by John Gwynne
‘Do they need throwing into Kergard’s gaol?’ Calder asked Olin, a scowl on his face.
‘No.’ Olin shook his head, slipped his knife and axe back into their homes at his belt and hurried over to Drem.
‘Slowly,’ Olin said as he knelt beside him, face all twisted with worry. He helped him stand, checking limbs for broken bones, holding a finger before Drem’s eyes, ordering him to track them. Asking him questions, like what moon it was.
‘What about kind and polite words fixing a disagreement?’ Drem wheezed at Olin, his mouth thick with the copper tang of blood, his split nose throbbing, pulsing with his heartbeat.
‘There’s a time for that,’ Olin said. ‘But sometimes, son, the only answer is blood and steel.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
SIG
Sig unwound the bandage from Hammer’s paw, the bear rumbling dolefully.
‘That’s what you get for standing on a Kadoshim,’ Sig said.
The stab wounds were healing, no pus or scent of rot, for which Sig was relieved. Gently she washed them out, then reached for a fresh poultice of honey, yarrow and comfrey, packing it tight into the many red punctures and finally binding it back up with a fresh bandage of clean linen. She stood and patted the huge bear’s neck. Hammer’s muzzle sniffed Sig’s face, a blast of air sending her blonde braid flapping.
‘You’re doing fine, my faithful friend,’ Sig murmured. ‘We’re not leaving for a few days yet, not until you’re ready for it, so just rest easy, and eat.’
Hammer licked Sig’s cheek, leaving a trail of saliva.
‘Lick this brot instead, it’ll taste nicer than me,’ Sig said, pouring a thick, viscous liquid into a bucket, more like porridge than anything else. It was the giants’ staple travelling food, incredibly nourishing and possessing healing agents as well. Hammer sniffed it and began to lick it up with relish.
Sig slapped the bear’s muscled shoulder and left the converted stable block. Hammer was now its sole resident, as the horses of Uthandun had made it clear they were not comfortable sharing their stables with a giant bear.
The courtyard of Uthandun was awash with activity, warriors in the grey and green cloaks of Ardain everywhere, the honour guard of Queen Nara newly arrived from Dun Vaner to the north-west. Word of the Kadoshim coven had spread quickly and there was a sense of menace and tension in the air.
Warriors parted for Sig as she strode across the courtyard, their faces a mixture of unease and admiration. Giants were rare in Ardain, even with the close relationship between Ardain’s Queen Nara and Dun Seren’s Order of the Bright Star, but word of Sig’s Kadoshim-slaying had circulated quickly, and that was a feat respected by all.
Though I didn’t actually kill the beast, Sig thought as she made her way up a stairwell to the walls above Uthandun’s southern gate. A cold wind blew from the north, reminding her of winter’s approach.
Hammer should get the credit for that deed.
Cullen was there, waiting for her, his wounded arm in a sling, but apart from that looking for all the world like the happiest man alive.
‘How is it?’ Sig grunted, jutting her chin at his wounded arm.
‘That, oh, it’s fine. Just a scratch, hardly know it’s there.’
‘The spear pierced your arm and came out the other side,’ Sig said. ‘Even by my judgement, that’s no scratch.’
Cullen shrugged. ‘A tickle, nothing more.’
‘Make a fist,’ Sig said.
Cullen’s eyes pinched as the fingers on his left hand twitched and slowly formed a loose fist. A bead of sweat dripped from his nose.
‘Huh,’ grunted Sig. ‘You’ll not be holding much in that hand for a while. Next time, look before you leap.’
Cullen blinked at that. ‘I took a spear meant for you,’ he said, somewhere between angry and upset.
‘What, you thought I needed saving?’ Sig growled. ‘I would have dealt with the spear, without losing the use of an arm. And you fouled my net throw, which would have ended the battle then and there.’
Cullen withstood Sig’s gaze a moment, then looked away.
‘I—’
‘No,’ Sig snapped. ‘You acted recklessly. Truth and Courage does not mean hurling yourself in front of every thrown spear.’
Cullen was silent.
Sig stared at him, knew that she had hurt his pride and felt a glimmer of sympathy for him.
He is young and reckless. I can remember that feeling. But I would rather have him ride back to Dun Seren beside me with his pride injured, than be carrying his corpse tied to a horse.
