by CF WELBURN
On the road below was a straw filled cart. It was so lucky Oben felt that Ishral herself must have pushed it there. But it was a ways down; there was a good chance he would miss.
The two Tanda crept across the roof. He stepped up onto the ledge.
“Don’t be a fool!” Red-Cheeks snapped.
“You’ll break your head!” Bloody-Ear said, reaching out.
“I’m the fucking Conduit!” was all Oben could think to shout. He felt a bit silly afterwards. Then he turned, and leapt.
The straw absorbed most of the impact, but the cart buckled and a wheel sprung off. He rolled over the straw and out the back into the path of a rampaging giant. The beast had a man in each hand and was grinding their heads together. One wore Gulmorgon’s red and black, and the other Kai’s dark grey. Perhaps, the giants couldn't tell the difference, or maybe they no longer gave a shit.
The giant spotted him, threw the two headless soldiers down and thrust a hand at him. Oben rushed towards it, dodging just before the massive fingers closed, sprinting between its legs. It roared and turned for him, but he didn't look back. He darted down a narrow alley between two crumbling buildings, and the giant's pounding footsteps slowed behind him as it squeezed its shoulders between the creaking, cracking eaves.
Oben had to get to the horn. Griz had told him it was on the roof of Gulmorgon’s lodge, but rubble, fires, giants, corpses and bloody skirmishes lay in his path.
He saw Grinchell, and ran towards him. Oben had never thought he would be so pleased to see the big Kazra. Tre stood nearby. They were both breathing hard and covered in blood.
“Where’ve you been?” Grinchell growled.
“Busy.”
“They need you at the—”
“Behind you!” Tre shouted, cutting Grinchell off. Grinchell spun and sank his axe into a screaming Tanda’s chest. He turned back to Oben, wiping the blood from his eyes. “Go!” he roared, pointing with his axe. Oben staggered back, nodding. He turned and ran.
In the smoky distance he could make out the lodge surrounded by Kai’s men. He unslung Mascal’s axe. He crept up behind a wounded Tanda grasping a gash on his forearm and chopped his axe down between the man’s shoulder blades. He fell with a grunt and was dead. Oben looked at the blood dripping from the axe, shook himself, then began to run. Another tall Tanda wheeled at his approach. Oben chopped his axe into the man’s chest with a wet thud. The man sagged, almost snatching the axe from Oben’s grip. Oben planted a foot on the Tanda’s shoulder and yanked it free.
Another of Kai’s men had seen him. It was Ifor.
“You get about well for a man with nine-toes.”
Oben straightened and tightened his grip on the axe. Oben swung, but Ifor stepped easily out of reach and held up his weapon.
“Look, I don’t want to kill you. But if I have to chop an arm off to get you to come, then—”
“Bastard!” Oben shouted, swinging his axe again.
Ifor’s smile faded as he hastily stepped further back.
“Look, you fucking stupid rabbit—”
Oben swung again. Ifor dodged back, stumbled over the body of a fallen clansman. With a roar, Oben chopped him through the thigh. Ifor paled and grimaced. Oben gaped at the gout of blood, then he turned and ran for the lodge.
“Come back and finish the fucking job!” Ifor screamed after him, but Oben did not turn.
He ran up to the lodge and hammered on the door.
“It’s me! Oben!” he yelled and the door flung open.
“The ladder!” Gadziel shouted. “The horn is on the roof!”
Oben scrambled up a ladder and stepped out onto the snowy roof. Several wounded men were sitting against the wall near to the door, blood soaking into the snow around them. At least one of them was dead. Gadziel had followed him up and was passing them water as if that would help. A line of Gulmorgon’s archers stood at the far edge of the roof, firing arrows down into what must have been the city’s main square. One of them took an arrow in the leg, screamed and fell behind the others. Gadziel turned and shouted at Oben.
“The horn, Conduit!” and pointed. It was near the centre of the roof, partially hidden by a chimney. He ran to it, skidded to a stop, grabbed the mouthpiece and blew.
