A Time of Courage

by John Gwynne

  Something filtered through the haze of pleasure that was filling Fritha’s head. A tickling at the back of her skull, a whisper in her mind.

  ‘Frithaaaaaa,’ the voice said.

  Fritha jerked away from Asroth.

  ‘Elise?’ she said.

  ‘Frrrithaaaaa,’ the voice in her head said again.

  Asroth frowned, raised an eyebrow at Fritha.

  Fritha heard Wrath growl, somewhere up in Drassil’s great chamber.

  ‘Elise, where are you?’ Fritha said.

  ‘I am heeere,’ the voice said.

  Without thinking, Fritha was leaping up the stairs. She burst into Drassil’s hall, past the bulk of Wrath, who had been sleeping close to the doorway. Fritha took a few steps and then froze, staring up at the entrance to the chamber.

  Elise was slithering down the wide steps of the hall, part woman, part white wyrm, her great coils sinuously looping and bunching. She still wore her coat of mail, though it was ragged and torn, streaked red with blood and rust. Beside Elise strode a tall, lean warrior – Arn, Elise’s father, and Fritha’s friend. He was grey and travel-stained, his hair long and lank. Behind them both were a few score warriors, men and women of Fritha’s warband. And around them were other creatures. Part man, part beast, creatures of tooth and claw, hunched and muscled, limbs elongated.

  My Ferals.

  Fritha sighed, a sense of joy blooming in her belly.

  They were surrounded by acolytes, looking more like warriors now that Drassil’s armouries had been thrown open to them. They were clothed in coats of mail and boiled leather, iron caps on their heads, swords at their hips and spears in their fists. Aenor, Lord of the Acolytes, led them; despite his newfound and very fine war gear, he still looked more like a brigand than a warrior, short and squat, barrel-chested.

  Above them Kadoshim flew in lazy circles. Fritha saw Morn and smiled at her. Morn did not return the smile, her face flat. She nodded her head, directing Fritha’s gaze ahead of her.

  Fritha met the cold, flat gaze of Gulla, who was staring at her, his face twisted with rage.

  He knows about Ulf. Elise or Arn must have told him.

  Of those on the ground, the Ferals saw Fritha first, a ripple of whimpering passed amongst them. They bounded towards her, claws scraping on stone.

  Fritha held her hands out, the Ferals swarming around her, nuzzling her, grunting and snuffling. There were more than Fritha had dared hope after the terrible slaughter in the Desolation, forty or fifty of them.

  Gulla swooped down from above, the blast of his wings opening a space before Fritha. He landed, striding towards her, his one red eye blazing.

  ‘You lied,’ he snarled, a long-taloned hand reaching for her throat.

  Fritha stepped back, Ferals filling the gap between her and Gulla. They crouched low, snapping and snarling at the Kadoshim. They felt his power, like terriers before a wolven.

  But even so they would protect me. Fritha smiled at them, stroking fur.

  ‘Call them off, else they will die,’ Gulla snapped, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword. In the edges of Fritha’s vision she saw mist-wrapped shadows detach from dark recesses in the hall.

  Gulla’s Seven. Or Five, now that Ulf is dead and Arvid is hunting in Ardain.

  ‘You owe everything to me,’ she said. ‘I found the Starstone Sword, took Asroth’s hand. I made you.’

  ‘Ulf is dead, you lost the battle; you lied to me,’ Gulla answered, knuckles tightening around his sword hilt. His Revenants were closer now, mist-wrapped pillars of death, standing motionless beyond her Ferals, all of them staring at her.

  ‘You will die for your deception,’ Gulla snarled.

  Wrath growled, a deep tremor that Fritha felt through her feet.

  ‘Touch Fritha, you die,’ the draig rumbled.

  ‘You dare threaten me,’ Gulla said. He half-drew his sword.

  ‘No threat,’ Wrath growled. ‘Promise. I will eat you.’

  ‘What is all this?’ Asroth’s voice called out, as he emerged from the blue-flickered stairwell carved into Drassil’s great tree. He strode into the chamber, Bune and a dozen Kadoshim spreading wide behind him. More Kadoshim and half-breeds appeared, the sound of leathery wings above as Drassil’s hall filled.

  ‘Gulla, what are you doing?’ Asroth asked as he drew close. His voice was calm, but Fritha detected something within it, an undercurrent of deep malice that gave her pause. Asroth stopped at the Ferals, stared at Fritha. She whispered a command and the Ferals parted for him, until he was only one step away from Fritha and Gulla.

