by John Gwynne
Veradis rode at the head of his small column of warriors, Nathair beside him.
The Prince had made the decision to leave at sunrise. I have said all my father bade me, my duty is done, he had said, so at first light Veradis had headed for the stables, ready to ride. There was more than one red-eyed, sore-headed warrior amongst his small band, but nevertheless, and much to Veradis’ pride, they were all soon gathered in the courtyard before the main gates. As soon as they were ready, Nathair had walked from the hall, deep in conversation with Ektor. Krelis loomed through the doors behind them. He walked straight to Veradis.
‘Farewell, little brother,’ he said, offering his arm. Veradis had leaned forward in his saddle and gripped it.
‘Last night, Father…’ Krelis began, then shook his head. ‘I think I will visit you soon. Until then, have a care.’ His eyes flickered briefly to Nathair, and suddenly the anger of the previous night had gripped Veradis again.
‘Have a care,’ he said. ‘I would remind you that I was sent to Jerolin, and have returned the better for it. I am no child, Krelis. I serve the Prince of all Tenebral.’
‘Aye. You made that clear enough last night,’ Krelis said, his voice quiet, meant only for Veradis.
‘Is it a crime to serve your Prince?’ Veradis said tightly. ‘It is Father who should have a care. His words bordered on treason.’
Krelis’ eyes narrowed, and he quickly released his grip on Veradis’ arm.
‘Be very sure you mean the words that come out of your mouth. You cannot unsay them.’ Before Veradis was able to reply Krelis had taken a step back and raised his hand in farewell. He raised his own arm, fist clenched, and led his band of warriors from Ripa.
He had not looked back.
They were cantering along a worn track skirting the northern fringe of the forest. Nathair had insisted, saying that he would explain later. Veradis was not overly concerned–his mind kept returning to his brother’s face and their harsh words. Never had he been at odds with Krelis before. Never.
They made camp before sunset, within sight of the broken walls of Balara, the old giant ruin.
‘Leave your horse saddled; you and I will be riding out soon,’ Nathair said. Veradis just nodded and helped the other warriors settle their mounts and make camp.
He ate a bowl of fish stew as the sun sank into the forest, high clouds glowing a soft pink. Soon after, Nathair called him.
‘If we are not back by first light,’ the Prince said to Rauca, pointing to the outline of the giant ruins, ‘take everyone here, ride to that tower and kill anyone that you find there. Do you understand?’
Rauca frowned, but nodded.
‘We are going to meet Calidus of the Vin Thalun, and another. His master, Lykos,’ Nathair said as they rode into the darkness, the ground rising gently as they passed amongst the first trees of the forest.
‘Is this safe, Nathair?’
The Prince shrugged. ‘I believe so. Sometimes risks must be taken, if the rewards are great enough. Tonight I will further my father’s cause.’
‘But, what if they mean to kill you, or take you prisoner and ransom you?’
‘Aye, there is that. But they could have done that already. Calidus made that point quite clearly, remember.’
‘Still…’ grunted Veradis, not liking it at all.
Nathair reined in his horse and dismounted. ‘First I would talk with you, of something else.’
Veradis slipped from his saddle and faced Nathair, whose face was mostly shadow, eyes reflecting liquid starlight.
‘My father’s cause. Our cause. Do you believe it to be true?’
‘Aye, Nathair.’ The Prince stared at him in silence, so Veradis continued. ‘I am not a thinker, like Ektor, but I am, I guess, a fair judge of people. I know King Aquilus, I know you. I follow your lead. I trust my King. And these are strange times, there’s no denying. Stones weeping blood, white wyrms roaming the land.’
Nathair shook his head. ‘No. Following my lead, my father’s lead, it is not enough, Veradis. I must know what you believe.’ He poked Veradis in the chest. ‘Halvor’s book. What it predicts, about the God-War. Do you believe that?’
Slowly, deliberately, Veradis nodded. ‘I do.’ And he was surprised, for, saying it out loud, he realized that he did, completely.
Nathair smiled, ran a hand through his hair, the silence growing. Eventually he spoke.
‘My dreams. The ones I have told you of.’
‘Aye.’
