by John Gwynne
It was still early in the day, the sun beyond the trees had a long way to climb before highsun.
‘Did you help build that?’ Tain whispered to Alcyon.
‘No, my son,’ Alcyon chuckled, ‘I was not born until a thousand years after those walls were raised.’
They fell silent as figures appeared on the wall, above Drassil’s wide gates. A voice rang out across the plain, challenging Corban to come and save his people.
Veradis felt the blood freeze in his veins, then melt, become a molten torrent of rage.
‘Calidus,’ he said. Beside him he felt Alcyon tense, and saw his son Tain look away.
Piercing screams suddenly drifted across the plain.
‘What is going on?’ Veradis asked.
‘Prisoner being sacrificed,’ Tahir said grimly. ‘It is the same, each day. Calidus challenges Corban. When he does not come, someone dies. Corban would fight him, if he were here.’
‘Calidus is hard to kill,’ Veradis said, and Alcyon grunted.
‘So was Sumur, and yet Corban took his head, out there, in front of two warbands. It was quite the sight.’
Veradis felt his respect for Corban grow by a considerable leap.
The screams grew harder to bear, rising in pitch, a terror and agony contained within them that made Veradis wish it would stop. He thought of Cywen, his hope that she’d somehow survived Nathair’s attack on Drassil. Now he was filled with concern that her voice was the one that was screaming.
How can Nathair bear this? Stand by and do nothing?
‘Calidus has prisoners, then. Survivors from the battle.’
‘Aye. He executes one each day,’ Tahir told him.
‘He must have a considerable supply.’
‘He does. On the first day after the battle he set one free, a Jehar named Ilta. She said there were hundreds captive.’
Hundreds.
‘We must get them out,’ Veradis said.
‘I’d love to,’ Tahir muttered, ‘it’s the how that I’ve had a problem with.’
‘Well, let’s think on it. Two heads are better than one.’
‘That’s what my old mam used to say.’
They began to crawl back from the treeline when the gates of Drassil creaked and opened. Out from their shadowed arch lumbered a monstrous shape, wide and squat, bowed legs and claws like curved daggers, a head broad and reptilian. Upon its back sat a man, tall and proud, black hair, a polished cuirass of black leather, upon it a white eagle, his sable cloak fluttering in a breeze.
‘Nathair,’ Veradis whispered, all of them frozen in the act of retreating back into the forest.
His draig walked out onto the plain, head casting from side to side, long tail in constant motion, and behind it marched a warband; line upon line of long shields and silver helms. They turned south with immaculate precision, following Nathair and his draig.
Nathair’s Draig’s Teeth. My men.
‘They all look like you,’ Tahir commented to Veradis, looking at his cuirass emblazoned with a white eagle. The warband of Ripa were clothed in the silver and black of Tenebral, but they wore the tower of Ripa on their chest, not the eagle.
‘Not so long ago I led them. They were my men,’ Veradis said.
‘Sure you know what side you’re on?’ Tahir asked.
He’s an honest one. Speaks his mind.
‘Oh aye,’ said Veradis bleakly. ‘They fight for Asroth, even if many of them do not realize it. I’ll never walk that path, not for oath, love nor friendship.’
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CAMLIN
Camlin spluttered river-water, spinning in its grasp, the giant that was bobbing along beside him grabbed his head and shoved him beneath the surface.
He struggled, lungs burning, breathing in a mouthful of water and panicking. He struck out wildly, tearing free from her grasp momentarily, his head bursting through the surface and desperately sucking in a lungful of air.
Current’s taking me the right way, at least, back towards Edana and the warband. Might make it back alive, after all.
‘Got you,’ a voice said in his ear, a huge hand clamping down on his shoulder.
He tried to kick her underwater, but his legs weren’t as long as her reach, and even if he’d connected he doubted she’d have felt it, the river leaching any power from his blow.
The river swept them into a clearing, the moonlight abruptly bright. Camlin looked into dark eyes staring with murderous intent at him.
Then she crunched into the branch of a fallen tree, hitting it so hard that the branch snapped off with a loud crack. Her grip on Camlin’s shoulder was suddenly gone as she swirled away.
Is she dead?
