A Time of Courage

by John Gwynne

  They reached the bridge that crossed the river and led directly into the fortress. Hooves clattered on stone, Friend’s claws scratching gouges. Warriors of the Order lined the gatehouse wall. Keld raised a hand to them, and the gates swung open. Drem rode into a wide courtyard, feeling a hundred pairs of eyes upon him and the white bear. The courtyard was edged with a moss-covered stone wall, a score of buildings around the sides. Stables, forge, grain stores, water barrels, a haybarn. Drem saw a handful of wains fully loaded, auroch harnessed and ready, and a few score horses tethered to rails; they were all saddled and ready to ride. In front of Drem a set of wide steps led up to the keep, a squat building wrapped in vine. Warriors lined the walls, others were in the courtyard and on the keep’s steps. Drem counted over a hundred.

  A man strode down the steps of the keep, grey hair tied back except for his warrior braid, a beard grey and dark as storm clouds, his eyebrows jutting from his brow. He was dressed for war in a coat of mail, a surcoat of the Order worn over it, black wool with the bright star upon his chest. He was of average height, with a lightness to his step that spoke to Drem of ability and speed, despite his age. Sword, knife and axe all hung from his weapons-belt.

  ‘Well met,’ he called out to Keld, as the scouting party spilt into Brikan’s courtyard, wolven-hounds loping amongst them, all wrapped in coats of mail.

  ‘Well met, Halden,’ Keld called back to him. He dismounted, a stablehand taking his reins, Fen and Ralla falling in either side of him as he strode to Halden. They took each other’s arms in the warrior grip.

  ‘Mind if my crew eat some of your food and drink some of your water?’

  ‘Course not,’ Halden said, gesturing towards the stables and water barrels. Drem saw that a long table had been laid out, food and drink upon it.

  ‘We’ve packed all we can carry,’ Halden said, ‘might as well try and eat the rest.’

  Most of Keld’s crew dismounted and led their horses towards the stables and water.

  ‘You look ready to ride,’ Keld said, nodding to the saddled horses and loaded wains.

  ‘Aye,’ Halden said. ‘We had visitors, three nights gone. Winged visitors.’

  ‘Meical, Riv and the others,’ Keld said.

  ‘Aye,’ Halden said. ‘Strange times we are living in. Meical free of his skin of metal. A half-breed Ben-Elim flying the skies in broad daylight.’

  ‘That’s Riv,’ Drem said. ‘She swore the oath.’

  Halden looked up at Drem upon Friend’s back.

  ‘I’m glad to see it,’ he said. ‘It’s about time, been too long in coming. And I’m guessing we can use all the help we can get.’ He stepped back, staring at the white bear. ‘And this big lump is a pleasant surprise. I’ve seen keeps smaller than this bear.’ His eyes drifted up to Drem. ‘Big as you are, you’re the smallest giant I’ve ever seen,’ he said.

  ‘Ha, he’s no giant,’ Keld said. ‘You’re looking at Drem ben Olin. He’s Olin and Neve’s boy.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be,’ Halden said with a grin. ‘You’d best be getting your arse down here, then, so I can give you a proper welcome.’

  Drem lifted one leg over Friend’s saddle and slid to the ground. It was a long way down, but he had mastered it now. Alcyon had adapted Friend’s saddle, added a set of leather hoops to the stirrups, a little like a ladder, but Drem only used them to climb up into the saddle. Getting down was much easier.

  As falling is easier than climbing.

  Hooves clattered on stone as Reng led a crew of five out of the courtyard, dipping his head to Keld and Halden as he went. A handful of wolven-hounds followed them, loping out of the gate and across the bridge.

  Halden stood and looked Drem up and down.

  ‘Well, you’re a big one.’ He slapped Drem’s shoulder. ‘I can see Olin in you, and your mother. They were fine people. Friends.’

  Drem just nodded. It still felt strange, that so many people at the Order had known his mam and da so well.

  Better than me.

  Halden looked up at the white bear. ‘Well, there’s a story there, I’m guessing. You’re the first man I’ve ever heard of to ride a giant bear.’

  ‘There is a story,’ Keld said, ‘a long one. Drem and this bear have saved each other’s lives, many times each now, from Kergard in the Desolation to Dun Seren. And likely will again, before this war is done.’

