by John Gwynne
I do not think there is one person in this entire warband that has not suffered the loss of loved ones because of this God-War. That made her angry.
We shall have our vengeance.
They were catching up with the warband now. Something drew her attention, from behind her. She slowed, turned, stared into the forest, head cocked to one side.
‘What is it?’ Kulla asked, staring with her.
‘I don’t know,’ Coralen frowned. She could not have said what had made her pause – not a sound exactly, more a tingling upon her skin.
Like I’m being watched.
There was nothing, only the gentle rustle of a breeze through branches. She shrugged and carried on, leaving Kulla and the others as rearguard scouts, and sped up to try and get back to Enkara before it was full dark. Storm padded beside her, and when they reached Corban the wolven loped away to join him. Glancing down, Coralen noticed something red sprinkling the ground. She squatted to inspect it, saw it was paler than blood, almost pink. Then she heard Storm growl and looked up to see Buddai sniffing at the wolven. He frolicked closer to her, Storm gave him a swipe with a paw and he jumped away.
Hmm . . .
Corban reached down to run his fingers through Storm’s fur, then smiled over at Coralen.
I’ll have to report to him about what happened, but I need to find Enkara before it’s dark.
She ignored him and jogged on. Soon she found Enkara, a darker shadow in the encroaching gloom.
‘I’ve found it,’ Enkara said, looking very pleased with herself.
‘What?’
‘Walk over here.’
Coralen did, past Enkara. For a moment she felt something, a kind of prickling against her skin, like the air before a storm breaks, but then something under her foot shifted and she looked down to pick her way. The ground was covered with deep forest litter, clusters of dark-vine here and there. She took some wide strides to avoid it. Then she stopped and looked back at Enkara, who was smiling at her.
‘What?’ Coralen asked.
‘You can’t see it?’
‘See what?’ She was getting annoyed now.
Corban was getting close now, Meical beside him, both of them leading their horses through thick undergrowth. Behind them the warband was a hulking shadow.
Enkara bent down and seemed to plunge her hands into the ground, then she saw the Jehar warrior lift up a thick knotted rope, leaning back and pulling on it. As she did, the ground shimmered and rippled, spreading out in circular waves from Enkara like a rock thrown into a pool. Coralen steadied herself, looked down to see that she was standing on some kind of wooden construct.
Enkara put her back into pulling. ‘Some help,’ she grunted, and Coralen hurried over. Together they tugged on the rope and with a creaking groan a wooden door rose up from the forest floor, a huge iron-banded and hinged semi-circle.
Coralen stood there with her mouth open, looking down at a wide stone slope that led down into darkness.
‘A glamour,’ Enkara said.
‘What is this?’ Corban asked.
‘A tunnel that will take us to Drassil,’ Meical said.
Balur smiled when he saw it.
‘Good. You have found one, then,’ the giant rumbled. ‘When Drassil was abandoned they were hidden so well that those that came after could not find the way back.’
Ethlinn was beside him. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. ‘The glamour is strong upon these,’ she said, her voice like the creaking branches.
‘There’s more than one?’ Corban asked.
‘Yes,’ Enkara said. ‘We found six of them, all beginning at Drassil. Tukul set us to clearing them – some were blocked, others crumbled and collapsed. Some had things living in them . . .’ She shivered at a memory.
‘But, how will we hide them from our enemy?’ Corban said. ‘We will lead them straight to Drassil.’
‘No,’ Balur said. ‘The glamour is cunning. You cannot see them until they have been revealed by someone who has walked them. Once you have seen one, you can see them all.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Corban said.
Neither do I, thought Coralen.
‘When we are inside and the door is closed above us, the glamour will cover them again. No newcomer will see them, will notice anything other than the forest floor.’
‘So how did Enkara see it?’ Corban asked.
‘Because she’s seen it before. And now that you have, the glamour will no longer work upon you. You will be able to see all six of them, now.’
Corban thought about that for a moment, then looked up and smiled.
‘Excellent,’ he said.
The doors closed with a bang and darkness settled about them, broken by countless torches that burned a dotted line down the endless tunnel.
