by John Gwynne
‘This is a truth,’ Uldin said, glancing at Erdene, who just gave a curt nod.
‘We Ben-Elim are here for one reason: to protect the creation of Elyon. All the peoples of these Banished Lands. Asroth led his legions of the Fallen, the Kadoshim, into this world, and so we followed them, to protect you as best we could. The war with the Kadoshim was fierce and bloody, and many of my kin fell in battle on that fateful day. Even so, we won that battle, saved mankind from a dread fate, but the war is not over. Asroth remains, imprisoned within a skin of starstone iron, and many of his Kadoshim survived, secreting themselves away to fight on with stealth and cunning. So we stay to guard the body of Asroth, and we fight on against the Kadoshim.’
‘This is a tale we all have heard,’ Erdene said. ‘You did not summon us over a hundred leagues to tell us this.’
‘No, I did not,’ Israfil said, betraying no sign of annoyance at Erdene’s interruption. ‘I have received word of the Kadoshim moving in your lands, of deaths at their hands.’
‘Aye, this is true,’ Uldin said. ‘Some foul sacrifice was performed.’
‘We will find these monsters and root them out,’ Israfil said, a hint of snarl and iron in his voice, the closest thing to emotion that Bleda had ever seen in the Lord Protector. ‘But we are stretched, the Banished Lands vast, which is why we are blessed with the allies we have. Giants, as well as warriors from throughout the Land of the Faithful; they are a tithe of thanksgiving to aid us in the practicalities of this war that we wage.’
Israfil stopped then, allowing his words to sink in.
‘What are you saying?’ Uldin grated, his voice less warm than before.
‘He is saying that he wants us to fight the Kadoshim,’ Erdene said flatly.
‘Yes, and more,’ Israfil said. ‘It is time for you to show your gratitude to the Faithful, time to prove your commitment both to peace with each other and to the great war. It is time that you committed a tithe of warriors to the cause, just as the other peoples that dwell within the boundaries of the Land of the Faithful do.’
‘Well, now we have it out on the table and plain for the seeing,’ Uldin said.
‘If that is the whole of it,’ Erdene said.
‘That is the meat of it,’ Israfil said, ‘though there is a little more. We want a tithe of warriors soon, and after that, a yearly tithe of your young, to be trained here, at Drassil.’
Bleda felt his face twitch at that, a momentary slip of his cold-face.
They would steal the heart from our people, and deny our culture to each new generation. He controlled the sneer that threatened to twist his face. They would make puppets of us all, turn us into them, pious, wingless pawns.
Uldin and Erdene just stared at Israfil, giving no clue as to their inner reactions.
‘And to cement your peace with one another and your commitment to the cause,’ Israfil said, ‘a symbolic act to bind your Clans further in peace, your two heirs shall also commit to one another.’
For the first time a twitch upon Erdene’s face.
‘What does he mean?’ Jin whispered to Bleda.
‘I . . .’ Bleda said, his voice not working right, his head spinning, for he was sure he knew exactly what Israfil was saying.
‘Bleda and Jin shall be wed,’ the Lord Protector declared.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SIG
Men and women in hooded cloaks charged at Sig, iron glinting red in the flickering firelight as weapons were drawn, and, from behind her, Keld’s wolven-hounds bounded forwards, crashing into the onrushing crowd, an eruption of blood and screams and snapping, slavering growls. Sig strode forwards, Keld and Cullen close behind, Elgin shouting a battle-cry and leading his men charging from the tunnel entrance.
Sig punched her sword through the belly of the first man to rush her and kicked him in the chest as she ripped her blade free, sending him hurtling into those behind, a snarl of limbs as they went down. Cullen leaped into the space and stabbed down with his spear, ducking a sword-slash from a man who knew his blade-craft a little better, not that it helped him much as Keld’s axe crunched into his skull, wrenched free in a spray of bone and brains.
Sig marched on, longsword swinging in great loops, sent a head spinning through the air, a jet of blood erupting from the stump of a severed neck. Her sword-kin stabbed and hacked to the left and right of her, the wolven-hounds wreaking bloody havoc in the shadows, and Elgin’s warriors spread wide as the Kadoshim’s followers hurled themselves in a frenzied attack.
Sig wiped sweat from her eyes, searching for the Kadoshim. It was still upon the dais, passing something to one of its shaven-headed followers, leaning to hiss in the man’s ear.