  ‘So, it’s happening, then,’ Halden said. Drem thought he saw hints of excitement and apprehension mingled on the man’s face, though he could not be sure. He’d never been a very good judge of what a man was thinking by the expressions he pulled. Olin had tried to give him lessons.

  ‘Asroth awakened, the Kadoshim taking Drassil, the Ben-Elim routed. The last battle of the Long War, ending in our times.’ Halden blew out a long breath, then smiled. ‘We’ve waited a long time for this, my friend,’ he said to Keld.

  ‘Aye. And we’d best be riding soon, if we don’t want to miss it,’ Keld said. ‘Byrne and the rest are half a day’s ride west. Don’t want to let them have all the fun.’

  ‘As you see, we are all ready. You and your crew refresh yourselves, and we’ll be off.’

  Drem saw that Keld’s scouts were already at the table. Wolven-hounds were snarling over a trough of butchered scraps.

  The bear swung its head, snuffling, raised his head, sniffed the air and then growled.

  Drem was learning to tell the difference between the bear’s growls. Some were playful, or mournful, or friendly.

  This one was none of those.

  Wolven-hounds lifted their heads from their gnawing of bones, looked to the open gateway of the keep and also growled.

  A horn blew upon the walls.

  ‘Rider approaching,’ a voice called.

  The thud of hooves beyond Brikan’s walls, and Drem looked out through the open gateway, across the bridge and into the forest.

  Reng appeared, riding hard, a wolven-hound bounding at his side. There was blood on the hound’s muzzle. Blood on Reng.

  Behind them a mist boiled from the forest.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  BLEDA

  Bleda stared at the giant. She was shaven-headed, apart from a ridge of black spiky hair running down the middle of her head.

  ‘Dun Seren,’ she said, her voice like rusty iron. ‘You said Dun Seren. You said the Order of the Bright Star.’

  Other figures loomed behind her, more giants, heads shaved, clothed in mail, leather and fur.

  ‘Yes,’ Bleda said. ‘I am allied to the Order of the Bright Star.’

  Screams filtered into the cave he was half in. The pounding of hooves and a Cheren rider appeared, horse rearing, his bow drawn. He hesitated a moment, seeing the cave opening and a giant leaning over Bleda, but only for a heartbeat and then his arrow was leaping from the string of his bow, straight at Bleda’s chest.

  The giant swung her arm, a huge round shield covering Bleda and Yul. The arrow punched into it, a spray of splinters near Bleda’s face as the arrowhead pierced wood. Bleda heard a scream cut short, the splatter of blood and the Cheren warrior crashed to the ground, lifeless eyes staring at him.

  The shield withdrew, the giant stared at him again, a spear in her fist dripping blood.

  ‘Help us, please,’ Bleda said.

  ‘Do giants still stand with the Order?’ the giant asked him.

  ‘Aye,’ Bleda said. ‘Ethlinn, Balur One-Eye . . . Alcyon.’ They were the only giants Bleda knew well enough to recall in an instant.

  The giant recoiled, her face twisting in a scowl, Bleda thought she was going to kill him. Instead she stood, said something to the giants behind her in a language he didn’t understand. One of them raised a horn to his lips and blew, the sound deep and ominous, echoing through the cave and out into the ravine.

  Other Cheren riders rode at them, reining in their mounts, bows nocked and drawn – warriors searching for Bleda and Yul. At the sound of the horn they hesitated.

  The giant stepped out in fro
nt of them, her shield high, and threw a spear. It pierced a rider, hurled him from his horse, flying through the air to crash into another horse and rider behind him. The giant took a few long strides forwards, startlingly fast, at the same time pulling a one-handed hammer from her belt and hefting it. She smashed it into the chest of the second Cheren rider, the sound of bones shattering and the rider disappeared from her saddle.

  ‘With me,’ the giantess cried over her shoulder.

  ‘Kill the ones in blue,’ Bleda shouted to her. ‘Those in grey are with me.’

  She nodded.

  Other giants issued from the cave, striding over Bleda and Yul and out into the ravine, just as the charging ranks of Cheren and Sirak met with a deafening crash. Along the ravine other granite doors opened, more giants emerging from them. The giants bellowed a war-cry and charged, wielding long-hafted hammers, axes and spears. They slammed into the flank of the Cheren like a wave into kindling. Cheren warriors and their horses fell in an explosion of limbs and blood.

