by John Gwynne
‘Where are we going?’ Veradis asked as they walked down the hill and were led into the forest where the trees grew thick and tall above them.
‘To meet with our leaders,’ Tahir replied over his shoulder.
So, finally the time that I will meet Corban. For so long I thought him my enemy, thought him the Black Sun of prophecy. And now he is to be my ally. The Bright Star. He shook his head. These are strange days. Nathair, what have you done?
They marched on, winding along a path that had been trampled through dense vegetation. Veradis heard the sound of running water and they spilt into a flat, open glade, on its far side a sheer drop leading to what sounded like a river. For a moment he thought he heard another sound – growling? But the noise of the river was loud, drowning all else out. Standing at the far edge of the glade above where the river must be was a grey-haired, thin, old woman. Her head snapped around at their entrance, a sharp intelligence in her gaze.
Many others were there: Jehar warriors patrolling the perimeter – the sight of them still made Veradis feel uncomfortable – and there were giants, two of them sitting near the fire-pit. One white-haired with age, his muscles thick and knotted as an ancient tree, a scar-latticed hole where one of his eyes had been. His good eye fixed razor-sharp upon Alcyon. Kneeling beside him was a giantess, long-limbed and muscled, though appearing slender beside the other. Her hair was sleek and dark, and she gripped a spear in her hand, watching as Veradis and the others entered the glade.
A Jehar warrior came to greet them, each movement graceful and economical. Veradis recognized him. Akar had been one of Sumur’s captains. He had helped Cywen by removing an arrow from her stallion.
And Cywen. Where is she? No doubt I will hear an ‘I told you so’ from her. He smiled at the thought of it.
‘Akar?’ he said.
The Jehar paused in his stride, eyes narrowing. His eyes flickered from Veradis to his companions, pausing on Alcyon, then finally back to Veradis.
‘You are the Black Sun’s first-sword,’ he said calmly. ‘Are you here as a challenge, or a treachery?’
‘Neither,’ Veradis said. ‘My eyes have been opened. I am Nathair’s first-sword no longer.’
Akar stood in front of Veradis, just staring at him.
‘And you,’ the white-haired giant rumbled as he stood. Veradis noted he favoured his right side, his huge-knuckled hand moving to his ribs.
A wound, not yet fully healed.
‘I fought you at Murias.’ The white-haired giant strode towards Alycon. ‘You held the starstone axe.’
‘Well met, Balur One-Eye,’ Alcyon said.
‘Is it?’ the giant said, stopping a stride from Alcyon. ‘You served the Black Sun and his aingeal dubh.’ He paused, spat. ‘His black angel.’
‘I was under an enchantment, controlled. A slave. I am bewitched no more. I would fight against that same Dark Angel, now.’
‘So,’ Akar said, ‘a servant of Nathair, and a servant of Calidus. And we are just to accept you as allies?’
‘They speak the truth,’ Fidele said, stepping forwards. ‘I am Fidele, widow of Aquilus, High King of Tenebral.’
‘I know you,’ Akar said. ‘I saw you stand beside Nathair.’
‘He is my son,’ Fidele said, ‘but I do not stand with him now.’ She returned Akar’s gaze, proud and defiant. ‘And I saw you in Jerolin,’ she said. ‘A captain of Sumur, who followed Nathair.’
Akar nodded, Fidele’s point made.
‘Our enemy has already won,’ Alben said, ‘if those that would stand against him will not trust one another.’
‘And you are?’ Akar asked.
‘Alben, swordsmaster of Ripa. I am a friend to Meical, have belonged to his cause for many years, now. Where is he?’
Akar looked grim.
‘Meical is slain. He sacrificed his life in Drassil, so that many of us could escape.’
‘What? Dead! That cannot be!’
‘His head is on a spear in the courtyard of Drassil,’ Akar said. ‘It is a great blow to the cause.’
Alben put a hand to his eyes, shaking his head.
Maquin spoke up. He’d been standing silent.