Sig shouted, pointing with her sword at the Kadoshim, and Keld and Cullen answered, moving towards the dais like ships through a storm-racked sea.
A woman came at Sig, wielding sword and knife, a swirling attack that stopped Sig’s advance, the clang of steel as Sig parried the sword, a grunt as the knife slashed at her belly, stopped by her ringmail shirt. She slammed an elbow into the woman’s jaw, then hacked though the woman’s forearm, which dropped to the floor still clutching its sword. The woman staggered and fell to her knees, face draining white as her life’s blood pumped into the ground. She toppled sideways, cursing Sig as she died.
Sig forged on, the din and stench of battle in this subterranean chamber immense: death screams, battle-cries, the wounded mewling and shrieking in their pain. She saw the Kadoshim push its companion on the dais away, sending him running for a shadowed alcove. A sword hissed into the Kadoshim’s fist, its wings unfurled and flexed, a beat of air that carried the stench of corruption as it lifted from the ground, Keld’s axe whistling through empty air where it had just been standing.
Sig burst onto the dais through a knot of the attackers, her bulk scattering them. A jolt of power shuddered up through her boots, sudden nausea making her stagger; a glance at the dais showed runes scratched and scribed into the ground. She shook her head and strode towards Keld and Cullen. A glance at the prisoner bound to the wooden frame showed there was no helping him, slumped in his bonds, his entrails heaped about his feet. His chest was still, a string of spittle hanging from his slack jaw.
‘Keld,’ Sig said, pointing at the hurrying messenger who was disappearing into what Sig had thought was a shadowed alcove, but as she looked now she saw it was an exit from the chamber.
‘The Kadoshim gave him something,’ Sig said. ‘Whatever it was, I need to see it.’
‘It’s done,’ Keld grunted, running and leaping from the dais, two fingers in his lips and whistling, an answering snap and snarl came from within the chamber.
‘Where is the Kadoshim?’ Sig growled, standing back to back with Cullen as they turned slowly, searching for the Kadoshim in the guttering red-flicker of light and shadow.
‘There!’ Cullen yelled, as the Kadoshim swooped down from the murk of the chamber’s roof, chopping at one of Elgin’s men, lifting another one bodily into the air and burying its sword in his belly, hurling the dying warrior back down into the chaos.
Without a word the two of them left the dais, forging a way towards the Kadoshim.
A man leaped at them, axe raised over his head, Cullen’s spear darting out and punching through his open mouth, dragged free in a burst of blood and teeth. Cullen shrugged his shield from his back, caught a sword-blow aimed for Sig, slammed the iron rim into the sword-wielder’s throat and sent him gasping and choking to the ground. Sig stamped on the fallen man as they pushed on, bones cracking beneath her iron-shod boots.
Then the Kadoshim was only a handful of paces before them, hovering above the conflict as its wings beat up a storm of dust.
‘FALLEN ONE,’ Sig bellowed, her cry ringing through the chamber, a momentary lull as both sides paused. The Kadoshim stared at Sig, saw Cullen beside her raise his shield, the bright star of their order upon it, and hissed at them, spraying spittle. Then it was flying at them, a dark blur. Sig hefted her blade and swu
ng two-handed, the Kadoshim’s wings tucking tight together and somehow it was spinning, Sig’s sword slicing wide by a handspan. A crack as Sig turned, Cullen grunting as the Kadoshim swooped over him, raining down a flurry of blows, Cullen bending beneath them in a burst of incandescent sparks as the Kadoshim’s blade crashed into the iron rim of his shield, shearing through it.
Cullen yelled in fury and stabbed up with his spear, the blade grating along the Kadoshim’s mail shirt, links twisting and snapping. The Kadoshim just laughed and grabbed the shaft of Cullen’s spear, ripping it from his hands.
Sig charged in, her sword slicing an overhead arc at the Kadoshim, who somehow saw the giant coming and with a beat of its wings swept higher, Sig’s sword-tip cutting through the leather of its boot. Blood dripped a spatter of red rain from the wound as it hovered above them.
‘You’re a long way from Dun Seren,’ the Kadoshim snarled down at them, its guttural voice cutting through the din of battle.
‘We’d travel twice as far to carve some pain into your stinking hide,’ Cullen yelled back.
