Valour

by John Gwynne

  Maquin and Orgull shared a look, without a word walked back to the battle scene, treading carefully amongst the dead.

  We’re all that’s left of the Gadrai, a voice whispered inside his head. The rest are gone. All dead. He closed his eyes, saw again Jael’s sword punch into Kastell’s belly.

  Orgull knelt beside Vandil and closed the eyes of their leader’s corpse. There was a gaping wound in his chest where the giant Alcyon had struck him with that black axe.

  Maquin strode to where he had seen Kastell fall.

  He lay face down, a black pool of blood spread about his waist. Maquin knelt and rolled him over, cradling him in his arms.

  ‘Oh, Kas,’ he whispered, tears rising up and choking the rest. So many memories. He remembered the day Kastell had been born, when he had been a warrior in the hold of Kastell’s da, remembered his pride when he had been chosen as Kastell’s shieldman, remembered carrying the boy from the flames and wreckage of a Hunen attack, remembered his oath, solemn words to protect unto death.

  Tears dripped off his nose, smudging pale tracks in the grime on Kastell’s face.

  I have failed you. He had loved Kastell as the son that he had never had, and he had let him die by Jael’s hand. A cold rage ignited in his belly.

  Tenderly, Maquin brushed dirt from Kastell’s face, then laid him back down. He found Kastell’s sword and placed it on his body, folding stiffening fingers about its hilt. Then he knelt, whispered a prayer, asked for forgiveness and swore a new oath. And this one I shall not fail, except by death’s intervention. Jael shall die by my hand. He drew a dagger from his belt and cut a red line across his palm, let his blood drip onto Kastell.

  Orgull came and stood beside him, head bowed.

  ‘Jael killed him,’ Maquin mumbled.

  Orgull nodded, torchlight gleaming blue in his eyes. ‘Jael seemed overly close to that Calidus. I should have seen it. They have much to answer for.’ He tugged thoughtfully at the warrior braid bound in his blond beard. ‘This ran deeper than some blood-feud between uncle and nephew. I am thinking that Jael has designs on the throne of Isiltir.’

  ‘The throne?’ said Maquin.

  ‘Aye. Romar’s boy is, what, ten summers?’ Orgull said. ‘And Jael is blood-kin to Romar, though distant. He would have a claim, if those closer were removed.’

  ‘Such as Romar,’ Maquin said.

  ‘And him,’ Orgull added, looking pointedly at Kastell.

  Maquin ground his palms into his eyes. ‘Jael will pay for this.’

  Orgull gave him an appraising look. ‘If I am right, the best revenge is to deny Jael the throne of Isiltir.’

  ‘A sword in his heart will do that,’ Maquin said.

  ‘And if you fail? We do not know how things lie up there, but likely he has shieldmen about him, and Calidus, along with his giant and the Jehar. Chances are you won’t get close to him. Then Jael still gets the throne. Don’t call that much of a revenge.’

  Maquin glared at Orgull, part of him recognizing the truth of his words, but the greater part of him not caring.

  ‘Word must get back to Isiltir of this – of Jael’s treachery. I’ll not see all our sword-brothers dead for nothing.’

  Orgull bent besides Romar, recovered the dead king’s sword and wrapped it in a cloak. ‘I did not save you to see you throw your life away the instant we set foot above ground.’

  ‘My life is not yours to decide,’ Maquin said. ‘I am going to kill Jael.’

  Orgull stooped to look Maquin in the eye. ‘I need your help. There is more at stake here than one man’s vengeance. Please, help me to get word back to Isiltir of this slaughter.’ He paused, eyes locked with Maquin, then shook his head. ‘I will make a pact with you. Help me to do this, and then I shall help you. We shall bring about Jael’s death together, or die trying. I swear it on our fallen brothers.’

  Maquin sucked in a deep breath, chewing over Orgull’s words. There was sense in them: if he went charging after Jael now he was most likely rushing to a death that accomplished nothing. ‘All right,’ he whispered, glancing at Kastell’s corpse.

  They gripped forearms.

  ‘Course, we’ve got to get out of here first,’ Maquin said.

  ‘True. Are you injured?’

  ‘I’ve been better.’ His left arm hung limp at his side, his face was pale, slick with sweat. ‘I blocked a hammer blow with my shoulder.’

