‘You’re Bladud, aren’t you?’ she asked warily. She left out the rest of the name he was known by.
‘I am Bladud, called Witch King, and I was trained as a dryw. I ordered the sick burned.’
‘You intend to fight their sickness with iron when they come, yet you would burn the afflicted now? That makes no sense,’ Tangwen said. Her spear was still ready, as was Kush’s axe. She knew Bladud by reputation. All knew his name. Formerly a dryw, he had broken the ban on dryw taking part in battles. For his actions he had been censored on a number of occasions, and once even subject to the great disgrace that was a satire. When the last king of the Brigante died, Bladud claimed there was nobody other than himself fit to lead, and his people agreed. He was cast out of the dryw and told he was forever hidden from the sight of the gods. He had a fearsome reputation for conducting warfare with the aid of his magics.
‘You will all catch the sickness when they get close enough to you. Will you burn yourself on a pyre?’ Tangwen asked him.
Bladud pushed his hood down. He was quite old, by Tangwen’s reckoning, perhaps even as much as forty summers. His head was shorn of hair and a spiderweb of scar tissue covered the skin of his scalp.
‘If need be.’
‘Your weapons cannot harm them.’
‘How do we know she isn’t one of them?’ the man called Nerthach asked. ‘She walks and fights alongside a demon.’
‘He’s no demon,’ Bladud said, and turned to Kush. ‘Numibian?’
Kush narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ‘How did you know that?’
‘I travelled when I was younger and learned the secrets of many different places. Will you put up your weapons so we can talk?’
‘Or we can just kill them,’ Nerthach suggested.
‘Then how will we learn anything?’ Bladud asked. ‘We will still be able to kill them later, if we wish.’
‘The reason only one of your people lies dead is because Tangwen was merciful to them,’ Kush said in his deep baritone.
A rasping noise came from the one she had hit in the throat. Tangwen realised he was trying to speak.
‘That … I can attest to,’ the warrior finally managed. There was laughter from the other warriors, including Nerthach. Bladud smiled.
‘Our people are not to be harmed,’ Kush said.
‘The diseased ones are dead already,’ Bladud said. ‘It is a kindness.’
‘Mine to give, not yours,’ Tangwen said evenly.
Bladud regarded her carefully. She was aware of the bear-skulled warriors shifting slightly, ready to attack if the Witch King willed it.
‘They stay forward of the line,’ Bladud said.
‘We will pass when we wish it,’ Kush said. ‘You can clear as big a gap in your line for a group of tired, weary and sick people as your courage dictates.’
Tangwen glanced at him. The speed with which he was picking up the language was astonishing. Bladud turned another thoughtful look on the Numibian.
‘No agreement, but let’s talk first. We can always kill each other later.’
‘I have your word that nobody will be harmed whilst we talk?’ Tangwen asked.
‘Who are you?’ Bladud asked, sounding a little irritated now.
‘Tangwen of the Pobl Neidr.’
Bladud narrowed his eyes, the slightest smile curving the corner of his mouth. ‘How many summers have you seen?’
‘What does that matter? I am a warrior of my people.’
‘Answer me.’ Bladud did not sound angry, but his tone made it clear that he wouldn’t brook much more insolence.
‘I have seen nineteen summers,’ she said begrudgingly.
‘Then you are too young to remember. I have met your father. Do you understand me?’
Tangwen just stared at him. ‘I find that hard to believe.’
‘Nevertheless, it’s true, and I mislike being called a liar. Would you have me describe him?’ Bladud asked. Tangwen shook her head. Bladud turned to his men. ‘Sheathe your swords now,’ he told his warriors.
‘The demon?’ Nerthach asked.
‘If you are afraid of him, then keep your sword in your hand,’ Bladud told him. Nerthach thought about it for a moment, laughed at himself and sheathed his sword. Then he walked straight to Kush, his hand extended. Kush glanced at Tangwen, who relaxed. Kush lowered his axe and grasped Nerthach’s proffered arm
‘I am Kush,’ the dark-skinned man said, ‘and nothing is easy in this land.’
