by John Gwynne
Bos tapped him and nodded towards the mounds. One of the scouts had returned.
‘I’ve found something,’ the scout breathed, chest heaving.
‘What?’
‘A doorway, hidden. I heard voices, and something else. It was strange.’
Veradis gathered a dozen men, left Bos in charge of the rest, then marched after the scout. He led them on a path through the cairns. All was eerily silent.
The barrows ended, replaced by clustered stone buildings, empty and shadow filled. Their progress slowed as Veradis and his men checked there were no giants lurking in the darkness.
‘There,’ the scout said, pointing at the cliff face.
Vine grew thick across the rock. Veradis stared but could see nothing out of place.
‘No, there,’ the scout urged, walking forwards. He stopped before the escarpment and scraped the soil at his feet with a boot, revealing a handle. It was attached to a trapdoor.
Veradis knelt, putting his ear to the ground. At first he heard nothing, but then, distinctly, he heard a muffled cry, like a child.
He pointed to the handle, whispered orders until two warriors were gripping it, the rest gathered about the trapdoor, weapons drawn.
‘Now,’ Veradis ordered, and the door was heaved open.
Wide stone steps led down, sunlight shafting into the hole, revealing faces staring back up at them. Many faces. Giant faces, though something immediately struck Veradis as strange. Different.
Before he had a chance to do anything, there was a roar and a figure hurtled up the steps, swinging a war-hammer. Voices cried out from behind the giant. Veradis leaped to the side, the hammer missing him, smashing into another warrior. Bones crunched, the man crumpled, the giant surging onwards, sending other men flying.
Veradis and his men circled their foe, who snarled curses at them, turning defiantly. Veradis darted forwards, stabbed, retreated. The giant roared and spun around, only for Veradis’ warriors to move in, all stabbing. The giant bellowed his rage, charged the circle, smashed one warrior to the ground. Swords slashed. The giant stumbled on a few steps, collapsed, blood staining the grass.
Veradis stood still a moment, breathing hard, then strode forward and nudged the fallen body with his boot. He would not be getting back up.
‘Come out,’ Veradis spoke into the trapdoor. The only answer was silence. He peered in, saw shadowed figures beyond the sun’s reach. ‘I’m not fool enough to come down there. If you stay, you will all burn,’ he said, louder. Still no answer. He shrugged and turned away.
‘They are only bairns,’ a voice grated from the darkness. ‘We will come up. Please, do not kill them.’
Giant bairns. What a day this is. ‘Come up. If it is as you say we will not shed the first blood.’ Veradis stepped back, holding a warning hand up to his men.
A figure emerged from the hole in the ground, a giant, tall and broad. A female, no drooping moustache, though she was as muscled as any male. Black strips of leather crisscrossed her breasts and she held a war-hammer loosely in her hands. Her dark eyes darted from Veradis to the giant lying face down on the grass. Grief swept her face.
Veradis ushered her forwards. She took hesitant steps, said something unintelligible and others appeared behind her.
Veradis blinked. There were between twenty and thirty of them. They were a mixture of heights, ranging from shorter than him to taller, and many in between. They were muscled, though leaner than full-grown giants, their limbs longer, almost gangly, like newborn colts. Tufts of hair grew on some faces, though most were hairless, appearing softer, somehow, lacking the stark angles of the adult giants that Veradis had seen. Some held weapons, daggers as long as a sword to Veradis, one or two – the larger ones – hefting hammers or axes. All looked terrified, on the edge of fight or flight. Veradis felt the tension, knew this could turn into a bloodbath at the slightest misstep. Their guardian said something; the ones with hammer and axe lowered their weapons slightly.
She feels it too.
‘They are only bairns,’ the giant repeated, pride and pleading mingling in her voice.
Children. ‘Most of them are bigger than me,’ Veradis snorted. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I shall not harm them, or you. As long as you show no aggression.’
The giant’s eyes darted between him and his men. ‘The battle is lost, then,’ she said. It was not a question.
‘Aye. You will need to lay your weapons down. All of them.’ And then I can figure out what I am going to do with you all. Veradis glanced at the small host gathered at her back, uncomfortably aware that they outnumbered him and his men.
