The Beauty of Destruction

by Gavin G. Smith

  Germelqart was talking to a horseman. The horseman was wrapped up so tightly in thick furs that it looked like he feared the cold. Despite the layers of clothes Tangwen could see that his skin was a much darker brown than Germelqart’s, though not as dark as Kush’s had been. He had an unstrung bow, and arrows in an inscribed wooden case hanging from the saddle of his horse. A strangely curved sword hung from his hip in a scabbard, and he had a small round shield that looked to have been made of brass, an impractical metal for a shield, also hanging from his saddle. In fact the shield reminded her of the blades of Kush’s axe. All of it looked too ornate and delicate to be of any practical use.

  The horseman reached down towards Germelqart, but the Carthaginian shook his head and stepped back.

  ‘So be it,’ the horseman said, and kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks. The horse took off at a gallop despite the deep snow. Tangwen hadn’t recognised the horseman’s accent and although she had understood the language, and knew it as an old one, she did not know to which people it belonged.

  The horse looked slender and sleek, but not made for the harshness of Ynys Prydain during winter, though it had no problems making its way through the snow. Something about it reminded her of the red-eyed steeds from the Otherworld that Crom Dhubh had gifted to the Corpse People.

  Germelqart did not turn around as she approached, though he must have known she was there. Selbach held back. He had been afraid of the foreign sorcerer since the Carthaginian had taken a lock of his hair.

  ‘I am discovered,’ the Carthaginian said as she came to stand by him.

  ‘Who was he?’ Tangwen asked. Trying not to make it sound accusatory.

  ‘He was the servant of a demon and he wanted the chalice,’ Germelqart told her, his voice flat. Tangwen’s eyes widened and she spat and made the sign against evil.

  ‘Do the gods not think that we have enough to cope with?’ she asked. The last thing they needed was more trouble from the Otherworld. Germelqart just looked at her.

  ‘Will this demon try and take it?’ she demanded.

  Germelqart turned to face her. ‘He would have us give it to him, but I think he will talk first. I think he may be right.’ He touched the bag. ‘Its power notwithstanding, I think there is only the madness here and the division it brings.’

  She knew he was right. Suddenly she felt tired. Germelqart was right. Bladud was right. The warband needed and deserved the chalice. Guidgen was right. The chalice would lead to tyranny, however well intentioned its use. They were all right.

  ‘It has to stay,’ she told him, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. Germelqart pursed his lips. He looked unconvinced. Tangwen narrowed her eyes. At first she had thought that Germelqart’s eyes were bloodshot, but now she looked, she wondered if there weren’t tendrils of red metal trying to creep into them.

  ‘Look!’ Selbach said. The three of them were making their way back down the southern ridgeline towards the camp. The Pecht scout was pointing at a figure on a horse making its way across the snow-covered fields to the north of them, towards the camp. The horse was clearly staggering, and then the beast toppled into the snow.

  ‘Is that Britha?’ Tangwen asked. There were people coming out from the camp towards the rider, who was trying to climb out from under the obviously distressed horse. Tangwen picked up the pace, kicking her way through the snow.

  ‘Where are my husband and the others?’ Anharad demanded. Mabon was standing next to his grandmother. He looked every inch the young warrior now, as Anharad looked the queen in her understated and still practical finery. Before he had left Bladud had given Mabon armour. A sword hung from the boy’s hip as well. His arms were crossed, brows furrowed in distaste.

  ‘Behind me. I rode ahead,’ Britha told them. She looked thin and haggard, Tangwen thought as she entered the skin shelter. It was Britha’s hag aspect. Tangwen was immediately worried for the child that Britha carried. A brazier and the press of people were keeping the shelter warm. ‘Why are you surprised to see me back?’ Britha all but demanded.

  ‘I am surprised when someone who has been in the counsel of our enemy, someone who has drunk of the chalice, and been blessed by its magics, comes back without the people she travelled with.’

  ‘Not just in their counsel,’ one of the Trinovantes warriors said suggestively. There was answering laughter. Britha turned to give him a look that would have withered crops on the stalk. He stared back at her insolently. It was clear that she had lost the respect due her position, at least among some of the warriors.

