The Beauty of Destruction

by Gavin G. Smith

  ‘Something funny, girl?’ a rasping voice demanded from underneath the dryw’s hood.

  ‘Yes,’ Tangwen said simply, though with less respect than one should perhaps use when addressing a dryw. She wondered if the dryw had somehow heard her smile, as the tasselled hood covered her eyes. Behind the bent figure she could see the northerners’ spearmen and women. Unlike the warriors, they wore armour of leather and a few had metal armour, though it looked ill-fitting and much repaired, so she assumed it had been the spoils of war. Tangwen waited for the rhi to introduce himself. He did not. Instead he turned and looked through the snow towards the camp. Tangwen smiled again. In many ways it was lucky that they had met her first. Almost anybody else would have challenged the rhi. She had assumed that was the point. Make an entrance. Display strength. Gauge the strength of your opposition. ‘Well, I’ll just go and fetch the weakling for you.’

  Tangwen pushed herself off the tree trunk and walked towards the camp. She heard a comment about the southron tribes arming their girl-children and heard answering laughter from the mounted warriors.

  Tangwen sighed when she heard the raised voices. She recognised Clust, the Trinovantes warleader, arguing with Garim, Bladud’s husky, thickly bearded new second. The Brigante lieutenant looked like a younger, less scarred Nerthach, but he was no replacement for the big grizzled warrior who had been the Witch King’s strong right arm. The similarities between Garim and Nerthach just made Tangwen miss Nerthach all the more. She had liked the big man, though she had only known him a brief time before a touch of Crom Dhubh’s strange sword had utterly destroyed him. She hoped his soul had made it to Annwn, but somehow she doubted it.

  Clust and Garim were arguing about the precedence of their tribes in the initial attack. They were standing under an open skin shelter that had been erected for councils. A crude model of the area had been made from snow on a hastily assembled, rough-hewn table. Bladud looked resigned, and Britha looked like she was ready to kill one, or both, of the warriors.

  ‘There’s an idiot here to see you,’ Tangwen said, cutting across Clust and Garim’s angry exchange. Both the warriors looked up, furious at the interruption, but they kept their peace when they saw who had spoken.

  ‘I have sufficient here, thank you,’ Britha spat. Bladud laughed as Garim and Clust coloured.

  ‘This one asked for you by name.’ Tangwen saw the frown on Britha’s face deepen. It would not be the first group to join their camp who had heard of her infamy. ‘He’s from the far north, one of your people. A rhi, I think.’

  ‘One of the Pecht?’ Britha asked.

  Bladud was watching the exchange.

  ‘Yes, very rude.’

  ‘A small man, badly scarred but a perfect beard?’

  ‘Aye, that sounds like him. You know the fool?’ Tangwen asked. She saw a smile spread across Britha’s face.

  ‘Aye, aye I do and he fights all his challenges himself, so don’t call him fool to his face unless you want to kill him in an unfair fight.’

  ‘There’s a dryw with him. An old, bent woman, keeps her features covered,’ Tangwen told the other woman and saw Britha’s face fall. She heard her mutter something that sounded like: ‘Will nothing kill her?’ in her own language.

  ‘Let us go and meet these guests who do not introduce themselves,’ Bladud said, amused.

  ‘Your manners are not improving!’ Britha shouted through the snow, her breath misting. She stopped by one of the horses pulling the Pecht leader’s chariot and whispered to it, patting it, much to the charioteer’s visible displeasure. The short rhi climbed down out of the chariot and walked towards Britha, his scars forcing his mouth into a grimace. ‘I think I have told you about this before.’

  ‘What could a poor excuse for a ban draoi, from a tribe I would have taken as slaves if they had the courage to live further north, tell the likes of me?’ the rhi demanded. Bladud’s eyes widened and Tangwen gasped, her hand falling to her hatchet and knife, but Britha was smiling and the small man’s face seemed to split open. It took Tangwen a moment to realise he was grinning. Britha embraced the smaller man.

  ‘It’s good to see you,’ Britha told him. She tried to blink away the tears in her eyes.

  ‘We need to talk. I’ve come seeking my people,’ he told her.

  Britha nodded but the small man seemed to read the answer in her expression. He clenched his fists, squeezing his eyes tight shut, remaining teeth grinding.