  Bleda scrambled to his feet, gave Yul his arm and pulled the warrior up. He was wounded many times, arrows protruding from his leg and torso.

  One by one Yul gripped the arrows and snapped them, a grimace of pain. Then he hefted his sword and grinned at Bleda.

  ‘Let’s kill some Cheren.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  DREM

  ‘Revenants,’ Drem breathed.

  Keld and Halden ran to the wall, speeding up the stairwell, Drem behind them, others from the courtyard following.

  Reng was galloping for the bridge, a black mist rolling along the path behind him, curling from the trees either side, then his horse’s hooves were cracking on stone and he was bursting through the open gates of the fortress, his wolven-hound leaping behind him.

  ‘Ware Revenants,’ Reng cried out.

  Feet pounded on steps; warriors manned the wall, Keld’s scouts amongst them.

  ‘Halden, best be closing those gates,’ Keld said grimly.

  ‘CLOSE THE GATES!’ Halden bellowed, then looked to Keld. ‘What are Revenants?’

  ‘Look,’ Keld said.

  The mist boiled along the path, spilling out onto the riverside. More vapour flowed from the wall of trees beyond the river, rolled up to the bridge and stopped, churning sluggishly. Shapes moved within the mist.

  ‘How many ways out of here?’ Drem asked.

  ‘That’s it,’ Keld nodded at the bridge.

  The flapping of wings – Rab all but fell from the sky above them.

  ‘Revenants, Revenants,’ the bird was squawking, alighting on the wall before Drem and Keld.

  ‘Will that bird ever tell us anything before we already know it,’ Keld muttered.

  ‘Worried,’ Rab croaked.

  ‘Rab, fly to Byrne as fast as your wings will take you, tell her what is happening here.’

  ‘Rab not leave friends,’ Rab protested.

  ‘Go now,’ Keld said. ‘If Byrne doesn’t learn of this, and soon, then none of us will be leaving here.’

  Rab hopped from claw to claw.

  ‘Rab fly, save friends,’ he said, then leaped into the air and flapped over their heads, spiralled once and flew west.

  On the riverbank a figure stepped out from the mist.

  A man once, now twisted. He was tall, his head shaven, pale as parchment, black veins mapping his skin. He looked up at Drem and the others on the wall, hissed at them, revealing a mouth too full of razored teeth. One eye drooped shut, a scar running through it. His chin was crusted black with blood.

  A memory flashed through Drem’s mind, of Gulla rising before a bloodstained table, of seven figures stepping forward, raising their chins and baring their throats to the Kadoshim lord.

  ‘That’s one of the Seven,’ Drem said.

  ‘Revenants? The Seven?’ Halden said.

  ‘Dark spawn of Gulla and twisted magic,’ Drem replied.

  ‘Rune-marked spear,’ Keld cried, turning and looking down into the courtyard. One of his scouts threw a spear up to him.

  Keld caught it, in one motion turned, arm whipping back and then forwards, the spear hurtling from his grip. It flew down from the wall, across the water.

  The Revenant on the riverbank saw it, watched, then swayed. A spark of blue fire as the spear’s edge grazed the creature’s ribs, sailed on to disappear in the mist. There was a gurgled scream, a flare of blue light inside the mist.

  ‘Bollocks,’ Keld muttered. ‘Do you have a rune-marked blade?’

  The figure on the riverbank raised a taloned hand and pointed at the keep.

  ‘Aye,’ Halden said, patting his scabbarded sword.

  ‘Brothers, sisters, be ready to FIGHT,’ Keld called out. ‘All with a rune-marked blade to the wall and gates.’

  ‘Only a runed blade will hurt them,’ Drem said to Halden. ‘Anyone without such a blade will die a quick death at these creatures’ hands.’

  The Revenant on the bank opened its mouth and screeched. A high-pitched, scratching sound issued from its mouth, like a thousand flies trying to crawl into Drem’s brain. He fought the urge to put his hands over his ears.

  The mist moved, slid onto the bridge, gaining momentum, flowing across, towards the barred gates.

  Keld turned and sprinted down the wall’s steps, running for his horse.