‘These are good people, and they have come here to offer their help.’ He looked at them all. ‘And I speak for us all when I say we are here to fight against Asroth and his servants. We have all been done wrong by them, suffered great loss because of them. Just to get here we have fought many a battle, destroyed the warband of Gundul, King of Carnutan, and slain Jael, King of Isiltir.’ He paused there, with something flashing across his face. ‘Near enough four thousand men who were cutting a way through this forest to come and fight you. They are slain or scattered now, because of us. And we bring with us a great stock of supplies, plundered from Gundul’s camp. Food, water, fuel, war gear.’ Maquin shrugged. ‘If you do not trust us, do not want our help, then say the word and we will leave, go back to Tenebral, or somewhere else, perhaps, and Nathair can pick us all off, divided and weak.’
A silence filled the glade.
‘At last,’ a sharp voice said from the fire, ‘someone who speaks some sense.’
It was the grey-haired old woman.
‘Now stop this bickering,’ she added, giving Akar a fierce look.
‘I have been deceived once. I would not see it happen again. And Gar left me as lord of this warband, while he is gone,’ Akar said defensively.
‘True enough,’ the old woman said. ‘There is a place for caution. But these people are genuine. Or so I judge them to be. They are telling the truth. And as for Gar – yes, he did leave you in charge, and I’m sure he made the right choice. You’re very good when it comes to chopping heads from Kadoshim. But there is more to winning than that. Allies, for example. Men, and women,’ she nodded to Fidele, ‘who have travelled far and endured many a hardship to reach us and offer their help. Besides, if that isn’t good enough for you and you want to pull rank, then I can play that, too. I am Brina, counsellor to Corban, your Bright Star, remember. So what I say should be heeded.’ She poked a bony finger in Akar’s chest, and he flinched.
Akar finally nodded, convinced or just giving in, Veradis could not tell. Probably a little of both. This Brina inspires fear.
The giant Balur nodded, too. He walked around Alcyon, staring hard. ‘You are Kurgan. There is no love between our clans.’
‘Aye. That is a truth,’ Alcyon answered.
‘That was another age,’ a new voice said, the giantess, moving to stand beside Balur. ‘A broken age. I am Ethlinn, daughter of Nemain, and I say it is time now to build a new one. Instead of the five giant clans there need only be two: those that fight for Asroth, and those that fight against him.’
‘Ethlinn?’ Alcyon hissed. Something crossed his face: shock, hope? He dropped to his knees in the grass before Ethlinn.
‘Aye,’ Alcyon grunted, looking up at her. ‘A new age. A new clan. I am for that.’
She smiled at him.
‘Well then,’ Balur said, looking between the two. He nodded to himself and held his hand out.
Alcyon grabbed his arm in the warrior grip and pulled himself upright.
‘Well met, Alcyon of the Kurgan.’
‘Well, I’m glad to see we’re all getting along,’ Krelis said. ‘But there’s one thing I’d like to ask.’
They all looked at him.
‘Where’s this Corban I’ve heard so much about?’
Another silence. Brina bowed her head. She sucked in a deep breath and straightened.
‘He has been captured, taken prisoner.’
‘Nathair has him?’ Veradis gasped.
‘No, not Nathair,’ Akar said.
‘The Jotun giants,’ Balur rumbled.
‘Some have gone after him,’ Brina added.
Abruptly there was a savage snarling from beyond the glade, the distinct sound of wood crunching, splintering, followed closely by a loud crack, as of metal breaking, then a scrabbling sound and a dark shape w
as surging up from the darkness at the glade’s edge.
Suddenly everyone was scattering and Veradis and his companions were drawing weapons, spreading into a line, Alcyon leaping to his feet. Maquin stepped in front of Fidele, sword and knife in his hands.
A huge wolven stood in the gloom, muzzle and head emerging from the darkness first, the rest of it a dense shadow behind it.
Veradis took an involuntary step backwards.
The wolven padded into the glade, a slavering, solid mass of muscle and fur. Huge fangs dripped saliva, lips drawn back in a snarl, its bone-white fur streaked with scars. A collar of iron links hung from about its neck, with the splintered remains of a thick wooden stake hanging from it.
Veradis felt his courage waver, just for a moment. He gripped his sword tighter, wishing he’d brought his shield.
And a shield wall, for that matter. That’s no ordinary wolven. She’s too big, too broad.
