by John Gwynne
Dag pulled a huge key from his belt and unlocked the door, opening it with a rusty creak. Jael and the others filed through, lighting torches from a burning sconce, only the echo of their feet and the sound of their breathing magnified in this ancient tunnel.
They walked a long time, the silence about them suffocating.
‘How did you come by those scars?’ Ulfilas asked Dag, more to break the oppressively monotonous silence than out of any real desire to know.
‘Wife,’ Dag grunted. ‘She came off worse.’
Ulfilas couldn’t imagine much worse than Dag’s disfigured features.
‘I wouldn’t want to meet her in the dark, then.’
‘Not much chance of that,’ Dag said. ‘I killed her.’
Ulfilas stopped asking questions after that. His mouth was dry and his belly rumbling by the time they came to a set of stone steps. Night had fallen when they emerged into a ruined room, crumbling stone all about them, apparently held together by a thick tapestry of cobwebs.
Dag led them through an archway and into woodland, the tree-tops swaying and rustling in a breeze, making shadows dance. Then something moved in the darkness, an impenetrable shadow, huge, like a tree come to life. It growled, and Ulfilas reached for his sword, stepping in front of Jael as the other warriors spread protectively around their King.
‘Peace,’ Jael said, resting a hand upon Ulfilas’ arm, then Ulfilas realized what it was.
A bear, a giant sitting upon it in a high-backed saddle.
‘Well met, Ildaer,’ Jael said.
The giant swung a leg and slipped to the ground, his blond braided hair and thick moustache appearing like silver in the starlight. He gripped a long spear in one hand, a double-bladed axe was strapped to his saddle. Two other forms shambled out of the darkness – more bear-riders, one of them female, her chin and lip hairless, appearing strangely fine-boned amidst all the lumps of muscle and bone. The three giants repulsed Ulfilas. He tried to keep his face impassive as he looked at them.
‘We have found your runaway bairn,’ Ildaer grated. He glowered down at Jael.
‘Where?’
‘What is this information worth to you?’
‘All that I promised. Every Jotun artefact found within Isiltir.’
‘That is not enough.’
Jael tensed at that. Ulfilas doubted that anyone else could tell, but he had known him so long. An inflection crept into his voice, a shift in his posture.
‘What else do you want?’
‘Land. South of the river.’
Jael looked up at Ildaer, the giant taller than any man there.
‘How much land?’
‘Enough for three hundred of my kin, and our bears.’
‘That’s a lot of land.’
‘Your Isiltir has a lot to spare.’
‘Agreed,’ Jael said. ‘Though I will choose the land.’
‘We must both agree,’ Ildaer said.
Jael looked between the three giants, then slowly nodded.
‘Where is Haelan?’ he asked.
Ildaer looked over his shoulder, at the female giant.
‘Ilska and her bear found him. He is at Gramm’s hold.’
Jael stood silent a moment.
Gramm’s! And we have his grandchildren. How did he not give the child up? He will regret that more than ever, now.
‘You are sure?’ Jael asked, his mouth a straight line.
He is angry now. If true then Gramm has played him for a fool. Gramm will not die quickly.
The giantess whispered something and her bear lumbered forwards. Ulfilas resisted the sudden urge to take an equal number of steps backwards.
‘I saw him,’ the giantess said. ‘Creach smelt him.’
‘Creach?’
She patted the thick neck of the bear she was sitting upon. It raised its head, making a deep rumbling sound. ‘Creach,’ she repeated.
Jael shook his head. ‘Old fool,’ he muttered. ‘Gramm’s time is over. Help me take the boy from him, and his hold is yours, if you want it.’
Ildaer made a strange noise, like two boulders grinding, his shoulders shaking. Ulfilas realized he was laughing. ‘Agreed, little King.’ He grunted something in giantish to the giants behind him and their laughter joined his. It was unsettling.
‘Wait here one day for me. I will make arrangements.’
Ildaer grunted and Jael turned and walked away. Ulfilas took one last look at the giants and then followed his King.
