A Time of Dread

by John Gwynne

  She opened her eyes, only a crack, but it felt as if it took more energy than a morning’s training on the weapons-field. A figure, just an outline, stood with its back to her, before an open window, moonlight pouring through it. Aphra. A torch burned, flame flickering, shadows dancing on a curved stone wall.

  This isn’t my room.

  The flames hurt Riv’s eyes and she closed them.

  A beating of wings, the moonlight veiled, a figure at the window. The soft slither of leather on stone, the rustle of wings furled.

  ‘My thanks,’ a voice said, deep and warm.

  Kol.

  ‘What is it that you want?’ Aphra’s voice, cold and weary.

  ‘I need to speak with you. Alone.’

  ‘Well, I am here,’ Aphra said.

  ‘I have to ask a question, need to know – must know – the answer—’ An indrawn breath. ‘I said, alone,’ Kol hissed.

  ‘I’m not leaving her. If you wish to speak to me, it’s here or not at all.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s Riv. And you have nothing to fear. She cannot hear us.’

  ‘Why?

  ‘She is in the grip of a fever. Has been hallucinating for two days. The worst has broken, and now she sleeps like the dead.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, look.’ Footsteps, a hand clapping over Riv’s head. She didn’t have the energy to open her eyelids, let alone anything else.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Aphra, a coldness in her voice Riv had never heard before.

  ‘There is a question that I must ask you.’ A deep sigh, a protracted silence.

  ‘Ask it, then,’ Aphra said.

  ‘A storm is coming,’ Kol said. ‘I feel it.’

  ‘No.’ Aphra said, a denial.

  ‘You must choose a side.’

  ‘No. It won’t happen.’

  ‘He is searching, snooping ever deeper,’ Kol said, the hint of things unsaid in his voice. Agitation, laced with anger. ‘You saw what he did to them, and they were only caught kissing! If he only knew the half of it.’ A pause, footsteps pacing. ‘Can you imagine what he would do?’

  ‘He is the Lord Protector. He will do what he judges to be right,’ Aphra said.

  ‘Yes, he will. And that’s exactly what I’m worried about,’ Kol said.

  ‘The almighty Kol, scared?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’ A silence. ‘And so should you be. Do not think that the passage of time destroys all things, or even softens them. Time is a healer, you mortals say. Not to us Ben-Elim. A crime is a crime, a grudge a grudge, until the end of days. Blood feud will last an eternity. Israfil is immortal, he sees things differently to you. And he takes his job far too seriously. He is dogmatic, as uncompromising and inflexible as the day Elyon created him. He is very . . . rigid, in his ways, and not afraid to pass judgments with violent ends. To him a sin is a sin; the older it is, the deeper the stain. Do you really think he will view the sins of the past any differently to the sins of the present? Do you?’

  A sigh, Aphra shifting.

  ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘So, I need to know. When the storm breaks—’

  ‘If it breaks,’ Aphra said.

  ‘All right. If the storm breaks; are you with me?’

  More pacing. This time a softer footfall, coming to rest beside Riv. A hand upon her brow, gently stroking damp hair from Riv’s face.

  ‘Leave Riv alone,’ Aphra said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve seen you. I know what you’re doing.’

  A gentle laugh.

  ‘I would deny it, but not to you. None could claim to know me better,’ Kol said, a new tone in his voice. Playful. Mocking.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ Aphra repeated.

  ‘You never complained.’

  ‘I was young.’

  ‘Yes, you were. And beautiful. As is she. And spirited, full of fire. Bursting with it.’

  ‘Leave her alone.’

  ‘I need to know. Are you with me?’

  ‘Swear, on your precious Elyon. You will leave Riv alone.’ Iron in Aphra’s voice now.

  Footsteps, Kol stepping close to Aphra, almost touching.

  ‘I swear it,’ he growled.

  A long, indrawn breath.

  ‘Then I am with you.’

  No words, just the rustle and snap of wings unfurled, the rush of air in this confined space, then gone as Kol leaped from the window into the darkness.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  DREM

  Drem woke, his neck throbbing, a burning sensation that was none too pleasant. And his ear hurt; he lifted a hand to feel scabs.

  Wispy bit me.

