A Time of Courage

by John Gwynne

  ‘Oh, really?’ Kol said. ‘Then please, continue,’ he said to Meical with mock formality.

  ‘I have been absent a hundred and forty years, so much has changed,’ Meical said. He looked at Riv. ‘Our fierce friend here has filled me in on much, on the events of our Long War over the last century. From what I understand, you have allies. The Order of the Bright Star.’ He paused there, a ripple of grief sweeping his face, a twitch of his head to master it. ‘And there is Ethlinn and Balur One-Eye, and their giants. I would like to see old One-Eye again.’ He looked to Bleda. ‘And you are a king, I am told, of the Sirak Horse Clan.’

  Bleda frowned. The title felt unfamiliar on his shoulders, and unearned. But he nodded.

  ‘How many could you muster and bring to the fight?’ Meical continued.

  Bleda looked at Yul.

  ‘Three thousand, if the Clan is gathered,’ Yul said.

  Meical nodded. ‘And White-Wings?’ he asked Aphra.

  ‘We numbered ten thousand, but over two thousand swords were at Drassil. If the other garrisons have not been hit, then seven to eight thousand. The largest garrison after Drassil is Ripa in the south.’

  ‘Eight thousand for the shield wall, two thousand horse,’ Meical said. ‘The Order of the Bright Star, and Ethlinn’s giants. This is a warband that could stand a fighting chance against Asroth, Gulla and their hordes.’

  ‘If we can gather them,’ Aphra said.

  ‘Aye. But what else can we do but try?’ Nods and murmurs of agreement. Bleda saw Hadran beside Kol murmuring his assent. It earned the Ben-Elim a dark look from Kol.

  ‘Good, then we have the beginnings of a plan,’ Meical said. ‘Now, let us make it happen.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  JIN

  Jin sat at a table in Drassil’s Great Hall, forcing herself to remain seated. She glanced behind her and saw Gerel, her oathsworn man. He stood at her shoulder, his hand resting on the bow in its case on his belt. His expression was flat, but she knew he felt the same.

  Why are we still sitting here, when my father’s murderer is out there?

  Asroth was seated opposite her. No matter that she loved her own Clan above all things, her eyes kept drifting towards the Lord of the Kadoshim. His coat of mail clung to his form, ridges of muscle clear beneath it, his face pale and angular, dark eyes drawing her gaze.

  He is . . . exceptional.

  Asroth was reclining in a huge oak-carved chair, one leg draped across the arm, and he was eating cheese. He seemed to be enjoying it a great deal. Around him sat his captains, Bune the Kadoshim, who was a constant at Asroth’s shoulder, alert, always checking for danger. Gulla was there, his gaunt face and the unsettling shadow that glimmered about him setting him apart from the other Kadoshim. Standing a dozen paces behind him were a handful of his Revenants. They stood unnaturally still, wisps of mist curling about them.

  Also at the table was Morn, Gulla’s half-breed daughter, who looked permanently angry, a deep scowl ridging her brow, and Fritha, whom Jin had heard called priestess. Jin had spoken to Fritha twice, once during the feast on their victory night, and then the next day. Jin found it hard to fathom her. At times Fritha seemed coldly focused, then, the next, it seemed she had forgotten that Jin was there.

  Aenor was also at the table. A broad, squat man with a face that looked as if it had been flattened in the pugil-ring, his nose broken and set wrong. He was the appointed lord of the acolytes, those humans who followed the Kadoshim with fanatical loyalty.

  Asroth put another slice of cheese into his mouth, chewing and swallowing with obvious satisfaction.

  Jin coughed and shifted in her chair. Bune’s eyes snapped onto her. Asroth smiled.

  ‘You would be away from here, hunting your enemies,’ Asroth said. He sat up straighter, shifting his leg from the arm of the chair. ‘I understand the need that drives you. I feel it within me, too, in here.’ He tapped a long, fine-boned finger to his chest. ‘The Ben-Elim are my ancient enemies. Thousands of years our blood-feud has raged, and now their annihilation is so close.’

  ‘So why are we sitting here?’ Jin asked. ‘Seven nights I have been here. Waiting. Let us ride out together, slay our enemies.’

  ‘I like you, Jin, you have a fire within you.’ Asroth smiled. ‘That is why I will allow you to question me, this once.’ His voice was amiable, charming, but there was an edge to it, enhanced by the way Kadoshim around the hall paused, all of their eyes abruptly upon Jin.