  ‘All of them?’ he managed.

  ‘We’ll talk later,’ Britha managed.

  He opened his eyes. ‘You’ve been down here too long, you’ve got soft,’ the Pecht rhi told her.

  Bladud opened his mouth to say something. Tangwen was pretty sure that he wasn’t used to being ignored like this.

  ‘She has not grown soft.’ The horrid rasping voice came from under the bent dryw’s hood. ‘She is with child.’

  Britha wiped the tears away with the back of her hand as her face hardened.‘Eurneid,’ Britha said coldly.

  ‘Is that all you have to say to me, child?’ the bent dryw demanded. ‘No explanation of what you have done to yourself? Perhaps you have been hanging around with the likes of him too long?’ Eurneid nodded towards Bladud. Tangwen felt the Witch King bristle at her side.

  ‘You know who I am then?’ Bladud asked.

  ‘I know what you are, false dryw!’ Eurneid spat and then pulled her hood down.

  Tangwen managed to resist the urge to spit and make the sign against evil. The woman was the oldest person that Tangwen had ever seen. She looked like she should have died many summers past. Her skin was so thin Tangwen could see the network of veins underneath. Her eyes were grey, staring orbs, utterly devoid of life, and obviously sightless. Tangwen knew this was one of the hags that she had been told of, one of those who flew with the spirits of the unquiet dead on Samhain-night.

  ‘Even an old blind woman can tell that.’ She turned back towards Britha. ‘We will hear explanations for your state later. You will be coming back north with me for judgement among the oaks. In the meantime that … thing … that darkness in your belly needs tearing out of you.’

  Britha touched her stomach. Tangwen had her hatchet in her hand suddenly; she was barely aware of having drawn it.

  ‘I’ll saw your face off and wear it to frighten the children before you touch me,’ Britha said, but her voice trembled slightly. Tangwen was surprised to hear fear in the older woman’s voice.

  The rhi had his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, as did a number of his warriors.

  Eurneid turned to face Tangwen. ‘You would draw a weapon on a ban draoi?’ she demanded.

  Tangwen tried hard not to think too much about those she had killed at the holy place on the Isle of Madness. ‘I’ll kill any who would threaten harm to a dryw in my presence,’ she answered, nodding towards Britha.

  ‘This one isn’t a dryw, never was,’ Eurneid spat.

  ‘Who’s this idiot?’ the northern rhi asked, looking at Bladud.

  Tangwen saw Eurneid glance at the short Pecht irritably. She was pretty sure he had asked the question to interrupt the old woman.

  ‘This idiot can speak your language,’ Bladud said dryly. If he was irritated by the insults then he was masking it well.

  ‘Good, it’ll save me having to sully my tongue with yours.’

  ‘Presumably this is someone who thinks it’s interesting to be obnoxious?’ Bladud asked Britha. Britha smiled again, though Tangwen could tell she was still troubled.

  ‘No, this is someone who has earned the right to say whatever he pleases atop a pile of corpses,’ the Pecht rhi explained.

  ‘I like him, he can stay,’ Bladud told Britha. Tangwen had to suppress a smile at Bladud’s cleverness, once again.

  ‘Bladud, called Witch King—’ Britha began. Eurneid gave a snort of contempt. ‘Rhi of the Brigante.’ Bladud cast a sideways glance at her – presumably he had expected to be introduced as Brenin Uchel, high king. ‘May
I present Calgacus of the Bitter Tongue, mormaer of the Cait, a tribe from further north than my own.’

  ‘I have told you before, I mislike that name,’ Calgacus said. ‘I am Calgacus of the Perfect Beard!’ he announced. Britha laughed, as did Tangwen. Even Bladud had to smile.

  ‘You have had truck with the gods.’ Eurneid’s accusation was like a pall over any humour. ‘You know that is against our ways.’

  ‘We weak southrons do not fear our gods so,’ Bladud replied waspishly.

  ‘Because you did not fight them as our ancestors did, because you bare your arses to them, because you are servile, and because you are not very bright.’

  ‘I tire of this lack of courtesy. What do you want?’ Bladud snapped. ‘If you are just here to cause discord then be on your way, or we will use you as practice before we fight the Lochlannach.’

  ‘Is this one like Cruibne? Wishes to be high king? Ideas above his station?’ Calgacus asked Britha.