  ‘If you have an accusation to make, then make it. Then you can fail to prove it and owe me compensation,’ Britha snapped. ‘Don’t pour poison into the ears of those here with insinuations. You insult all and disgrace yourself when you do.’ To Tangwen’s ears it was overly harsh but it was obvious that Britha was exhausted, despite her gifts.

  ‘You killed a horse getting here,’ Garim, the big warrior now in charge of the Brigante teulu, said.

  ‘More than one,’ Britha told him in exasperation but making her honesty look instinctual, as it should be.

  ‘A Brigante horse which we will need to be compensated for,’ Garim continued. Britha nodded impatiently. ‘But it makes you look like you were running from something.’

  ‘I was just hoping that you hadn’t all been killed while we wasted our time,’ Britha said.

  ‘You need to look to that child in your belly,’ Anharad said, nodding towards where the lump was more prominent on Britha’s emaciated frame. Tangwen caught the flicker of guilt, but only because she knew the ban draoi, then Britha’s face hardened.

  ‘Or to dig it out,’ someone muttered. Britha’s head snapped round.

  ‘Who said that?’ she demanded, but all that met her were stony faces. ‘Which coward said that and now hides?’

  ‘Britha,’ Tangwen said. Germelqart had only just caught up with her and was trying to push his way into the tent. Selbach was presumably outside avoiding all the people of rank.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ Britha said. ‘I need to speak with Tangwen.’

  ‘You have not told us the news of Ynys Dywyll,’ Anharad said. There were nods from many of the assembled warriors.

  Calgacus pushed his way into the tent. The small Pecht rhi made warriors much bigger than him step aside. His scarred, seemingly humourless, blonde charioteer was with him.

  ‘Can you tell them what I say?’ Calgacus asked Tangwen. She was pleased he had stopped demanding she translate. ‘Poor hospitality this, that all of rank are called except myself.’ He made a point of looking around. ‘And the gwyllion, I see. Particularly,’ he nodded at Britha, ‘when it is my kinswoman returned from a fool’s journey.’

  Anharad at least had the manners to look embarrassed.

  ‘I am about the business of Ynys Dywyll,’ Britha said, ‘and I need to speak with Tangwen, and Germelqart. Will you excuse me?’ The Pecht dryw didn’t wait. Instead she turned and pushed her way through the warriors who would not make way for her. One or two were shoved aside by Calgacus.

  ‘Tangwen, we need to hear your plan,’ Anharad said. ‘Before Bladud returns.’

  ‘Anharad, I … you will, but peace, let me speak with Britha.’ She turned and followed Britha out of the skin tent before Anharad could insist.

  ‘What is it?’ Tangwen asked as they fell in with the Pecht dryw. She noticed that Britha did not have her spear.

  ‘I need to gorge myself, and quickly,’ the dryw snapped in the language of the Pecht.

  ‘My camp?’ Calgacus asked.

  ‘My presence may bring trouble your way,’ Britha told him.

  ‘Excellent!’ Calgacus said.

  ‘They will say I killed the arch dryw,’ Britha told them. Calgacus and Tangwen stopped dead in the snow. Britha kept on trudging towards the Cait teulu’s campfire.

  Britha told them her version of events on Ynys Dywyll as she gorged herself on the Cait’s food. The warriors had looked on, appa
lled by her story, and the dryw’s gluttony. They spat and made the sign against evil as her form filled out again in front of their eyes.

  They talked openly in front of the teulu because it was rude to talk in private and because among the southrons only Bladud, and those infused with the magics of the chalice, could speak the language of the Pecht.

  Tangwen couldn’t help it. There was some part of her that wondered if Britha had actually killed the arch dryw, or if perhaps this was a story. The ban draoi was certainly capable of killing Bladud, but everything she had told them, her actions, and the way she was behaving, suggested that she was being pursued.

  ‘It’s a sore thing to kill a dryw,’ Calgacus said, and not for the first time. ‘A sore thing indeed.’