  Asroth cut another slice of cheese and slowly, deliberately ate it. He licked his lips.

  ‘We will wait because this is a moment that should be savoured, like good food, and wine, and . . . other things.’ His eyes flickered to Fritha with amusement, and then back to Jin. ‘I understand your need. Let me assure you, it will be satisfied. You have served me well, accomplished great deeds. You are worthy to be allied with us Kadoshim.’

  Jin felt a warmth fill her at Asroth’s words, sounding so much like praise, but deep within her a small voice bridled.

  . . . served us well . . . It reminded her of how Bleda had spoken to her father, calling him Gulla’s slave. She had felt a sharp anger and deep shame at Bleda’s words.

  ‘Served you,’ she said to Asroth. ‘I am your ally, not your servant.’ Jin made sure that she spoke slowly, so as to keep the emotion from her voice.

  Asroth waved a hand languidly. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Now, to business.’ He looked at Gulla. ‘How many of our Kadoshim kin are with us?’

  ‘Eight hundred here,’ Gulla said, his voice scratching, like nails on slate. ‘A thousand in the south with Sulak.’

  ‘And your half-breed offspring?’ Asroth said, his lips twitching. Jin was not sure if it was the hint of a smile or a grimace of revulsion.

  ‘Close to a thousand here, the same again with Sulak in the south.’

  Asroth grunted. ‘And acolytes?’

  ‘One thousand, eight hundred and forty-six,’ Aenor said. ‘There are more trying to approach the fortress, close to two thousand in various covens, but they are . . . hesitant, to approach Drassil’s walls.’

  ‘Hesitant?’ Asroth asked. ‘Why?’

  ‘They are afraid,’ Aenor said. ‘Afraid that they will get eaten. By Gulla’s mist-walkers.’

  ‘Ha.’ Asroth barked a laugh. ‘This world of flesh is so full of hunger.’ As if to prove his point, he took another bite of cheese.

  ‘Even Revenants must eat,’ Gulla said, with a rasping sound issuing from his throat that Jin realized was laughter.

  ‘This is a serious matter,’ Asroth said. ‘I cannot have my allies eating one another. Especially not before the war is won.’ He smiled, softening the words, though Jin would not forget them.

  ‘Gulla, you must control your children.’

  ‘They are hungry.’ Gulla shrugged. ‘They know they cannot touch any within this fortress, so they have taken to hunting in the forest. They are having to travel ever wider to slake their thirst.’ Gulla paused a moment. ‘It would be better if we marched now. There will be no shortage of blood once we find our enemies.’

  Asroth’s brow furrowed. ‘We will march when I say we march,’ he said, his voice abruptly empty of charm and humour. A cold power radiated from him.

  Gulla held Asroth’s gaze with his one eye a long moment.

  Jin felt something change around her, a chill in the air. One of Gulla’s Revenant captains appeared from the shadows, tendrils of mist curling around him, his eyes fixed upon Asroth. Jin saw Bune’s hand drift to his sword hilt.

  Gulla dipped his head. ‘Of course, my King,’ he said.

  The tension melted away. Jin looked over her shoulder to see the Revenant gone.

  ‘How many of your Revenants are there?’ Asroth said, his voice reverting to its earlier charm.

  ‘In the region of ten thousand,’ Gulla said.

  ‘Hmm,’ Asroth mused. ‘That is a lot of mouths to feed. We must move them away from the fortress, allow our allies to join us her
e, and find a way to keep your Revenants satisfied until we march. I will think on it.’

  Marching to war would be the obvious answer, Jin thought. As Gulla says, find our enemies and let your Revenants glut themselves. She held her tongue, though. Partly because she had trained all her life to give nothing away to her enemies, and deep in her heart she considered anyone who was not of her Clan to be an enemy. There had only been one outside of the Cheren of whom she had thought differently. Had loved.

  Bleda.

  The other reason she did not challenge Asroth’s judgement was because she feared him. Even so, she could not stay silent. She was a queen now, and felt the weight of that: a responsibility to her people that she had to live up to.

  ‘If not now, then when?’ Jin asked.

  ‘Soon,’ Asroth said. ‘The time is approaching for us to march. Our enemy are scattered. Where are we likely to encounter their strongest force?’

  ‘In the south,’ Bune said. ‘Drassil was always the Ben-Elim’s greatest stronghold, but as they moved to conquer and rule more territory their forces were focused on the edges of their land.’