The Kadoshim hissed at them.
‘Who are you?’ Sig shouted. ‘Gulla?’
The Kadoshim laughed, the sound of nails scrapping across chalk. ‘Over a hundred years, and yet you know nothing of us.’
‘Gulla is chief of your kind, I have heard,’ Sig said, eyes fixed on the Kadoshim, circling to her right. ‘If not Gulla, who are you, then?’
‘I am Rimmon,’ the Kadoshim snarled. ‘I am your death.’
‘Like to see you try,’ Cullen snapped back, grinning.
Rimmon screeched and swooped down at them, hacking, chopping, stabbing.
Sig leaped away and the Kadoshim turned in mid-air, blade slashing at Cullen as he rushed in, sending the young warrior staggering away with a gash across his forehead. He disappeared amongst the press and heave of battle.
Sig bellowed a battle-cry and stabbed, but Rimmon twisted and Sig’s lunge sliced only air. Battle raged about them as she held her ground against the creature.
Enough of this.
Sig leaped close and the Kadoshim’s blade met hers in a shower of sparks before he fell back before her.
Rimmon’s wings beat hard; the Kadoshim grabbed a fallen spear as he swept back into the air. Sig reached a hand to her belt, felt the mesh of her weighted net, unhooked it and with a flick of her wrist snapped it open.
She raised the net, whirled it about her head as the Kadoshim drew a hand back and hurled the spear down at her. Sig twisted, a figure leaping in front of her and fouling her net throw. It was Cullen, his battered shield taking the force of the Kadoshim’s spear. Sig stumbled as Cullen’s weight slammed into her. He fell to the ground, Rimmon crowing in victory, before speeding away across the room. Sig took a step after him and then heard a groan.
Cullen.
The young warrior was pale as milk, red hair sweat-soaked and plastered to his head. The spear had burst through his half-splintered shield and pinned his arm to his body. He tried to say something but his breath was a wheezing hiss. Sig had no way of telling what the wound behind the shield was like, but from the look of him she feared the worst.
Waiting won’t make it better.
She put one big boot onto the remains of the shield, gripped the spear shaft and pulled it free.
Cullen grunted, face twisting with pain, and Sig knelt beside him. She breathed a sigh of relief as she lifted the shattered shield away. The spear had pierced his bicep, punching clean through and out the other side, but Cullen’s chainmail shirt had slowed it there, done enough to save the lad. A few rings were shattered, the spear-point cutting through the wool and linen beneath, a bloom of blood, but it was only a shallow wound.
Not that the fool boy will be doing much more leaping around for a ten-night or two.
‘I can fight on,’ Cullen mumbled, trying to stand. His eyes rolled white and he slipped back to the ground with a groan.
‘No, you can’t,’ Sig said.
‘Will I die, then?’ Cullen whispered, struggling for breath.
‘Of old age, most like, but not this day, laddie,’ Sig said and stood, raising the spear in her hand. She saw the shadowed streak of Rimmon as he sped towards an exit from the chamber, hefted the spear a moment, finding its balance and judging its weight, and then she threw. It flew straight as an arrow, punching through one of the Kadoshim’s wings, low, where it thickened and joined the shoulder. There was a scream, Rimmon plummeting to the ground.
‘Got to leave you awhile,’ Sig grunted down at Cullen.
‘Bring me its head,’ Cullen mumbled.
Sig ploughed through the chamber, smashing any before her out of her way. In heartbeats she was at the spot where the Kadoshim had fallen, saw the spear she’d cast at the Kadoshim lying on the ground, its blade dark with blood. Darkness thick as smoke filled the tunnel, so Sig grabbed the weapon, tore a dead man’s cloak from his back, wrapped it around the spear shaft and stabbed it into a fire-filled brazier. Soon flames were crackling and she lifted the torch and glanced back.
There were knots of combat still raging about the chamber, but to Sig’s eye Elgin and his men had the measure of it, far more of them still standing than their frenzied enemy.
They can finish here. I’ve got a Kadoshim to kill.
Sig gritted her teeth and ran into the tunnel, no time for care or caution.
Darkness retreated before her; the tunnel sloped upwards, closing tight about Sig, constricting and claustrophobic after the high-roofed chamber. Soon the noise of battle faded. Side tunnels breached the main path, but fat spots of blood showed Sig the way, leading her ever higher in the main tunnel. Then she saw Rimmon running ahead, a shadow at the edge of her torch’s reach, the tunnel too close for him to unfurl his great wingspan.