  Many pains demanded his attention, but a thought still managed to push past them. He did not feel immediately concerned for his life.

  That’s a new sensation, of late, and a pleasant one.

  Probably because there is a giant the size of a tree sitting at my hearth. A bear as big as my barn in the yard, two men that seem to be able to kill their enemies at will, while tying their bootlaces, and a hound that looks more like a wolven. And rips my enemies’ throats open.

  And a talking crow standing watch.

  Things had worked out a lot better than Drem had expected, although as he’d imagined death was his only option, his expectations hadn’t been that high.

  Still, alive and safe is good. Or as safe as I can be, with Kadoshim and feral men who want to see me dead less than a day’s ride away.

  He rolled out of bed, saw that his boots were still on, all of his clothes, in fact. His weapons-belt was draped over a chair, his sword, axe and seax all back in their various sheaths. He stretched and clicked his neck, buckled the belt on, liking the familiar weight.

  When did that start to become comforting?

  Then he walked out into the main room of his cabin. It was empty, apart from a pot bubbling over the hearth.

  ‘Morning,’ a rough voice croaked at him, making him jump.

  Drem looked about, saw the white crow perched on a roof-beam, sitting directly above the steam that was rising from the pot. Its head was tucked under one wing, one red eye regarding him.

  ‘Morning . . .’ he said, remembering his da’s admonishments to always be polite, though he felt a little strange, talking to a crow.

  ‘Rab,’ the white crow cawed. ‘Name is Rab.’

  ‘Morning, Rab,’ Drem said. Then he frowned. ‘I thought you were on watch duty?’

  ‘Rab cold,’ the bird said, giving his best impression of a shiver to reinforce his point, feathers puffing up and sticking out in odd directions.

  ‘No fears, Fen prowling.’

  ‘The others?’

  ‘Outside,’ Rab squawked, poking his beak at the open doorway and yard beyond.

  He saw it was only a little past dawn as he stepped out of his doorway, the sun a heatless glow clawing its way up over the edge of the world.

  What happened to yesterday? I remember Sig cutting me down from the tree, the others. Telling them about the Kadoshim. He frowned, the rest of it a blurred jumble.

  In the yard Sig, Keld and Cullen were standing, swords in their fists, shields slung across their backs, performing the sword dance. Drem recognized it instantly from what his da had taught him, though watching these three perform it made him feel like a clumsy oaf in comparison.

  They made it look beautiful. And deadly.

  Nevertheless, he felt drawn to join them, his hand settling upon his sword hilt. On the porch to his right the snow was bloodstained, the bear trap closed and put to one side. Drem didn’t know what had been done with the body they’d found in the trap, bled out by the time they’d gone to check. Then he saw a row of boots and legs sticking out from around the side of his cabin, remembered Sig and the other two heaving the dead around there.

  A board had been nailed onto the splintered doorframe overnight to keep out some of the chill, but now it was laid across the elk pit Drem had dug. He walked carefully down the step
s of his porch and across the wooden board, slightly concerned when it creaked under his weight.

  His barn was nothing more than a smoking ruin, charred stumps of timber and the iron parts of his wain making up most of what had survived the fire.

  Hope the goats and chickens survived. Though not sure they’d be safe around here with a bear and a wolven-hound.

  He saw a goat poking out from the stables and smiled.

  He joined Sig and the other two, drew his sword and moved with them, stepping from iron gate into scorpion’s tail. He saw Cullen’s eyes flicker to him, but Sig and Keld took no notice, and before long he was lost in each moment of the dance.

  Sig’s sword snapped back into its scabbard, Keld and Cullen sheathed their blades without any noticeable or conscious thought. Drem felt blood well on his thumb as he cut it, trying and failing to sheathe his own sword without looking at it.

  ‘Need to work on that,’ Sig said as she cuffed sweat from her brow.

  ‘Here, use your thumb as a guide, not like a vegetable you’re slicing for the pot; like this,’ Cullen said, stepping next to Drem and breaking the move down into smaller pieces. Drem watched, the individual parts clicking into place in his head, and he managed to perform it correctly on his third try.

  ‘Well done, Drem, my lad. We have a fast learner, here,’ Cullen called up the steps, slapping him on the back. ‘But you are my cousin, after all, so I’m not surprised.’