  ‘Just so,’ Gulla nodded. ‘Ripa in the south holds a large White-Wing garrison, and there would be more Ben-Elim there. There could be up to six or seven thousand White-Wings, maybe a thousand Ben-Elim.’ He looked at Asroth. ‘There are other garrisons. Haldis, Dun Bagul, but Ripa is the strongest.’

  ‘And what of Ethlinn’s giants and this Order of the Bright Star?’ Asroth said. ‘Founded by that maggot, Corban.’ His hand strayed to the scar on his forehead.

  ‘They have been dealt with,’ Gulla said. ‘By Fritha.’

  ‘I led them away from Drassil,’ Fritha said, ‘far from here. I kept them from giving aid to Kol and his Ben-Elim. I fought them in the north.’

  ‘A great victory,’ Gulla said, looking at Fritha keenly. ‘They have been a formidable enemy over the last hundred years. Worse than the Ben-Elim in their tenacity.’

  ‘Good,’ Asroth said. ‘Then we shall march on Ripa, as that is where we shall find the largest number of our enemy to kill.’ He grinned.

  ‘What of those that fled Drassil?’ Jin said, feeling her frustration bubbling in her veins.

  What of Riv? She will lead me to Bleda.

  ‘We will find them. I would think that they will seek to join their comrades.’ He shrugged. ‘I wish to see Meical’s head on a spike and his wings hacked from his back, but chasing after them through Forn Forest will only waste our time. I think perhaps we will meet those that fled Drassil upon the battlefield at Ripa. Meical and the Ben-Elim will think to fight us, but first they must gather their strength. Where else would they go?’

  You might be right. Bleda will follow his half-breed bitch like a dog in heat, and Riv will go where the Ben-Elim go. Jin felt her fingers twitch for an arrow. Twice she has put an arrow in me, Jin thought. Her, the worst archer in the world. The need to put Riv in the ground was almost as strong as her desire to slay Bleda. Almost.

  ‘But before you ride with me to Ripa, you have a warband to raise,’ Asroth said, snapping Jin from her anger.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You have five hundred riders here, yes?’

  ‘Aye,’ Jin said. ‘Five hundred horse-warriors. The best in the Banished Lands.’

  ‘Five hundred is not enough. I want you to return to your land, this Sea of Grass, and raise your Clan. Every man and woman who can ride a horse and wield a bow. How many can you raise?’

  Jin looked to Gerel.

  ‘Three thousand at least,’ Gerel said. He shrugged. ‘More.’

  ‘Ha,’ Asroth said, slapping the arm of his chair. ‘Now that is a number I like. You shall bring them to Ripa. But first, destroy your ancient enemy, the Sirak.’

  Jin blinked.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Every last man, woman and child. Destroy them, trample them into the dirt. Ride for Arcona, gather your Clan and slay the Sirak. They are an enemy that I do not need at my back. Make it as if their Clan never existed.’

  Jin could not control herself, she felt a grin spread across her face.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  DREM

  Drem crested a hill and saw the traders’ town of Dalgarth on the plain below. The sun was sinking into the west and Dalgarth looked eerily still, no columns of smoke or hum of noise emanating from it, like the first time he had seen the town. Now it was a desiccated husk, sucked dry of all life. When Dalgarth had first fallen silent they thought it had been hit by a plague, but now they knew better.

  It was a plague, in a way. Ulf and his Revenants, infecting all those that they feasted upon, turning them into the same blood-hungry creatures.

  He rode on, part of a line of scouts preceding their main warband. Keld was closest to him, twenty or so paces to his left. Crows wheeled in the sky above and wolven-hounds loped ahead of them.

  As they made their way down the slope Drem’s horse whickered, head raised, and took a snorting breath.

  ‘Almost there,’ Drem said, patting the neck of his roan mare, Rosie. She had carried him all the way north, into battle and then to the starstone mine, and now they were making their way home. She knew they were close to home.

  Dun Seren. Home. Strange that I have so quickly come to think of it as that.

  He saw it in the distance, beyond a wide sweeping river. A dark tower upon a hill, surrounded by clustered buildings and tiered walls. Columns of black smoke rose from the fortress. Heralds of the coming war from the forges of blacksmiths. Almost immediately after the battle with Fritha, Byrne had sent a contingent of warriors back to Dun Seren: all of their skilled smiths. Kill, Byrne’s captain, had led them.