They walked in silence back to the ruined building in the wood. As they passed into the embrace of the crumbling stone Ulfilas voiced the question that had been on his mind since they’d left the giants.
‘Why do they want it?’
‘Want what?’ Jael asked.
‘Land.’
‘Fertile land, perhaps. The chance to grow, to sow and reap. You’ve seen the Desolation. It’s . . . desolate.’ Men laughed at that. ‘In truth, Ulfilas, it doesn’t matter. I get Haelan, and in return they get something that is no hardship to give. And better. The Jotun will now be gathered where I can see them. Keep your friends close . . .’
And your enemies closer.
Dag paused at the trapdoor to the tunnel. He was frowning.
‘What’s wrong?’ Jael asked him impatiently.
Dag knelt and studied the ground before the trapdoor. ‘Someone’s been here.’
They drew their swords and stepped into the corridor cautiously. The torch was still burning. Dag took it from its sconce and studied the ground again.
‘Men have passed this way – see, footprints overlying ours.’
‘How many?’ Jael asked him.
‘Hard to tell. Not many. Maybe only one. No more than three.’
They sped along the corridor, buckles and shirts of mail clanking, Ulfilas’ breath loud in his own head. Finally they reached the doorway into Dun Kellen and slowed, Dag still leading.
Further along they found blood trailing into a side corridor. Ulfilas had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and knew what they were going to find before they saw two dead guards and the door open to the cell of Gramm’s grandchildren. The guards were stripped of their livery – cuirasses with Jael’s sigil and red cloaks.
Jael’s face whitened, first with fear, then a cold rage.
‘Dag, take a score of men and find them,’ he said, fury lurking in the depths of his voice. ‘Ulfilas, take two hundred swords and ride to Gramm’s. Take Ildaer with you.’
‘What of you, my King?’
‘I cannot come. I have to be in Mikil in less than a moon. It would take almost that to ride to Gramm’s hold. You will have to do this work for me.’
Ulfilas went to hurry away but Jael reached out and grabbed his arm.
‘You understand the import of this?’
‘I do,’ Ulfilas said.
‘My crown rests upon finding that child.’
‘I will find him, my King. What would you have me do with him – bring him in chains before you?’
‘The only part of Haelan that I am interested in seeing is his head. Bring that to me so that I can display it beside his mother’s; leave the rest of him at Gramm’s, the crows are welcome to him.’
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CAMLIN
Camlin smiled at the reunion between Edana and Halion. They hugged as tightly as kin, Edana laughing, then crying, and then laughing some more. Halion’s grin was so wide it looked as if his face would split. Camlin left them to it. I need to talk to someone. He took himself for a walk around the perimeter of the encampment, though calling it that was over-generous. Disorganized and sprawling was closer to the truth.
Won’t be good if Braith leads a few score warriors in here. Pendathran had guards spread around the camp and deeper into the marshes, but the encampment was becoming unguardable. Shacks had been made out of anything handy – walls latticed out of willow and alder, packed with mud. But they were everywhere, along the lake’s shore, amongst stands of trees,
spreading up the banks of streams. And there were dozens of those feeding into the lake. Any one of them could become a line of entry for Braith. He looked around with a growing tension filling his chest. It’d be a bloodbath.
Braith. The time at the tower had been a day of shocks, and no denying. Didn’t think I’d be seeing him again. Last time I saw him he was poisoned, had a hole in him and was falling into the sea. How did he survive? He felt a worm of fear wriggling deep in his belly. Braith was a formidable enemy, a fine woodsman and a man who made it his business to resolve all grudges. Those qualities combined do not make the future that attractive.
You could leave. Run. As far away and as fast as you can. You know he’s going to be coming for you. He sighed at the voice in his head. I’m long past running from this crew. But we found our way back easy enough, and that was rowing blind, and like madmen.