  Orgull stood behind Maquin, his fingers probing the warrior’s shoulder and arm. ‘Dislocated, not broken. Here, bite on this.’ He gave Maquin a strip of leather, then gripped the warrior’s shoulder in one large fist, placing his other hand between shoulder blade and spine. Then he pushed, hard.

  There was a loud crack, Maquin hissed and slumped.

  ‘Next time, use a shield, not your shoulder,’ Orgull said.

  ‘I’ll try and remember,’ Maquin mumbled, spitting the leather from his mouth. He sank to one knee.

  ‘Take what you need,’ Orgull said, reaching down to grab a shield from a fallen warrior. ‘We need to find a way out of here.’

  With an effort, Maquin walked away from Kastell’s body and began searching the ground. First he looked to his water skin, drinking deep, then refilled it from others about him. In short time he found a plain wooden shield, iron-rimmed and bossed. Its face showed signs of the battle, but only shallow scratches. He hefted it, checked its straps, then slung it across his back. He also found a broad-bladed spear. Orgull was holding an axe that had belonged to one of the long-dead giant warriors left guarding their king. As Maquin stared at him, Orgull swung the axe at the stone floor, sparks flying as it chipped a chunk out of the rock. Rust fell from the blade. Orgull ran his thumb along its edge and nodded approvingly.

  ‘You thinking to chop your way out of here?’ Maquin asked.

  ‘If I have to. It’s still sharp enough.’ Orgull smiled humourlessly. ‘I’m not taken with the idea of using their front door, though. Can’t see that Calidus leaving it open, or unguarded. And if I start chopping at it I’ll wake all between here and the forest.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Maquin said.

  ‘See those flames?’

  Maquin looked up at the blue flames. Some flickered and crackled, touched by a breeze.

  ‘Let’s find where that air is coming from and hope it’s more than a crack in the ground.’

  There was a sudden muffled groan from amongst the bodies around them. Maquin pulled at the corpse of a Jehar warrior, revealing twitching fingers, a moving arm.

  It was Tahir, one of their Gadrai sword-brothers. He was a young man, not much older than Kastell. They had been friends.

  They uncovered him and checked him for wounds but could only find a large, egg-shaped lump on his temple. The stocky, long-armed warrior touched it and winced.

  ‘What happened?’ he muttered, his eyes unfocused.

  Orgull recounted Jael’s treachery.

  ‘Vandil?’ Tahir asked, rising unsteadily to his feet, gazing at the dead strewn about him.

  ‘Dead. Slain by Calidus’ pet giant,’ Orgull said.

  Tahir whistled, shook his head and instantly looked as if he regretted doing it. ‘What now, then?’

  ‘Find a way out of this hole. One thing at a time.’

  Maquin fashioned torches out of axe and spear shafts, wrapping them in strips of cloth torn from tattered cloaks, and dipped them in the oil-filled bowls that lined the walkway. They flickered with the same blue light.

  Together they marched to the edge of the chamber and began tracing its edge, searching for a doorway. It was not long before they found an archway draped with thick cobwebs, a slight breeze stirring it. Maquin touched his torch to the web and blue sparks crackled out in a widening circle, consuming the web right back to the stone. Orgull looked at them both, then strode into the darkness. Tahir followed.

  Maquin paused, looking back into the chamber. ‘Farewell, Kastell,’ he said, and after a few long moments he gritted his teeth and stepped into the tunnel
.

  The three of them trudged in silence, blue-tinged torchlight flickering on the tunnel’s high roof and walls. Other corridors branched off, Maquin eyeing the dense shadows suspiciously. This place was in Forn Forest, after all, or beneath it, and Forn was the dark savage heart of the Banished Lands. Its inhabitants were by and large unpleasant. And predatory.

  His thoughts drifted back to those left behind, to Vandil, to his Gadrai sword-brothers, to Romar and most of all to Kastell. Yet again he saw Jael stepping in front of Kastell, stabbing him. He should have stayed closer. His vision blurred with tears and he swiped at his eyes, fist clenching.

  A sound drew his attention: a scraping, submerged in the deep shadows of a side tunnel. He stared into the darkness, thought he saw the hint of movement just beyond the torchlight’s reach. Something big. There was a faint reflection. He hissed a warning and drew his sword.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Tahir said, as Orgull joined them.

  ‘Something’s down there,’ Maquin muttered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know. Something.’

