Malice (Faithful & the Fallen 1)

by John Gwynne

  ‘I wanted to talk to you, Father. About . . .’

  ‘Well, Edana?’ Brenin said with a wave of his hand. ‘Quickly now, I am busy.’

  Then there was a knock at the door and three visitors from Tenebral were presented. Two had led the column, Nathair, Tenebral’s King, and Sumur – a lord, Cywen had since discovered. The third was one of their honour guard, a young warrior with an easy smile, his raptor-like helm under one arm.

  ‘Nathair, welcome,’ said Brenin. ‘Heb you know, and this is my counsellor, Evnis.’

  ‘Well met,’ the King of Tenebral said warmly, smiling at Evnis. ‘My thanks for your hospitality – we are well fed, and rested now, so I thought to speak with you of why I have come.’

  Cywen and Edana sidled to the back of the room, lest they be banished.

  ‘As you have most likely heard, my father was murdered.’

  ‘Aye. You have my sympathies,’ Brenin said, inclining his head, ‘Aquilus was a good man, a great man.’

  ‘My thanks. His killer has since been brought to justice.’

  ‘I have heard,’ Brenin said, frowning. ‘I would talk to you more about that, but now is not the time.’

  Nathair continued, ‘I have much to live up to, wearing my father’s crown. And I am aware of his ambitions and his commitments. That is my first reason for coming here. I know that my father was committed to help you with your troubles – with lawless men on your borders. I have a small warband with me, still upon the ship. I would aid you in your endeavour and help you rid your borders of these outlaws. It would honour my father’s wishes, and the alliance between us, which I hope you still hold to.’

  ‘Ah,’ Brenin said, humourlessly. ‘I am afraid you are a little late to aid us in the struggle against the brigands of the Darkwood. We have dealt with them.’

  ‘Oh.’ Nathair looked downcast. ‘That brings me shame,’ he said. ‘My father’s other commitments, to Rahim, to Braster and Romar, have all been honoured.’

  ‘No matter,’ Brenin said. ‘You have travelled far, and that speaks loudly of your commitment, and I did not tell Aquilus when my campaign would begin. You have undertaken much to come here. That I will not forget.’

  ‘Is the matter resolved?’ Nathair asked. ‘Or can we provide other assistance, as recompense?’

  ‘The brigands of the Darkwood are no more, though at great cost,’ Brenin said. ‘New and darker troubles have fallen upon my land of late. I find myself at war with my neighbour, Rhin. Even as we speak, I am mustering to ride against her.’

  ‘What? How is this so?’

  ‘You remember Queen Rhin?’

  ‘Aye. A sharp tongue, a sharper mind,’ Nathair said.

  ‘It would appear Cambren is not enough for her appetites. She covets both Ardan and Narvon.’

  ‘How could she hope to defeat you both? That does not strike me as wisdom.’

  ‘Ah, she is cleverer than that, the old spider. There have been complications, with Owain. Rhin has brought about the death of my wife . . .’ Brenin stopped and glanced at the torc on the empty chair beside him. ‘And also the death of Uthan, Owain’s boy. Somehow, she made it appear that Owain and I were the culprits, to set us at each other’s throats. Thank Elyon, I have unmasked her plan, though Owain has not yet recognized it. He still holds me responsible for the death of his son. This is a conflict I will not ask you to join in, Nathair, though, in truth, I am certainly outnumbered.’ His face reflected little, but his pain was clear.

  ‘I am sorry for your loss,’ Nathair said.

  ‘She is sorely missed. And not only her.’

  Just then the warrior with Nathair and Sumur took a half-step forward. ‘My pardon,’ he said, ‘but I expected to see someone. A warrior I befriended, during Aquilus’ council. Tull, your first-sword?’

  ‘He was,’ Brenin said. ‘But he fell, defending my wife. Not that his sacrifice helped her, in the end.’

  ‘That is a grievous loss,’ the warrior said. ‘I crossed blades with him on the weapons court. He taught me a few things.’

  Halion chuckled.

  ‘That was Tull,’ Brenin said, the briefest of smiles crossing his face. ‘My thanks for your words . . .?’

  ‘Rauca,’ the warrior said. ‘My name is Rauca.’

