The sensor feed from her P-sat was telling her where to put her feet so she didn’t slip over on corpses. Her neunonics were receiving warning signs from her armour as she backed down the corridor. Her armour was being slowly eaten. Benedict/Scab had weaponised the nano-screens, turning them into nano-swarms.
The Monk was aware of the battery in her carbine running down, and the solid-state magazine in the EM auto-shotgun being eaten. Suddenly the strobe gun stopped firing. There was nobody moving behind them. Vic had stopped firing as well and Scab was just delivering coups de grace. They had killed everyone in the corridor but there were a lot more corridors between here and C&C, and the nano-swarm was eating their weapons and P-sats as well as their armour.
25
Ancient Britain
‘Well, that’s not for the faint hearted,’ Anharad said, and sat back on her fur-lined chair. She looked as though even listening to Tangwen’s plan had exhausted her. ‘And you’re sure about the giants and the lake?’ she asked.
Tangwen, standing in front of her, nodded. She had asked for an audience with the Trinovantes noblewoman who was now the frenhines, or queen, of the Brigante. Britha knew that the young hunter had tried to keep the meeting to a minimum of people, those she knew and trusted. Britha wasn’t sure if she was one of those or not; certainly Anharad wasn’t happy to see her standing in the corner of the skin shelter. Germelqart was also trying to remain unnoticed next to her. Britha noticed that the Carthaginian’s hand kept on creeping into the leather bag that contained the Red Chalice. Calgacus was there as well. Britha was translating in whispers for the Pecht mormaer. Garim, nominally in charge of the Brigante cateran, and Clust, the Trinovantes warleader, were both present too. Mabon stood at his grandmother’s shoulder, hand on his sword.
Britha was worried because she had not yet seen Caithna and she needed to, to make sure the girl was well and would be looked after when Bladud came back and did whatever he was going to do. Tangwen had urged her to run and Calgacus had said that the Cait there present would stand by her, but she could feel how fragile Bladud’s whole warband was. The cold had taken its toll with its bite, illness had done the same. Their supplies were holding up but the gathered warband were not happy. Divided along tribal lines with quick tempered and proud warriors, conflict was inevitable. Barely a day went by without another challenge fought and more often than not a body was left in the snow to feed the winter ravens. She did not wish to add to that strife but she could not run. To run took her further from Bress, which took her further from the rod, the Ubh Blaosc, and her daughter. She touched her belly. You risk one child who is in you now for the vague hope of another.
‘The animals will not do what you ask of them,’ Anharad said.
‘We have a way, and we have those moonstruck enough to drive them,’ Tangwen said, and grinned at Calgacus. Britha translated.
‘She wants me,’ the Pecht mormaer said wistfully.
‘She’d break you, little man,’ Britha told him, smiling herself.
‘You have already started preparation, haven’t you? It’s why the Pecht left with Twrch,’ Anharad asked, looking less than pleased. Tangwen pointed in the rough direction of the cave entrance to the Underworld.
‘He doesn’t care about us,’ Tangwen said. ‘He will leave us here to freeze, to rot, to let our supplies run out, to tear each other apart, because he doesn’t care.’
‘And what of his supplies?’ Garim asked, a frown on his face.
‘He is a lord of the land you call Annwn and was born in Cythrawl,’ Britha said, using the gravelly voice of fear she had been taught in the groves. She looked over at the Brigante warrior. ‘He does not eat what the likes of you and I eat. Would you know more of this?’
Garim spat and made the sign against evil. Anharad rolled her eyes at the spitting.
‘What is he doing, then?’ Anharad asked.
‘Great works of magics,’ Britha told the older woman, only half believing what she was saying. ‘I think he means to make war on the Otherworld.’
‘What business is that of ours?’ Anharad asked. Britha could tell that the Trinovantes woman found what she was saying distasteful. Mabon’s knuckles were white around the hilt of his sword. ‘If he has no interest in us—’ Anharad started.
‘They sent a warrior and a great sorcerer to help us,’ Britha said, through gritted teeth. ‘You owe your life and freedom to them, because Crom Dhubh has come close to wiping us out twice now, and for the dead, for vengeance …’ She left it unsaid that the dead numbered Anharad’s family.