Nothing. He tried again, barely a rasp of air came out the other end. Maybe they had been wrong. He ran around and peered inside. A chunk of rock was lodged in the funnel. He reached in, grabbed it and tossed it aside. Then scrambled back to the mouthpiece and blew.
He had hoped the Giant’s Bane would turn the giants to stone or bowl them back with some great outward blast of air. Instead, they roared and clasped their hands over their ears. Some dropped to their knees; other wailed and ran. The giants were merely distracted. Three of them looked up to the rooftop, and both the Ixna and the Tanda attacked them with spears and axes. One giant fell to his knees. Gulmorgon and Kai’s men leapt on him. By the time the giant lay still, every man was drenched in blood. They caught their breaths, then turned on each other.
A giant lumbered towards the lodge, swung a filthy hand up at the roof, knocking three of the archers screaming from the edge.
The dirty nails, thick as dinner plates clawed blindly at the rooftop, seeking Oben and the horn.
“Quick! Get inside!” Gadziel cried, holding open the door as the wounded men crawled past him. Oben waited for the giant’s hand to recede then bolted for the door, but the creature hammered on the lodge. The whole building shook, and part of the edge crumbled away until Oben could see the giant’s angry eyes peering up.
“Shit,” he heard Gadziel say, before he ducked through the door and slammed it, behind him. The giant, seeing Oben began to thump the building with greater vigour so that cracks appeared in the wood, and it began to creak. Oben staggered, and watched in dismay as Gillad’s horn, toppled into a crack and was lost. A muffled cry rose up from below as the ceiling started caving in on those who had fled. Smoke billowed up as the debris hit the long firepit and caught ablaze.
Oben raised Mascal’s axe and leapt off the roof, drove the axe down into the thick skin between the giant’s neck and shoulder and hung there clutching the axe handle for a moment as the beast howled and thrashed. Hot blood gushed down the axe’s haft over his hands and his grip slipped. He fell, bounced off the giant’s knee and landed with a crunch, unarmed and sprawled next to the beast's enormous foot. The giant staggered, pulled the axe out, threw it down, and clasped a hand over the gaping wound. Blood bubbled between its huge fingers. Oben realised he had hit something vital. The giant was bleeding hard. Oben clambered for his axe then scurried to a doorway on the other side of the square. The giant moaned, stumbled into the broken side of the lodge and collapsed in a shower of sparks and splinters.
Several Ixna crouched in another doorway saw the giant fall. They gaped in disbelief. Oben was glad someone had seen it. Later, he might not have believed it himself if there had been no witnesses. The boy who had once refused to kill a wounded horse, turned giant slayer! No one had to know it was pure luck. No one had to know he had probably shit himself.
His hands were still shaking as he limped down the corpse-strewn road looking for somewhere safer to lie low.
* * *
In the white, rubble-strewn yard behind what remained of the lodge, he came upon Gulmorgon and Kai fighting. Like many others in the yard, he stopped what he was doing to watch.
Gulmorgon seemed more than a match for the taller, more muscular Kai, and if anything was quicker and more agile. But as the blows and blocks stacked, Gulmorgon’s reactions came slower, and her feet dragged. Her blond hair was wild, her face smeared with ash and blood. She rained down blow after blow with her two-handed axe. Kai took it well, his jaw tight. Unlike Gulmorgon’s heavy war-axe he had two shorter axes. He deftly turned aside each strike. It was fascinating to watch. Gulmorgon constantly changed her approach, thrusting one moment, then swinging side to side the next. Kai responded quickly, almost calmly.
Alth
ough the Tanda chief seemed to be relishing the fight, he could not keep his defence up indefinitely. He began to step back. He whirled so that his feather cloak spread out like swan wings, his twin axes, flashing, ringing down on Gulmorgon’s heavier blade. Gulmorgon lost her footing, and Kai slashed a deep groove in her leather shoulder pad, nicking her ear. Blood seeped into her tangled hair.
In a way, Oben could not believe his luck. He’d come north to kill these two, and now here they were, intent on finishing each other. If they succeeded, there would only be Grinchell left to deal with. And even he might be dead already.