  The ground levelled into a rocky plain that led to Dalgarth and Dun Seren beyond. Drem heard the thump and scrape of bear-claws as Queen Ethlinn and her giants crested the peak of the ridge behind him, and then the warband of the Order was spilling down the slope.

  They rode in silence past Dalgarth, choosing to skirt the town rather than ride through it. They passed a copse of trees, twisted and wind-blasted, though green with summer’s leaves. Something moved in Drem’s peripheral vision and his eyes snapped around, searching. One hand went to the sword at his hip.

  It was the white bear.

  You are remarkably silent and stealthy for a creature almost the size of a barn, Drem thought with a smile.

  The white bear had joined them at the battle, perhaps responding to Hammer’s bellowing call when she was injured. Whatever the reason, the white bear had saved Drem’s life and helped to turn the battle against Fritha’s creatures, her winged draig, the Ferals and her snake-woman. Drem shuddered at the memory of her. He still had fading bruises across his ribs from where her coils had squeezed him and he remembered her breath on his face, her voice in his ear, sibilant and reptilian.

  After the battle Drem had found her tracks, leading south-east, away from the conflict. There had been blood in them.

  Did she find some place to die, or is she still out there?

  He didn’t like the thought of that.

  Drem watched the white bear as it made its way through the group of trees, following them.

  What will you do now? Will you cross the bridge and join us? Or will you part ways with us again, the bridge and Dun Seren too much for your wild heart to cope with? I know how you feel . . . but I’m getting better with people and walls. Maybe you would too if you gave us a chance . . .

  Drem’s hand drifted to his neck, the thought of the fortress raising his anxiety. With two fingers he searched for his pulse, the rhythmic beat calming him.

  Soon Rosie was cantering over the stone bridge that arched the river before Dun Seren. He looked back over his shoulder, saw the column of their warband crossing the bridge and stretching back beyond. He could just make out the shadow of the white bear, sitting off to the west amongst a stand of trees, watching. And then he was turning a bend and riding up to the walls and open gates of Dun Seren. He passed
through the gates and into a huge courtyard. A small crowd was waiting to greet them in the shadow of the Order’s founder, the statue of Corban and his wolven, Storm.

  I wonder what he was like.

  The statue looked serious, but there were laughter lines carved at Corban’s eyes, and something about the set of his mouth that spoke of kindness.

  It is a strange thing, to think my bloodline goes back to that man, and his sister.

  Kill, Byrne’s captain, was standing beneath the statue. She was tall and dark-skinned, her black hair tied back into one thick warrior braid. She nodded a greeting to Keld, who was first to ride through the gates at the head of fifty of Dun Seren’s huntsmen.

  Drem followed close behind Keld. They rode around to the right, making room for Ethlinn and her giants.

  Stablehands rushed to take Drem’s reins as he dismounted. Young lads and lasses, too young to fight. The fortress had been almost stripped bare of warriors, only a skeleton garrison left to protect those too old or too young to go. Drem thanked the young lad trying to take his reins, but told him firmly that he would see to his own mount.

  ‘She has looked after me, so it’s only fair that I should look after her now,’ he said. That was what his da had taught him, all their years living a solitary life in the wild. The stable-lad nodded and moved on to the next rider.

  Ethlinn, Balur and a few hundred giants and bears were filling the courtyard now, Byrne riding in behind with her honour guard, as well as Utul, Shar and Cullen. Drem nodded to his friend.

  Byrne rode towards the statue of Corban, slipping from her mount and striding forwards to greet Kill. They took each other’s arms in the warrior grip, then Byrne turned.

  ‘We’ve travelled far, and fought hard,’ she called out. ‘Rest and eat, you’ve earned it.’ And then she was striding towards the keep, deep in conversation with Kill. Ethlinn and Balur followed her.

  ‘Come on, then,’ Drem said, as he patted Rosie’s neck. ‘Let’s see if we can find you some oats and a good brush.’

  Drem walked towards the bridge, a spear in one hand, a sack slung across his back. He stepped into the torchlight and raised a hand to the guards, two men and a woman. He strode across the bridge, his long legs taking him quickly to the far side, where he stopped a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Behind him the fortress stood like a deeper shadow, torches glinting through shuttered windows and upon walls. He turned his back on it and strode west, along the riverbank, pulling his cloak tighter about him.