She snapped something over her shoulder and iron clattered to the ground. A few hesitated and she spoke more loudly at them, at the same time dropping her own hammer. As she did so, something behind Veradis caught her attention, a frown creasing her thick brows.
Alcyon was striding towards them, Calidus and the Jehar behind him, spread like a dark cloak.
‘What have we here?’ Calidus said.
‘They were hiding,’ Veradis said. ‘And they have surrendered.’ He did not like the hard look in Calidus’ eyes, the way the man’s hand was resting on his sword hilt.
‘Dia duit,’ Alcyon said, stepping forwards. He touched a hand to his forehead.
The giantess eyed him suspiciously, but returned the gesture. She lifted her head, sniffing the air like a hound catching a scent. Her eyes narrowed, focusing on Calidus. ‘Cen fath coisir tu racan ar dubh aingeal.’
Alcyon shrugged. ‘I have made my choice,’ he rumbled, some emotion sweeping his face.
Is that shame? Veradis thought.
‘They cannot live,’ Calidus said behind Alcyon.
The giant raised a hand, scowling. ‘They are only bairns.’
‘They will not be bairns forever. They will seek revenge for their kin. And for what you have taken.’
‘Taken what?’ the giantess demanded, pronouncing the words slowly, grimacing as if they left a bad taste in her mouth.
‘The starstone axe,’ Calidus said.
The giantess’ eyes whipped to Alcyon, and Veradis saw the axe slung across his back. It was a dull black from blade to hilt. As Veradis stared at it, a sound fluttered in his mind – a faint wind, the whisper of voices – just for a heartbeat, then it was gone. He blinked.
The giantess snarled something, snatched her hammer up and flung herself at Alcyon. He reeled backwards, shrugging the axe into his hands and blocking a strike that would have taken his head from his shoulders.
Behind her a handful of the giant bairns grabbed their discarded weapons and followed their guardian. With a sound like a wave breaking, the Jehar drew their swords.
Veradis stumbled back, sword and shield ready, but something held him from entering the battle. He did not want to shed the blood of these giants. They were only children. They are your enemy, a voice said in his head.
And what of mercy, even to an enemy? he thought.
Alcyon was blocking the female giant’s attack, using his new axe like a staff. There was a flurry of blows, Alcyon retreating before the onslaught. He too seemed reluctant to draw blood. About him the Jehar fought with the adolescents, who threw themselves at the black-clad warriors with more passion than skill. Many were dead already.
Alcyon cracked the butt of his axe into the giantess’ head. She reeled back, sank to one knee. About her the battle lulled, the young giants staring.
‘Drop your weapon,’ Alcyon grated.
Calidus appeared between them. Alcyon yelled at the silver-haired man, but Calidus ignored him. He swept his sword in a looping blow, chopping the giantess’ head from her shoulders.
Her charges screamed in grief-stricken rage, some renewing their attack, others breaking away, running amongst the cairns.
Alcyon bowed his head.
The Jehar made short work of the remaining giants, and in moments the conflict was over.
‘Well met, Veradis,’ Calidus called out,
grinning as he strode over. With his cloak he cleaned the blood from his sword. Akar, the dour-faced leader of the Jehar, walked behind him.
Veradis nodded a greeting, his eyes drawn to the giantess’ head, the bodies of children strewn about her. ‘Did things go well? In the tunnels?’ he asked, trying to look away from the faces of the dead.
‘Well enough. The Hunen are broken, now. And we found a great prize for Nathair.’
‘Prize? What?’
‘This.’ Alcyon lifted the axe. ‘One of the Seven Treasures.’ He was still scowling.
Now that he was closer, Veradis saw that the axe haft was dark-veined wood, smooth and shiny from age and use, bound with iron rings all along its length. The double blade was a dull matt black, seeming to suck light into it, casting none back.
He glanced beyond them, saw the Jehar and a handful of other warriors. He recognized Jael amongst them.
‘Where is everyone else?’ A sick feeling grew in the pit of his gut, his thoughts turning to Kastell and Maquin.
‘There were casualties,’ Calidus said with a shrug. ‘This is a battlefield, Veradis. Men die.’
‘Men. What men?’