Nerthach started to laugh and slapped Kush on the shoulder, much to the other’s man’s irritation. ‘That at least is true. It is a sorry thing to kill the sick, but it must be done. When it comes time, then you and I will fight, agreed?’
Kush frowned, looking down at the thick-set, bearded man. ‘I would wish it otherwise. I think your people will be poorer for your loss, but so be it.’
‘I like you, demon,’ Nerthach told Kush.
‘Well, this is … pleasant,’ Bladud said. ‘In the meantime, Kush, Tangwen and their charges are under my protection. They are not to be harmed.’ Nerthach opened his mouth to ask a question. ‘Not even the sick.’ Nerthach nodded. Bladud turned to Tangwen. He reached out to touch her burned face. Tangwen wanted to flinch away from him but didn’t.
‘This still hurts.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘I have a salve which will help. I think there is much we need to speak of, but what I need to know first is how far behind you are they?’
‘No more than half a day,’ Tangwen told him.
‘Give them food and water, but keep away from them,’ Bladud told Nerthach, nodding towards the survivors. He then gestured for Tangwen and Kush to follow him. Germelqart hesitated for a moment and then joined them as well.
The camp was further up the slope, set back amongst the trees, and was busy with all the various retinues that accompanied travelling warriors. Food was being prepared, weapons honed and maintained, horses shod. Bladud exchanged words with most he passed as he led Kush, Germelqart and Tangwen to a shelter made from branches and the surrounding undergrowth. Inside was a cluttered mess, many of the things Tangwen recognised as the tools and accoutrements of the dryw. Bladud rummaged around until he found a small clay pot sealed with wax.
‘It would be better if I did this, but if you would prefer to do it yourself …’
Tangwen regarded him for a moment. She was not sure what to make of him. The one thing she did know was that he was powerful, and powerful people tended to be ruthless because they had to be. His outcast status should have made him a pariah, but that was clearly not the case if he commanded two hundred warriors from different tribes.
‘Where were you when the black curraghs came?’ she blurted out angrily.
Bladud went very still. ‘I was in the west on Ynys Dywyll with my warriors. I was petitioning for the ban on me to be removed.’ There was something in his voice – shame, she thought. ‘If I had …’ he started. ‘There is no excuse. I failed my people.’ He would not meet her eyes. Instead he broke the wax seal on the pot and started to smear some of the salve within across the acid scar on Tangwen’s face. For the first time since she received the wound the burning lessened, became tolerable. She felt like weeping with relief, but knew that this was not the time to show weakness. When he had finished dressing the wound, Bladud left the shelter. He returned with bread and horns filled with ale. Kush, Tangwen and even Germelqart all but snatched them out of his hands.
‘There will be meat to follow. I have sent the same to your people,’ he told them. They thanked him through mouths full of bread and ale. Bowls of stew did indeed follow, which they attacked with equal gusto.
‘Tell me what happened, as much as you are willing,’ Bladud said after furnishing them with a second horn of ale.
Kush remained mostly quiet and Germelqart was entirely silent while Tangwen told Bladud th
e story. She kept certain details to herself, but recounted broadly what had happened. Britha, Fachtna and Teardrop coming to her village. Tangwen guiding them to the Crown of Andraste. The wicker man, Andraste’s awakening, the Isle of Madness, Andraste’s spawn and what they were doing to the land.
‘They change everything they touch, warp it, twist it. They are horrors of the Otherworld, born of a goddess, perverted by the Dark Man, and weapons cannot harm them.’
Bladud was regarding her thoughtfully. He had asked few questions throughout her story, content simply to listen.
‘Your warriors will all die,’ Kush told him quietly.
‘And yet you fought one and lived,’ Bladud said.
‘A small one, and it killed two of our number almost before we could move against it,’ Tangwen told him.
‘But if no weapons can harm it?’ Bladud said. Tangwen and Kush said nothing, but Kush couldn’t help glancing towards where his axe lay. Bladud followed his glance. Kush turned back to find the Witch King looking at him, one eyebrow raised.