  Cousin? I’ve never been spoken of as kin to anyone before, except my da.

  ‘Cousin,’ Drem repeated, liking the sound of it.

  ‘Blood doesn’t help in the sword dance,’ Sig said, ‘there are no short cuts; it’s dedication, day in, day out. That’s all.’

  Drem had snatched memories of Cullen riding into the yard with a spear in his fist, the clash of steel as he fought. He was shorter than Drem, slimmer-framed, though Drem recognized the whip-cord strength in him that he often saw in trappers.

  Living in the Wild hones a man, his da had often said to him. Body and mind.

  Living at Dun Seren must do something similar, then.

  ‘Ignore her,’ Cullen whispered, ‘she’s too serious by far. You are Byrne’s sister son, descended from Cywen, sister to Corban, so you have royal blood in your veins.’

  Drem paused on the step at that. His da had never told him of his lineage past his mam, only that he was blood-related to Byrne.

  ‘Royal?’

  ‘Well, as good as, if you’re a resident of Dun Seren.’

  ‘And who are you descended from, to be my cousin?’

  Cullen’s chest swelled a little. ‘Corban and Coralen are my great-grandparents,’ he said.

  Drem blinked at that.

  Corban. He looked at Cullen with fresh eyes.

  ‘Enough of that,’ Sig said from Drem’s smashed doorway. ‘We need to talk.’

  They all settled onto stools or chairs around Drem’s hearth. Sig sat on the floor, her legs taking up half the room.

  ‘We came because of your message,’ Sig said to him once Cullen had put hot bowls of porridge and steaming tea in all their hands.

  ‘You asked me to come, if my friendship with Olin meant anything to me after so many years. A fair question. And here is your answer,’ she said, spreading her hands, as if to say: We came.

  ‘First I must tell you that Byrne wishes she were here. She very nearly came, it was I and her captains who dissuaded her of it. Strange things are happening in the Banished Lands, the scent of war with the Kadoshim in the air and Byrne is the high captain of the Order of the Bright Star. She could not abandon her post at such a dangerous time. But she asked me to tell you that she has thought of you every single day, from the moment that Olin took you from Dun Seren until now, that she searched for you and would have fought the Ben-Elim to keep you free.’

  ‘My da knew that,’ Drem said, ‘which is why he took me. To avert a war.’

  ‘Aye,’ Sig said, ‘we knew that, and loved him for it. But we would rather the both of you had stayed with us.’ Sig dipped her head a moment. ‘One last thing Byrne asked me to tell you. That Dun Seren is your home. It always has been, and always will be, if you so wish it.’

  Home. That was a strange concept to Drem. Home had always been at his da’s side.

  ‘And I would say,’ Sig continued, ‘that you are not just Byrne’s kin, but kin to all of us. We of the Order have a bond that cannot be broken, and you were born there, spent your first four years amongst us. Olin was my sword-brother. He was my friend, and that’s more than enough for me, whether you are Byrne’s kin or no.’

  Drem felt his chest swell at that, a surge of emotion. He had felt nothing but alone since his da’s death, and to hear Sig’s words felt as if a door had been unlocked in his heart. Tears glistened his eyes.

  ‘My heart breaks for Olin,’ Sig said. ‘He was brother to us all, and dearly missed these past years.’ She bowed her head, Keld and Cullen following suit, even the white crow. Drem was deeply touched by the small display of respect.

  ‘He spoke of you,’ Drem said when Sig looked up. ‘Though not until a moon or two ago. Until then I knew nothing of his past, or the Order of the Bright Star. He said you were friends.’

  ‘Aye, though friends is too small a word for it,’ Sig said. ‘And I knew your mother, Neve. We were all close, closer than kin. And you. You gave my shins more than one bashing with your wooden sword. I was not surprised to see you join us in the sword dance just now, as we could hardly keep you from it as a bairn. You showed great promise on the weapons-field.’

  ‘I did? I don’t remember.’

  There were fractured, lightning flashes, more of frozen images and moments. A huge tower upon a hill. A stone, words carved upon it, smooth under Drem’s fingers. A fair-haired woman, laughing as she admonished him.