  ‘I will think on what part I may play in this,’ Nathair said. ‘There were few enough that stood by my father and his alliance. You honoured him, and I was yet hoping for Owain and Rhin’s support.’

  ‘There will be no peace between Rhin and I,’ Brenin warned. ‘Do not try and walk that path, Nathair. Things have gone too far. As for Owain – I would hope for peace with him, though if he stands between Rhin and me, he shall come to regret it.’

  Nathair nodded thoughtfully.

  Cywen thought his companion, Sumur, stiffened at Brenin’s words. Here were people not used to instruction.

  ‘As I said, I will think on the part I might play. I feel indebted to you, until my father’s commitment is fulfilled.’

  ‘As you will,’ Brenin said with a wave of his hand.

  ‘There was another reason for my journey,’ Nathair said.

  ‘Speak on.’

  ‘I seek knowledge, information, on two accounts.’

  ‘Aye. Well, I will help you, if I can,’ said Brenin.

  ‘The first is regarding giant lore, specifically the Benothi clan. This was a stronghold of theirs once, I believe. I am trying to unravel parts of the prophecy spoken of at my father’s council.’

  ‘Of course. Heb here is my loremaster, and Evnis too has no small store of knowledge regarding the previous residents of Dun Carreg.’

  ‘Good,’ Nathair said. ‘My thanks.’

  ‘And the second count?’ said Brenin.

  ‘Ah, yes. There were unusual circumstances around my father’s death. One is that his longest, most trusted adviser just disappeared. He was seen leaving Jerolin just after my father died.’

  Brenin’s face registered some emotion, too fast for Cywen to read, then it was gone. ‘That is unusual,’ he murmured.

  ‘My thoughts exactly. You know of whom I speak? Meical. Who read from the prophecy at the council.’

  ‘Aye, I know of whom you speak.’

  ‘Have you any news of him, of his whereabouts?’

  A silence grew, and Brenin was the first to look away.

  ‘He came here, briefly,’ Brenin admitted, ‘though I can tell you little more than that. He did not stay even a night. I know not why he came, nor where he went.’ The King lifted his eyes, and this time did not look away.

  Nathair was silent, expressionless. Until eventually he sighed. ‘If you could enquire, of whom he spoke to while he was here, I would be most grateful.’

  ‘Aye. Of course,’ Brenin said.

  Cywen’s mind was racing. In her head she could see the man they were speaking of, sitting in her kitchen, like it was yesterday. And now a king had come searching for him. Was this linked to Ban as well? This Meical’s visit certainly seemed to have been.

  Nathair thanked Brenin, then took his leave, claiming tiredness from their journey.

  A silence hung in the air long after the door had closed.

  ‘What do you make of that?’ Heb eventually said, his voice loud after the silence.

  Brenin looked weary. ‘Change,’ he said, almost to himself.

  ‘This alliance,’ Evnis said, ‘we would do well to court it.’

  Brenin frowned. ‘Once, maybe,’ he said quietly, then, louder, ‘I shall do as I deem right, Evnis.’

  ‘Be careful, my King,’ Evnis said. ‘He was young, but there was a fire in him; and there is an alliance, realms joining together, with or without you. They could become a formidable strength. Something to keep close, or at least watch, I would say. Else one day they may be uniting to deal with troublesome Ardan.’

  ‘Nathair is certainly ambitious,’ Brenin said. ‘But I do not trust him. Aquilus he is not.’

  ‘This Sumur – what do we know of
him?’ Evnis pressed.

  ‘The talkative one . . .’ Heb said wryly.

  Brenin shrugged. ‘Only Nathair’s introduction: that he is lord of some distant fortress, and now Nathair’s personal guardian.’

  ‘He knows how to use that sword on his back,’ Halion interrupted.

  ‘How do you know?’ Evnis said, ‘I didn’t think he’d visited the weapons court.’

  ‘He hasn’t. There’s just something about him. He’s dangerous.’

  Evnis looked sceptical.

  Brenin was becoming impatient. ‘Come, we have other priorities. But keep a watch on them. And, both of you,’ he added, pointing a finger at Evnis and Heb, ‘be careful what you tell him. What is it that he seeks about the Benothi? Report back to me. Every word.’

  Suddenly Brenin noticed his daughter. ‘Edana, I thought I told you I was busy. This is not the place for you now.’