  Maquin walked into the side tunnel, his torch held high. Darkness retreated before the light, revealing nothing but empty space.

  ‘Nothing there now,’ Tahir pointed out.

  ‘Come on,’ Orgull said. ‘Tahir, guard our backs.’

  ‘Aye, chief.’

  They walked on, their pace quicker, now, the tunnel rising steeply. A good sign, thought Maquin, sweat trickling down his back. Up is far better than down. The tunnel was also getting narrower, the roof lower. Not such a good sign. Will it just end? What then? Soon after, Orgull called a halt. He raised a hand to the tunnel’s roof, fingers tracing a tree root poking through the stone, twisted and knotted.

  ‘Must be near the surface,’ Maquin said.

  ‘We must have walked more than a league by now,’ Tahir commented.

  ‘Aye. We’re out past Haldis, I’d guess, but not much further,’ Maquin said.

  ‘Is all well back there, Tahir?’ asked Orgull.

  ‘Nothing to see,’ the warrior replied.

  ‘Good. Onwards,’ their leader said and set off.

  It was not long before Orgull stopped again. The tunnel came to an abrupt end, a dozen wide steps leading sharply up to the roof, where it met a round, flat-bottomed stone. Orgull climbed the steps and tapped the stone with his axe. He climbed higher, braced his shoulder against the stone and heaved. With a grating sound the stone shifted, minutely, earth falling from about its rim.

  ‘Help,’ grunted Orgull.

  The steps were wide enough for two abreast so Maquin climbed up beside Orgull, adding his weight and strength. Together they strained and Maquin felt the stone shift, dirt falling into his face, then there was a wash of fresh air, a glimpse of moonlight.

  ‘Keep pushing,’ Orgull muttered. ‘Nearly there.’

  Then Tahir screamed. Maquin and Orgull dropped the stone back in place and turned.

  Something had hold of Tahir: a many-legged, chitinous creature, all bristle, eyes and fangs, as wide as an adult boar, but far longer, its segmented body swallowed by shadow. Tahir was screaming as he hammered futilely at the creature with his spear.

  Maquin darted forwards, jabbing his own weapon. It slid off a hard, shiny carapace. He thrust his torch at the beast, but a sharp-spined leg smashed it out of his hand, the blue light sputtering out. He launched forwards with his spear again; the blade scraped along the creature’s hard shell, then sank into a gap between segments. It let out a high-pitched squeal, dropped Tahir and reared up, fangs and forelegs waving, almost filling the tunnel. Maquin grabbed Tahir’s wrist and dragged him back. The creature scuttled after them, a green, jelly-like substance oozing from the wound in its side. It sank a fang into Tahir’s leg, just below the knee. Tahir screamed and thrashed.

  Then Orgull was there, bellowing for Maquin to get back, for Tahir to stay down. He swung his new war-axe, smashed it with all of his prodigious strength into the creature’s head. There was a sickening crack. The thing’s legs jerked, twitching furiously, its mandibles clacking. With a sigh it sank to the floor, spasmed once more and then was still.

  ‘Get it off me,’ Tahir hissed, a fang still buried in his leg. Maquin heaved and wrenched the fang out. Tahir gasped with pain, blood running down his leg.

  Orgull ripped Tahir’s breeches up to the knee, poured water over the wound and tied a strip of the torn breeches above it.

  ‘How is it?’ Tahir asked, a touch of panic in his voice.

  ‘As good as it can be down here,’ Orgull muttered, ‘though I’d like something stronger than water to flush it with. Can you stand?’

  ‘I’ll stand to walk out of this place,’ Tahir breathed, steadying himself with his spear.

  Orgull gripped his axe haft and with a wrench pulled the blade free of the creature. He threw one of their torches back down the tunnel, where it wavered but stayed alight. ‘Maquin, best get that stone shifted. Who knows what else we’re sharing these tunnels with.’

  Maquin ran up the steps and put his shoulder to the stone. Nothing happened. He tried again, grunting and straining.

  ‘What’s keeping you?’ Orgull called.

  ‘It’s heavy,’ Maquin muttered. ‘Could do with you here, chief.’

  ‘Can’t be in two places at once,’ Orgull said. ‘And you’d best get a move on. Light’s fading.’

  Even as he spoke, the torch he had thrown back down the tunnel guttered and then winked out. The darkness surged forwards, held in check by Tahir tightly clutching the last torch.

