by John Gwynne
Don’t underestimate this one. She’s strong, and fast.
He twitched the tip of his sword, pointing at her now.
‘You’ve pocketed some fine keepsakes – not sure the chainmail shirt’ll fit you. Looked a bit short for you.’ He shrugged. ‘Wonder what Calidus will think of it?’
A twitch of her jaw, small eyes widening.
She doesn’t like the thought of that.
‘Don’t tell him,’ Trigg hissed.
‘Why not?’
‘He wouldn’t understand,’ Trigg said, ‘he suspects betrayals, conspiracies where there are none. I just liked the shirt. It’s . . . shiny.’ Her eyes flickered between Lykos and the door, judging.
She’s thinking about taking me on, he realized with a jolt. I want information, not her blood.
‘Where’s the enemy camp?’ he asked. ‘You’ve seen it. I want to know exactly where it is.’
‘I told you, they move, regularly.’
‘When did you see it?’ he asked.
‘Day before yesterday,’ she muttered.
‘Tell me where it is,’ he hissed, taking a step towards her, sword rising.
‘North-west,’ she said.
‘You already told us that. It’s a forest, I need something more specific.’
She looked at him a long moment.
‘From the first trapdoor on the north-western tunnel, travel north, to the river, then west. Over Jael’s road, and half a league further there’s a hill, at its base the corpse of a great bear. Another half-league west.’ She shrugged. ‘That’s where it was.’
‘My thanks,’ Lykos said, half-bowing.
‘There are scouts, it’s well protected. And they’ve probably moved.’
‘No matter,’ he said, backing to the door.
‘Why do you want to know where their camp is?’ Trigg called after him as he reached the doorway and backed through.
‘Got an old friend who’s been on my mind of late,’ he said, and slipped away down the corridor.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CYWEN
‘Where’s Trigg?’ Cywen blurted as she burst into the den. Pots, Buddai and the cubs bounded all over her as behind them Sif muttered a curse, collecting her spilt stones and nuts.
It was dark outside, the best part of a day had gone since Cywen had seen Trigg in the company of Calidus and Lykos, but this was the first chance she’d had to get away.
‘Out,’ Haelan said. ‘She may be big, but she’s good at foraging and not getting caught, and she always comes back with something.’ He grinned.
‘Don’t know how she does it,’ Swain grunted.
‘She’s a traitor, that’s how,’ Cywen said. ‘I saw her today, with Calidus.’
‘The filthy half-breed,’ Swain hissed.
‘That doesn’t make sense,’ Haelan said. ‘Why hasn’t she led Calidus here, then? Why let us stay free?’
‘I don’t understand that part myself,’ Cywen said, brow furrowing. ‘But I know what I saw. Trigg, with Calidus and Lykos.’
‘Maybe they’re watching us, think we can be useful to them,’ Swain said. He was gripped by rage. ‘Maybe they’re spying on our den right now, hidden around the courtyard.’
‘No, Pots and Buddai would have sniffed them out,’ Haelan said, shaking his head.
‘You sure?’ Sif asked. She sidled closer to Swain, a hand reaching out to grip the hem of his shirt.
A sound drifted down the tunnel that led to the den.
They all froze, listening. Heard the pad of footsteps, then Trigg calling out a greeting.
‘I’ll kill her,’ Swain snarled, rummaging inside a sack and pulling out a knife and the snapped shaft of an axe or spear.
‘Questions first,’ Cywen hissed, as Swain threw the knife to her.
She pushed herself tight against the back wall, where the tunnel opened into the den, and blew out the torch closest to her.
‘Act normally, see what you can learn,’ Cywen hissed.
Moments later Trigg squeezed herself through the opening that led from the tunnel to the den, dropping onto the ground with a thud and picking herself up. She was smiling.
‘Why’re you so happy?’ Swain asked her, not able to hide the rage that made his voice tremor.
Trigg frowned at him.
‘Where’ve you been?’ Sif asked.
Not so subtle at questioning, those two.
‘Out, foraging,’ Trigg said.
‘You hungry?’ Haelan asked.
Better.
‘Aye,’ Trigg grunted. ‘You admire this Corban?’ she added, almost shyly.
‘Aye, of course,’ Haelan said, pretending to be taken up with ripping a loaf of bread into five equal parts. ‘He is our leader, he saved us.’