  ‘Yes, Father,’ Edana said, eyes downcast. Cywen and Conall followed her to the door, Conall closing it fast behind them.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  CORBAN

  Corban gulped back the last of a cup of his mam’s mead, and smiled at Thannon, who winked at him as he stood to leave.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Thannon asked him.

  ‘To see Dath.’

  ‘Wait a moment,’ his da said, shifting in his chair. ‘It is a big day, the morrow, for you.’

  ‘I know,’ Corban said, ‘which you’ve told me more than once today, already.’

  Thannon shifted in his chair again. ‘Please, sit with me a little longer.’

  Corban sat back down.

  ‘I remember the day you were born,’ he smiled. ‘I held you in one of my hands, you were so small. And now look at you . . .’ He sniffed. ‘I hope you know this already, but now’s a good time for saying it. You are my greatest hope, my joy.’ He reached out and gripped Corban’s hand. ‘No one could have made me prouder, Ban.’ He tapped his chest. ‘You make my heart swell.’

  Corban swallowed, wanted to say something, but there was a lump in his throat that swallowing didn’t move.

  Thannon stood suddenly. ‘Go see your friends. But not too late, mind – you’ll need your strength for the morrow.’ He grinned. ‘Listen to me, I’m starting to sound like your mam.’ He chuckled.

  Corban smiled at him, then his da left the room, and Corban set off. The wide stone streets were mostly empty, dusk settling like a blanket upon the fortress. His da had never spoken to him like that before. He smiled, and felt a surge of love for the big man. But there was another face, amongst those childhood memories, in fact in almost every single one: always there, and a whole host of others, besides.

  Gar.

  In his own bluff way the stablemaster had been like a second father to him. Helping him, teaching him, rescuing him in the Baglun, following him into the Darkwood. Protecting him, with his own life, if need be. Without realizing it his course changed, and he found himself making for the stables.

  He hadn’t seen Gar since the arrival of the Tenebral party. One moment he was with them in the courtyard, then he had vanished. Corban remembered again how he’d felt when he saw the newcomers’ leader – Nathair, Tenebral’s King. Somehow this Nathair had seemed familiar, a memory tugging at the edges of his awareness. He had felt sick, suddenly, and thought he’d seen a dark shadow marring Nathair’s face. Just the memory of it chilled him.

  He looked up and saw the stables before him, a light flickering high up in an unshuttered window – Gar’s stable loft chamber. He’d lived there as long as Corban could remember, saying that if there was any trouble with the horses he needed to be nearby.

  The stables were empty now, and Corban stepped through, the familiar smells of horse and hay greeting him. He climbed the hayloft stairway that also led to Gar’s chamber. Storm followed him, silently as a wraith, as he made his way past stacks of tied hay. He paused before reaching Gar’s half-open door.

  Gar was sitting on his cot in the flickering torchlight, giving all his attention to a long, gently curved blade. The stablemaster worked oil into the blade with a cloth, then skilfully rasped a whetstone down its edge.

  Corban stared. He didn’t even know Gar possessed a sword, let alone one such as this. Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairwell, and without thinking, he slipped into the hayloft shadows with Storm.

  A figure appeared and Corban’s eyes widened to see his mam.

  She rapped on Gar’s door and strode through without waiting for a response.

  ‘I got your message,’ he heard his mam’s voice, clear through the thin partition walls. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Gar did not answer at first, and Corban heard only the rasp of his whetstone along the length of his blade. Suddenly even that stopped, the cot creaking as Gar stood.

  ‘We must go. Leave Dun Carreg,’ the stablemaster said.

  ‘What?’ his mam stuttered. ‘That’s not possible. Why?’

  ‘You saw who arrived, this day?’

  ‘Yes, but, it need change nothing.’

  ‘You do not understand, Gwenith. The man with Nathair, I know him.’

  ‘The man with . . . But how? Who is he?’

  ‘His name is Sumur, and he is Jehar.’

  ‘Gar, I do not understand. How can that be?’

  ‘I do not know,’ Gar said.

  ‘Could you not speak to him, if you know him? Find out what this means? Maybe . . .’