Camlin grabbed the broken branch, instantly easing the strain of staying afloat. The giant came back into view, the current swirling her towards Camlin, a dark gash on her forehead, eyes dazed and vacant, a groan escaping her lips. As Camlin watched, she began to sink. For no reason that he could think of, he swam towards her and grabbed her, trying to lift her vast bulk above the surface. Using the broken branch, he managed to raise her a little higher, enough to keep her alive a while longer.
Something dark blotted the moonlight for a moment, a whisper of air above him, and he looked up to see the outline of Craf above him, wings spread.
I owe that bird.
Then he heard splashing, a rhythm to it. Meg appeared behind, paddling hard in the little canoe they’d made together over the last few days, too small to take any more weight than hers.
‘What you doing?’ she asked him as she paddled alongside him.
‘Trying not t’drown,’ he grunted.
‘Why’re you carrying a giant, then?’ she asked.
Fair question.
‘Seemed like a good idea at the time.’
Meg raised an eyebrow. ‘And now?’ she asked.
‘She’s getting heavy,’ he admitted.
‘Let go, then.’
Don’t want to do that, really. This giant walked out of Rhin’s tent, reckon she might know a thing or two.
‘Paddle ahead, tell Halion I’ve caught me a big fish,’ he grunted, catching a mouthful of water.
‘Think I see me a river rat,’ a voice called out.
Baird. Thank Elyon, I’ve had enough of this river.
Camlin paddled hard with his free arm and then felt a hook snag his jerkin and he was being dragged unceremoniously towards the riverbank.
‘Welcome back,’ Halion said, pulling Camlin onto dry land.
‘You look more like a river rat than our Meg,’ Baird said from behind Halion. ‘What’ve you brought us, then?’
‘When Meg said you were carrying a giant,’ Halion said, ‘I didn’t think that you were actually carrying a giant.’
‘Might need some help, here,’ Camlin said, trying to drag the unconscious giant onto the bank.
Figures splashed into the water to help – Halion and Baird, as well as Lorcan and his shieldman, Brogan.
Baird was checking her for weapons, pulling knives from her belt, as well as one more, as long as a sword, that was sheathed on her back. The other scabbard was empty.
Left it in the glade.
‘Best bind her quick,’ Camlin said, ‘she’s a strong ’un.’
‘Quite the gift you’ve brought us,’ Baird said.
‘She’s here to answer questions for Edana,’ Camlin told him firmly knowing of Baird’s hatred for the race.
‘Fair enough,’ Baird said. ‘She’s your fish, you can have the pleasure of filleting her. Doubt you’ll get anything out of her except lies, though.’ He hawked and spat in the river, then, none too gently, set about wrapping thick rope around the giant’s wrists.
‘She’s heavier than my mam with a barrel of mead in her belly,’ Brogan No-Neck grunted as they dragged the giant ashore, with a lot of splashing and swearing.
As they were tying her securely to a tree the giant started to wake, jerking in shock, throwing herself feebly about, cl
early still suffering from the blow to her head.
‘It’s all right, lass,’ Brogan said. ‘Stay still now, or you’ll hurt yourself.’
‘Lass!’ Baird said. ‘She’d as soon eat your still-beating-heart as speak to you. She’s a monster.’
‘Looks more like a woman to me,’ Brogan said. ‘On the big side, sure enough, but so’s my Aunt Berit.’
Baird shook his head, a disgusted look on his face.
The sun was rising when Camlin met with Edana. He felt a little better, dried and dressed in a new set of clothes, though he was bruised and aching after his fight in the glade and dip in the river, trying not to limp as he walked. To make matters worse he was dismally aware that his scabbard was empty and that he’d lost his bow.
What kind of leader am I? Organize an ambush, get myself beat up by a giant and a snot-nosed apprentice huntsman, and lose all my weapons.
The good news was that every single man on his crew had returned to their camp, and Rhin’s warband had been hit hard, most of her wains turned to fiery bonfires, tents ablaze, horses scattered and a fair few dead soldiers into the bargain.
He found Edana sitting on a log, scooping some hot porridge into a bowl. Vonn was squatting by the fire, digging at the ash and embers. He nodded a greeting to Camlin.
‘Sit,’ Edana said, blowing on her porridge, ‘and eat something. You look like you’re about to collapse.’
