by John Gwynne
‘Doubt it. Braith always sent us out in twos – enough to watch each other’s backs, not too many to make a racket or leave a trail.’
‘How do you know where to put the straw man?’
‘Don’t know,’ Camlin said. ‘Just a feeling, mostly.’
‘Most of this is guesswork, isn’t it?’ Vonn said.
‘And a bit of luck.’ Camlin grinned back at him.
Dawn came damp and grey. Camlin emptied his bladder, prodded Vonn awake and checked their straw man.
Just before full dark he’d found a spot that felt right. A cluster of alders beside a stream, a gentle rise in the land screened by a snarl of dogwood and briar.
‘C’mon then,’ Camlin grunted. He leaned the spear against an alder, adjusted the straw man so he appeared to be sleeping, then picked up his bow, slung his quiver over his shoulder and headed off towards the cover of the dogwood. He heard Vonn’s footsteps padding behind him.
They settled behind the bushes, Camlin stabbing arrows into the spongy turf, and waited. Time was hard to measure, the clouds too thick and bloated for any sign of the sun. ‘What do you think about that mad bird?’ Vonn asked him as he strung his bow.
‘Craf?’
It had been a shock to all of them when Craf had fluttered into their meeting. Camlin had felt a rush of excitement, thinking that the bird’s arrival must precede that of its companions – Corban, Dath and the others – but the bird had quickly disabused him of that notion. It had been good to hear news of them, though. That they were still alive, most of them, at least.
The other things it had squawked at them all – Camlin still did not know what to make of all that.
Going to Drassil. A fortress of faery tales, and talking about prophecies and bright stars and the Seven Treasures. I remember Gar saying things like that about Corban, as we fled across Cambren. But now he’s leading a warband several hundred strong, Benothi giants amongst them. Can that really be true?
‘I don’t know,’ Camlin said to Vonn.
He lay flat in the grass, wriggling to find a gap in the bushes to peer through. Snow was falling now, soft and steady. It was getting darker, the snow adding a faint glow to everything.
Have to end this, soon. Too dark to hunt, and my bowstring’s going t’get wet.
‘It makes me think,’ Vonn said quietly beside him. ‘My da used to say strange things, about a God-War. Never came out and said it straight, of course, that’s not his way. But he would allude to things, choices, sides, using your head, not your heart.’ He tapped fingers to his temple and his chest as he did it.
He can see Evnis saying it to him now.
‘It’s like he knew it was coming . . .’
‘Maybe he did,’ Camlin muttered darkly. Maybe he did. Maybe there’s a reason we’re on opposite sides.
A movement drew his eye, down by the stream. He squinted, seeing movement through the falling snow.
‘Best concentrating on staying alive through this,’ Camlin whispered, pointing. ‘Plenty of time later to think about God-Wars. The trick right now is to keep breathing.’
He pushed himself to one knee and reached for his bow.
Two men broke from a cluster of trees, moving stealthily, flitting from one clump of cover to the next. Sound was muted, the snow beginning to settle on anything that wasn’t water.
Camlin frowned. They’re more cautious.
He reached for an arrow, nocked and drew, deciding not to wait for these men to reach the diversion.
‘Vonn, be ready to move quick,’ he whispered, voice strained with the tension of holding his drawn bow. His arrow-tip tracked both men below him, only thirty or forty paces away now, settling upon the first, feeling his vision close in upon the man’s chest.
‘I’d lower that bow, right slow if you want to keep breathing,’ a voice hissed behind him.
It can’t be . . .
Camlin released his arrow, dimly registering a scream from down below as it found his target. Beside him Vonn spun around, scrambling to get his feet under him. Camlin heard a solid crunch, Vonn falling back, eyes rolling back into his head, blood matting his hair.
‘You don’t want to be killing him,’ Camlin said. ‘He’s Evnis’ boy.’ Slowly he laid his bow down in the grass.
‘I told you to lower your bow, not shoot one of my men,’ the voice snarled.
‘Didn’t think cooperating would change your mind about killing me.’