Or perhaps my spear throw has injured his wing.
Rimmon stumbled, one shoulder scraping against the tunnel wall, righted himself and ran on. Sig increased her pace, no need for stealth. Rimmon knew she was there; knew she was gaining.
A light ahead, bright in the darkness. Daylight, not torch or fire.
A spurt of speed from Sig, twenty paces behind the Kadoshim now. Ten. Cobwebs draped Sig’s face. Daylight loomed, bright and blinding, the Kadoshim a black silhouette.
Squinting into the white glare, Sig threw the spear. It arced forwards, trailing fire and smoke, and Sig saw the dark shadow of the Kadoshim tumble and fall. Moments later she burst out into a winter’s sun, a pale, cloud-choked morning almost blinding her.
They were on the hilltop with the squawking of disturbed crows, around them open air and the wind snatching at clothes, setting Sig’s blonde warrior braid fluttering. In the far distance she saw the stain of the Darkwood and the towers of Uthandun before it.
Rimmon rolled upon a flat patch of grass, the spear tangled between his legs, guttering black smoke. Sig swung her sword overhead, aiming to carve the beast in two. With a snarl the Kadoshim swept to the side, part-roll, part-beat of wings, a heartbeat later and he was upright, sword in his fist, though Sig saw one of the wings was twisted, like an injured arm. Malice radiated from the Kadoshim’s dark eyes.
With a snap, leathery wings were unfolding and Rimmon rose unsteadily into the air, a blast of wind rocking him, one wing leaking blood at the shoulder-joint. For a moment the Kadoshim hovered in the sky, the sun behind framing him in a luminous halo.
‘Finish this another time,’ Rimmon hissed. Another pulse of wings and the Kadoshim veered away, swerving through the air like a man after too much mead. He tested his wings, darted forwards again, well out of reach of Sig’s sword as the giant ran to the hill’s flat edge and swayed a moment, risking a long, bone-breaking tumble to the ground far below. The Kadoshim sank a little in the air, another beat of his wings taking him further away, though hugging the hillside.
‘I’d rather finish you now, Rimmon of the Kadoshim,’ Sig muttered.
She unclipped her net and swung it over her head, a wh
istling sound as the cord and weights in its four corners cut air, then she released it, high, arcing up and then down, dropping gracefully, corners spread.
The net folded around the Kadoshim, snaring his wings, wrapping around limbs, and Rimmon screeched, twisting in the air as he thrashed, spitting and biting, trying to tear his way free, but with every movement the cords snared tighter and the Kadoshim folded and plummeted to the ground.
Sig sheathed her sword across her back and launched herself over the edge, skidding and sliding down a grassy slope. She toppled and rolled a hundred paces, righted herself, saw the Kadoshim still falling, close to the hill’s base now.
‘HAMMER,’ Sig bellowed through cupped hands and heard a faint rumbling roar drift up to her as the Kadoshim hit the hillside and bounced away, spun through the air a good fifty paces and crunched and rolled as the ground levelled out.
Sig continued her sliding fall down the hill, saw Hammer appear lumbering out from between boulders. Rimmon had stopped rolling now, was still for a few moments and then slowly extricated himself from the net and began to drag and crawl away through the grass, wings trailing behind.
Hammer stopped at the foot of the hill, looking up at Sig, who yelled snatched commands as she made her way down the slope. The bear turned, head swaying on its thick-muscled neck, and then thundered after the Kadoshim.
The ground levelled beneath Sig and she half ran, half stumbled towards Hammer. The huge bear stood over the Kadoshim, one paw upon his chest, pinning him to the ground. Rimmon writhed and squirmed beneath the bear’s weight, limbs and wings batting feebly at it, but Hammer did not move.
Sig drew her sword as she reached them and stood over the Kadoshim. He was bloody and broken, limbs and wings twisted, one leg showing bone, his pale, dark-veined face splattered with blood, but his eyes still radiated a malefic fury.
Sig levelled her sword at the creature’s throat.
‘I would like nothing more than to kill you now,’ she grated, ‘but I have questions for you: so many followers here? The man you sacrificed – why? And the message you sent?’