Ethlinn had remained behind with Enkara and Coralen, the rest of the warband marching on. Ethlinn lifted a huge wooden beam and slipped it through iron bars fixed to the enormous trapdoor.
‘A precaution,’ she said, ‘though doubtless unnecessary.’ She murmured a few words in giantish, Coralen feeling her skin prickle as it had earlier, when she’d stood upon the door and not seen it.
‘There,’ Ethlinn said, turning away.
‘So Drassil is down there?’ Coralen said.
‘Aye,’ said Enkara. ‘It would take three or four moons of hard walking through Forn to reach Drassil from this point, and that is without the glamours and traps that surround the fortress. In this tunnel, mounted, we’ll be there in a ten-night.’
‘Onwards then,’ Coralen said.
‘Home,’ whispered Ethlinn.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
ULFILAS
Ulfilas stood with his back to the great doors of the feast-hall, checking all entrances and exits, making sure they were guarded by trusted men. Even though they were in the heart of Isiltir, in the fortress that had once been Romar’s seat of power, Ulfilas had reached a point of permanent mistrust.
Perhaps Jael’s paranoia is rubbing off on me.
He flexed his fingers and clenched a fist, felt muscle and tendon ripple and contract along his arm, the stitches in his bicep pulling. A ten-night had passed since he’d arrived in Mikil and met with Jael. His arm was out of its sling now, feeling weak, and aching as he’d never imagined, but slowly, oh so slowly, he was starting to feel a trickle of strength flow back into it.
The room had been converted into a council chamber, the firepit covered over with boards and a thick-legged carven table placed across it.
The fire-pit should be lit, if even just to lend some heat to this room. Summer had slipped into autumn and the winds blew cold across the rolling plains of Isiltir.
All the kings of the alliance were there: Jael at the table’s head, with Fram close by and Sumur a black shadow at his back, then Nathair with his companions – silver-haired Calidus and the brooding giant, the outline of his war-hammer like a crow upon his back. Lothar, once battlechief to Helveth’s ruler and now king of the realm. Ulfilas remembered him from the battle of Haldis, deep in Forn Forest. He had been clear-headed in council and fierce in battle. He sat now in silence and kingly splendour, the black hammer of his realm emblazoned on a white cuirass, a white cloak of wolven fur trimmed with gold around his shoulders. His face was predatory and hawk-like, his nose sharp and beaked. One warrior stood at his back.
And then there was Gundul, King of Carnutan, dark-haired and round-faced. He was the son of the traitor Mandros who had slain Aquilus, Nathair’s father, and had his head taken from his shoulders in recompense by Nathair’s first-sword, Veradis. Gundul had played a part in Mandros’ downfall, and in return Nathair had supported him in his claim to the throne of Carnutan.
None of these men would be king now, if not for Nathair. It is no wonder Jael is indebted to him. But no man gives such favours for nothing. What will he ask for in return?
A man sat beside Gundul, with deep lines in a narrow face and an iron-grey beard, he sat str
aight-backed and alert, sharp eyes taking in every detail.
Belo, some relation of Gundul, and apparently more in control of Carnutan than Gundul is.
Gundul had only arrived yesterday, two hundred warriors riding with him as an honour guard. Jael had chafed at the delay, and so had Nathair, who had spent most of his days hidden away in his camp, which was built like a fortress around a huge wain, wheels as big as a horse. Nathair stood, and the murmur of conversation died out, a hush falling around the table.
‘Well met,’ he said, nodding to each king. ‘It has been a long road since last we were all together – during my father’s council at Jerolin. It was there that we made our pledge to one another, gave our oaths to this alliance; and now, look at us all. We are kings. Fortune has favoured us.’ He raised a cup to them, his lips twisted in an almost-smile, as if at some unknown jest.
The kings raised their cups.
‘I have helped you all, given aid when you asked. Lent my warbands, their blood spilt in your causes. Now I ask that you remember the oaths that we pledged to one another, and the war that we committed to fight.’
‘I remember it well,’ Gundul said. His face was flushed, whether with wine or enthusiasm Ulfilas could not tell. ‘And I for one remember with gratitude all that you have done on my behalf. Whatever must be done, if it is within my power to do so, then I am willing.’