‘You’re right there, Cam,’ the voice behind him said. ‘Now, turn around slow.’
Two men were standing looking at him. One with a spear levelled at Camlin’s face, a young lad, fair-haired. Camlin recognized him, though he couldn’t remember his name.
Beside him stood Braith, naked sword in one hand, a smile on his face.
‘Thought you’d catch me with my own trick?’ Braith said. ‘I’m hurt.’
‘Hello, Braith,’ Camlin said.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
CORALEN
Coralen bent low in the saddle, kicked her horse on and kept her eyes on her target, her spear held tightly and level with the ground. Frozen by winter’s arrival it was as hard as rock, the horse’s hooves pounding a staccato rhythm. At the last moment Coralen nudged a knee, twitched the rein, and her mount veered to the left, at the same time Coralen lunging with her spear, piercing the straw target approximately where a warrior’s heart would be. She grinned fiercely as she reined in and cantered back to collect her spear. As her excitement faded she became aware of a pain in her shoulder and shrugged, trying to adjust the weight of her new chainmail shirt. It was rubbing on the bone between her shoulder and neck. She wasn’t used to wearing one, but Gar had given it to her last night, told her that everyone was getting one.
We’ll all be wearing them when we face Nathair and his warband. You’ll be grateful when it turns a blade and saves your life. She’d frowned and he’d pointed a finger at her. Wear it, practise in the weapons court in it, sleep in it. You’ll need to be used to it when real battle arrives.
She knew he was right, although right now it felt heavy, uncomfortable and restrictive.
And that’s why we’re supposed to train in them now.
She saw Dath hovering, looked at him enquiringly and he hurried over. He was wearing a new chainmail shirt, too.
‘What is it?’ she asked him.
‘You know what I was talking to you about?’
‘Aye.’
‘Do you really think it’d be a good idea?’
‘I do,’ Coralen said, ‘but it’s not me you need to be talking to about it.’
‘I know. I just wasn’t sure, and you’re, you know, pretty fierce. If you like the idea, then maybe . . .’
‘Why don’t you go and ask him?’ Coralen said, spying Corban on the weapons court.
‘Would you come with me?’
‘Me? Why?’
‘Because he takes your advice seriously. And you put him in a good mood.’
‘Ach, you fool,’ Coralen said, aiming a boot at Dath, feeling both angry and happy that he’d said that.
Do I?
‘Please?’
Coralen sighed. ‘Come on, then. Let’s go and talk to him now.’
‘Now?’ Dath blinked.
‘Aye. No time like the now if you want something done,’ she said, and before Dath had a chance to object she was kicking her horse into a trot. She heard him running to keep up.
They passed rows of straw targets. Cywen and the giantling Laith were standing before some, Cywen throwing knife after knife from the belts strapped diagonally across her chest, each one hitting the target flawlessly. Laith had a similar belt of leather across her torso, knives as big as daggers sheathed in it. As Coralen watched, Laith threw one of them. It slammed into the straw target and hurled it to the ground.
I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of those.
Further along, Wulf and a few score men hefting single-bladed axes were similarly practising.
His hands have healed well, Coralen noted as Wulf’s axe thunked into the head of a straw man. She remembered Tukul and with a sigh determinedly banished those memories.
The future must fill my mind now, with what is to come.
There was a dense circle of people around the stone section of the weapons court, a fair number of giants dotted amongst them, all watching Balur and Corban. Coralen’s eyes were drawn to Corban’s arm-ring, the streaks of silver in it gleaming in the pale winter daylight.
A moon had passed since that night in Drassil’s feast-hall when they had sworn their oaths to Corban, and he to them. Things had felt different since then, there was a unity amongst their disparate groups that had not been there before, and the moon had passed in a flurry of activity: forges fired, weapons and armour made, clearing more land beyond Drassil’s walls, hunting, scouting, grinding of grain, shoring of walls, and then training and preparation for the battles to come. They were beginning to feel like a real warband, not just people hurled together by the whim of war.
‘Never try and block a blow from a giant with strength alone,’ Balur was saying in his rumbling deep bass of a voice. ‘It will shatter your bones.’
