Wrath (The Faithful and the Fallen Book 4)

by John Gwynne

  ‘To Eld?’ Ethlinn asked.

  ‘Aye. Before he was slain.’

  ‘Slain!’

  ‘Aye. I’ll tell you of it after. And who are you?’ Corban asked of the dark-haired giant with them. He looked at him more closely. ‘You are familiar to me.’

  ‘I am Alcyon, of the Kurgan,’ the giant said. ‘I have heard much of you, Bright Star. Your sister did nothing but talk about you on our long journey from Dun Carreg to Murias. My brother will kill you, she said, more than once, though to be fair she aimed that mostly at Calidus rather than me.’

  Corban frowned.

  ‘Alcyon!’ Cywen cried, running up the hill. ‘How are you here?’ She looked at him, suspiciously at first, then shook her head. ‘I never thought that you were like them. There was something else in you. Kindness.’

  Alcyon dipped his head to her, a thank you. ‘I am glad that you still live,’ he said, ‘and I am sorry for my part in your troubles.’

  ‘But Calidus?’ Cywen said. ‘How did you escape him?’

  ‘I am under his spell no more,’ Alcyon said. ‘Thanks to Veradis.’

  Cywen smiled. ‘He is here? Made it out of Drassil?’

  ‘Aye. He is there,’ Alcyon said, pointing down the hill at three men who were striding up to them.

  ‘Let me introduce our new recruits,’ Brina said to Corban. She looked behind the three men, as if searching for someone.

  ‘Strange,’ Brina said. ‘Where is Fidele?’

  ‘Fidele?’ Corban asked.

  ‘She is Nathair’s mother, and deeply opposed to him. A good woman, a good leader, respected and loved by her people. I like her.’

  Corban frowned, staring intently at the healer. ‘Brina, are you sober?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You don’t usually appear to like anyone, is all.’

  ‘I like Storm,’ Brina said and poked him with a bony finger. ‘Make the most of it,’ she added, ‘I doubt it’ll last.’

  The three men approached. One of them, little short of giant proportions, stepped forwards and Corban offered his arm.

  ‘I’m Krelis ben Lamar,’ the man said, taking Corban’s forearm in the warrior grip. ‘Lord of Ripa. Heard a lot about you.’ He looked Corban up and down. ‘I thought you’d be bigger.’

  Corban shrugged. ‘Well met,’ he said. He returned Krelis’ look. ‘To be honest, I’ve never heard of you, or Ripa. But I’m glad you’re here, and I hear you’ve brought men with you, for which I’m even more grateful.’

  Krelis stared down at him, eyebrows knotting, then he laughed. He elbowed a stern-faced man besides him, staggering him. ‘I like him,’ he said.

  ‘This is my baby brother, Veradis ben Lamar,’ Krelis said.

  ‘Have we met?’ Corban asked, frowning.

  ‘Aye. Briefly.’ Veradis regarded Corban with serious eyes. ‘It was dark, though, and you had a wolven pelt over your head, and claws on your fist.’

  Corban’s eyes narrowed. ‘Domhain?’

  ‘Aye. You challenged Nathair to fight you. I answered, because I was Nathair’s first-sword, but the men of my shield wall pulled me back.’

  ‘I remember now. Why did they do that?’

  ‘Because they thought that he would kill me.’ Veradis nodded over Corban’s shoulder and he looked to see Gar standing behind him, face blank and his eyes fixed on Veradis.

  ‘You killed my friend,’ Veradis said to Gar, taking a step forwards, away from Krelis. ‘At Dun Carreg.’

  Abruptly there was a tension in the air. Corban had been at Gar’s side in Dun Carreg, when Gar had slain men in black and silver. Nathair’s eagle-guard.

  The men who murdered my da.

  And now Corban was fighting the urge to draw his sword, feeling an irrational anger at the man before him. He mastered the emotion and compulsion. Just.

  ‘If he was dressed as you, then it is likely that I did,’ Gar said. ‘I killed a few of your kind that night.’

  Corban saw a flicker of movement in the fingertips of Veradis’ sword hand.

  ‘The only eagle-guard that Gar slew at Dun Carreg were in the feast-hall,’ Corban said, his voice measured and cold. It was the only way he could keep it from breaking. ‘I was there too, and saw him do it. He was taking vengeance upon them. For they had just slain my da.’

  ‘Your da?’ Veradis said, eyes still fixed on Gar.