  Maquin renewed his efforts, fear of being trapped in the dark giving him an extra strength; the stone shifted, grinding against rock and earth. Maquin dug his spear butt into the gap, levered and shoved as he strained, veins bulging with the effort, and finally the stone lifted clear. Pale moonlight greeted him.

  He reached up through the hole, savouring the sensation of air on his face and grass under his fingertips; he grabbed a tree root and pulled himself up. He could hear the sighing of a breeze amongst branches, the distant murmur of voices, faint song, could see the pinpricks of many campfires.

  Back in Forn, then. Must be the survivors of the battle. For a moment the thought of Jael filled his mind, sitting beside a campfire, eating, drinking, celebrating. Without realizing, he stood and took a step forwards, hand reaching for his sword hilt.

  ‘Could do with some help down here,’ a voice whispered to him. He froze, remembering Orgull’s words to him, their pact in the burial chamber. Soon, Jael.

  The moon slipped behind ragged clouds and all was in darkness.

  Maquin set to pulling the others out of the tunnel and, as quietly as hunting wolves, the three warriors slipped into the forest, the last surviving remnant of the Gadrai. Maquin looked back once and then followed his sword-brothers into the trees.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CORBAN

  Corban gripped the boat’s rail as he stared back into the distance. Dun Carreg had long since disappeared and in all directions a grey, foam-flecked sea stretched as far as he could see.

  It was late in the day now, well past highsun, and Corban’s stomach was rumbling. He had not eaten since the evening before – nor had anyone else on this boat. No one had given food much thought in their desperate bid to escape.

  Dun Carreg, he thought, wishing that he could still see the fortress, still see Ardan, still see his home. Home no more. Everything had changed so quickly. And Thannon and Cywen were both still in Dun Carreg. His da and sister, both dead, both needing a cairn to be raised over them. It wasn’t right. Tears filled his eyes.

  His mam lay sleeping upon a heaped pile of nets. She looked older, the lines in her face deeper, dark hollows about her eyes. Gar sat beside her, chin resting on his chest, sleeping too. Most of this band of runaways were in the same state. It had been a long, hard night, in more ways than one.

  Footsteps drew Corban’s eyes up to Halion, his weapons-master from the Rowan
Field, making his way along the fisher-boat towards him. The warrior nodded grimly as he walked to where Mordwyr, Dath’s da, stood guiding the boat’s steering oar.

  ‘We need to find land. Somewhere to get food and water.’

  ‘Uh,’ Mordwyr acknowledged. His eyes were red rimmed, his face lined with grief. He had left Bethan, his daughter, amongst the dead in Dun Carreg.

  I was not the only one that lost kin last night, Corban thought.

  Mordwyr pointed into the distance, northwards, and Corban saw a dark line on the horizon. Land.

  ‘We’ll have to risk it,’ Halion said. He patted Mordwyr’s shoulder and made his way back along the boat, to where Edana sat with her head bowed.

  The Princess of Ardan, now heir to its throne, had said nothing since they had climbed aboard the fisher-boat. The last sound Corban had heard from her was screaming as she witnessed the death of her father.

  She’ lost both her mam and da, now. At least I still have my mam, someone to share my grief with.

  Storm’s muzzle touched his hand. Corban tugged on one of her ears, grimacing as the movement sent a ripple of pain through his shoulder. Brina had tended the wound where he had been stabbed during the battle in the feast-hall. Helfach had done it. The man’s life-blood still stained the fur around the wolven’s protruding canines. Brina had assured him the wound was not deep and was clean, but it still hurt.

  He looked for the healer and she caught his eye, beckoning him over. Craf, the healer’s unkempt crow, clung to the boat’s rail above Brina’s head.

  ‘Cor-ban,’ it squawked as he squatted down before Brina.

  ‘What was that about?’ she asked. ‘Between Halion and Mordwyr?’

  ‘Time to find some land. For food and water.’

  ‘Ah. Out of the cook-pot and into the flames,’ Brina muttered.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She looked over the boat’s side at the growing line of land. ‘That’s not Ardan. Not that Ardan’s the safest place to be right now. Still, that’s Cambren. Rhin rules there.’

  ‘Oh.’ Corban frowned, remembering the kidnapping of Edana’s mother, Queen Alona, back in the Darkwood, where Alona and so many others had died. All because of Rhin. ‘But what choice do we have?’