Jael and Lothar raised their cups to that, though Belo’s face did not look so pleased.
‘The God-War has begun in earnest. The Black Sun is revealed as a warrior from Ardan in the west. He has gathered a warband about him of evil men and giants – Jael’s battlechief has already crossed paths with him.’ Nathair gestured towards Ulfilas, who stood blinking beneath the gazes of the kings of the Banished Lands. A silence grew.
‘I fought them in the north,’ Ulfilas said. ‘It is true – giants and deadly warriors, the like of which I have never encountered before.’ His gaze flickered to Nathair. ‘I alone escaped with my life, my entire warband slaughtered.’
‘In the north?’ Lothar said. ‘What were their numbers, and where are they now?’
‘Over a thousand strong, and more joining them, so Jael’s scouts tell us. They have travelled into Forn,’ Nathair said, ‘and seek to take refuge in Drassil.’
‘Why in God’s name would they do that?’ Gundul asked. He dwelt furthest from the old forest.
All he knows of Forn is likely the faery tales and stories of its blood-thirsty inhabitants – draigs, wolven, bats and all manner of beasts that’ll consider you a good meal.
Belo leaned forwards, resting his chin on steepled fingers.
‘What do you propose is done about this Black Sun?’ he asked.
‘We go after him.’
‘That would not be the easiest task,’ Belo commented.
Nathair frowned, turning a brooding stare upon Belo. ‘Did you ever think that a God-War would be easy?’
‘I can’t say that I’ve thought about it much at all,’ Belo said. ‘Gundul’s and my time has been spent working hard in our own realm to heal the damage done during the succession.’
Nathair raised an eyebrow at that but made no comment.
‘What would you have us do?’ Lothar asked.
‘Build roads into Forn, wide and straight like the giant roads of old. Each of you from a different location, set on a course to intersect at Forn’s heart. From there, we build a fortress of our own. Drassil must be found, and the Black Sun dug out from the hole that he hides in.’
‘Why not just leave him there?’ Belo asked. ‘If he is hiding, let him hide. Most that go into Forn are never heard of again.’ He shrugged. ‘Let the forest do our work for us.’
Nathair stared at him, took a deep breath, not quite a sigh. ‘This is a council of kings,’ Nathair said. ‘Let your King speak for his realm.’
‘I advise my King,’ Belo said. ‘And to do that, I like to understand the facts.’
Nathair pinched his nose.
‘I have given you all the necessary facts. The Black Sun is in Forn. We must go after him. To bring the might of our warbands against him we have to build roads for them to march upon, to bring them supplies, to be able to fight without a tree branch getting lodged up your arse.’
I think he’s getting angry.
‘There may be other options.’
Nathair slammed a fist onto the table. ‘I have not travelled a thousand leagues, fought myriad battles, dethroned kings and crowned new ones and stormed the gates of Murias to come here and haggle like a fishwife over options.’ He was shouting by the end of the sentence.
Belo just stared at Nathair, fingers still steepled under his chin.
‘This an alliance,’ Belo said calmly, ‘not a dictatorship. You do not rule here, or command the kings of the Banished Lands.’
Nathair went very still.
Calidus rose beside Nathair and touched his arm. The King of Tenebral had gone pale. He took a deep breath and sat.
Calidus faced Belo and spoke. ‘There are weapons in Forn,’ the old man said. ‘Relics from the Giant Wars and the Sundering. We have to take them from the Black Sun. To leave him is to allow him to become stronger, and to consolidate his power.’ Calidus’ voice was deep and resonant, soothing in its pitch and cadence, and Ulfilas felt himself nodding in agreement with the old man’s words. ‘If left, one day he will emerge from Forn, stronger, too powerful by far, and prepared to annihilate us all.’
‘That does not sound so good,’ Gundul muttered.
‘No. Best we strike now, before he grows stronger,’ Jael said.
‘That is our reasoning as well,’ Calidus said good-naturedly.
Jael has a motive to fight this war, to chase this warband into Forn: Haelan. To catch one is to catch the other. But these other kings, why do they need to do this? To commit their warbands to such a mammoth task?