  Corban opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, emotion like a great wave drowning his words.

  ‘Nathair put a sword through Thannon’s heart,’ Gar said. ‘After your eagle-guard had attacked him. One man against many. Thannon was as a brother to me,’ Gar said. ‘The finest man I’ve known, besides my own da, and Corban.’

  ‘Twelve of your eagle-guard stood against my da,’ Corban continued, monotone, reciting it like a lay. ‘And he fought them because they were attacking our King Brenin, murdered him, under the eye of Nathair. Your King.’

  Veradis ripped his eyes from Gar to look at Corban.

  The moment stretched.

  ‘I did not know,’ Veradis said, eyes finally dropping. ‘He was a good man, my friend Rauca. He was not evil, had no malice in him. He was serving his King. He was obedient and loyal. He was deceived, as I was.’

  Gar stared at him, stony faced.

  ‘Then I am sorry for his death,’ Gar said eventually. ‘He is as much a victim of treachery and deceit as Thannon was. His death should be avenged.’

  ‘Aye. That was always my opinion,’ Veradis said. ‘But now I see that the guilty man is not the one I thought. Nathair is the one responsible.’ His hand dropped away from his sword hilt and he sighed, a long exhalation.

  There was a hush around them. Corban realized that the whole warband was silent, watching. His heartbeat loud and fast.

  ‘Well, I for one am glad that’s over,’ Krelis said. ‘I nearly wet my breeches.’ He nudged his brother. ‘Don’t go doing that again,’ he whispered, though all heard.

  Veradis stepped forwards and held his arm out to Corban.

  Corban hesitated a moment, and then took it.

  ‘Well met, Corban,’ Veradis said. ‘I am sorry for the grief that Nathair has brought upon you, and for any part that I have played in it. And I swear to you, here and now, before more than a thousand witnesses: I will do all that I can to right those wrongs, or else avenge them.’

  Corban held Veradis’ gaze, saw only honesty in his eyes, a genuine remorse and conviction. Despite the fact that they had just been heartbeats away from trying to kill one another, Corban decided that he liked the man.

  ‘Can’t say fairer than that,’ he said, and Veradis nodded.

  Then the third of the group, a silver-haired man, stepped forwards.

  ‘My name is Alben, and I have the dubious honour of having been swordsmaster to these two reprobates.’ He gave Veradis and Krelis a hard stare. ‘I have been waiting for this day for many years. I am a follower of Meical, as your King Brenin was, and am ready to give my life for you, the Bright Star.’

  Corban just stared at him a moment, felt a wave of sympathy for the man.

  Someone else who has been deceived, used. Given his life to a manipulation.

  Corban drew in a deep breath.

  Best get this over with.

  He turned and strode to the crown of the hill he was standing on.

  ‘It is good to be back,’ Corban called out, and a roar rose up from the crowd.

  ‘I’m happy to see so many of my sword-brothers and -sisters again. And to meet new ones. Many of you must wonder why I was not at the battle of Drassil, how it came about that I was taken prisoner by Jotun giants.’

  He looked around the hill, saw many heads nodding.

  ‘I was not in Drassil because I had argued with Meical, my Ben-Elim counsellor, and had gone into the forest to think. I had discovered that the prophecy that he had spoken of, used to steer me, was but a ruse, a strategy of war, manufactured by him and his Ben-Elim kin to lure Asroth and the Kadosh
im into moving too soon.’

  He paused, allowing time for his words to sink in.

  Some faces were shocked, some appalled – like Alben, who had just spoken to him, and many of the Jehar. Others became angry, some confused.

  ‘So what does this mean? What are you saying to us?’ a voice called out: Wulf.

  ‘I am saying that many of you followed me thinking I am the Bright Star of prophecy. I believe it is right that you know the truth. Truth and courage, remember, is the code I strive to live by, that my da taught me. So if you do not wish to follow me any longer, that is your right, and your choice.’

  ‘Meical lied to you?’ Akar said, many Jehar gathered behind him.

  ‘Aye,’ Corban said. ‘The Ben-Elim wish to win their war against Asroth and his Kadoshim. The prophecy was designed to lure Asroth from his fortress in the Otherworld, to manoeuvre him into a position of vulnerability. You, me, all of us, we are but pawns in that plan.’

  ‘The Ben-Elim have betrayed us,’ Akar said, shaking his head. ‘Our whole lives we have believed a lie.’

  ‘They have used us,’ Corban said.