‘Do you think he would be happy to see this?’ she said, pulling a bundle wrapped in cloth from her cloak.
‘What is it?’ Sif asked.
Trigg unfurled the cloth. In one hand she held up a chainmail shirt, the other revealed a leather gauntlet, three iron daggers affixed to it, curved like claws.
‘Corban’s wolven claws!’ Haelan said.
And his mail shirt.
‘How did you get them?’ Swain asked venomously.
Trigg’s head snapped around.
‘I’m good at sneaking,’ she said.
‘Don’t know how you can walk around the fortress in broad daylight. You’re half-giant, how can you be good at not being seen?’
I’ve heard enough.
Cywen sprang out from the shadows, kicking Trigg in the back of the knees, sending her crashing to the ground. Even as she hit the floor Trigg was twisting, dragging Cywen off balance, a fist crunching into her jaw. Stars exploded, her vision blurred and she fell, her cheek slamming onto cold earth. Then Swain and Trigg were rolling together, the cubs were a mass of fur swirling around the struggling pair like the detritus of a whirlwind. Haelan and Sif stood back, looking unsure how to help.
Buddai leaped at Trigg, his teeth clamping around her arm, while Shadow slammed into the half-giant’s chest, knocking her back.
Cywen threw herself at Trigg, grabbing Corban’s wolven claws, and a heartbeat later had them pressed to Trigg’s throat, the iron tips making indentations in her flesh.
‘Stop,’ Cywen snarled.
Buddai had Trigg’s arm clamped in his jaws, growling menacingly. The other cubs were snapping and snarling at Trigg’s legs, blood spattering the ground. Shadow bounded onto Trigg’s chest and growled in her face, saliva dripping from her canines.
‘Call them off,’ Trigg whispered.
‘Hold,’ Cywen said to Buddai. Haelan clicked his tongue, Shadow looked at him, then reluctantly retreated to stand by his side. Sif ran to Swain, who was groggily sitting up.
‘Why?’ Trigg asked.
‘I saw you,’ Cywen said. ‘With Calidus.’
Any fight left in Trigg drained then, she literally deflated, going limp.
‘You’re a traitor,’ Swain hissed at Trigg, standing unsteadily, his fists bunching.
‘I’ve said nothing about you, about this place,’ Trigg said.
‘You were with Calidus?’ Haelan said with hurt in his voice. ‘I don’t understand. I thought you were my friend.’
‘I am your friend,’ Trigg said pleadingly, ‘even if you abandoned me, forgot I existed, left me to die.’
‘Explain,’ Cywen said.
Trigg looked at her defiantly, then her face creased with barely controlled emotion.
‘I have done a terrible thing,’ Trigg said. ‘But I didn’t know it at the time; I was so angry. Cold, starving. Thought I was going to die, and it was your fault – you Haelan, and Wulf. But now I’m so sorry, wish I could turn back time, or make amends, somehow. By helping you, finding Corban’s belongings . . .’
‘What terrible thing?’ Haelan asked.
The half-giant looked at them all, a tremble in her lip, tears slipping down her cheeks.
‘I showed Calidus th
e way into Drassil.’
Showed Calidus the secret tunnel. So many dead because of that one thing. Meical beheaded, the warband scattered.
Cywen’s clawed hand dug deeper into Trigg’s throat; the urge to kill the traitorous wretch was overwhelming, a host of faces spinning through her mind – the dead, framed by the screams of those executed each day.
‘I have information,’ Trigg blurted, ‘valuable information.’
‘What information?’ Haelan asked, stalling Cywen’s thoughts of retribution.
‘About the Seven Treasures, about Calidus’ plans.’
‘Speak,’ Haelan said.
So Trigg did, telling them all she knew, of the ancient forge in the heart of Drassil’s tree, of the whereabouts of the starstone dagger and torc, of Lykos’ mission, of Nathair and Lothar, and of the resistance that was lurking in Forn Forest.
‘You’ve seen them?’ Swain gasped.
‘Corban?’ Cywen asked.
‘He is not there,’ Trigg said. Cywen’s heart felt as if it stopped.
‘But he is still alive. Or was. I heard him being discussed. He was taken by the Jotun. Some of your friends have gone after him.’