Camlin’s belly rumbled and he happily helped himself to a bowl of porridge, sitting down on the log beside Edana, though his throat hurt with each mouthful, a reminder of Rafe’s fingers around his neck.
‘Well done,’ Edana said. ‘A successful mission, by all accounts, and most importantly, everyone’s back and still breathing. Including you.’ She looked pointedly at him and smiled.
Sometimes we just get lucky.
‘Where’s your bow?’ she asked him.
‘Lost it,’ he said glumly.
‘You don’t look right without it.’
Don’t feel right, either.
‘And you’ve brought me a prisoner?’
‘Aye.’ Between mouthfuls Camlin told Edana of the ambush.
‘I saw Rhin, got a shot off at her, but hit a giant instead.’
‘Shame,’ Vonn said.
‘Aye, it was.’ Camlin carried on. As he was coming to an end there was a fluttering up above, then Craf was there.
‘Look what Craf found,’ the crow squawked.
Camlin’s bow fell into his lap. It was scratched, the gut string ruined, but after giving it a quick check-over, Camlin was sure the bow would be fine. He grinned at Craf, who was hopping about looking pleased with himself.
‘Craf, I’m coming to realize that you are a fine bird indeed,’ Camlin said, grinning.
‘Camlin save Craf from the bad man,’ the crow muttered.
‘Rafe,’ Camlin told Edana. ‘He tried to twist Craf’s neck.’
‘Bastard,’ muttered Craf.
‘Rafe?’ Edana said. ‘He just keeps coming back.’
Like a curse.
‘Aye. Shame he’s still breathing, is my thought on it,’ Camlin said, eyeing Vonn, who was making a good effort at looking the other way.
‘He nearly put an end to me,’ Camlin added, rubbing his neck.
‘He’s . . . changed, somehow.’
‘Drank from starstone cup,’ Craf said.
They all looked at the crow.
‘Craf heard them,’ Craf said. ‘Rafe found cup, drank from it. Rhin, giants, all want some now. Make you strong. Fast. Live long.’
They were still staring, speechless.
‘Rhin told Calidus. Bad man. Very bad man.’ The crow shivered from his talons to his beak, feathers ruffling.
‘Calidus? Who’s he?’ Edana asked.
‘He is Kadoshim. He with Nathair. Kill Corban’s mam.’
‘He killed Gwenith?’ Edana asked.
‘Craf told you, BAD MAN. Calidus told Rhin find necklace, come to Drassil,’ Craf squawked, jumping up and down.
‘Craf keep telling you, God-War, Seven Treasures, DANGER!’
‘See,’ Vonn hissed. ‘We are lurking in the woods while the world is ending! This war is much bigger than Ardan.’
‘Craf keep telling you,’ the bird said. ‘Nobody listen to Craf. Ask Camlin’s giant. She was there.’
‘That’s not a bad idea,’ Edana said.
Baird threw a bucket of water into the giant’s face, making her head snap up, eyes open.
‘Think we’ve got her attention,’ Baird said to Edana.
The giant’s face was a mass of wounds, a large gash across her forehead, blood dried and crusted in a trail down her face, as well as cuts and bruises. She squinted up at them with her small black eyes, focusing finally upon Edana.
‘I am Edana ap Brenin, Queen of Ardan,’ Edana said. ‘Who are you?’
‘Téigh go dtí ifreann,’ the giant said. She sat up straighter against the tree she was bound to, jutted her jaw out defiantly.
Craf fluttered down to land on a branch above Edana’s head.
‘Don’t be rude,’ he squawked.
So Craf understands giantish.
The giant looked up at the crow, face creasing, eyes squinting.
‘Fech?’ she said, her expression changing from defiance to dismay.
Fech! I remember that bird – the raven that Edana nursed in Domhain. She sent it north to Corban with a message. Craf said Fech reached them, but was later killed.
‘Yes, this is Fech,’ Edana said. Craf hopped off of the branch and fluttered down to perch on Edana’s arm.
‘Yes, me Fech,’ Craf said. ‘Talk nicely,’ he added.
The giant peered at him, blinked blood from one eye. ‘Ní féidir liom a thuiscint,’ she whispered.
‘In common tongue,’ Craf said.