‘Your axe has been blessed with the blood of the gods,’ Bladud said. It was not a question. Kush did not reply. ‘Tell me, Kush, have you ever heard of the Brass City?’
The Numibian did everything he could to try and mask his reaction, but Tangwen could tell he knew the name. Germelqart was fixedly staring down, avoiding looking at either Bladud or Kush.
‘Even in this land you would do well not to speak those words again,’ Kush said. Tangwen did not think he meant it as a threat. She thought he was frightened.
‘The blood of the gods flows in some of our veins,’ Bladud said. ‘It is weakened, yes, but it drives us to do great things.’
‘In this you will die,’ Kush assured him.
‘My Father …’ Tangwen began. This time Bladud looked to her with interest. ‘He sang the mindsong to me in my sleep. He said that even the blood magics would not be enough to fight them.’
Kush was staring at her, his expression unreadable.
Bladud’s expression became grim. ‘In my youth I searched out every wonder I could—’
‘I think you searched too far,’ Kush muttered.
‘Perhaps, but if any would know, it would be Tangwen’s father. What did he counsel on this matter?’
‘To flee to Gaul, or further,’ Tangwen said. ‘That Ynys Prydain is lost.’
‘Bitter news indeed,’ he said, looking down. ‘But I have to see this, judge for myself. I have to know what we are facing.’
‘Nothing will be served by all these warriors dying here,’ Tangwen said.
‘Agreed. Did your father offer no hope at all?’ Bladud asked. Tangwen opened her mouth to say no, but hesitated. ‘Tell me,’ he said quietly.
‘There are magics strong enough to fight the spawn.’
‘Where?’
‘The Lochlannach. The raiders in the black curraghs.’
Bladud thought on her words. ‘We have no choice. We must have their power,’ the Witch King said.
‘You do not know what you are saying,’ Kush said harshly. ‘Those they do not kill become nothing more than steeds to be ridden by demons.’
Bladud reached down and tore a handful of earth from the ground. ‘Then what?’ he asked the Numibian quietly. He held the handful of dirt out to him. ‘Let them defile and murder our Mother? Then what are we?’
‘If it was a matter of simple death I would say go with your gods, but you will accomplish the opposite of what you intend,’ Kush told the Witch King.
‘Such is the folly of most people.’
Kush shook his head but smiled.
‘Can our people pass?’ Tangwen asked.
‘Will you let me speak with them first?’ Bladud asked.
The three pyres illuminated the dark wood with a hot, flickering, orange light. Bladud stood in front of the central pyre, its light throwing him into shadow. It was Essyllt’s pyre.
Tangwen had watched him as he spoke to Essyllt, and to the other two survivors showing signs of the sickness. He spoke to them in low tones, frank and earnest. The voice of persuasion. Tangwen had watched tears roll down their cheeks, but it was to their and Bladud’s credit that they had not broken down. The same could not be said for the two Brigante who had carried Essyllt’s litter. Tangwen had finally learned their names: Duach and Sel. Both had been landsmen and were, in fact, subjects of the Witch King. Duach stood watching the pyre, sobbing openly and loudly. Sel was on his knees, head buried in his hands, also weeping. Bladud had talked the sick into allowing themselves to be sacrificed. He had lit the flames himself and given them to Nodens, who was the sun and the moon. In return he asked for wisdom and protection from sickness. This drew cries of anger from the warriors gathered around the pyres. They wanted the sacrifices to be given to the Red God, blood-stained Cocidius.
Tangwen watched Nerthach help Sel to his feet. ‘This is not right. You must be as strong as they were,’ he told his fellow Brigante, not unkindly.
Tangwen felt a hand on her shoulder. ‘It was their decision,’ Kush told her quietly. She nodded. She hadn’t even realised she was crying. Anharad, Twrch and the silent Mabon had come to stand with them, watching the flames. All the survivors had been treated well and given food. Bladud had even gone so far as to find armour, a hatchet, and bow and arrows for Tangwen. They were gifts of great generosity, worthy of a great king. He had offered her a knife, but she decided to keep the one she carried with her on the Isle of Madness. She had worked hard to scour the rust from the blade and hone the edge on whetstone. Nerthach had even managed to find a suit of boiled leather armour that fitted Kush’s, tall, deceptively thin frame. The bear-skull-wearing warrior appeared to like the Numibian, though Tangwen suspected Nerthach was just hoping to keep Kush alive long enough so the pair of them could fight.