  Tangwen could believe almost anything of Madawg and the Corpse People, but they had grown up in the same land that she had. You did not harm a dryw. It was the worst crime imaginable and only foreigners ever tried. When she had mentioned this Britha had pointed out that they had attacked her during the siege on the Crown of Andraste. Though, thinking back, Tangwen was more of the opinion that she had attacked them. ‘So Bladud will come back here and …’

  ‘Probably burn me,’ Britha said. ‘Any trial will have happened on the isle. I’m assuming that Moren is arch dryw, now.’ Britha all but spat the name of the young ambitious dryw.

  ‘So why come back?’ Calgacus asked.

  Britha closed her eyes. ‘The Lochla … Bress has something I need. I had … have another child, taken from me by the fair folk. Bress has the key to help me get her back.’

  Calgacus raised his eyebrows. ‘Eurneid used to scare the children, me included when I was younger, with stories of all the terrifying things that ride the night winds. It seems I had to travel south to find them all.’

  ‘Bladud will demand the chalice,’ Tangwen said.

  Germelqart, who had been listening, no expression on his features, his eyes catching the reflection of the flames, stood up. ‘It is time,’ he said to Tangwen.

  ‘Time for what?’ Britha asked.

  ‘To speak with a demon,’ Tangwen said.

  Calgacus’s eyes went wide. ‘Now this I have to see.’ He stood up and reached for his sword.

  ‘Surely this demon will just pull all our heads off and take the chalice?’ Calgacus asked. He sounded quite cheerful for someone climbing a steep hill in pitch darkness. Tangwen, Germelqart, Britha, and Selbach – who was following them a way back – might all be able to see clearly in the night, but Calgacus had no such gift. Tangwen was thankful for the clear night and the three-quarters moon.

  ‘For someone called Bitter Tongue you seem in love with the wonders of this world and the next,’ Tangwen said, smiling at the short, northern rhi’s enthusiasm.

  ‘These southern lands are exciting!’ Calgacus said. ‘And full of weaklings.’

  Tangwen heard the sound of an owl on the wing. She turned back to look at Selbach. The scout was pointing up at an escarpment that overlooked the valley. At first the figure standing on it reminded her of Kush. A tall, powerful man, with very dark skin, and the features of those from far to the south, but where Kush had been wiry, and slender, this man was heavy set, fleshy and running to fat. Nor had Kush had bands of brass embedded in the skin of his head. Most disturbing, however, was the smooth, thick metal that curved round where one of his eyes should be. The metal around his eye also seemed embedded in his flesh. As they approached the man turned to look at them, smiling. There was something in the brass around his eyes. The material was like crystal but clearer, like looking through clear, solid water without the obscuration of ice.

  Just back from the top of the hill were three riders and four horses. The magnificent horses seemed eerily still and silent. The riders were clearly watching Tangwen and the others, but they had no weapons in their hands. Calgacus waved at them. They ignored him.

  ‘This is no demon but surely a man who does not know when to stop with adornment,’ Calgacus opined loudly. Tangwen saw Britha grimace. Germelqart looked less than pleased.

  ‘I am a demon wearing the flesh of a man, bound into service by my lord Solomon,’ the man said. He spoke the Pecht tongue perfectly. His voice was deep and rich, his accent strange, and disappointingly not that similar to Kush’s.

  ‘Never heard of him,’ Calgacus said, making it clear in his tone that his lack of knowledge of the demon’s lord was a personal weakness on the part of this Solomon.

  ‘Indeed,’ the demon said. ‘He is well known enough in his land, and those surrounding them, but that is far from here. How many demons do you have bound to you, great king?’

  Calgacus narrowed his eyes. ‘Do you make sport with me, demon?’

  ‘A little.’ The demon’s smile made it clear all was a jest, but the smile did not quite make it to the one remaining good eye.

  ‘Where I come from we do not consort with the gods. Demons are lesser things, evil creatures from Cythrawl. Why would I bind them to me?’

  ‘Power,’ the demon said.

  Tangwen liked the raw honesty of the answer.

  ‘I am sure that this Solomon is a mighty lord,’ Britha started. ‘But we are being rude.’ She introduced Calgacus, Tangwen, herself and finally Germelqart in order of their stations. She sounded as if the formality and politeness were proving a strain.

  ‘And the other one?’ the demon asked, looking down into the darkness.