  Sig!

  ‘Little Drem.’ Keld chuckled, shaking his head. Somehow Drem thought a smile on the man’s face was a rare thing.

  ‘There’s more to tell you, that I’ve discovered since I wrote the letter to you,’ Drem said, desperate to hear more of his past, of his mam and da, but he knew the knowledge he had was momentous.

  ‘You said something last night. About Kadoshim, but you were delirious by that point,’ Keld said.

  ‘Aye, you were off with the faeries.’ Cullen grinned.

  Three days and nights of no sleep and then being hanged, again, will do that to a man.

  ‘And Asger told us of a great bonfire in the Bonefells.’

  ‘Aye,’ Drem said. ‘What of it?’

  ‘There have been bonfires, beacons, lit throughout the Banished Lands. We know it is some kind of signal amongst the Kadoshim. Which is another reason for my presence. It is a hint that the Kadoshim are here, this far north, and if they are, the Order must know.’

  ‘They are,’ Drem said. ‘The Kadoshim. I saw them. Only half a day’s ride from here.’ He gestured vaguely north-east.

  ‘They?’ Cullen asked. ‘More than one?’

  ‘Aye.’ Drem nodded.

  The three newcomers shared a look.

  ‘How many?’ Sig asked Drem.

  Drem closed his eyes, remembering those moments when he’d stood on the palisade and stared out over Starstone Lake.

  ‘I saw three, at least,’ he said at last. ‘It was night, there could have been more.’

  He saw the questions forming on all their lips and held a hand up. ‘But before that, I must tell you this. My da found a lump of the Starstone, and he fashioned a sword from it.’

  ‘What?’ Sig, Keld and Cullen said in unison. Rab squawked above them.

  ‘Why?’ Sig said. ‘The man I knew would not have done something so rash, not without good reason.’

  ‘He wanted to end it all. The war between Kadoshim and Ben-Elim, wanted them gone from the Banished Lands.’

  ‘And how was he going to accomplish that with one sword?’ Cullen said. ‘Even if it was a magic one.’

  ‘He planned to
cut Asroth’s head from his shoulders.’

  A silence, Sig and Keld sharing a long glance.

  Cullen whistled.

  ‘Well, that would probably do it,’ Keld said.

  ‘And who has this sword, now?’ Sig asked.

  ‘The Kadoshim must. My da’s killer took it from him.’

  Sig looked at him pointedly.

  ‘Tell us everything you know.’

  So Drem did, beginning with the clues he’d discovered that pointed to another bear and person being his da’s killers, and ending with the nightmare scenes he’d stumbled upon at the mine. The boats returning, Kadoshim in the air. The desperate, exhausted run through the forest.

  ‘And then you all arrived, saved me,’ Drem said with a shrug.

  ‘To be fair, you did a large part of that job for us,’ Keld said. ‘We’ve counted the dead. You must have put fifteen of them down before we got here.’

  ‘Sixteen,’ Cullen said.

  ‘Olin would have been proud of you,’ Keld said.

  ‘The question,’ Sig rumbled, ‘is what are they doing at that mine, and why?’

  ‘They’re making monsters,’ Drem said. ‘Feral beast-men, strong, fast, and they want to rip your throat out with their claws and teeth!’

  ‘That’s not the worst trait to have,’ Keld said. ‘Though I’d prefer it if it stayed with my hounds.’

  ‘But it sounds as if they’re experimenting,’ Cullen said, brows bunching. ‘That whatever they’re trying to create, they haven’t perfected it, yet.’

  Aye. The things I saw were as much crippled as they were killing machines.

  ‘It sounds to me as if the Kadoshim are making weapons,’ Sig said. ‘Which would make a good deal of sense. They have their acolytes, and a lot more of them than we thought, but they still lack the numbers to win this war. They need something to tip the balance in their favour.’ She looked at them all. ‘During the War of Treasures, the first war of the Starstone, when the Seven Treasures were forged from it, the giant Clans did something similar. They bred new species: wolven. White wyrms. Draigs. Living beasts, but they were also weapons of war, used in battle. The Kadoshim are doing the same, but taking it a hundred steps further, using dark magic and evil intentions to create mutated half-breeds.’