  Drem drew his sword and thrust it into Halden’s hands. ‘It’s runed – give it to someone who needs it.’ Halden grunted and turned, barking out orders to his warriors as he strode along the wall, heading to the gates. Everywhere was motion: warriors running to the gate, racing to the walls. Drem glimpsed Keld’s scouts handing out their weapons – all of Keld’s crew had more than one runed blade, whether it be spear, axe or sword.

  Drem drew his seax and hand-axe, hefted them, felt the excitement and fear of imminent battle flutter through his veins.

  The mist slammed into the gates, burst upwards like a dark wave, wisps curling over the wall. The barred gate shook as bodies slammed into it, hundreds, the sound of wood creaking.

  Keld appeared beside him, his bow and quiver of arrows in his fist. Fen and Ralla were with him, snarling, muscles rippling in their coats of mail. Drem looked to the white bear, saw he was standing below in the courtyard, facing the gates, snarling and scratching the ground.

  Keld rested his quiver of arrows against the wall and strung his bow. Impacts against the gate echoed through the courtyard, a tremor Drem could feel in his boots and bones. He leaned over the battlement, peering at the bridge and gate.

  That gate is not like Dun Seren’s. It is not going to hold.

  Revenants appeared, swarming out of the mist, climbing the gate and towers in a tangle of snarled limbs, just as they had done at Dun Seren.

  ‘BURN THEM!’ Keld cried out as he drew an arrow from his quiver, leaned out over the wall, loosed at the Revenants climbing the gate. A spark of blue fire. Another arrow loosed, then another and another. Bodies fell from the wall, into the river.

  Drem bounced on his toes, feeling both frustrated that he couldn’t get at the Revenants and a sense of building dread in his gut about the numbers they were facing. There had been no warning of this attack, no time to tell Halden and the warriors of Brikan that fire was the greatest weapon against the Revenants, and no chance to explain the urgency of identifying and killing the Revenants’ leader. It was all happening too fast.

  The Revenants clambering the wall were close to the top. Some of Keld’s scouts were there, stabbing with rune-marked spears, other warriors of Brikan with runed blades or burning torches. Drem saw a constant crackle of blue flame in the swarm at the gate, a Revenant here and there falling away, flames sprouting from face or body, but the throng of creatures swallowed their dead and kept hurling themselves at the gates, others surging upwards in a mass of bodies.

  Keld loosed his last arrow, saw a Revenant tumble into the river, disappearing with hardly a splash.

  With a growl, he dropped his bow and shrugged his shiel
d onto his arm, drew his sword.

  ‘With me, Drem,’ he said, and strode along the wall towards the gateway.

  Revenants were clawing their way onto the wall, tendrils of mist curling up around them, grabbing at limbs even as they were stabbed. A warrior of the Order was dragged screaming over the wall. Then another. A Revenant leaped out of the mist, landed on all fours, threw itself into a warrior, the two of them falling into the courtyard.

  Drem reached the press, leaned and stabbed a Revenant as it climbed, saw a hundred more beneath it. The mist on the bridge seethed and swarmed with dark figures.

  There are too many.

  ‘We must find their captain,’ Keld grunted, thrusting his sword into the mass of enemies in front of him.

  Revenants were clambering over the wall, now too many of them to push back. One threw itself onto a warrior of Brikan. She swung a sword but the creature was too fast, surging inside her guard, jaws wide, teeth searching for flesh. Drem stabbed it in the waist with his seax, a burst of blue flame, saw it spasm and scream, chopped into its skull with his axe, bone and rotten flesh exploding. The Revenant collapsed, the woman pushing it away in revulsion.

  A loud crack from the gates, vibrating up through stone. Drem and those around him froze for a moment. Another crack, louder, the iron hinges of the gate squealing.

  Then in a burst and screech of iron and splintered wood the gates exploded inwards. Drem and those around him on the wall above the gates were thrown to the ground.

  A frozen moment, a cloud of dust filling the courtyard, slowly settling. Drem clambered to his feet, saw Keld rising.

  Black mist poured through the shattered gateway, followed by countless Revenants.

  ‘SHIELD WALL!’ a voice yelled in the courtyard, Halden, standing with forty or fifty warriors of Brikan. Round shields came together with a crack, sharp steel glinting. The Revenants hit it like a wave, the wall staggered, straining, but it held against the first rush, swords and spears stabbing out, flashes of blue flame and Revenants fell back, screaming.