‘Give your arm time; rest it properly and it won’t be long before you’re back to risking your neck,’ she said.
Cullen grinned. ‘Can’t wait,’ he said.
Sig rolled her eyes.
‘You didn’t come away bloodless, either,’ Cullen said, looking at the lattice of cuts upon Sig, on her face, forearms, legs. She felt them as she moved, scabs pulling, tight skin itching. A long gash cut across her new tattoo of vines and thorns, added to the one already curling up one arm and down the other, a tale of the lives she’d taken.
‘Aye, but mine are just scratches.’
‘Well, it was a good fight, so it was,’ Cullen declared, ‘and no denying.’
Tell that to Elgin’s dead sword-brothers. Twelve men beneath a pile of stones, now nothing more than cold sacks of meat. He’s like a young pup, feeling invincible and too eager to please.
She didn’t say anything, though. Cullen had fought well, with courage and skill, and acted to save her life without a thought for his own.
‘The Kadoshim is dead, its followers slain,’ Sig said by way of agreement.
‘We for home, now?’ Cullen asked.
‘Hammer needs another day or two.’ Sig shrugged. ‘Should give Keld the time he needs to get back to us.’
‘Thought he’d be back by now. He ever been gone this long before?’ Cullen asked.
Sig didn’t answer, just looked out over the meadow that rolled away from Uthandun’s walls towards a bridge that arched across the river Afren, which flowed slow and sluggish to the sea. On the far banks of the river a wall of trees grew, the fringe of the Darkwood, quickly becoming a sea of green and gold and russet that filled the southern horizon.
Where are you, Keld?
In truth Sig was worried about her huntsman. It had been four nights now since the assault on the Kadoshim coven, four nights since he’d gone in pursuit of the shaven-haired acolyte who had fled on the Kadoshim’s orders.
Four nights since she’d asked Keld to pursue the Kadoshim’s servant.
Keld can look after himself, she reassured herself, burying the worry that stirred within her. And Elgin has sent his own huntsmen out in search of him.
And I want to see what the Kadoshim gave to that messenger.
There was more to her worry than Keld’s delay. The whole mission was unsettling. Never before had she seen a Kadoshim surrounded by so many fanatics, and they were clearly more than a collection of feeble-minded zealots. They were organized, knew their weapons and were stealthy. They’d built a defensible maze within a dozen leagues of Uthandun.
Why? What is behind it?
A dread had filled her, a chill in her blood and bones ever since she’d heard the chanting in the tunnels of that hill, set eyes upon the Kadoshim as it sacrificed its prisoner. And saw the runes inscribed in a circle around the human offering.
This is some new strategy, and I do not like not knowing what it is.
Movement drew Sig’s eye: a pinprick in the sky above the Darkwood. A bird, standing out as different from those others in the air about it because of its flight. Where the others wheeled and soared, riding currents, this one flew straight and unerring towards Uthandun.
Cullen saw it, too, stared with head cocked.
‘Is that who I think it is?’ he said as the bird drew closer.
‘Aye,’ Sig rumbled. ‘It’s Rab.’
A white bird flew
to the walls of Uthandun, saw Sig and Cullen and circled above them, squawking raucously as it descended in a flapping of wings, alighting on the timber wall. It was a white crow, its pink beak long and thick, feathers ruffled and poking in odd directions.
‘Finally,’ the crow croaked. ‘Rab been searching everywhere for you.’
A warrior standing guard upon the battlements shuffled away, muttering under his breath.
‘Well, you’ve found us now,’ Cullen said to the crow.
‘You bring a message from Byrne,’ Sig said. It wasn’t a question.
‘Rab does,’ the bird answered, hopping along the wall, flexing its wings wide. ‘Rab sore,’ it muttered. Cullen reached out his good hand and stroked the bird’s wings, Rab leaning into the caress.
‘It’s a long way to fly from Dun Seren,’ Cullen said with a shrug.
‘The message,’ Sig prompted the white crow.
Yes,’ Rab squawked with a clack of his beak. ‘First, check that Sig and her crew are safe, Byrne said.’ Rab paused and pointedly looked them over with a beady, red-tinged eye, lingering on Cullen’s arm in a sling and the cuts and gashes all over Sig.
‘Hammer. Keld. Hounds?’ Rab squawked.