  This is the moment. Life or death, on a knife-edge. I must be cunning.

  ‘Ulf, one of my Seven,’ Gulla said, sucking in a deep breath and trembling with the effort of controlling his rage. ‘I left him and his warband with Fritha, to help her fight the Order of the Bright Star. She told me they were defeated, that she had won. But survivors of the battle have arrived.’ He gestured to Elise and the others; Asroth’s eyebrow rose as he saw the wyrm-woman.

  ‘Another of your creations?’ he said to Fritha.

  ‘Yes,’ Fritha said, the sight of Elise filling her chest with pride.

  ‘Fritha lied to me, to us all,’ Gulla said. ‘She lost the battle, Ulf is dead, his warband destroyed.’

  ‘They were impossible odds,’ Fritha said. ‘I held the Order in the north, took their attention away from Drassil. If they had been here, Asroth would still be in his prison. I had five hundred swords against two thousand, what did you expect?’

  ‘I gave you Ulf!’ Gulla said, fury cracking his voice. ‘He had thousands of Revenants in his warband.’

  ‘It was Ulf who lost us the battle,’ Fritha snapped. ‘I told him to stay back, to stay hidden, but he could not control his bloodlust. It was his own fault he died.’

  ‘You failed and you LIED!’ Gulla yelled, spittle flying from his razored teeth. ‘And now you stand before me, in Drassil’s Great Hall, and you threaten me. Me, Gulla, High Captain of the Kadoshim. I have fought the Ben-Elim in this world of flesh for over a hundred years, saved my kin from extinction, orchestrated Asroth’s freedom, and you dare to threaten me.’

  ‘I did not threaten you,’ Fritha said.

  ‘Your draig did, and you control him,’ Gulla hissed.

  ‘He is loyal,’ Fritha said with a shrug. ‘That is no crime.’

  Gulla took a step towards her.

  ‘No,’ Asroth said. ‘You –’ he pointed at Elise and Arn – ‘come here.’

  Aenor led them over, Elise’s coils scraping on the flagstoned floor. Fritha could not help but smile at her, though Elise regarded Fritha with pain in her eyes. Arn’s stare was flat and cold.

  ‘You left usssss,’ Elise said to Fritha.

  ‘My friend, I am sorry but I had to be here,’ Fritha said. ‘I vow I was coming back for you. I sent Morn to find you.’

  Gulla twitched at that, a twist of his lips.

  Fritha held a hand out to Elise, who remained where she was, though her tail-tip rattled, and Fritha saw her fingers move involuntarily.

  ‘You are survivors of the battle in the Desolation?’ Asroth asked them.

  Elise and Arn were staring at Asroth with expressions of awe.

  ‘Yessss, my King,’ Elise said first.

  Asroth regarded her, his black eyes taking her in from tail-tip to head. ‘You are a work of art,’ he breathed. ‘Fritha, you are nothing if not . . . talented.’

  Fritha smiled.

  I know. And Elise is just a fraction of what I can do.

  ‘What happened in the Desolation?’ Asroth asked Arn and Elise.

  ‘We fought the Order of the Bright Star,’ Arn said, his voice flat, as if he were reporting after an uneventful patrol. ‘Pits were dug, the Order was tricked. Ulf’s Revenants flanked them. The battle was going well.’ Arn stopped.

  ‘What happened then?’ Asroth prompted.

  Arn looked to Gulla. He had been Arn’s commander for countless year
s, the figure of highest authority in his life. Arn opened his mouth, but no words came out.

  ‘Tell him what you told me,’ Elise hissed at her father.

  ‘Tell me,’ Asroth commanded.

  ‘Ulf came out from hiding and was seen by Drem,’ Arn continued. ‘Drem slew Ulf. The Revenant host died.’

  ‘See, I told you,’ Fritha said to Gulla. ‘Ulf disobeyed my order and died because of it. The battle was almost won, the idiot just had to stay alive.’

  ‘He was my firstborn,’ Gulla said, teeth grinding.

  ‘He was a witless fool,’ Fritha retorted.

  ‘I will see you on a spike for this,’ Gulla hissed.

  ‘You would have to fight through my children first,’ Fritha snarled at him.

  ‘You think I cannot? I have legions ten thousand strong beyond these walls.’

  ‘Your word is no longer the last say, you are not lord here,’ Fritha said loudly. ‘You may think yourself Lord of Drassil, but you are just another captain, no different from me.’

  Gulla’s face twisted in a paroxysm of rage; he lunged forwards and grabbed Fritha by the throat, heaving her into the air.