‘Many,’ snapped Calidus. ‘Romar fell, along with some of his men.’
‘All,’ Alcyon corrected.
‘All,’ Calidus repeated coldly. ‘A tragedy, but, such is the way of these things.’
Veradis stared at him, Kastell and Maquin’s faces hovering in his mind’s eye. I tried to warn them.
‘Come, Alcyon,’ Calidus said, turning away. ‘Clean up here, Veradis. We will meet later, talk of what happens next.’
Alcyon strode after Calidus, balancing the black axe over his shoulder. Akar remained with Veradis, frowning. He looked as if he was going to say something, wanted to say something, then he turned away and marched after Calidus, his black-clad warriors falling in behind him.
Veradis watched the light and shadow of the crackling fire flicker across Calidus’ face as he sat opposite him, deep in conversation with Lothar, battlechief to King Braster of Helveth.
Behind the counsellor, hidden in shadow, was the bulk of Alcyon. A dark mood had been upon him since the killing of the giant children. The black axe lay across his lap. In his hand was a long thin needle, black ink dripping from its tip. Veradis watched with fascination as Alcyon rhythmically stabbed at his forearm, adding more thorns to the swirling vine tattoo that marked the lives the giant had taken in battle. Veradis scowled. Are Kastell and Maquin marked by one of those thorns?
Akar sat at the fire with another of the Jehar, a dark-haired, sharp-featured woman. She looked young, as far as Veradis could tell, not much different in age from him. He frowned, still not comfortable with the thought of female warriors, and especially not ones as skilled as the Jehar.
Lothar made his farewells and strode off into the darkness. No one had wanted to camp amongst the silent graves of Haldis, so they had settled on the sloping approach to the burial grounds, not far from where Veradis had viewed the battle that morning. It seemed a long time ago.
Campfires flickered all along the ridge, warming the survivors of the battle. Around four thousand warriors had marched into Haldis. Fewer than a thousand had survived, and half of that number belonged to Veradis’ warband and the Jehar. Romar’s warband had been almost entirely destroyed, only Jael and a few score others surviving. Braster’s warband had fared little better, only the few hundred that had carried his wounded body from the field remained.
‘Well?’ Veradis said across the flames. ‘How is King Braster?’
‘His wound was not fatal,’ Calidus replied. ‘A hammer blow crushed his shoulder. Lothar said their healers are happy with the setting of his bones, so . . .’ He shrugged. ‘He may not swing a sword again, but he’ll live.’
‘Good,’ Veradis said. He liked Braster. There was a gruff, blunt honesty about Helveth’s king. ‘So, what is our plan, now?’
‘Now it is time to find Nathair. We have been apart from him long enough.’
‘Excellent.’ Veradis had felt a fierce pride at being given command over this campaign, more so now for bringing his warband successfully through the conflict, even though he knew that Calidus and Alcyon had played a large part in that, counteracting the magic of the Hunen’s elementals. Throughout the whole campaign, though, he had felt a nagging worry about Nathair, knowing that his king, his friend, was sailing into the unknown in his search of the cauldron. He was Nathair’s first-sword; he should be at his side.
‘How will we find him?’ he asked. ‘He was about to sail for Ardan when we parted, but who knows where he is now?’
‘I have received word,’ Calidus said, tapping his head. ‘Remember, I was spymaster to the Vin Thalun for many years. Nathair is at Dun Carreg in Ardan. We will head there. Nathair needs us, needs his advisers about him. I will make sure that Lykos meets us there.’
‘Huh,’ Veradis muttered, not sure if he wanted to know how Calidus would manage that. He liked the thought of leaving this forest behind, but part of him still prickled with suspicion at the mention of the Vin Thalun. Some distrust burrowed deep.
‘So we leave on the morrow?’ Veradis asked.
‘At first light. We will travel east with Jael to Isiltir, then carry on to Ardan.’
‘Jael?’ Veradis said. He had disliked Kastell’s cousin the first moment he set eyes on him. He was a very different man from Kastell or Maquin, both of whom Veradis had considered friends and who now lay dead in the tunnels beneath Haldis. By whose hand Veradis did not know, and some part of him did not want to. Another part of him could think of nothing else. Let it go, a voice whispered in his head.