Anharad looked suitably chagrined, though as frenhines she was right to look at all possibilities.
‘Aye, you’re right enough,’ the Trinovantes noblewoman said.
‘All we ask is to be in a position to act when Bladud returns, before we all freeze into one solid block of ice,’ Tangwen said.
Anharad looked over at Britha and then back to Tangwen. ‘And you’re sure they don’t know of your presence down there?’
‘Yes, because neither Selbach nor myself were killed. The magics of the chalice hid us.’
‘Very well. What will you do now?’
‘We go to speak with Gofannon, the god in the Red Chalice.’
Britha frowned. It was similar to the name she had been told, Goibhniu, and very different to the name Germelqart knew the small god by. She remembered the twisted, red-haired dwarf she had seen the Carthaginian speaking to on the stairs the first time they had entered the chalice. She remembered the echoes of her movements.
‘Why was not I informed of this meeting?’ Ysgawyn demanded as he pushed his way into the shelter. Mabon and Clust both looked ready to draw their swords.
‘Because you are a low person who nobody trusts,’ Tangwen told him.
Britha was aware of Anharad sagging in her chair at the young hunter’s words. Tangwen pushed past Ysgawyn. Calgacus very purposefully put his hand on Ysgawyn’s chest and pushed him out of the way of the shelter’s entrance. Ysgawyn was shaking with anger.
‘You’re not going to piss yourself again, are you?’ Britha asked. She knew she shouldn’t. She knew the more they humiliated him the more he would want revenge against them, though she suspected that was a foregone conclusion. Germelqart followed her out into the snow, one hand still in the bag with the chalice.
The Cait warriors hadn’t liked the idea of such magics being done among them, but they had agreed to guard Germelqart, Tangwen and Britha while they visited Goibhniu. Britha remembered dripping her blood into the chalice and then falling back. She couldn’t even remember her head reaching the snow.
It was not like the last time. In the realm inside the chalice the sun shone in a clear blue sky, warming her skin. She was on a ship, not the skin curraghs of her people, more like one of the handsomely carved wooden galleys of Germelqart’s people. Unusually there was a forge underneath a raised platform at the rear of the galley. The forge would not have looked out of place back in Ardestie, though it was more elaborate, and had finer tools than those that had belonged to Brude, the Cirig’s metal worker. Britha didn’t recognise all of the tools, though she had little knowledge of the male creation magics.
The galley’s oars rowed themselves. They were attached to some strange mechanism of red metal, but it was the sea that gave her pause. It was a sea of red liquid metal and there was no land in sight.
She could see Tangwen. She was up the stairs on the platform over the forge talking to something that looked like her serpent Father but who wore robes of burnished red copper. Its eyes were the vertical slits of an adder but held the colour of red gold.
Germelqart and the dwarf were nowhere to be seen. That made sense, for the Carthaginian’s business with the god in the chalice was not of the type to be conducted under the bright sun.
‘You are welcome on the Will of Ninegal,’ Goibhniu told her. She closed her eyes, steeled herself and turned to face him. He was as Bress, except for the metallic red eyes and the hair of r
ed gold. It felt like physical pain, a tightening in her chest, even though she was pretty sure that she was only here in spirit. She touched her stomach unconsciously. There was only one moonstruck moment when she thought of lying with the god.
‘Ninegal?’ Britha managed, completely forgetting the correct manners for addressing those of the Otherworld. Goibhniu smiled. Britha lifted her hand to her face and waved it around.
‘My movements do not stay in the air any more, nor do yours,’ she said. When she had first entered the chalice both she and Goibhniu had left echoes of themselves every time they had moved.
‘It was pointed out to me that it was distracting for humans.’
Has Germelqart been coming here often? she wondered. She glanced over at Tangwen. She wasn’t sure but she suspected that the younger woman had tears running down her cheeks.
‘There are three of you here. You wish three boons?’ he asked. Britha needed to focus but she could not stop staring at what seemed to be Bress’s form.
‘You wish to lie with me?’ Goibhniu sounded half puzzled and half amused.