  All around the chamber motion blurred. Gulla’s Revenants burst forwards, the Ferals crouched, snarling, muscles bunching. The hiss of blades drawn in the air above. Wrath let out a deafening roar, claws scratching on stone. Elise jerked towards Gulla, lips pulling back to reveal long fangs. Gulla’s grip tightened about Fritha’s neck; there was a pounding of blood in her head. Her hand reached for her sword hilt, her palm still slick with Asroth’s blood.

  ‘HOLD!’ Asroth’s voice boomed. He stepped in, his new gauntleted fist clamping around Gulla’s forearm.

  All movement around the chamber stopped, a frozen, sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Release her,’ Asroth said, quiet as death.

  Gulla’s one red eye snapped from Fritha to Asroth.

  ‘She lied to me, betrayed me, lost the battle,’ he hissed. ‘And she is a human worm.’

  Asroth looked from Gulla to Fritha, whose face was purpling, eyes bulging. His eyes shifted to his new hand.

  ‘She is valuable,’ Asroth said thoughtfully.

  Gulla’s eye widened, but he did not release Fritha’s throat.

  Asroth squeezed, the gauntlet constricting. Fritha heard bones grind and suddenly she was free, dropping to a heap on the ground, her legs weak. Wrath’s bulk was beside her, his fetid breath washing over her.

  Asroth released Gulla. The Kadoshim stepped back, holding his arm tight to his chest. He was staring at Asroth, and at his gauntlet.

  ‘You would choose her, over me?’ Gulla hissed.

  ‘It would do you well to remember this,’ Asroth said, wings snapping wide behind him and beating slowly, lifting him from the ground. ‘I am king here, not you.’ He held Gulla with his baleful eyes, then looked at his new hand, flexing it into a fist. He smiled at the sight of it. ‘And Fritha is my bride and shall be your queen.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  DREM

  Drem sat on a bed in Dun Seren’s hospice while a healer prodded at his shoulder.

  ‘You’re lucky,’ Aelred the healer said. ‘It’s bruised but doesn’t look like its teeth broke your skin.’

  Drem blew out a sigh of relief. He’d seen what Gulla’s fangs had done to those he bit.

  After the journey back to Dun Seren, all the wounded had been ordered to pay a visit to the fortress’ healers. Keld had accompanied him while they waited to be seen.

  They had stood in silence and watched as healers strapped down Giluf, a warrior of the Order with seven Kadoshim kills notched on his sword. He was bandaged around the throat, fresh blood seeping through the fabric. A Revenant had tried to tear his throat open, just missing the artery. It was a deep and ragged wound, though, and Giluf had deteriorated on the journey home. He was acting disoriented, now, his face pale, and he was struggling with the healers.

  Drem had spoken to the healers helping Giluf, had advised that they use more straps, and kept a very close watch over the young warrior, and any others bearing signs of puncture wounds from Revenants’ fangs.

  ‘It must be someone else’s blood,’ Aelred said, still examining Drem’s shoulder.

  ‘Good,’ Drem grunted, a wave of relief flooding him as he proceeded to struggle back into his ringmail and strap his belts back on.

  He was feeling exhausted, and downcast. He was glad to be back inside Dun Seren’s walls, but every time he closed his eyes he saw Rosie’s corpse. He knew she was a warhorse, bred and trained for battle with the Kadoshim, and that this life of violence often ended quickly. But he felt he’d let her down. That she’d carried him faithfully, trusting his guidance, and she had died because of it.

  What kind of creature did Fritha create that wants to suck the world dry and watch it crumble? Does she have any idea what she’s unleashed?

  Drem was slow to anger, but he felt it building within him, now, deep in his core. A rage fuelled by the injustice of it all, the acts of murder and slaughter. He had seen too much death recently: his father, Sig, the battle in the Desolation, and now this.

  All of it flowing from that one night at the starstone mine, when Fritha transformed Gulla into a monster. He jerked his weapons-belt tight, buckled it with white knuckles.

  ‘You all right, lad?’ Keld asked him.

  ‘No,’ Drem said, blowing out a long breath. ‘I’m angry. At Gulla, Fritha, the Kadoshim and their acolytes. Those blood-drinking Revenants. At all this death and bloodshed.’

  ‘I meant your wound,’ Keld said, pointing at Drem’s shoulder.

  ‘Oh.’ Drem frowned. ‘Aye, that’s fine. Just bruises, nothing more. Thanks to this.’ He slapped his mail, the blow dispersed in a gentle ripple. ‘How about you?’ Drem nodded at a bandage on Keld’s arm.