‘Yes. Jael,’ Calidus said. ‘Is there any problem with that?’
‘No,’ said Veradis. He thought of saying more but held his tongue.
‘Good. Jael has a strong claim to the throne of Isiltir, now that Romar is gone. And Nathair will support him in that claim.’
‘It is strange,’ Veradis said, the words spilling out, ‘how Romar and all his shieldmen died in the tunnels. Yet Jael survived.’ He raised his head and stared hard at Calidus.
The counsellor gave a thin-lipped smile. ‘It is war. These things happen.’
Calidus was right, men did fall in battle. Veradis had lost more shield-brothers than he cared to think about in battle, many of them friends, and he knew that in life things were not always clear cut. But this? What had happened in the tunnels felt like betrayal. ‘Did you see Romar die?’ Veradis pressed. ‘And the one that slew him?’
‘Oh yes,’ Calidus said, his face as expressionless as stone. ‘A giant slew Romar. Think more on the living than the dead, Veradis. We are all serving Nathair here. What we do is for the greater good, for Nathair’s good.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I hope that you have the conviction to serve your king fully.’
‘Of course I do,’ Veradis said. ‘Never doubt my loyalty to Nathair.’
‘Good.’ Calidus gave a faint smile. ‘Well, I am for my rest. We have an early start and a long journey ahead of us.’
Alcyon rose and followed Calidus into the darkness, Akar making to do the same.
‘Akar. Did you see Romar fall?’
‘Aye.’
‘And . . .’
‘Calidus spoke true,’ Akar said. ‘A giant did slay Romar.’
‘Oh,’ said Veradis, both surprised and relieved. He had been so certain that Calidus had been involved.
‘A giant wielding a black-bladed battle-axe,’ Akar said, then turned and strode into the darkness.
CHAPTER FOUR
MAQUIN
‘I’m going to let you go, now. Don’t do anything stupid.’
The words filtered into Maquin’s mind as if from a great distance.
Where am I?
He opened his eyes, though at first it seemed to make little difference. It was pitch dark, his face was pressed hard against cold stone and a pain bloomed in his shoulder.
‘Careful. They’ve been gon
e a while, but sound carries in these tunnels,’ the same voice said.
Tunnels? Then it came back, an avalanche of memory. Haldis, the battle in the tunnels, Romar arguing with Calidus over that axe. Betrayal. Death. Kastell . . .
‘Kas . . .’ he breathed.
There was a long silence, then. ‘He’s dead. They’re all dead.’
Kastell.
He had seen Jael stab him, knew instantly that it was a killing blow. He had tried to get to him, but Orgull, captain of the Gadrai, had grabbed him, dragged him into the darkness while battle still raged nearby, though the end had been in no doubt. Romar, King of Isiltir, had been betrayed by Calidus of Tenebral. And by Jael.
And Kastell had been slain.
At first Maquin had fought, trying to break Orgull’s grip on him, but the man’s strength was immense, and then . . . nothing.
‘I can’t remember it all. What happened?’ he croaked.
‘You were fighting like a draig to run off and get yourself killed. Had to crack you one on the head.’ Orgull’s voice drifted down to him. He felt the big man shrug, a ripple of pain through his back. ‘Sorry.’
He became aware of a pressure on him, a great weight pressing down. ‘Are you sitting on me?’
‘Had to be sure you wouldn’t jump up and run off the moment you woke up.’
‘No chance of that,’ Maquin grunted. ‘Get off.’
He felt Orgull’s weight shift from his back. Maquin rolled onto one knee, groaning as he stood, a hand reaching instinctively for his sword.
Orgull frowned. ‘You thinking straight?’
‘Aye.’ Maquin scowled. He rolled his shoulders, cramped muscles stretching. And there was a greater pain shouting for his attention. He remembered catching the wrong end of a giant’s war-hammer. Waves of pain pulsed from his shoulder. He gritted his teeth and looked about the chamber.
Torches still burned, blue light flickering from some kind of oil held high in iron bowls that marked an aisle to the dead giant-king, his cadaver still sitting in its stone chair upon its dais. Bodies lay strewn before it.