‘I think I have some understanding of them. The voice that I hear, always the same. I believe it to be Elyon, the All-Father.’ He paused. ‘Do you think me mad?’
‘No, Nathair.’
‘The one spoken of in the prophecy, the Bright Star, Elyon’s champion. I believe… I believe I am that man. That through my dreams Elyon is summoning me. When we met Calidus, when you leaped through a wall of fire for me. Afterwards I talked with Calidus a long while, in his tent. He knows. He spoke of the God-War, he told me I am… chosen.’
Veradis shivered.
‘My father has been telling me of these times. Warning me of them. Preparing me for them. We are on the brink of the abyss, Veradis. I must have good men around me. Great men. You are the first of those. Already we have stood for each other’s lives, you and I. You leaped through the fire for me, when no one else did. And I saw your loyalty to me last night, before all else, even your own kin.’
Veradis was silent. He wanted to look away, feeling suddenly awkward, but Nathair’s gaze held him. The Prince drew a knife from his belt. It glinted in the starlight.
‘I would make a blood-oath with you. You are Elyon’s gift to me: the brother that I never had, my first-sword, champion, battlechief and friend. Bind yourself to me now, and Elyon will take us on to glory you have never dreamed of. We shall face Asroth’s Black Sun and change our world. What say you?’
Everything that had happened over the last turn of the moon flashed through Veradis’ mind. He saw his father’s face, heard his words of the night before–a child does not become a man overnight–he saw Krelis’ face, Ektor’s, but above them all Nathair’s words resonated. Somehow, utterly, he knew that Nathair was destined for greatness. He felt it, could almost hear a voice whispering it in his mind, urging him to bend his knee. But more than that, Nathair believed in him. Suddenly he was overwhelmed by this man before him: prince, leader, friend, and he sank to his knees.
‘I would swear this oath gladly. I would bind myself to you and your cause, Nathair, now and until death.’
‘Then stand, brother, for that is what you are to me now, and let us seal this oath with our blood.’ He drew his knife across his open palm, then offered the hilt to Veradis. With a quick motion Veradis did the same, and they gripped each other’s hands, standing there long moments in the darkness.
‘We are blood-sworn now, bound while blood flows in our bodies.’ Nathair smiled. ‘Come then, let us go meet our destiny.’ He swung back into his saddle and urged his horse forwards. Veradis stood there a moment, clenching his stinging palm, then he scrambled onto his horse.
The ruin of Balara rose up, a dark shadow framed in the starlight. Veradis felt a pang, being this close to the place of so many childhood terrors, but Nathair was determined to enter. The gateway was blocked with fallen rubble, so they rode around the walls and soon found a section that had collapsed. There was no path for the horses, so they dismounted and hobbled them amongst a stand of trees, then entered the ancient fortress of giants.
Nathair strode along a wide street, Veradis a step behind, eyeing the deep shadows to either side suspiciously. He saw a light up ahead, filling an arched doorway, and above it reared the broken tower, rubble littering the ground around it.
A man stood beside the door, a long spear in his hand. Veradis gripped the hilt of his sword but Nathair walked past the man and through the open doorway. The spearman was Deinon, the Vin Thalun he had taken to Jerolin in chains. The corsair dipped his head to Veradis,
who grunted and followed Nathair into the tower.
Torches burned around the room, which was wide and round; crumbling stone and rotted wood were scattered across the floor. A stone stairway wound around the tower wall until it abruptly ended, stars shimmering beyond the jagged outline of the shattered wall.
Three people stood before them. Two he instantly recognized–the thin, grey-bearded face of the Vin Thalun Calidus, and his giant companion, Alcyon. The other one stepped forward. He wore a plain leather cuirass, sharp eyes staring out from a weathered face, all deep lines and brown skin. He extended a hand towards Nathair, a jewelled ring of office glinting in the torchlight.
‘Welcome, Nathair. I am Lykos. I have waited long for this moment.’
Nathair gripped his arm.
‘Lykos. I have come as you asked. I am glad of the treaty between us.’