Ulfilas studied the faces around the table and could see that some at least were thinking along similar lines. Lothar was nodding thoughtfully. Gundul just looked scared. Belo, though, did not look impressed with the idea of carving a route through Forn.
‘So you would have us build roads?’ Belo asked.
‘That is right. Summon your warbands and we shall begin our search for Drassil and the Black Sun.’
‘Forn is a big place,’ Belo said.
‘Best then that we start sooner rather than later,’ Nathair grated.
‘There is someone missing from this table,’ Belo said. ‘Someone whom I have heard has joined your, our, alliance. Queen Rhin.’
‘She will come,’ Calidus said. ‘She is securing her borders, but when we call for her, she will come, and bring a mighty warband with her.’
‘Internal strife, then,’ Belo said. He looked pointedly at Nathair. ‘There are rumours of other realms that are struggling to maintain order within their borders. I have heard the word rebellion mentioned in connection with Tenebral. Is there any truth in this?’
‘There has been—’ Calidus began.
‘It has been crushed,’ Nathair interrupted. ‘My first-sword has sent me word, Tenebral is at peace, and he brings the leaders of this so-called rebellion here, for my judgement.’
‘Veradis, your problem-solver.’
It was Veradis who cut Mandros’ head from his shoulders. Belo’s cousin.
‘Just so,’ Nathair said, eyes fixed on Belo, who gave the first sign of any kind of emotion, a tightening in his jaw and narrowing of his eyes.
‘I think it is time we retire,’ Belo said. ‘You have made your case clear, what you wish from us. Gundul and I shall discuss it at length.’
‘That is not good enough,’ Nathair said. Calidus put a hand upon his shoulder but he shook it off. ‘Time cannot be wasted. I must have your answers now. This day.’
Belo shrugged and stood, his chair scraping. ‘We don’t always get what we want,’ the ageing warrior said. ‘And I for one am not sure I’ll be advising my King to listen to a man who cann
ot even maintain order within his own realm. Come, Gundul,’ he said, touching the young King’s arm.
‘Stop,’ Nathair said quietly, venom in his voice.
Belo did stop, for a moment looking with angry eyes at Nathair.
‘You do not give orders to us, King of Tenebral. This is a council of equals, and I take my orders from my King, not some upstart with a faded title, a realm in chaos and a reputation for murdering kings. Now, Gundul, let us—’
‘Sumur, kill this thorn in my flesh,’ Nathair said.
Sumur moved without a second’s hesitation, walking calmly around the table, hand reaching over his shoulder for the hilt of his blade.
‘This is not amusing,’ Belo snapped. ‘I will not be intimidated.’ Ulfilas saw his eyes flickering between Nathair and Sumur.
‘My patience is at an end. I will listen to your whining opposition no more,’ Nathair said.
With a rasp, Sumur drew his blade.
‘This is a council amongst allies,’ Belo snapped, disbelief and fear mingling in his voice. He took a few steps back, hand reaching for his own sword.
‘You are not my ally,’ Nathair said. ‘You did not take the oath, Gundul did.’
‘This is outrageous,’ Belo cried.
Sumur walked on, around the table.
‘Alric,’ Belo yelled, panic in his voice now, the shieldman behind Gundul shifting, looking between Gundul and Belo.
‘Alric, now!’ Belo shouted, and the shieldman moved, stepping in front of Sumur and drawing his sword.
Sumur curled a lip and rolled his shoulder, his sword snapping out, the shieldman moving too slowly, staggering into Gundul’s chair, gurgling as blood spurted from his throat.
Sumur walked on.
Belo drew his own sword, backing into a column. Sumur reached him and struck an overhand blow, double-handed. Belo blocked it, but Ulfilas heard the unmistakable sound of bone cracking. Ulfilas, no stranger to battle, winced.
He’s broken Belo’s wrists.
Belo screamed, sword dropping from strengthless fingers.
No one is that strong.
Sumur raised his sword and struck again, Belo’s scream cut short, then again, the sound of meat being cleaved, more bone breaking.