Thank Elyon he lives. And that explains why he has not responded to Calidus’ challenge.
‘Mam and Da? Were they there?’ Sif asked, tears in her eyes.
‘I saw Wulf,’ Trigg said, her lip curling. ‘Not Hild.’
‘Hild is with me, at the hospice,’ Cywen said, looking at the anguish in the children’s eyes and unable to keep it from them any longer.
‘Why did you not tell us?’ Swain gasped.
‘Fear,’ Cywen said. ‘I’ll explain and apologize properly later.’ She was staring at Trigg, still trying to process all that she’d heard.
How can I trust her? She’s betrayed us once. I do not understand her.
‘Why are you doing this?’ Cywen asked her. ‘You have made your deal with Calidus, you’ll be rewarded by him. Why are you even here, trying to be our friend, bringing Corban’s claws and mail, trying to win his favour?’
Trigg shifted, sat up against the wall. Buddai growled. ‘Because this is not who I am,’ she eventually said. ‘One act of darkness, of treachery. But also many of loyalty, too. Judge me by the sum of my deeds, not just the one mistake.’
Tears leaked from her eyes, her expression as miserable as anything Cywen had ever seen.
Trigg looked around at them all, settling upon Haelan.
‘And, I do not want to be alone. I thought Haelan was my friend.’
They stood there in silence a while, each of them going over Trigg’s revelations.
Eventually Cywen took a deep breath.
‘They have to know,’ she said. ‘The warband out there. About all of it – the Treasures, the Jotun, Lykos.’ She looked at Haelan, Swain and Sif, their faces so serious, so scared.
‘We’re getting out of here, tonight.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CAMLIN
Camlin stood on the riverbank adjusting his chainmail shirt. Beneath it he was wearing a linen shirt and wool undershirt, and yet still the chainmail chaffed his shoulders.
‘Don’t like this,’ he muttered, tying an iron helm to his belt.
‘Stop complaining, you look quite fetching,’ Edana said, ‘even if the colours are all wrong.’
Camlin pulled a face, shrugging the black and gold cloak over his shoulder.
He was standing alongside Vonn, who was dressed similarly in the black and gold worn by Rhin’s men.
‘Reckon we’ll pass for men out of Rhin’s warband,’ Camlin grunted. ‘Glad we kept and carried all that war gear around, now.’
‘I’m not happy it’s just the two of you,’ Halion said, standing at Edana’s shoulder, a frown on his face.
‘Three,’ a voice piped up; Meg was standing by their boat.
‘You’re only coming so far,’ Camlin said, waving a stern finger at her. ‘And this time you do what you’re told, else you’ll not be invited next time.’
‘Have to tie me up,’ Meg muttered.
‘That can be arranged,’ Camlin said firmly. ‘And Halion, we’ve talked it through. Numbers won’t make any difference, unless we march a thousand swords into Dun Carreg. The fewer we are, the easier to sneak in, snatch what we want and get out again. Vonn’s got to be there, because only he knows where his da’s secret room is. And me, the perfect choice when sneaking and stealing are called for.’
‘Aye, well. I’d be happier if you had a couple of solid lads with you,’ said Halion.
‘Then you’ll be glad I’m here,’ a voice said behind them.
They all turned to see Lorcan stepping out of the forest gloom, Brogan with him, a long spear in his hand. Both were clad in Rhin’s black and gold, a poor-fitting helm on Brogan’s big head.
Thought this was a secret mission.
‘No,’ Edana told him. ‘You’re heir to the throne of Domhain. You can’t just go wandering into your enemy’s stronghold.’
‘You’re not my lord, Edana. We are equals, you and I,’ Lorcan said, his jaw set in a stubborn line, ‘and I will not be told to stay here, not by you or by anyone else.’
He stood there, a silence settling between them, Edana looking as if she had just swallowed a wasp.
‘It’s your mission,’ Edana finally said, looking at Camlin. ‘What do you think?’
He is handy with a blade; I’ve seen him sparring. And No-Neck is always good to have around.
‘You’ll obey my every order, no questions?’ Camlin asked Lorcan.
‘Every one, meticulously,’ Lorcan said, sensing victory.
Camlin looked at Vonn, who shrugged.