  ‘Asroth is no lie,’ Gar called out, stepping forwards. ‘Calidus, Nathair, the Vin Thalun. Our enemies. They are no lie. The Ben-Elim have used and deceived us, but our enemy remains the same. The fight remains the same. And prophecy or no, I follow Corban, unto death.’

  Corban looked at Gar, words failing him.

  ‘You are the Bright Star,’ a voice cried out, higher pitched than the others. It sounded angry. Corban suspected it was Haelan.

  ‘Aye. You slew Sumur, when no man could have,’ Akar said, lifting his head. ‘You are our Bright Star.’

  ‘The Bright Star,’ Dath called out, grinning at Corban.

  ‘The Bright Star,’ Ethlinn boomed.

  ‘The Bright Star,’ another yelled, and another, until it was being chanted by hundreds. Corban shook his head.

  ‘But, the prophecy is a lie,’ Corban said when they quietened.

  ‘So what?’ a voice shouted – a voice and face that Corban recognized. Javed of the Freedmen. ‘I for one do not care. I never followed you because of a prophecy. I followed because you saved me, and because my enemies are here, and if I don’t face them, they will kill me, or worse, make me a slave again. I still want to kill them. The prophecy changes nothing.’

  ‘For once, Javed, I agree with you,’ Corban shouted, and laughter rippled around the hill.

  ‘Death to our enemies,’ Javed yelled, repeating it.

  ‘Death to our enemies,’ Wulf joined him.

  ‘Death to our enemies,’ the cry was taken up by them all, a wave of sound, a recognition of injustices endured, of kin murdered, homes burned, friends and loved ones slain.

  Corban looked around at them all, more than a thousand men and women raising their voices, and he thought of the long list of crimes committed by his enemy, the deaths of his mam and da, his King, so many throughout Ardan and Domhain, the slaughter at Gramm’s hold.

  ‘DEATH TO OUR ENEMIES,’ Corban cried out, joining his voice to theirs.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  CYWEN

  ‘DEATH TO OUR ENEMIES,’ Cywen yelled, her mind and heart full of memories: of Ronan in the Darkwood, his blood running through her fingers, of her mam, dying in her arms, of the dead and wounded at Gramm’s hold, of the daily screams of the impaled in Drassil.

  It must come to an end, and the only way is death. Death to Calidus, death to the Kadoshim, death to Lykos and Nathair.

  Slowly the cries died down, the crowd falling quiet, a hush settling over the forest. Cywen looked up at Corban, saw the emotion running though him.

  She felt an arm wrap around her shoulders and saw Brina’s wizened face looking at her.

  ‘Welcome back, my apprentice,’ Brina said, gazing at her with concerned eyes. ‘I’m glad you’re here, because I’ve had so much to do; I could do with some help, someone to do my bidding.’

  Cywen laughed at that, though there was a cracked, manic edge to it. ‘I never thought I’d be glad of the day I got to do chores for you,’ she said.

  ‘Well, then, all I can say is that you’re going to be very glad, indeed,’ Brina said with a twitch of lips. ‘First, though, I think you could do with a cup of tea and some honey.’

  A commotion rose up from the edge of camp, someone was running through the trees and tents, up the hill. A woman, dressed in leather and furs, holding a bow in one hand. Cywen recognized her as one of the first that had joined them in Narvon, fleeing villages that were being devastated by the Kadoshim as they marched south from Murias.

  Teca. Her name is Teca.

  Teca ran up the hill, pushing her way through the crowd, then saw Corban, her troubled expression giving way to shock, and then to a flash of joy.

  ‘You’re back,’ she said, a smile upon her face now.

  ‘Aye. Well met, Teca,’ Corban called down to her. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Fidele,’ Teca said, her smile vanishing, ‘she’s been taken.’

  Uproar broke out then, hundreds of voices calling out at once.

  ‘QUIET,’ Balur boomed, and a new silence fell.

  ‘What can you tell us, Teca?’ Brina asked grimly.

  ‘Fidele left in the night, with Veradis’ rescue party. From what I understand, her intention was to go to Nathair, hoping to reason with him, to turn him from his dark path.’

  Grunts and murmurs rippled around the camp.

  ‘But not far from here she was set upon, her shieldmen slain, and she was taken. Vin Thalun were amongst the dead. The strangest thing, though, is that their tracks led to the river, not back to Drassil. Maquin is searching along the riverbank now, but we need more hands and eyes.’