‘Hammer has a knife-wound in her paw, but is healing fine,’ Sig said. ‘Keld and his hounds are missing; chasing after a man who escaped our raid.’
‘Raid?’ Rab cawed. ‘No. First Rab finish message. Byrne wants you back, Dun Seren, Dun Seren. Things happening.’
‘Does she? What things?’ Sig frowned.
‘Byrne not tell Rab,’ the crow squawked sadly, shaking his head. ‘Rab just messenger.’
‘I know, I know,’ Sig said, holding a hand up, having listened many times to the crow’s opinions on keeping information from him.
‘Sig go back to Dun Seren, soon as Sig can,’ Rab finished.
‘I’m just waiting for Keld,’ Sig rumbled, not for the first time thinking of going in search of him herself. But Keld knew Uthandun was the rendezvous point, and Sig was no tracker. Then a thought struck her.
‘You could look for Keld, Rab. The sooner we find him, the sooner we can all go back to Dun Seren. We last saw him there,’ Sig said, pointing north-east towards a line of hills.
The white crow puffed his chest up, white feathers bristling.
‘It would be very helpful,’ Cullen said, scratching Rab’s neck. ‘We’re worried for Keld. And we’d be grateful.’
Rab is helpful,’ the crow squawked, his head bobbing up and down. ‘And Rab like Keld.’ The crow looked up at Sig. ‘Rab look for Keld,’ he said, as if the idea were Rab’s own.
‘Thank you,’ Cullen said, nudging Sig with his elbow.
‘My thanks,’ Sig said with a grunt.
‘Welcome,’ Rab said and hopped off the rampart, wings spreading, catching an updraught, and then the crow was climbing higher, circling over their heads.
‘Rab back soon,’ the crow squawked, and then it was winging away.
‘Ah, he’s a good bird,’ Cullen said with a smile.
Sig raised an eyebrow.
‘He is,’ Cullen said. ‘Always eager to help, that one. And I feel sorry for him. The other crows in the tower are not always kind to him.’
‘Are they not?’ Sig frowned.
‘No. I think it’s because of his feathers.’ Cullen shrugged. ‘To my mind it’s wrong to fault a bird for the colour feathers it’s born with, don’t you think?’
‘Huh,’ Sig grunted. She did agree, but she was wondering more about why Cullen knew so much about the behaviour of crows in their tower at Dun Seren. Rab was not the only talking crow that resided at the fortress.
‘Well, I’m glad Rab has you to look out for him,’ Sig said. She sighed, long and thoughtful. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘I’m hungry, let’s find us some hot food. And after that, I need to talk to Queen Nara, and you’d best come with me. She is your distant kin, after all.’
Nara, Queen of Ardain, was sitting in the high chair of Uthandun’s great keep, tall, for a human, dark-haired with a pale face. She was wrapped in a thick bear pelt, silver wire wound through her hair, a long knife sheathed at her belt, which Sig approved of. The feast-hall was mostly empty, one man poking at the central fire-pit, stirring embers up and adding logs. As Sig and Cullen arrived, Queen Nara was deep in conversation with Elgin, her battlechief. He had a bandage wound around his head, souvenir of the battle with the Kadoshim’s acolytes. Another man stood at Nara’s shoulder: Madoc, the Queen’s first-sword.
Sig stopped a respectful distance away, Cullen at her side, but Nara gestured them forwards with an impatient flick of her wrist.
‘Well met, Queen Nara,’ Sig said, giving her best try at a bow. It was more a stiff lean from her hips, for Sig was not used to bowing. Cullen made a better job of it, though his arm in a sling didn’t help.
‘Enough of that,’ Nara said, looking up at Sig. ‘There’s no need for ceremony between us, Sig. I have long hoped to meet you, who knew my great-grandparents and founders of the realm of Ardain. To think that you spoke with Queen Edana and King Conall,’ she said wistfully. ‘And you, Cullen, my cousin.’ Nara looked Cullen up and down a long moment, serious eyes fixing on his face, her lips pursed. ‘There is a statue of King Conall in Dun Taras, and I can see his likeness in you.’
‘I am told I am most like my great-grandmother, Coralen, who was Conall’s sister,’ Cullen said.