‘There was a time when it would have been impossible, when no one man could speak for the Vin Thalun,’ Lykos said, voice smooth but with an edge of gravel. Veradis thought of wolves. ‘But now the warlords of the Three Islands have bowed their knee to me. We are no longer a fractured people. We are a force, rather than an annoyance to greater realms.’ He tugged thoughtfully at a braid in his beard, streaked with grey. Iron rings bound in it chinked together. ‘I wanted to meet you, thank you for your part in the treaty. I am sure that without your efforts it would not have come about.’
Nathair dipped his head.
‘And for what else? What other reason are we meeting here, in the dead of night?’ Nathair asked.
‘You do not know?’
‘I think perhaps I do,’ Nathair said quietly, almost a whisper. ‘But I would hear you say it.’
‘So be it.’ Lykos drew a breath. ‘For decades I have known that I would serve you. And I have been preparing the way. You are set apart, Nathair, chosen.’
Nothing differed in Nathair’s expression or bearing, but suddenly Veradis sensed a change, a tension filling the room, setting his skin tingling.
‘Why would you say such a thing?’ Nathair whispered.
‘Because I have dreamed it. And in my dreams I have been told of a coming darkness; but more than that. I have been told of a man who will change the world we tread, someone who will unite the whole of the Banished Lands under one banner. I have been told that man is you, Nathair.’ Suddenly Lykos dropped to his knees.
‘I am at your command, Nathair, and along with me the Three Islands of the Vin Thalun, and a fleet the likes of which the Banished Lands has not witnessed since the coming of the Exiles to these shores.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CORBAN
Corban checked again the list of herbs and plants that Brina had sent him to collect: goldenrod, heartsease, meadowsweet, poppy, monkshood, elder. They were all in the sack he had slung over his shoulder.
Keep them separate, she had warned. Before he had been able to clench his mouth shut he had asked why. Some days Brina would answer half a dozen whys before her patience snapped. Other days, like this day, he could tell there would be a sting in the tail of any answer, even for a single why.
Because some are for a poultice, and some he needs to drink, she had snapped. Now get you gone before the lad dies of waiting, she’d finished as she held her cottage door open.
‘GET YOU GONE,’ Craf the crow had screeched as he left. He really hated that crow.
Now he was trudging back to the cottage, a knot of fear germinating in his belly at the thought of having forgotten something.
‘Goldenrod, heartsease, meadowsweet, poppy, monkshood, elder,’ he recited out loud. Storm cocked her head at him as she trotted through the long grass nearby. She had been stopping frequently to pounce at butterflies or leap around clumps of grass, slowing his return, but he had been quite glad of the distraction.
He and the wolven-cub had hardly left each other’s sides since his return from the hunt, a ten-night gone. The only time he did leave her was during his trips to the Rowan Field. Thannon had insisted. Let them get used to the idea before she is paraded before them, he had said. There’ll be warriors in the Field that were close to those killed or hurt. When Thannon decided on something it very rarely changed. And anyway, his da was right. Men had died in the Baglun Forest. If it had been one of his kin he might not have been able to think of Storm without distrust.
He bent down, rustled the grass in front of the cub. She crouched, pounced, grabbed his wrist and shook her head, Corban yelping. Her teeth were sharper than his mam’s bone needles. He twisted his hand free, caught some of the fur of her cheek, and tugged it playfully.
Looking up, he saw a thin line of smoke rising from Brina’s cottage, tall alders shielding it. He didn’t want to go back. It was bad enough having to be around Vonn, Evnis’ son, although now that the fever had taken him he didn’t have to put up with his scornful comments every time Corban was in the cottage. Adding Brina’s foul mood to the brew made lingering outside tempting, but he was sure that the longer he delayed, the worse the tongue-lashing would be when he returned.
‘Come on,’ he said resignedly to Storm, setting off again.
Two horses were grazing on the lush grass around the cottage, a man sitting with his back to a wall. He rose as Corban approached and moved in front of the door. It was Evnis’ guard, his nose crooked from when Tull had broken it. His name was Glyn, Corban had learned. Corban tried to move around him, avoiding eye contact as he reached for the door handle, but the warrior blocked him.
‘None may enter.’
‘But, Brina…’ stuttered Corban.