‘What? No!’ she snapped, flustered. ‘And god or no god, I do not brook insolence.’ Goibhniu’s expression became neutral again. ‘Look … I’m sorry.’
‘Your child is well.’ It was not a question. Britha was struggling with the conversation, particularly as someone who was used to being in control. She wasn’t sure if the god was wishing her well or simply stating a fact. She would have found it comforting, if he didn’t keep wrong-footing her so.
‘May we bargain?’ she asked almost angrily.
‘Why?’ Goibhniu asked, confused.
‘Because everything should have a cost or it will not be valued.’
The god thought on this. ‘Tell me what you want,’ he finally said.
‘Weapons, or rather your power in our weapons, and changes made to them.’
‘I have done this before, but it was a long time ago.’
Britha frowned. ‘It was barely one moon ago,’ she told him.
He turned to look down on her, concern on his face. ‘What of the weapons you had of me?’
‘We still have them but they are fierce, they drive warriors to madness.’
‘To frenzy, blood madness, yes. They are weapons, should they not do this? The weapon and the wielder are the same, both are needed to kill.’
‘But they are uncontrollable. They have the potential to cause more harm than good. They need to be less fierce, more controllable.’
‘You cannot have the sword without the thirst, the need to see blood and bone. They are my fierce war-children.’
‘They overwhelm us.’ It was frustrating, as though he could not conceive of an inert, cold, and quiet weapon.
‘You must be stronger. I can make swords and spears and arrows but they will be about their business. They cannot search out the hearts of your enemies, and inflict poisons on them that will war with their bodies, if there is no thirsting war-child holding the weapon itself. What you ask makes no sense, but my children respect strength. Show them strength.’
It seemed that Goibhniu did not wish to refuse her. He simply could not do what she asked.
‘We need arrowheads, many of them,’ she told him. He nodded. ‘Sword blades, the less fierce the better.’ He frowned and nodded. ‘And spears. With long blades.’ She wasn’t quite sure how to explain this because she wasn’t sure she had understood Tangwen properly herself. ‘We fight giants …’ she began.
‘We ask a lot,’ she finally said some time later, after explaining all the things they wanted of the god in the chalice.
‘Not too much,’ Goibhniu said. ‘Though I will need to remain on the ground throughout.’
‘Will you drink of the earth like before?’ she asked out of curiosity, but he shook his head.
‘That was a great undertaking. No, I will grow roots into the earth like a tree and take what I need.’
Britha wasn’t sure she liked the sound of this, but she nodded. ‘Your price?’ she asked.
Goibhniu regarded her carefully. The silence became uncomfortable.
‘I am as you see me,’ he said quietly. She closed her eyes as he reached out and ran the back of his hand down the side of her face. He felt warm. He smelled, not unpleasantly, of copper. He was nothing at all like Bress. She opened her eyes, looked up at him. The warm, metallic wind had caught her hair. He looked down. ‘Is that enough of a cost?’ He turned to walk away from her leaving her confused as to what, if anything, the cost had been.
‘Wait,’ she called after him. ‘There is one more thing about the weapons …’
Somehow the cold felt comfortable. She could lie here for a while with her eyes closed.
‘Hello, Britha.’
She opened her eyes. They all seemed to be standing around her. A grim-faced Calgacus, an uncomfortable-looking Garim, Clust equally as uncomfortable, Anharad furious, Guidgen worried, Madawg and Ysgawyn grinning. She couldn’t read Bladud’s expression. It had been the Witch King who had spoken. He was still wearing his black robe, though he had his armour underneath it. He and Garim reached down for her and yanked her to her feet.
‘Careful! She is with child!’ Anharad snapped, despite herself Britha suspected. Mabon was a little way behind his grandmother. Garim and Bladud had a hold of her by her wrists and shoulders. She was not used to being manhandled like this. She wanted to order them to leave her be. She could have shaken them off. After all, they hadn’t drunk from the chalice. She could kill them. Calgacus and his warriors would back her.
And you would be about Crom Dhubh’s business once again.
‘Did you order Madawg to kill Nils?’ Britha asked Bladud. Staring at him. Trying to discern the truth in his eyes.