Bladud held up his hands and called for quiet. ‘We go north,’ he said simply. There were cries of outrage from the assembled warriors. Bladud lowered his hands and let them get it out of their system.
‘Why?’ demanded a large warrior with an impressive moustache but no beard.
‘Because they will be on us this night. Tell me what happens when this many horse fight in woods in the dark.’
‘It’s never been done before,’ the warrior answered. Tangwen rolled her eyes.
‘Pretend you’re not a lackwit,’ Nerthach suggested. The moustachioed warrior bristled.
‘This is taking too long,’ Kush muttered. Tangwen had been thinking the same thing. The spawn of Andraste were not that far behind them.
‘There would be chaos. We would be about our enemy’s business,’ Bladud told the assembled warriors.
‘So we run like cowards!’ another warrior demanded.
‘Mind your tongue,’ Nerthach told him.
‘Do all Pretani warriors think with their cocks?’ Kush asked Tangwen.
‘Only the male ones,’ she muttered.
‘Know that if you fight, you fight against the wisdom of the gods, and against my advice,’ Bladud told them.
‘You brought us here!’ Another warrior, this one a heavy-set woman covered with scars and missing lumps of hair and scalp.
‘Things are not as I believed,’ Bladud replied. ‘We will have our war, but it will not be this night. Stay if you will, but if you wish victory then we head north. Those of you who do decide to stay, I have a use for you, but know that every last one of you will die – or worse.’
Tangwen recognised the voice. She had heard dryw use it before. It was the voice of absolute truth. When something was so important that all had to believe it without question.
There was muttering among the warriors. Tangwen was trying to look beyond the pyres, cursing the flames for ruining her night-sight, expecting the forest to come to life at any moment. She tensed when she saw movement and felt Kush do the same. She was reac
hing for her knife and hatchet when the figures walked through the flames.
All of them wore lightweight leather armour that provided a degree of protection, but more importantly allowed them to move quickly and freely. All of them carried light, short weapons – hand axes, short swords, daggers, cudgels – and each of them had a bow. All of them wore wicker masks and the furs of the lynx, like the scout they had seen earlier in the day. And all of them were female.
One of them, the first to appear between the flames, went to speak to Bladud. He leaned down and they conversed in whispers. It was clear that the presence of the lynx-headed scouts made a lot of the warriors nervous.
‘Who are they?’ Kush whispered. Tangwen shook her head. She had never heard of them before.
‘We have little time,’ Bladud said, straightening up. ‘Those of you who are truly prepared to die, step forward. The rest of you, go now!’
Tangwen watched as a number of the older warriors stepped forwards. Nobody tried to talk them out of it, but there were tears in the eyes of some of their comrades as they said their goodbyes, grasped arms and hugged. The older warriors gathered around Bladud. Tangwen moved to join them, but Kush grabbed her.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Take Germelqart and the others, follow this warband north. I will not be far behind you.’
‘This is madness!’ Kush hissed.
Tangwen turned to look up at the tall, dark-skinned warrior. ‘I will not sell my life freely, but please, I am a hunter. They will not even see me, and I will catch up with you soon. I promise.’
Kush looked decidedly unconvinced and opened his mouth as if he was about to argue further, but Tangwen reached up and squeezed his arm.
‘All on this island are mad,’ he said, before turning away and stalking back up the hill.
Tangwen moved over to Bladud. He had just finished explaining his plan to the greybeard warriors. Most had grim expressions on their faces. One or two were smiling.
‘Why does this one carry my old bow?’ demanded the tall, powerfully built woman with the lynx mask. Braided long brown hair ran down from beneath her mask. In the flames her eyes looked quite dark.
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