  ‘No,’ Gar snapped. ‘You remember what Meical said: speak to no one, not even if Aquilus’ kin rides through Stonegate. I have not spent sixteen years obeying to stop now, when we are so close. And, besides, something is wrong. Very wrong.’ Gar paused, the silence suddenly heavy. ‘Sumur did not see me, of that I am sure. But for how long? We cannot stay here. Corban cannot stay here. We must leave, I am certain.’

  ‘But where? This is too soon. We are not ready – Ban is not ready.’

  Corban could hear Gar pacing. ‘Plans rarely run to course, Gwenith. As to where: Drassil, of course. Where else?’

  Moments dragged by. ‘Very well. But not the morrow. He takes his warrior trial, sits his Long Night. Meical said he must do that, before . . .’ her voice trailed off.

  ‘Aye, all right then,’ Gar agreed reluctantly. ‘The morrow we prepare. The day after, we leave.’

  Footsteps sounded as his mam left, Corban hugging Storm tight until they had long since faded from hearing.

  Not until he heard the rasp of Gar’s whetstone again did he dare move. He crept out from behind the hay-pile, holding his breath, then down the stairwell. Storm shadowed him into the darkness.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  VERADIS

  Veradis shifted his coat of mail on his shoulders and looked up, seeing a pale blue sky through leafless branches. It was early, a thin film of mist clinging to the ground, the forest litter slick with dew.

  He made his way through groups of quiet warriors towards Alcyon, ringed by the leaders of this small alliance. They had met the previous evening to discuss their battle plan, but Braster had insisted they also gathered at dawn to go over matters.

  The red-bearded King nodded to Veradis. ‘We all know what we are about this day, and we have only made it this far with the help of those with no obligation to be here.’ He looked from Veradis to Alcyon and nodded curtly to them. ‘Thanks are due.’

  Romar looked away.

  ‘That’s it,’ Braster growled. ‘I’ll see you all this night, drink to our victory with you. Until then: truth and courage, and may Elyon’s hand be upon you.’

  ‘Truth and courage,’ Veradis repeated as the group split, heading for their various warbands, Veradis walking with Calidus and Alcyon. They were to form up behind the larger forces of Braster and Romar, the two kings commanding close to three thousand men between them. Veradis and his companions had a twofold task. First, to protect Alcyon and Calidus from any specific attacks. The giant and the Vin Thalun were the only means of counteracting the Hunen�
�s Elementals.

  Secondly, and only if the first task was deemed no longer necessary, Veradis was to lead his warband to the flank and do what damage he could, leaving the Jehar to protect Calidus and Alcyon. Calidus had pointed out that the Jehar were more than adequate protection, but Romar had been adamant that Veradis was to remain a rearguard force.

  ‘Half a league and you will see Haldis, King’s man,’ Alcyon said, his teeth flashing fiercely.

  ‘These giants,’ Veradis said. ‘There will be many of them – many Elementals?’

  ‘Aye. But we will look after you, little warrior,’ the giant said, a smile twitching at his moustache.

  ‘That is not what I mean. How can only you and Calidus stand against so many Elementals?’

  ‘You have seen him,’ Alcyon said. ‘You know what he is. We giants have lived long, yes, had a long time to learn our craft. But he is older, much older.’ He shrugged. ‘He is powerful.’ Then the giant was gone, striding towards the black mass of the Jehar, his great broadsword slung over his back.

  Veradis’ warband was loosely gathered before him, a line of fifty men, ten rows deep. Bos grinned at him and moved so that he could take his place in the front rank. Somewhere ahead a horn blew once, and the host moved forwards, swarming around the thinning trees.

  They reached the crest of a ridge and looked down on tilled and cultivated land, the signs of organized crop-growing looking strangely out of place in the forest. Then Veradis sucked in his breath as he saw Haldis for the first time.

  A crumbling, vine-covered wall lay ahead, many sections fallen to ruins, leaving gaping holes in the wall like an old hag’s teeth. Within there were huge cairns, hundreds of them, their stones thick with moss and yellow lichen. Then beyond this, a sheer cliff-face of dark granite rose up from the ground with a line of trees fringing its upper edge. Its entire face was covered in carvings: huge, snarling faces, warriors in combat, and all manner of creatures. Wolves, eagles, bears, draigs and snakes were represented, surrounded by swirling runes. At the escarpment’s base was a great arched gateway, taller and wider than a dozen giants and black as night. Veradis shivered.