Then Brina was stepping between them, moving towards the fearsome beast.
She’s insane, a dead woman.
‘There, there, my darling,’ Brina said as she strode over to the wolven, reaching a hand up to it.
The wolven padded to her and pressed its head into the palm of her hand, then rubbed its muzzle against her chest, making Brina stagger back a step.
I must be dreaming!
‘Meet Storm,’ Brina said, with something like deep affection in her voice, as she turned to see the shocked faces of Veradis and his companions.
Veradis blinked, finally breathing.
‘Storm. Corban’s wolven?’
‘I wouldn’t say she’s his, exactly,’ Brina said. ‘More that they belong to each other.’
‘Pack,’ Tahir said. ‘They are pack.’
‘But it’s got a big iron chain and stake about its neck,’ Krelis pointed out.
‘She,’ Brina corrected, scratching the wolven under the chin. Storm seemed to like it. ‘And she’s been unwell. War-wounded.’ Brina’s hand went up to a scar at the top of Storm’s shoulder, furless now. ‘When Corban was taken, Storm fell defending him. She nearly died, hovered at death’s doorway a long time. But she is better now. Better than she’s ever been.’
‘Then why was she chained and staked?’ Maquin asked.
‘Because from the moment she could stand she’s been trying to go after Corban. I couldn’t let her do that, it would have been too much for her.’ Brina unhooked the chain about the wolven’s neck, slipping it from her.
‘Is she all right now, though?’ Krelis asked.
‘She’s just broken a wooden stake as thick as your leg,’ Brina said. ‘Balur pounded it into the ground himself. And she’s bitten through an iron chain. I’d say she’s well enough.’
Storm looked about at them all, took a few deep sniffs of the air, then lifted her head and howled.
The sound echoed through the glade, long and mournful. Storm’s muscles bunched and then she was leaping away; there was the crash of undergrowth as she ploughed through it and then she was gone, only her howl lingering in the air.
‘Where’s she gone?’ Krelis asked.
‘I think that’s clear enough,’ Brina said. ‘She gone after Corban.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LYKOS
Lykos leaned back in his chair and drank deeply from his cup, spilling mead into his beard. He belched and looked around.
He was sitting in a stone-built hall with Vin Thalun all about him eating and drinking, rolling dice on throw-boards, fighting, without using anything sharp, of course, except perhaps their teeth.
To one side of him lay a pile of silver and gold, cups and plates, torcs and brooches, necklaces, fine-made swords and scabbards – a mountain of plunder taken from the dead and pillaged from this ancient, long-empty fortress. His men looked to him with respect, called him gift-giver and gold-friend. In short he was lord of all he saw, had strong men about him. Had achieved his dreams.
Then why am I so bored?
He puffed his cheeks out and belched again.
The gates to his hall opened and an eagle-guard entered, looked about, then wound his way through the revelry to stand at Lykos’ feet.
‘What?’ Lykos asked.
‘King Nathair and the Lord Calidus wish to see you, my lord,’ the warrior said. He was a young man, dressed in gleaming mail shirt and a polished cuirass of black leather.
Lykos sighed.
‘Now, I suppose,’ he said as he rose from his chair, taking it slowly, but swaying nevertheless.
‘Aye, my lord. They asked you to hurry.’
‘Why? More prisoners to execute? Surely that can wait until the morning.’
‘No, my lord. There is a patrol returning. They have been seen crossing the plain.’
‘Ah, better,’ Lykos grunted, grabbing his sword-belt from where it was hanging over the back of his chair and slinging it over his shoulder. He marched quickly through the hall after the eagle-guardsman and out into the night, with ten of his sworn men following him. Drassil was theirs, but it never hurt to be too careful, and Lykos had heard strange tales of men found dead, or going missing.
That won’t be me.
So, the day’s patrol is returning. Some good news, then.
It was unusual for a patrol to return at night; all were ordered to be back within the walls of Drassil by sunset. But when the patrol sent out that day had not returned at all, they had been assumed dead.
Sixty of my men. Lykos had been angry, for this was not the first time he had lost men on these patrols. He marched on; the eagle-guard ahead of him was setting quite a pace. He was happy to match it, pleased that there was something to do.