  ‘His name is Selbach the Timid. He is one of my scouts,’ Calgacus told him. ‘And we have still not heard your name.’ Tangwen heard Germelqart’s sharp intake of breath, answered by the demon’s low rumbling laugh.

  ‘Germelqart is known to me, though I have never met him,’ the demon started. The others turned to look at the Carthaginian but he stared straight ahead. ‘I am called Azmodeus, though my name is my own.’

  ‘A poor frightened thing who will not say his name,’ Calgacus muttered.

  ‘It is kept for me by my lord and master.’

  Calgacus turned to Britha. ‘Why am I, as a mormaer, conversing with a slave?’ he demanded. Tangwen was pretty sure it was for show. Trying to establish dominance. She saw Britha sigh. The smile had gone from Azmodeus’s face.

  ‘He is an honoured servant,’ Germelqart snapped. It was unusual to hear the Carthaginian angry.

  ‘Sounds like a sl—’ Calgacus started.

  ‘Enough!’ Britha snapped. Calgacus turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised. ‘I’m sorry, but we don’t have time for this.’ Then to Azmodeus: ‘Please tell us why you have come.’

  ‘May I examine it?’ Azmodeus asked.

  Germelqart took the chalice out of his bag and handed it to the demon. Tangwen’s hand was on her hatchet and dagger. Britha was moving towards the demon, and Calgacus had his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  ‘Peace, please,’ Azmodeus said. Tangwen glanced over at the riders; they hadn’t moved, hadn’t drawn weapons. She was wondering why she had agreed to the meeting. Though she wasn’t sure she had exactly. Germelqart just seemed dead set on this course of action.

  With the chalice in one hand, the demon closed his eye and took a deep breath. There was a silver glow from his brass-encased eye.

  ‘The small god in here is almost unbroken and whole of mind,’ he finally said, exhaling. He held the Red Chalice up. ‘So much power in here. It will drive all who know of it to madness.’

  ‘And you would spare us this?’ Tangwen asked. The demon turned to look at her.

  ‘That’s good of you,’ Calgacus said.

  ‘Tell me that you would not see yourself relieved of this burden and we will speak no more.’

  Tangwen slumped slightly. She did not like Azmodeus holding the chalice because she knew she might have to fight to get it back, because they needed it, but even the vessel being in someone else’s hands, however fleetingly, seemed like a weight lifted from their shoulders.

  ‘We have seen this before. My master is a mighty sorcerer; we understand and know
how to treat with the small gods.’

  ‘There is a great evil here,’ Britha said.

  ‘I know,’ Azmodeus said.

  ‘We need the chalice, but we need allies as well.’

  ‘We are not warriors, we are scholars,’ Azmodeus said. Calgacus opened his mouth to say something but Britha motioned him to be quiet. ‘However, if you would be prepared to give us this Red Chalice once you have finished your war, then we could perhaps come to an agreement as regards our aid.’

  ‘How can scholars aid us?’ Calgacus asked. The demon turned to look at him.

  ‘The magics they have at their command,’ Germelqart told the Cait mormaer.

  Calgacus looked unconvinced, though Tangwen was thankful for him keeping his peace. Tangwen had to admit it was an attractive offer. Effectively it would become someone else’s problem. She could see Britha considering the demon’s words. Britha turned to look at her, the question in her eyes.

  ‘And what of those already blessed by the chalice? And the weapons it makes?’ Tangwen said.

  ‘What is given can be taken away. Weapons rust away to nothing. Heroes blaze like fire, until the oil is burned away,’ Azmodeus told them. ‘The little god will give you much, you just need to be careful how you ask for it. They are very literal. It is like bargaining with the djinn.’

  Tangwen had no idea what a djinn was, but his words were making sense to her. She was beginning to think she saw a solution to some of their problems at least.

  ‘No,’ Tangwen said. ‘I thank you for your offer, and demon or not, I think it was honestly meant, but we cannot.’

  ‘You would have this power for yourself?’ Azmodeus asked. He sounded disappointed.

  ‘I would give anything to never have laid eyes on the accursed thing,’ she said.

  ‘Then we have a solution,’ Germelqart said.