  ‘That is not what Cruibne wanted, as you well know,’ Britha said.

  ‘And my deeds speak for themselves,’ Bladud said evenly.

  Tangwen was struggling to read the canny Witch King. He was rising only to things he could not ignore.

  ‘I have come for my people,’ Calgacus said.

  Bladud looked to Britha.

  ‘I only know of one that yet lives,’ Britha said quietly. ‘And he is in the service of Crom Dhubh.’ She nodded up the valley.

  Tangwen saw the pain etched across Calgacus’s ruined face at Britha’s words.

  ‘As you have been,’ Eurneid spat.

  Tangwen found herself wondering how the hag knew that. Calgacus studied Britha but said nothing.

  ‘I will vouch—’ Bladud started.

  ‘Your words mean nothing, oathbreaker!’ Eurneid snapped.

  Now Tangwen could see Bladud’s simmering anger. She knew this game. The dryw would use the freedom her position provided to say things to the rhi others could not to put him off-balance. She had rarely seen it played so blatantly and with such venom.

  ‘I would have vengeance, then, and this traitor must be dealt with!’ Calgacus announced.

  ‘They are enslaved by the Dark Man’s magics,’ Bladud explained.

  ‘This one was freed but chose to become a slave again,’ Britha said.

  ‘Like you?’ Eurneid asked slyly.

  ‘I have never been a slave,’ Britha said irritably.

  ‘Except to your cunt!’

  ‘Which one of you has the bitter tongue?’ Tangwen asked as she dropped her hatchet back into the loop on her belt. She still felt a thrill of fear at talking to a dryw so. The hag turned her head to look at Tangwen with blind eyes. Tangwen found herself involuntarily holding her furs tighter around herself despite not really feeling the cold.

  ‘That is the second time, serpent child. One more and I’ll snatch your tongue from your pretty head.’

  ‘This serves us nought,’ Bladud said. ‘If you can fight with more than words then you may join my warband.’ He emphasised the word ‘my’. ‘If not then prepare to fight or be on your way, as you like. It makes no difference to me.’

  Calgacus regarded the Witch King carefully, then he smiled his awful smile.

  ‘So you have a spine, then?’ the Pecht rhi asked. Bladud smiled as much through exasperation as amusement. ‘You should consider yourself lucky I have no use for a Southron warband, though I do need more slaves.’

  ‘For someone with a reputation for straight talking you certainly take a long time to say anything.’

  The smile disappeared from Calgacus’s face. Tangwen was aware of the Cait warriors shifting all around them.

  ‘If, and I mean if, you prove strong enough to lead this warband then we will fight alongside you.’

  Bladud nodded and then looked to Britha. ‘Deal with this,’ he said, before turning and walking back towards the camp. Tangwen felt Britha bristle but the other woman said nothing.

  It just seemed to appear out of the flurries of snow. A shaggy, white-furred creature with the face of a man’s corpse. Her hatchet was back in her hand, her dagger in the other.

  ‘Hold!’ Calgacus snapped in a voice used to being obeyed. Tangwen felt Britha grab her arm.

  ‘Look again,’ the older woman said. The man had limed his face. He wore thick woollen trews and a thick woollen blaidth. He had tied a bearskin to himself and that too had been limed to blend with the snow.

  ‘One of my scouts,’ Calgacus told her. Tangwen felt a moment’s embarrassment. He was doing the same thing she had done herself many times. ‘Selbath?’ Calgacus addressed the scout. The man pointed north into the flurries of snow.

  ‘The fair folk,’ the scout, apparently called Selbath, started breathlessly. Calgacus looked sceptical at mention of the fair folk. Tangwen assumed he meant the Lochlannach. ‘Coming across the ridge. Saw them with my own eyes. They make for the fort.’

  Now she looked at him, Tangwen could see he was covered in sweat and panting for breath.

  ‘How many?’ Calgacus demanded.

  ‘More than fifty. I didn’t stay to count. They knew I was there.’

  Calgacus looked surprised, as did his tall, blonde charioteer. There was muttering from the mounted Cait warriors.

  ‘And you ran?’ Calgacus asked. The man nodded, still trying to catch his breath. ‘Aye, well can’t say as I blame you. They don’t call you the Timid for no—’

  ‘There’s more!’ Selbath cried.