  ‘Just a scratch,’ the huntsman said. ‘Claws, not teeth, apparently, so it wasn’t deep. And I’ll not become a Revenant by morning.’

  ‘Well, that’s always good to know,’ Drem said.

  A horn blast rang out, echoing through the hospice building, repeated again, and then again.

  ‘Call to the walls,’ Keld said. He looked at Drem.

  ‘They’re here.’

  Drem stood with a groan, muscles aching and stiff. He picked up his helm, tucked his gloves into his belt and then they made their way out into the darkness. He looked briefly towards the bear stables and paddocks, where he’d left the white bear. He had ridden home on the bear’s back, but the animal had growled and curled his lip at Keld, showing his teeth, until the huntsman had dismounted. Drem, though, the bear seemed to tolerate happily for the entire journey back to Dun Seren.

  Drem had felt strangely . . . honoured.

  Horns sounded again.

  ‘Come on, lad,’ Keld called back to him. ‘We are needed.’

  Drem hurried after Keld. It had taken half a day to get back to Dun Seren from the skirmish with the Revenants. They had caught up with Queen Nara and her people, many loaded on the wains from Dun Seren, and the sun had been sinking into the horizon when the last rider passed through the gates of the fortress. Now it was deep into the night, a blustery wind whipping rain into Drem’s face.

  The courtyard was crowded. Drem and Keld threaded their way through people who were making their way into the great keep, most of them inhabitants of the outer ring of Dun Seren, tradespeople and their families.

  Byrne had ordered the outer fortress evacuated. It was protected by a stone wall, but Byrne wanted the keep manned only by warriors who carried rune-marked blades, and they would be spread too thin on the outer wall. In truth, they would be spread thin on the inner wall, too, but it was better than the alternative. No warrior was permitted to carry more than one rune-marked blade, allowing for closer to three hundred warriors to line the walls, rather than the hundred and fifty who had ridden out earlier that day. Drem had loaned his sword to a warrior of the Order. He felt more confident with his seax, had spent a d
ecade with it in his fist, whereas he was still adjusting to fighting with a sword. He’d rather fight with the seax than a sword.

  Drem climbed the stairwell beside Dun Seren’s gates and found Byrne on the wall.

  She was surrounded by Ethlinn and Balur, Kill, Tain and Utul, Alcyon with his twin axes, and a dozen of her honour guard. Meical was also there, and Drem saw Cullen lurking close by. He grinned to see Drem and Keld. All those with rune-marked blades were gathered close on the wall, waiting.

  A fluttering of wings and Rab swept down out of the darkness.

  ‘They are here,’ the white crow squawked. ‘Bad people everywhere, filling the shadows.’

  More wings from above and Riv appeared. Drem had not had a chance to thank her for helping him.

  For saving me. I was trapped and buried, thought it was the end of me, and then she was there. And she did not leave.

  ‘Mist-walkers are swarming through the gates of the first wall,’ she said to Byrne, who nodded. Byrne jumped up onto the wall’s rampart and turned to face everyone.

  ‘Our enemy are within the walls of Dun Seren,’ she cried. ‘We are outnumbered, but we have this wall, we have our blades, but greater than that, we have TRUTH AND COURAGE!’ She brandished her sword, Drem and three hundred others answering her with a battle-cry that echoed from Dun Seren’s stone walls.

  ‘Drem,’ Byrne called, and he made his way to stand before her. She offered him a hand and gripped his wrist, pulling him onto the battlement beside her, though he felt uncomfortable standing before so many.

  ‘The leader of these Revenants,’ Byrne called out. ‘Kill her and the rest of her brood die, just like the horde in the Desolation. Drem knows her.’ She looked at Drem. ‘Describe her.’

  Drem closed his eyes, picturing Arvid as he had once known her, as he had seen her that night at the mine on the shores of Starstone Lake. She had been one of Hildith’s enforcers. Tall and broad, long-limbed and muscled. Then Gulla had sunk his teeth into her neck.

  ‘A woman named Arvid,’ Drem cried out. ‘Tall, a muscled physique. Long dark hair. Her clothing was once rich, her tunic of fine wool, embroidery on the neck and sleeves, though it is in tatters now. There was something about her when I saw her: she had more control than these other Revenants, seemed more human, more calculating. And she held a hand-axe in her fist, the first Revenant I have seen with a weapon beyond their teeth and talons. There were other Revenants grouped around her, like an honour guard.’ He shrugged. ‘That is all I can say of her.’