Gulmorgon swung at Kai’s neck, but the Tanda stepped nimbly back and winked.
“Die Tanda!” she snarled, sweeping her axe low at his knees.
Kai jumped up and it narrowly missed him. His smile remained, but his smugness was gone. He pushed Gulmorgon back. The crowd behind her scrambled out the way, and he forced her back against the burning lodge, beating her down to one knee.
Oben hated what Gulmorgon had put him through, and for what she expected of him, but Kai was a mad bastard.
“Oi! Kai!” Oben shouted, stepping out. “It’s me you want.” Kai turned, an incredulous look on his face.
“Conduit,” he said, sneering. “Oh yes, more than you know. Seize him!” he shouted and turned back to finish Gulmorgon, but she stood before him now. Kai looked down at the dagger buried in his side, just below his heart. His axes clattered to the ground.
He glanced at Oben, then back at Gulmorgon. A string of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t waste this, Ixna,” he gasped, sagging to his knees. “Make them pay. Make them… all… pay.”
He fell facedown and for a moment no-one moved. The entire world seemed short of breath. Then the lodge collapsed sending a funnel of spiralling cinders and ash into air.
Gulmorgon beckoned Oben to her side and began barking orders.
“Seize all Tanda. Slay those who resist, imprison those who don’t.”
Very few resisted. The fight had gone out of them.
19
JUSTICE UNLOOKED FOR
It took three months to rebuild Threlwich after the dead were buried, and the wounded healed or crippled.
Anyone who was able pitched in. The surviving Tanda were made to endure the most gruelling work. They cut pine trees from the surrounding hills and raised walls, rebuilt towers. Taller, stronger. It was a healing process starting from the centre and spreading out. Threlwich was not only mended, it was improved.
By the time they were done it was a formidable sight.
Oben’s favourite improvement was the small house they built him, adjacent to Gulmorgon’s newly constructed lodge.
He was almost universally accepted as the Conduit now, and he was welcomed by many who had shunned him. He was given new clothes—not just huge, dubiously-stained castoffs, but clean and tailored for his size. And boots: two pairs, one for snow and one for fireside comfort.
* * *
He still wasn't free. He was constantly watched, and the guards at the gates had orders not to let him leave. But as long as he went about his daily routines, he was as good as left alone.
Autumn became winter and winter became spring. He improved his Taliskan and even began instructing Gulmorgon in Edalian. He resumed his axe training, this time with Gulmorgon’s personal sparring partner, Arnor. Threlwich might have found peace, but he was under no illusion that his fighting days were behind him. He thought often of Delia and Bayron, and just as soon as he could, he would return home. Once the weather eased.
Tre finally forgave him for what had happened to Mako. He even seemed offended when he discovered Oben had renewed his lessons with a different trainer.
“You don’t wanna be picking up any bad habits from an Ixna.” Tre would joke. He sometimes asked Oben to show him what he had been learning and afterwards they would share some mela on the wall walks.
Lief lived and Gadziel had somehow escaped the burning lodge, his face no more burnt than before; Kavark continued to lurk and watch blindly from the shadows, rubbing his hands like a dirty fly; and Griz was replaced by a slightly less pompous Ixna named Denrin.
He saw Grinchell occasionally. He had not been considerate enough to die painfully in the battle. The Kazra chief had come to treat him cordially. They’d shared a table on occasion in Gulmorgon’s company, and even clashed cups out of social convention. This did not mean they were friends. Oben just had to recall Mara’s easy laugh to know that this man had to pay. Another task pending before his eventual departure.
And what of Gulmorgon? Did she still deserve to be on his list? She had never actually crossed the border into Edale. The orders to do so had come from Eisalhelm, not Threlwich in response for what had happened at Tristleton—an event Oben still found difficult to get his head around. And his relationship with the Ixna clan chief had become… complex.
He had saved her life by distracting Kai. Saved the Ixna by returning with the horn. People whispered how he had single-handedly slain a giant. The tales were exaggerated, but he never corrected them. He let them talk.