  Calgacus looked like he had been slapped, so surprised was he at the scout’s interruption. Tangwen was aware of something but she wasn’t quite sure what it was. She looked around. Some snow fell off a tree. The naked branch was shaking.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Selbath pointed to the east, the way the Cait had come. There was a tremor in his arm. ‘Giants,’ he said.

  Now through the lime and the exhaustion Tangwen could see the man’s terror. Tangwen felt her own bowels turn to ice as she remembered the battle on the beach in the shadow of the wicker man.

  ‘Calm yourself,’ Calgacus snapped. Tangwen’s eyes narrowed as she peered into flurries of snow. Some of the horses whickered nervously. ‘These southrons aren’t that much taller than us.’

  Tangwen thought she saw something through the snow, a huge shadow, though she wondered if her mind was playing tricks on her. Then the first horse reared. A Cait warrior was deposited into the snow on his arse, hard.

  ‘He means giants,’ Britha said. Tangwen could hear the tension in the other woman’s voice. The ground shook from an impact, and then another. Snow fell from naked trees, winter birds took to the wing despite the weather. Selbath, called the Timid, ran.

  They loomed out of the flurries, towering over people and panicking beasts, warped and gnarled, faintly human in shape, each footstep creating an explosion in the snow. A number of the Cait’s ponies bolted. The spearmen and women backed away from the huge figures but to their credit did not break. Those with control of their mounts reached for casting spears, arrows began to stud the giants’ flesh, but the huge creatures paid no attention.

  Tangwen was crouched, feeling useless. She didn’t even have her bow. Britha was looking up at them, one hand across her belly, a knife in her other hand. Calgacus dared the shifting chariot to grab his spear and shield even as his charioteer sought to control her team. Only Eurneid moved towards them.

  ‘Eurneid!’ Calgacus cried, stopping just short of giving a dryw an order.

  ‘Even the Otherworld know not to harm a dryw!’ the old woman called.

  ‘They are no respecters of—’ Britha started, just as one of the giants stood squarely on Eurneid.

  The giants, however, did not attack. They just walked by and continued past the camps where there were more cries of warning and fear. They paid no attention to more arrows and casting spears studding their deformed skin. Then they were swallowed by the flurries of snow again. Though the ground still shook.

  Tangwen swallowed hard. She
could hear the frightened muttering from among the Cait warriors.

  ‘Master yourselves!’ Calgacus shouted, though Tangwen was pretty sure that the Pecht rhi was more than a little disturbed by the show of force he had just seen. ‘Remember where you are!’

  Tangwen fell in beside Britha as the black-robed dryw moved forwards carefully. Calgacus joined them moments later, two of his warriors with him. There was barely anything left of Eurneid. She was a mangled red mess in a very deep footprint, barely recognisable as having been human.

  ‘There’s a lesson in this somewhere,’ Calgacus mused. Tangwen couldn’t shake the feeling that the Pecht rhi was more than a little relieved.

  She was aware of movement on either side of her. Warm red liquid spattered her cold skin. One of the Cait warrior’s faces had been cut off. The body staggered backwards a few steps and then stumbled to the ground. There was a figure moving quickly towards her. He was a solid, well-built man, wearing no armour and little protection from the cold, a longsword in one hand, a dagger in the other. Tangwen was aware of movement on the other side of her as well. Calgacus was between her and the swordsman. He was moving forwards, punching his small round shield into the swordsman’s face.

  Tangwen turned. The other Cait warrior was already reddening the snow. A second swordsman was stabbing his longsword at Britha’s belly as she threw herself backwards. Tangwen heard the sound of wood hitting flesh behind her. The hunter threw herself forwards, swinging out with her hatchet at the second swordsman’s blade. The axe head caught the blade and yanked it away from Britha but the man just turned, the dagger in his other hand snaking out towards Britha’s belly. Tangwen was aware of the sound of metal splintering wood behind her as she collided with the second swordsman. They hit the ground together, sliding through the snow. Tangwen howled and spat as she fought frantically. Her skin and the flesh beneath it smoked as his blade cut into her, and she felt the agony of its venom in her blood. Her dagger found his throat before he could do more harm, then her hatchet found the top of his head as he shook beneath her.