Who would have thought that I would be here, in fabled Drassil, having won a great victory, on the brink of achieving my wildest dreams, and yet I am bored. He looked about, up at the stone towers and twisting branches of the great tree and pulled a sour face.
I hate this place. I am a seafarer, a man of salt and sail, I should not be confined here in this . . . walled prison!
They turned a corner and entered the wide street that led to the gates. As Lykos entered the courtyard he was assaulted by the stench.
Draig dung and rotting flesh. Torches flickered from iron sconces set high in the courtyard walls, turning the rows of severed heads adorning the spikes into grisly creatures with maniacal grins. On the battlement he saw Calidus and Nathair standing together, looking out over the plain.
‘Glad you could join us,’ Calidus muttered in the firelight as Lykos joined them.
Calidus had ordered the building of fire-pits around the walls of Drassil, a few hundred paces out from the wall. A ring of them, so that it appeared that Drassil was guarded by a circle of fire. The intention was to put a stop to night-time raids that had been occurring randomly: Jehar warriors sneaking close to the walls, scaling a wall with a grapple-hook and then running amok amongst the wall guards, cutting down as many as they could before word spread or they came face to face with a few Kadoshim. So far the fire-pits seemed to have worked, and by the flickering light Lykos instantly saw a huddle of men moving across the plain, flames glinting on mail. He saw a lot of shields, marking the eagle-guard.
And not so many Vin Thalun.
‘They do not look so many as when they went out,’ Lykos observed.
‘Thank you for pointing out the obvious,’ Calidus snapped.
He doesn’t seem so happy here, either. Certainly not as happy as he should be, considering he’s close to conquering the world.
The men on the plain drew near to the gates. Calidus shouted for the gates to be opened, then he turned and swept down the stairs, his cloak a trailing shadow behind him.
Lykos shared a look with Nathair.
‘Some people are never happy,’ he said to the King of Tenebral, offering him a wry smile when Nathair only gave him a stony stare in response.
No one has a sense of humour in this forest.
When Lykos reached the courtyard, the gates
were already closing. He saw a few of his men, collapsed on the flagstones, exhausted, leaning against one another. Calidus was talking to a captain of the eagle-guard.
‘Ambushed,’ the young warrior was saying. ‘There were giants, axe-throwers, some others.’ He looked exhausted. ‘We only escaped because of the shield wall.’
‘And left my Vin Thalun behind,’ Lykos said, not able to help himself. Nathair gave him a foul look.
‘We tried, my lord,’ the eagle-guard said. ‘Tried to pull them into our square, but the enemy were upon us so quickly, there was no time. Many of my eagle-guard fell, too.’
As if that’s a compensation.
‘So you saw no sign of Gundul or Lothar’s scouts?’ Calidus asked.
‘None, my lord, but we left markers. The next patrol will be able to move deeper—’
‘Not my men,’ Lykos growled and walked away before Calidus had a chance to respond. He strode to his handful of warriors, just six Vin Thalun left from the sixty who had marched through the gates that morning.
I have lost almost as many men on patrol as I did during the battle for this stinking dung-hole.
‘Well?’ he said wearily.
‘I saw the Old Wolf,’ one of the Vin Thalun said, looking up at him.
‘What?’
‘The Old Wolf, he was out there, with his knives, covered in blood. It was like being in the arena against him.’ The Vin Thalun shivered.
The words sent a jolt of fear through Lykos.
‘You are mistaken,’ he said. ‘If it was the Old Wolf, you would not be here.’
‘Four of us attacked him,’ the warrior said. ‘He cut them down as if they were nothing. I only escaped by holding him off a while, then the giants started fighting and he was distracted . . .’
Lykos grabbed the young warrior by his leather vest and jerked him up onto his feet. ‘Don’t lie to me; tell me true. If I find out you’re lying . . .’
‘It was him, I swear on all I hold dear,’ the warrior assured him. ‘I saw him fight on Panos, put coin on him, and in Jerolin. It was him.’
‘I saw him, too,’ one of the others said. ‘I wasn’t so close, but I saw him. It was the Old Wolf.’