‘All right. Time’s wasting, let’s away,’ he said, and with that they were clambering into a rowing-boat that Camlin had stolen while on a foraging and reconnaissance run beyond the forest. Camlin lay his unstrung bow down, wrapped in deerskin and tied tight.
Halion pulled Lorcan into an embrace. ‘Look after yourself, little brother,’ he said, and Lorcan’s eyes shone.
Soon Vonn and Brogan were rowing them downstream, Edana and Halion standing on the riverbank, hands raised in farewell. They left the Baglun behind them as twilight settled, climbed out and carried the boat over a shallow ford, then clambered back in, rowing a little further before their tributary joined the river Tarin. A shadow flitting across Camlin and a squawk from above told him that Craf was with them.
‘Darol’s hold,’ Vonn murmured, and Camlin saw the young warrior gazing up at a shallow hill to the north that rose between them and Dun Carreg. With a jolt Camlin remembered it, a sick sensation unfurling in his gut. It was the hold he had raided while working for Braith, under the guidance of Evnis. A raid that had gone badly wrong, women and bairns dying . . .
I’ve done bad things, sure enough, or been party to them. But things are different now. I’m different now. Got a cause to fight for. Friends. People I believe in. Can’t change the past, but I can be a better man now.
The river widened, carving through the coastline, a cove of granite cliffs rearing above them. As the current met with the tide and rowing became harder, Camlin and Lorcan lifted oars, and Meg in the prow searched for mudbanks and rocks as waves slapped against the hull.
They grated on something, stuck for a few heartbeats, and then a swell lifted them free.
‘It’s not a good stretch of coast for night rowing,’ Vonn said over the roar of the sea.
Now he tells me.
The dark maw of a cave loomed before them. Camlin looked up at a sheer cliff face composed of varying shades of darkness and shadow, the moon appearing from behind scudding clouds to turn the foam-flecked sea silver-tipped for a few heartbeats.
They’d made it to the bay at Dun Carreg, somehow avoiding being dashed on the cliffs and treacherously submerged rocks, and now Meg was holding the boat steady on the gentle swell, as Camlin stood with Vonn, Lorcan and Brogan before the huge cave that bored into the base
of the precipice that Dun Carreg sat upon.
‘Must confess, this doesn’t bring back good memories,’ Camlin muttered, staring at the great hole they were about to enter.
Once they turned the first bend in the tunnel Camlin reached into his pack, pulling out a torch of dried rushes, and lit it to show the path they were walking on, slick with water and seaweed, beside them the swell and roar of an ever-narrowing channel. Then they were at the cave’s end, or so it appeared. Camlin walked into the wall, felt a pressure build around him, a resistance, like walking through water, then with a popping in his ears he was through, standing in a wide chamber, at its far end steps leading upwards into a dark corridor.
Behind him Vonn, Lorcan and Brogan pushed through the glamour of the wall.
‘Didn’t much like that,’ Brogan muttered, then stood openmouthed as he pointed at a huge skeleton that lay upon the ground before them. ‘What’s that?’
‘Oh, that’s a white wyrm we killed last time we passed this way,’ Vonn said lightly.
‘Think there’s any more of these beasties slithering around down here?’ Brogan asked, scanning the shadows.
‘Guess we’ll soon find out,’ Camlin said, and began the long climb to Dun Carreg.
‘There it is,’ Vonn said, pointing to a blacker shadow in the wall ahead of them. They’d been climbing endless winding stairwells for what felt like days.
‘There what is?’ asked Lorcan, who despite the darkness and potential for sudden death seemed remarkably cheerful.
‘The entrance to my father’s tower,’ Vonn replied and led them to what turned out to be a hole in the granite, partly bricked and boarded up, that led into a basement.
There were no signs or sounds of life.
‘It’s empty,’ Vonn said. ‘I thought as much. This is the place where my mother lived. And died . . .’ He trailed off a moment, lost in some memory.
Camlin patted him awkwardly on the back.
‘This way,’ Vonn said, leading them up a stairwell that opened up into a reception hall. At the far end of the hall were two great doors, one of them ajar, letting in a beam of silver moonlight. Vonn continued up the stairs, pausing to hold his torch closer to the steps, frowning. Camlin saw it too. Footprints in the dust.