I could’ve reasoned that out myself, Coralen snorted. Any weapons-master worth his pay teaches that you guide a weapon away, not meet its momentum head on. Unless the only other option is death.
To demonstrate the point, Balur hefted his freshly made wooden battle-axe. He swung it high and down at Corban’s head in a whistling arc. Corban stepped to the right, swung his own practice blade and struck the axe haft a glancing blow, steering it to crunch into the frozen ground. As Balur was off-balance Corban slipped inside his guard and had his sword-tip at the giant’s throat before Balur had managed to wrench his axe free of the ground.
Warriors around the court cheered and murmured.
‘It would never be as simple as that,’ Corban shouted. ‘Balur held back – he could have hit harder and faster. But the key point is still the same; it’s all about timing. Speed, balance, reactions. Whatever your choice of weapon, the same result can be achieved – sword, axe, spear, even a shield can be used to the same end.’ He looked about the court and nodded. ‘Come on, then,’ he said, ‘let’s see you do it. And no broken bones, eh?’
Warriors paired up with giants and filled the courtyard.
Coralen took the opportunity and headed towards Corban. He heard the sound of hooves on stone and turned, smiling up at her as she slid from her saddle. Storm padded beside Corban and Coralen saw the swell of her belly. They’d guessed for a while now that she was in pup.
What are her cubs going to look like? Coralen couldn’t help but feel excited about the prospect.
‘Dath’s got an idea he wanted to talk to you about,’ Coralen said.
‘What’s that, then?’ Corban asked.
‘Something I’ve been thinking about for a while,’ Dath said. ‘It might sound mad to you, or wrong, or—’
‘Just tell him,’ Coralen said.
‘It’s about archers,’ Dath said. ‘About using them in battle.’
Corban frowned.
‘See, I knew he wouldn’t like it,’ Dath said to Coralen.
‘Just hear him out,’ Coralen said to Corban, staring at him fiercely. She knew what it had cost Dath even to approach him about this.
Corban looked a little abashed and nodded.
Dath hurriedly continued, ‘I know that the bow is not considered a weapon of war, that it is a huntsman’s tool. And that the old way talks of honour in combat, of one warrior testing his skill against another.’
‘Aye, that is how it has always been.’
‘Well, I think times are changing,’ Dath said.
Corban frowned again.
‘Look at them,’ Dath said hurriedly, before Corban had a chance to say anything. He pointed at Wulf and his men practising their axe-throwing. More than just the warriors of Gramm’s hold were there – Coralen saw Gar and a handful of other Jehar, as well as some of Javed’s pit-fighters.
‘Have you tried throwing an axe and making its blade hit the target first?’ Corban asked.
‘I have,’ Dath said. ‘It’s not as easy as it looks.’
‘No, it is not,’ Corban smiled. ‘There is great skill in throwing an axe.’
‘Aye, there is,’ Dath agreed. ‘But tell me, is there more skill involved in a well-thrown axe or a well-cast spear than there is in a well-aimed arrow?’
‘No, I suppose not,’ Corban murmured.
‘Wulf and his warriors – they use their axes in battle, sometimes a whole line of them, Wulf has told me. If there were enough of them it would be devastating against an enemy charge.’
‘Aye, it would. Apparently a similar thing brought down a bear at Gramm’s hold,’ Corban said.
‘Exactly!’ Dath was becoming animated now. ‘I often think of Camlin,’ he continued. ‘Remember how he organized our ambushes – always me and him shooting first, thinning the numbers, making our enemy scared, making them rush. Well, imagine ten archers doing the same, or a score, two score, three score. Chances are we’re going to be heavily outnumbered in any battle we fight against this Black Sun – Brina said so herself – so why don’t we do something to even the odds a little?’
A silence settled between them, Corban looking thoughtfully at Wulf and his axe-throwers, Dath shuffling his feet.
A sound drew all of their attention, a loud thud that Coralen felt through her boots.