Perhaps that is why you throw yourself so willingly into every battle, Sig thought, remembering Coralen fondly. Sig had admired Coralen’s ferocity and skill, remembered the first time she’d seen her, fighting traitorous giants from Sig’s own Clan, the Jotun. She looked at Cullen, at his red hair and the set of his shoulders and jaw. But there is something of your great-grandfather in you, too. A kindness about you. Sig’s mind was suddenly full of Corban, the man who had founded their Order. The Bright Star after whom it was named. The man she had grown to respect above all others. She felt a stab of pain at the thought of Corban, barely dulled by the passage of time.
You are greatly missed, Bright Star.
‘Perhaps, if you are staying here long enough, you could tell me something of my ancestors,’ Nara said to Sig. ‘It would be a fine thing to talk to someone who actually knew Edana and Conall, who spoke with them, drank with them, fought with them.’
‘I did all of those things,’ Sig said. ‘Edana and Conall were strong allies in those early days in the fight against the Kadoshim, and faithful friends to Corban, the founder of our Order.’
‘Aye.’ Nara nodded. ‘And nothing has changed there; there will always be a bond between my realm and the swords of Dun Seren.’
‘I do not doubt that,’ Sig said.
‘To prove that my words are not just air, I have something for you,’ Nara said. ‘A group of my young warriors-in-training have volunteered to accompany you back to Dun Seren. More than forty or so who wish to become warriors of your Order.’
‘That is good news,’ Sig said, ‘for which I am most grateful. The fight goes on, and fresh recruits are ever needed.’ Her eyebrows knitted together. ‘Riding to Dun Seren does not mean they will remain, though. Our training is hard. It tests both strength of sinew and strength of heart.’
‘As it should,’ Queen Nara said. ‘It is a noble cause.’
‘Aye,’ Sig agreed.
‘All the volunteers know this.’ Nara shrugged. ‘There is no insult or dishonour in trying and failing.’
‘Good,’ Sig rumbled. ‘And I will be happy to tell you my memories of your kin. If we may, I would stay a night or two more, until Hammer is well enough to travel.’
‘Perfect,’ Nara said, a smile lighting up her serious face.
‘And I hope for my huntsman to join me here. He pursued one of the Kadoshim’s servants who fled the battle.’
‘Yes, to the meat of it, then. Elgin has told me of what happened inside that hill. A dark and dreadful business, and the impudence of that fell creature,’ Nara snarled
, ‘making its lair so close to one of my fortresses. I only wish that I could have been here in time to be a part of your raid.’ Her hand slipped to the hilt of her dagger.
I like this queen more and more.
‘Elgin was the greatest of help,’ Sig said. ‘We would not have succeeded without him. And his men fought bravely. It is no easy thing to walk into the darkness, and worse when you know a Kadoshim is lurking there.’
‘My men are brave and true,’ Nara said with pride. ‘Elgin has told me of all that occurred within the creature’s lair. The . . . ceremony.’
‘Aye,’ Sig said. ‘It is troubling. The sacrifice, so many acolytes.’ She shook her head. ‘This is something new.’
‘Do you think there are more, like that?’
Sig shrugged. ‘I suspect,’ she said, ‘but there is no proof – yet.’
‘I have sent messengers to my lords throughout Ardain, alerting them. We will scour the land.’
‘That is good. We must hunt them down and root them out. The Kadoshim are a plague, their deepest desire to drown the world in our blood.’
‘If they are here, in Ardain, I will find them,’ Nara said.
There was a noise from the far end of the hall, beyond the closed doors. Shouting, and suddenly all were reaching for weapons, Madoc, Nara’s first-sword stepping before her, steel glinting. Sig and Cullen strode across the feast-hall, Elgin with them, shouting commands. The doors opened a crack, a warrior’s head poked in. He called something out, but then a shape was bursting through above him, a bundle of white feathers.
‘SIG!’ Rab squawked as the warrior stabbed at the white crow with a spear.
‘HOLD!’ Sig bellowed. Cullen broke into a run.
Rab saw them and flew straight as an arrow towards them, giving the warrior that had tried to skewer him a baleful glare.
‘Why are you here?’ Sig said, looking at the daylight slanting through high windows. He’s been gone little over half a day.
Rab fluttered and perched on Cullen’s shoulder, hopping agitatedly from one taloned foot to the other.
‘Follow Rab,’ the bird cawed, flapping back up into the air. ‘Quickly, quickly. Rab found Keld’s hounds.’