They’d rowed and poled and rowed like Asroth was snapping at their heels when they’d fled Evnis and Morcant, roping their boats together and carrying on well after dark. Meg said she knew the general direction of Dun Crin if not the exact waterways, and Camlin trusted her enough, while Drust was too exhausted to care. Five days later they’d rowed into the lake that covered most of Dun Crin, and Camlin noted that Drust had not bothered to insist on blindfolds.
Probably because none of us knew where we were, but there it is. Maybe there is some trust growing after all.
He heard a rustling in the undergrowth.
‘Might as well come on out, Meg.’
There was a silence for a moment, while Meg thought about it, most likely. Then her red hair appeared and she skipped up to him.
Can’t say that I’m too fond of bairns, but this one’s been handy. And she’s not such bad company. Doesn’t talk a lot, at least, which I’ll count as a blessing.
‘What’s going t’happen?’ Meg asked him.
He thought about lying to her, but then he remembered where he’d found her, and what she’d already seen.
‘They’re going to kill us, or we’re going to kill them. Can’t see any other answer to it than that.’ And there’s a lot more of them than us. Maybe I won’t tell her that bit.
‘Morcant’s going to find us.’
‘If we stay here he will.’
She chewed her lip and shuffled her feet.
‘He’d have killed me already, if it wasn’t for your help, girlie. Think I owe you one.’
She grinned at that and he ruffled her hair. Then he saw who he’d been looking for.
‘Be a darling and go and get me something to eat,’ he asked her. As she scampered off he called after her. ‘Nothing too slimy – grilled fish’ll do me fine.’ Then he turned and strode after Vonn.
They’d shared a boat for two days but it had been too cramped to talk. Too many ears for what I’ve got to say.
Vonn was standing in the shadows of a draping willow, looking at the lake.
Looks as if he’s thinking about the same things as I am.
Vonn heard Camlin coming and turned to wait for him.
‘Why’d you do it?’ Camlin asked him. No point beating about the bush.
‘Do what?’ Vonn said after a long, indrawn breath.
‘You know what. Evnis. I had a clear shot. Could’ve ended a world of trouble; could’ve ended him, and bought some well-deserved vengeance for Edana. He killed her da, remember? We all saw it.’
Vonn stared at him angrily, Camlin almost hearing a host of different answers lining up and being tried out in the young warrior’s head. In the end Vonn’s shoulders slumped and he dropped his eyes.
‘I don’t know,’ he whispered.
Honest? Maybe.
‘I don’t believe you,’ Camlin said, making sure his voice was cold, hard.
Vonn’s head snapped up at that. A tear streaked his cheek.
‘Believe what you wish,’ Vonn hissed. ‘As I looked at him I wanted to leap out of the boat and put my sword through his heart . . .’ His face twisted between anger and pain, another tear rolling down his cheek. ‘He betrayed everything I loved and valued. He’s the reason my Bethan’s dead. I hate him.’
Camlin stared at him a long time, willow branches stirring about them. You don’t sound as convincing as you did in Domhain. In fact, you sound as if you’re trying to convince yourself.
‘That so?’
‘Aye.’
‘Then I’ll ask you again. Why’d you stop me?’
‘I don’t know,’ Vonn whispered. ‘Maybe I want to be the one that does it. Maybe I had a weak moment – he is my da. Maybe . . .’ He shook his head. ‘I just don’t know.’
Another silence stretched between them.
I’m inclined t’believe him. Either way, I’d not want him at my shoulder in a fight against Evnis. He doesn’t know his own heart. How can I trust him when he doesn’t trust himself?
Meg pushed her way through the trailing branches of the willow and offered a wrapped leaf to Camlin. He took it and sniffed. Then smiled. Grilled trout. He took a bite and realized how hungry he was.
A voice hailed them from the lakeshore – Baird, helping Edana into a boat.
Time for another meeting.
Camlin gave Vonn one last look.
‘Are you going to tell Edana?’ Vonn asked.
Don’t know yet.
Camlin said nothing and walked away.