Balur had buried his practice axe in the ground again, this time against Haelan’s shieldman, Tahir. As Balur tugged on his axe Tahir spun around the giant, slashing his practice blade at the back of the giant’s leg, sending him toppling to one knee. Another spin and the edge of Tahir’s sword was rested against Balur’s neck.
‘Balur, I think you’ve just lost your head,’ a giant shouted, laughing.
Balur stood and scowled at the young warrior.
‘You’ve done that before,’ Balur said.
‘Aye, that I have,’ Tahir said. ‘I served with the Gadrai of Isiltir. Giantkillers, we were – no offence intended – fighting the Hunen out of Haldis.’
‘None taken, little man,’ Balur said. ‘I hate the Hunen.’
There was more laughter at that, both men and giants.
‘What do you think about Dath’s idea then, Cora?’ Corban asked.
‘I think it makes a lot of sense,’ Coralen said. ‘And it could mean the difference between winning and losing.’
‘All right then,’ Corban said, turning back to Dath. ‘See how many would like to join you – I’ll not be telling anyone to do it, but if they’re willing . . .’
‘You won’t regret it.’ Dath grinned, clapping Corban on the arm.
Coralen rode out of the west gate with Enkara, Teca and Yalric of Gramm’s hold. Gar was halfway up a ladder that leaned against the stone arch of the huge gates, Balur and a handful of giants with him. They were setting the skulls of the Kadoshim they had slain into the stone of the archway. Gar had said it would send a fine message to the Kadoshim when they arrived here.
Coralen grinned at the thought of it.
The group headed north, skirting Drassil’s outer wall. The area around Drassil was alive with activity, the hundred or so paces of land that had been already cleared doubled in a moon by close to a thousand willing hands. Trees were being cut down, branches lopped off and the timber dragged inside the walls of Drassil, the ground around the felled trees cleared of underbrush to create an open space around the entirety of the fortress. It was back-breaking work, as Coralen had learned first-hand.
I’d rather be out scouting than chopping up trees and doing battle with thorns as long as my fist.
They left the walls of the fortress behind them, following the broken remains of an ancient road, mostly reclaimed by the forest now, riding up a gentle incline that slowly steepened, trees felled as far as a high ridge. When they crested it, Coralen looked back.
The great tree of Drassil rose like an organic tower in the midst of the fortress, branches fanning out and framing everything. The sky was a pale glow far above, visible through leafless branches that scratched together in a strong wind. For a moment Coralen thought she saw a lone figure on the fortress walls staring back at her, then it was gone and she was kicking her mount over the crest, down the hill into a wall of trees, Enkara and Teca following.
They headed north the whole day, going slowly, stopping often to make notes on parchment. They were trying to map the outlying area of Drassil, concentrating on the swathes of land that spread between each of the six great tunnels. Coralen had put people in place in the tunnels, so that each had a small team manning the exit points along the way, horses changed every day so that if the approaching enemy was sighted word would reach Drassil on swift hooves. Their biggest threat came from the stretches of land between the tunnels, widening with every league that the tunnels bored beneath the forest. She only had so many scouts and couldn’t watch everywhere.
It took them six days to travel twenty leagues, zigzagging through the forest whilst they filled reams of parchment, using the remnants of the old road as a marker, although that was faint enough, a raised embankment here, a crumbled flagstone there. Twice they found waypoints on the tunnels fanning out from Drassil and spent those nights in the tunnel with the teams posted there. It was dark, musty and dank, but far safer than sleeping above ground in Forn. One night the ground trembled above them as something huge passed through the forest.
On the nights where they had no choice but to sleep above ground they made no fire – it attracted moths the size of Yalric’s shield, and a host of far more unpleasant creatures that watched them from the edge of the firelight’s reach, their presence betrayed only by the reflection of eyes.
On the eighth day out they were riding through an area dominated by wide-spaced golden-wood; it was like an ocean of orange bark and red leaves. The trees were as straight as spears, with few low branches amongst them, and the ground was spongy with leaves, making the riding easier than it had been for days.
Coralen winced as a strange smell drifted through the forest, pungent and acidic. She looked at the others and they were all pulling similar faces.