‘None,’ Glyn snapped, cutting Corban short, poking him hard in the chest with a stubby finger. Corban took a step backwards, looked at the ground, not sure what to do.
Storm made a noise, somewhere between a hiss and a growl.
‘Should put this spear in your pet,’ the warrior muttered, prodding the butt into the wolven-cub’s ribs.
‘Don’t you touch her,’ Corban heard himself snarl. Glyn prodded Storm again, harder. She whimpered, jumped away, snapping. Corban’s hand snaked out and grabbed the spear shaft. Glyn tried to jerk it free but Corban held on with strength he had not known he possessed.
There was a moment’s silence as boy and warrior glared at each other. Then the cottage door opened suddenly. Brina appeared, a larger form behind her.
‘… under my feet,’ Brina was saying. Her eyes narrowed as she saw Corban and Glyn, Corban still clutching the warrior’s spear shaft. She poked Glyn with a hard, bony finger. He recoiled as if bitten by a snake.
‘Get out of the way, you oaf,’ she snapped at him, ‘and let my apprentice through.’
Apprentice. Corban’s eyes widened.
‘He has herbs vital to Vonn’s recovery. I hope that you haven’t hindered him,’ she added with a sharp look. Glyn took another step back.
‘Enough of this,’ Evnis said from behind Brina, emerging into the sunlight.
‘I will leave Glyn here. If there is any change in my son’s condition, any, send him at once.’
‘I have told you, I do not want someone else littering my cottage. It is overcrowded as it is. And, besides, there is no need, I have someone here that I can send if necessary.’ Brina gestured towards Corban. Evnis looked disdainfully at him.
‘Glyn will stay,’ he said.
‘Well, he will stay outside,’ said Brina. She grabbed Corban by the shoulder, dragged him in and slammed the door, Storm just managing to avoid her tail being crushed as she darted through behind.
‘Well?’ Brina said, rounding on Corban. He stared at her blankly a moment, then hurriedly passed her his bag.
Muttering, she turned to a pot suspended over the fire. She emptied the bag’s contents, quickly separating them into two piles. Breaking some up, she began dropping herbs into the bubbling pot. Craf squawked, hopping from foot to foot, beating his wings. ‘Potion,’ he muttered.
‘How is it…’ Corban said hesitantly, ‘that Craf speaks?’
&nbs
p; Brina and the crow looked at him, appearing unnervingly alike for a moment.
‘That is a question I had expected from you some time ago,’ she said.
‘It is one I have thought to ask, many times,’ he admitted.
‘Then why did you not?’
Corban shrugged. ‘It seemed rude.’
Brina threw her head back and laughed, a throaty, unsettling sound. Craf squawked and ruffled his feathers, flapped his wings once. Storm hissed and hid behind Corban’s legs.
‘How is it that Craf speaks?’ Brina repeated when she had recovered. ‘When the world was young, things were very different. You know this already, or should do,’ she added, frowning. ‘Before the Scourging there was a harmony, to the land, amongst and between the races: giant, human. There was a balance. Elyon set an order into nature, into us. To the giants and mankind was given a gift, a responsibility. We were the overseers of this world, with a duty to care for it, and all that dwelt in it. You have heard the term Elemental, I would guess.’
‘I have, though I do not really understand what it means. Magic, I think.’
‘Magic,’ Brina snorted. ‘Magic is a word the ignorant use to explain what they do not understand. An Elemental refers to those that have some kind of command–or authority is maybe a better word–over the world around them. It is an ability to use the elements: earth, water, fire, air, and command them, to some extent. The giants still claim some knowledge of this, though it was not solely their province. Once, when the world was young, all were Elementals. It was part of the pact, part of the way of things. Elyon gave us authority, so that we could better care for the world in which we were placed.’
‘What? You mean you, I could…’
‘Yes, that is exactly what I mean. And along with this was the ability to communicate with animals. It was part of the order.’
‘But then,’ Corban said, ‘how is it not so now? It is just a tale, surely.’
Brina shrugged. ‘If it is only a tale, then how is it that you hear Craf speak?’ Her eyebrows beetled as she stared intently at him.
‘I… don’t know,’ he said.