  A hammer-blow of realization struck in Cywen’s head.

  Lykos!

  Alben was coming forwards now, calling out orders, organizing a group to go with Teca and widen the search.

  ‘I know where she is,’ Cywen called out, striding forwards, repeating herself over the clamouring. Alben saw her.

  ‘Where?’ he asked her.

  ‘Lykos has her, and he is bound for Arcona.’

  Alben stared at her, horror-struck.

  ‘Lykos,’ he whispered. Then, to Teca, ‘Take a score of men. Fetch Maquin back here.’

  Brina stepped forwards. ‘A meeting of captains, I think,’ she said, clapping her hands together. ‘Follow me.’

  Soon Cywen was in a small clearing, sitting upon a tree stump with those whom Brina deemed should be in attendance. Storm was pacing the shadows. She seemed . . . bigger; more ferocious.

  Not a bad thing, in days such as these.

  Cywen looked about the circle, at this gathering of captains: Jehar, giants, warriors and ex-slaves.

  What a strange and diverse group we are.

  Brina passed Cywen a small bowl of tea.

  ‘Tell us what you know,’ Alben asked her.

  ‘Wait,’ Brina said, holding a hand up to Alben. ‘Wait for Maquin. He will be here soon, and Cywen will only have to repeat herself.’

  ‘Maquin?’ Corban asked.

  ‘Fidele’s shieldman, and her lover,’ Brina said. Cywen raised an eyebrow at that, and Krelis coughed into his hand. Veradis blushed.

  Brina will always say the truth as it is. Or as she sees it.

  ‘He’s one of the few men in this rabble I like,’ Brina said. ‘Straight-talking. Single-minded. Some might call him rude.’

  A male version of you, then, Brina.

  ‘And he is a killer. Not a man that can kill, like the rest of you. Look in his eyes.’

  ‘She’s not wrong,’ Javed muttered. ‘He is the greatest pit-fighter that ever lived. And that means he’s better than me.’ He wiggled a hand in the air and grinned. ‘On his best day.’

  ‘Fidele is his life,’ Brina said. ‘So I suspect that you will not see him at his best.’

  There was the sound of tramping feet, then Teca led a number of men int
o the circle. Amongst them stalked a man whom Cywen recognized from Brina’s description. There was a stark elegance to his movements, his eyes scanning constantly for threats. He was not overly tall or muscular, but still he radiated strength, a power controlled in his every move. He was not young, his hair was iron-grey with streaks of black in, his face a lattice of scars, most of one ear missing.

  No doubt that’s Maquin, then. He looks like one of those granite crags that poke from the sea, off of Dun Carreg’s cliffs, weathered and battered, but unbroken.

  ‘Why am I here,’ he said to Alben, his words clipped short, as if he were having trouble breathing.

  ‘Cywen thinks she has information about Fidele’s capture,’ Alben said. ‘She is Corban’s sister, who has returned to us.’ He gestured to Corban, and Maquin gave him an absent nod.

  ‘Tell me,’ Maquin said, turning his wolf gaze upon Cywen.

  ‘Lykos has set out on a mission for Calidus,’ she said. ‘Calidus is seeking to gather the Seven Treasures to himself. He needs them all to perform a ritual that will release Asroth and his Kadoshim, allow them to enter the Banished Lands and become flesh.’

  ‘We know this,’ Brina said.

  ‘Well, he has discovered their whereabouts, or at the least, clues to their likely whereabouts.’

  ‘How?’ Javed interrupted.

  ‘He found a hidden room, a forge, carved within the heart of the great tree in Drassil’s great hall. It is the room that the Treasures were forged in, and upon its walls is scribed a map by Halvor, the counsellor of Skald. On the map are the likely locations of the Treasures, or at least, where Halvor thought they were at the time of his scribing.’

  Balur One-Eye shared a look with Ethlinn. ‘I heard rumours of such a place,’ he said, ‘but I never knew.’

  ‘The map placed the cauldron, necklace and cup in Benoth with Nemain,’ Cywen recited them as Trigg had told her. ‘The spear at Drassil. The dagger with the Jotun in the Desolation and the torc in Arcona. We know about the axe.’

  Alcyon hissed. ‘I dwelt in Arcona before Calidus took me as his prisoner,’ the giant said, ‘and I never heard even a whisper of the Treasures.’

  ‘Well, the map says it is on some island, called Kletfar? Something like that. It is in the centre of a great lake.’