Camlin assumed his customary place in what he’d come to think of as their council chambers, though it was decorated with creeping vines and birds’ nests in the broken rafters. Halion now stood behind Edana, back in his position as her first-sword. Baird and Vonn stood beside him and Camlin eyed Vonn suspiciously.
Drust and Pendathran were there, as well as Roisin and Lorcan, whose eyes kept drifting to Edana. Roisin sat beside Pendathran and, as Camlin watched them, Roisin leaned close to the battlechief and whispered in his ear. He laughed.
‘Congratulations on a successful mission,’ Edana said. ‘And I am overjoyed to have my first-sword back at my side.’
Halion dipped his head at that. Camlin had been surprised at the depth of emotion he’d felt at seeing Halion alive. It felt good to have a friend back, and also it was nice to have something good happen, a balance for the trail of the dead they seemed to leave along the way.
Having Halion back filled Camlin with a new sense of hope, but the other edge to that blade was the knowledge that Braith was alive and had tracked Halion almost all the way to Dun Crin.
Probably would have, if Evnis hadn’t stood up and started shouting. Won’t stop Braith finding us, though, will only slow him down a little. And give me a chance to prepare a welcome for him.
‘It’s good to have you with us,’ Pendathran said. ‘I for one would like to hear your tale.’
Halion spoke of all that had happened to him since the beach in Domhain. Of Rhin’s questioning and Conall setting him free.
Roisin snorted at that. Doesn’t like the thought of Conall on her lad’s throne.
The rest was one long journey from Domhain to Ardan.
‘You were followed,’ Camlin said.
‘I know that now,’ Halion said with a shake of his head. ‘I am ashamed to have led the enemy here. I don’t know how they managed it – I am no stranger to the huntsman’s arts, and did much to avoid pursuit.’
‘Nothing you could do about it. It was Braith, and he could track a bird. He’ll be here soon enough, with Evnis at his side.’ Camlin looked at Vonn as he said the last part.
That set things off, like throwing fish oil on a fire. Voices all talking at once, some panicked, some planning. In the end Pendathran thumped a fist onto the table, making it jump.
‘Let’s talk this through right, or we’ll still be clamouring when Rhin’s warriors start shoving swords up our arses.’
‘Let’s have the facts,’ Roisin said.
Good place to start.
Camlin stepped forward. ‘The facts are that Evnis and Braith, who happens to be the best huntsman that d
raws breath, are out there, along with Morcant and a warband. They’ve built towers and beacons around this marsh. Put it all together, looks like they’re going about ending this resistance sooner rather than later.’
More raised voices. Eventually Edana stood.
‘There’s only one chance for us,’ she said. ‘We have to leave.’
‘And what? Just keep running?’ That was Drust.
‘No. It’s time to gather allies. There are more loyal warriors in Ardan, Narvon and Domhain than are here with us right now. We must give them somewhere to rally to.’
‘Aye, and how are we going to do that?’ Pendathran asked in his gruff voice.
‘We’re not as strong as our enemy, don’t have their strength of numbers, so we have to be cleverer than them.’
‘Pendathran,’ Roisin said, ‘your experience of battle is greater than any other here. What do you say?’
‘Makes sense,’ Pendathran said. ‘This war won’t get won by sitting on our arses. Options are few, as they’re going to be coming in here and stabbing us.’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Time to move out.’
‘We don’t have to make things easy for them, though.’ Edana looked at Camlin as she said that.
I’m liking this girl more’n more.
There was a fluttering from above and a big black bird crashed onto their table.
‘Edana,’ it squawked. ‘Edana, Edana.’
There was a moment’s silence, all of them looking on in shock and surprise.
‘Craf!’ Edana cried.
CHAPTER FIFTY
CYWEN
‘Drink this,’ Cywen said to the man sitting before her. His name was Gorsedd and he was on the ship’s deck, back to a rail, pale-faced and gritting his teeth against the pain. His arm was purpling already, a shard of bone poking through flesh a handspan above his wrist. With his good hand he sipped at Cywen’s flask. Buddai lay against the rail, snoring through the whole thing.