the torches hissing above the gate, so tantalizingly close, but then his heart sank when he saw no soldiers stood guard there, none anywhere along the wall as far as h
e could see. Had they all already fled in terror?
No one to open the gate. No escape.
Lucanus pushed aside his fears. He couldn’t let Marcus see them.
The final leg blurred past. In the circle of torchlight at the gate, he dropped Marcus and pressed the boy’s face into his chest so he wouldn’t glimpse what lay at their backs. Drawing his sword, he hammered with the hilt on the wood and yelled until his throat was raw, but the roar of the horde drowned out all his efforts.
The gate stayed closed. No one had heard, or no one was there.
Lucanus felt despair clutch at him, not for himself, but for Marcus and what would lie ahead for him if he fell into the hands of the barbarians.
Clutching the boy to his chest, he rested his back against the gate and gripped his sword, knowing full well it would do no good.
That endless sea of fire, that incalculable army, the entire world shaking in its death-throes.
Lucanus reeled backwards as the gate swung open. Hands grabbed him, supported him. Someone snatched Marcus from his chest and carried him away. In an instant, the gate slammed shut again. The great bar across the inside crashed back into place.
He wrenched the hands off him, his thoughts still outside the wall, waiting to be crushed beneath the iron wave of sword and spear.
‘You’re safe,’ someone bellowed above the roaring from beyond the wall. ‘Lucanus. You’re safe.’
Faces swam around him. Bellicus, Solinus, Comitinus, Mato clutching Marcus tight.
‘You bastard. The gods must smile upon you.’ The Bear heaved him up in a rib-cracking hug.
The gate thoomed, jolting them all from their jubilation, and then again, bodies pounding against wood that now seemed too fragile.
‘To the walls,’ Lucanus yelled. ‘We have to hold them back.’ Even as the words left his mouth he knew how futile they were.
Mato set Marcus down. ‘Run to the House of Wishes and ask for your mother. She’ll keep you safe.’