Madawg was playing the insulted victim. Ysgawyn was already turning her words, warning those listening that she was spinning magics with her tongue, trying to trick them. Guidgen was arguing. It was all noise. She shut it out. She wanted to know if Bladud had done this. He held her eyes. Then he looked down.
‘You know I didn’t do this, don’t you?’ she said.
‘C’mon,’ he said brusquely, and started dragging her towards the skin shelter that Anharad had received them in earlier in the day. The Brigante and Trinovantes warriors were trying to push through members of the Cait’s cateran to get to Germelqart and Tangwen. Germelqart had been picked up by two of Calgacus’s warriors. The Carthaginian still looked asleep. Tangwen was groggily climbing to her feet. She had the Red Chalice in her left hand. One of the bear skull- and fur-wearing Brigante made a grab for it. Tangwen snatched it away from him and then hit him across the bridge of the nose with the vessel. The man stumbled back and then sat down hard.
‘What treachery is this?’ Tangwen demanded, her hatchet in her right hand now. There was the unmistakable sound of a blade being drawn from a scabbard.
‘Stop!’ Calgacus shouted, in a rough approximation of the southern tongue. There was sufficient command in his voice that even Bladud gave pause. The Cait cateran stepped back as one and drew weapons.
‘Translate for me,’ Calgacus all but snapped at Britha.
‘Cal …’ she started.
‘Now!’ This time he had snapped. Britha was more than a little taken aback. He turned to look at Bladud. ‘You have come into my encampment, you have sought to take my guests, you have laid hands on a dryw!’ This last he almost screamed. ‘Are you declaring war?’ he demanded. Britha translated. Calgacus pointed at the amassed Brigante and Trinovantes. ‘Have you grown tired of these? Do you wish to see what they look like on the inside? Do you wish to see them as food for the wolves and the ravens?’
One of the Brigante, a large but fat warrior, looked contemptuously at Calgacus and spat. One of the Cait broke his nose with the pommel of his sword. Then Britha knew that it was over. Now they would fight each other.
‘Stop!’ Calgacus shouted. He pointed at the warrior who had struck the blow. ‘You kill them when I tell you t
o. You will be punished by me and you will pay compensation to that man.’ Britha was still translating for him. Bladud’s face was a mask of stone as Calgacus turned back to face him. ‘Are we at war?’ the Pecht asked.
It was only then that Britha realised that Calgacus, who had always seemed belligerent and warlike to her, was a lot cannier than he seemed. The last thing the Cait mormaer wanted was war with Bladud, now anyway, but this violation of his hospitality could not be allowed to stand. He had no choice but to retaliate. Laying hands on a dryw while she was under his hospitality was a grave insult. It was effectively an attack on the Cait.
‘You are in my camp …’ Bladud started. Britha translated.
‘No!’ Calgacus cried. ‘No more words. I asked you a question. If this is war then do not come slithering in here on your belly like one of them.’ He gestured at the Corpse People present.
‘Watch your tongue, northerner,’ Madawg spat. Calgacus didn’t even look at him and Britha didn’t bother to translate.
‘Draw a sword and go to work, if that is your wish!’ Calgacus told the Witch King. Britha could feel Bladud gripping her arm tighter and tighter, he was shaking with anger. Calgacus was playing a dangerous game here. It had all gone very quiet. Not even Guidgen seemed prepared to say anything in case he pushed Bladud too far.
‘I …’ Bladud swallowed hard. ‘… Apologise.’ he managed, speaking in the Pecht tongue, Britha now translating for the southrons present. He still hadn’t let go of her arm, neither had Garim.
Calgacus nodded. ‘Would you like to discuss whatever troubles you?’ he asked. Britha was aware of members of some of the other tribes present drifting in to hear what was happening. She saw Guidgen nod at one of the gwyllion who then turned and disappeared back into the crowd.
‘This woman …’ Bladud started.
‘You will have to unhand the dryw. We can’t have that,’ Calgacus said evenly.
‘You go too far, northerner,’ Bladud said. His voice was almost a whisper but it carried in the cold air.
The Beauty of Destruction Page 37