‘I don’t understand,’ the giant said. She looked scared, all of a sudden.
Perhaps Fech had an influence on the Benothi giants. He was a messenger of Nemain, their queen.
‘You betrayed Nemain,’ Craf said.
The giant recoiled at that, as if struck.
Think he’s got the same idea. That twisted a nerve.
‘I, Nemain chose wrong—’
Craf flapped his wings, cawing and screeching. ‘Nemain was good, Nemain was murdered.’
‘No, she fell. Uthas said she fell.’
‘She was pushed,’ Craf spat.
He’s really embraced Fech. Glad he can remember all this.
‘No,’ the giant said. ‘Who . . . ?’ She paused. ‘Uthas.’
‘Uthas, Uthas, Uthas,’ Craf cawed. ‘Bad giant.’
‘I . . . Fech?’ The giant looked at Craf, something pleading in her expression.
‘Uthas, murderer,’ Craf muttered.
‘Rhin’s tent, last night,’ Edana said. ‘What did you do?’
The giant looked away, lips clamping tight.
‘Tell her, tell her,’ Craf squawked. ‘About the cup, tell her all.’
‘Why would I do that?’ the giant said, quietly, to the ground.
‘Make right your wrong,’ Craf said. ‘For Nemain.’
The giant stared at Craf, back and shoulders rigid and straight, jaw jutting, emotions flickering across the flat planes of her face: pride, loyalty, betrayal, despair. Slowly she slumped.
‘Rhin contacted Calidus in Drassil, by the old way of blood and bone, told him we’d found the starstone cup,’ she said, a whisper.
‘More,’ Craf squawked. ‘Tell all.’
The giant sighed.
‘Calidus ordered Rhin to muster her warbands, to find the necklace at Dun Carreg, and to march for Drassil.’
A silence settled upon them all, leaving only the ripple of the river and the sighing of wind in branches.
‘Told you,’ whispered Vonn.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
UTHAS
Uthas strode across the stone bridge that spanned the precipice between Dun Carreg and the mainla
nd, the breeze tearing at his cloak. He looked back, saw Rhin mounted on a warhorse, Salach striding beside her, and behind them what was left of Rhin’s beleaguered warband. Most of their baggage wains had been destroyed, which at least meant that they travelled faster. The might of the Benothi – what is left of us – strode behind the warband, fifty giants, clad in mail and leather.
To the north-west the sea sparkled and glittered beneath the setting sun, and to the north-east, Uthas could see the dust cloud that marked Rhin’s messengers as they galloped along the giantsway, taking word to her battlechief Geraint to muster the warband of the west.
The time is upon us. The God-War is reaching its end, moving towards its last great battle, which will decide the fate of this land, and all who dwell within it.
And we have the cup. And perhaps the necklace.
He could not stop the smile that spread across his face.
He turned and strode through the arch of Stonegate, into the courtyard of Dun Carreg. Ahead of him he saw Rafe and his lone hound, the huntsman’s head bowed and sullen. Even from here Uthas could see the long scratches on Rafe’s face, scabbed and red where he had been clawed. A bandage was wrapped around one shoulder, a red stain on it.
An arrow wound, deep into the muscle of his shoulder, yet it seems to be causing him little bother – another sign that he has drunk from the cup.
Uthas lengthened his stride to catch up with Rafe. Behind him hooves rang on stone, Rhin cantering up beside him.
‘Take us to Evnis’ tower,’ she said to Rafe, who gave a surly nod and marched ahead.
He sulks because he lost a hound last night. I lost Eisa.
Uthas, Rhin and Salach marched through the streets of Dun Carreg, Rhin’s honour guard of twenty warriors following behind. No people lined the streets to greet Rhin, though Uthas noticed that there were many warriors stationed throughout the fortress.
Then Rafe was at a set of gates that creaked on rusted hinges as he pushed them open. They all passed through into a small courtyard, beyond it an abandoned squat tower, wide-based, no more than six or seven storeys high. Uthas saw a row of kennels along one side of the tower, Rafe’s hound running over to sniff in them, but they were as empty as the tower. Further on, the outer wall rose above Evnis’ tower, dwarfing it. Uthas spied a stairwell climbing to the wall’s battlements, the sound of sea and surf rising up from the sheer cliffs beyond.