After the battle he began to dine at her lodge. He was the Conduit. The legend made flesh fallen straight into her lap from the goddess herself. Their destinies were entwined.
It was only a matter of time before she sought a deeper union; one which would solidify their bond. One which would connect her directly with Ishral.
She’d come to him one night. He’d been by his fire, and still in his cups.
“Lie with me.” she said.
“What?” Oben thought he had misheard.
“We are bound. We should consummate it before the eyes of Ishral.”
Oben’s mouth flapped open. He could hardly tell her he was planning on returning to his wife.
“Erm, now?” he had muttered.
She took the cup from his hand and pushed him back on the thick wolf pelt which covered the floor.
Fighting it would have been pointless. He had begun to enjoy the better quality food and wine, his new boots, his combat training with Arnor, his little house and increased freedom of movement. Why shouldn’t he enjoy her bed, too?
Any guilt Oben felt at first slowly faded. It was, in a way, just another sacrifice he had to make. Just like the feather he let them tattoo on his temple; like the way he let them shave and style his hair. A means of making his stay here more bearable; of bolstering the impression he was content.
And she was beautiful. He couldn’t deny her charm, her strength, her guile, her ambition.
* * *
In the darkest days of winter, when Gulmorgon’s company left him feeling used and run-ins with Brigal reminded him he would never be one of them, it was Blin’s company he sought. She lifted his spirits when nobody else could. Especially now. She was free. The Tanda were all but gone, and she was a disciple of the Conduit. Not to mention that she could—and did—drink most men under the table. She was the only person who mocked him for getting too cocky and insulted him like he was still just a southern farmer. He needed that.
Unlikely as it was with someone like Blin, they achieved some semblance of solidarity. He’d been there when she had been at her lowest and was here now when they had emerged victorious. They sometimes spoke of Rak, and those were the only times he detected a crack in her flippant facade. A hint at what might be buried beneath. But then she’d always make some remark that the red-head was too old to have made it to Skarvor anyway, or that he was probably back over the border poking some milkmaid.
* * *
Over time, he became a competent warrior. His liaisons with Gulmorgon became almost nightly and the guilt wore off. Aside from a slight accent, his Taliskan was near perfect. And he stopped praying to the Trinity. Sometimes he did not think of them for weeks at a time. He grew accustomed to mela. He liked to stand outside when there was a storm and watch the lightning. He sometimes felt… content.
Occasionally, Gulmorgon would remind him of
the Conduit’s ultimate responsibility, and his mood would darken. But perhaps they had read that wrong too, as they had many other things. Perhaps summer would come, and he could help grow things here. Remove the need for them to go south. He’d suggested as much to Gulmorgon when she had lain satisfied beside him. She’d disagreed. There were more reasons to go south. More wrongs to right. She’d asked him to leave, and he worried he had gone too far. She’d called him back a few days later, though. Not for who he was, but for what he was. What he stood for.
* * *
One day in late spring, something happened that changed everything.
Oben had just come from training where, for the second day in a row, he had managed to disarm Arnor. He was in particularly high spirits, despite the bruise darkening his cheek bone.
A familiar smell made him slow his pace. He looked up and saw he was near the stables. For reasons he wasn’t ready to admit to himself, he’d always avoided this place.
Besides, it wasn’t as if the Taliskans had much affinity for horses, preferring the sled dogs for transport. He doubted he’d find more than a few malnourished ponies and mangy mules inside. Still, he was here now. Why not?
He entered the dim stable and looked along the stalls. As expected, most of them were empty. A shadow moving in the furthest, suggested an occupant of substantial size. Humming to himself, he went to investigate.
The eyes that met him stopped the tune dead. Justice just stared. Memories of that distant night screamed back across the years. She was a grey ghost, come to haunt him. He saw in her Mara’s fresh grave, Bayron’s disappointment, Delia’s anger, Brintok’s condescension, Kyrion’s derision, Old Gurney’s burnt corpse, and Peli’s, and Ma Rallier’s, all of them laid out on the yard in the morning sun. He steadied himself on the stable door. Tears stood in his eyes, and when he blinked, rolled free.