by John Gwynne
They have no chance, Drem thought, the shield wall is too short, its flanks unprotected. Even as Drem looked he saw Revenants pouring around the shield wall’s edges, leaping and tearing at warriors.
There was a deafening roar as Friend waded into the Revenants on the shield wall’s right flank. He swiped with his claws, his huge jaws clamping onto bodies and shaking them. Revenants went flying through the air like sticks, bellies opened, torsos and limbs shredded. Drem saw a severed head spinning through the air.
It gave a moment’s reprieve; the shield wall took a step forwards, stabbing down at the scattered Revenants. But the tide of creatures through the smashed gates was relentless, the courtyard filling. A new wave threw themselves at Friend, swarming over him.
‘No, not again,’ Drem breathed, and leaped into the courtyard.
He slammed into a knot of Revenants, scattered them, though they were instantly twisting and turning, leaping back to their feet. Drem slashed and stabbed with axe and seax, crackling blue flame as Revenants fell about him. Then Keld was at his side, Fen and Ralla throwing themselves at the creatures, ripping at limbs, Keld working with them, his runed sword stabbing and hacking at any Revenant the wolven-hounds pinned or distracted.
They cut a way through to Friend. The bear was covered with Revenants biting and slashing at him, frenziedly trying to rip through his coat of mail. Friend let out a deafening roar, spittle flying, and he reared onto his back legs, throwing a dozen black figures in all directions, slammed back down to earth, crushing a fallen Revenant; the ground shook. Drem chopped into a skull, stabbed through a back, ripped his blade free, sliced another Revenant across the face. Keld punching Revenants with his shield, stabbing, chopped into one between neck and shoulder, his blade snaring in bone, dragged down, his booted foot on the dying creature’s chest, yanking his blade free.
And then the bear was free, a space cleared around them, dead or dying Revenants all about, gurgling, scratching. Fen and Ralla crouched either side of Keld, snarling. Drem strode to Friend, stood with his back to the bear’s shoulder, looking into the courtyard.
Halden’s shield wall was swamped: dead Revenants piled before it but so many more were climbing over the dead. Drem saw one grab a shield rim and drag the warrior holding it out from the ranks, three Revenants falling upon her, tearing and biting. A warrior stepped into the breach from the second rank with a two-handed spear and pierced a Revenant, blade punching into its chest and bursting out of its back. But the spear was not rune-marked. The Revenant gripped the shaft piercing its chest and dragged itself along the wood towards the warrior, grabbing him by the throat, talons raking flesh to red ribbons.
A scream from above, shadows flitting across the courtyard, and Drem looked up, saw winged figures swooping down. Their wings were black and leathery.
‘WARE THE SKIES!’ Keld cried as Kadoshim and half-breeds fell upon the courtyard. Drem saw a half-breed woman swoop at the shield wall and stab down with a spear, a dozen more winged warriors following her.
It’s her, Gulla’s daughter.
The shield wall shattered with her attack, a hole opened that Revenants poured through, the shield wall breaking and splintering.
‘TO THE KEEP!’ Keld yelled, started to run, stopped and grabbed Drem by the shoulder, half dragging him. Drem turned and ran with him, Fen and Ralla bounding ahead, leaping up the wide steps. ‘Friend!’ Drem bellowed. The bear was swatting at another Revenant, then turned and lumbered with them.
The keep’s doors were open. Brikan was built from stone by giants in an age long past. Drem ran through into a deep hall, turned at the entrance. Friend trudged past – there was room enough for him.
Keld stood at the gateway and put a horn to his lips, gave it three short blows, the sound echoing in the hall, ringing out into the courtyard.
‘WARRIORS OF THE ORDER!’ Keld yelled. ‘TO ME! The doors,’ he called to Drem, and the two of them began to heave them closed. Warriors leaped up the stairs, ran into the hall, ten, fifteen. All about the courtyard battle raged. A knot of warriors from the shield wall were fighting their way up the steps, others caught in scattered melees. Horses bucked and screamed as Revenants fell upon them, a stampede as ropes were snapped, some horses galloping for the gateway, trampling Revenants and clattering across the bridge, others falling to the horde, dragged down by a wave of teeth and talons. Their screams filled the courtyard.
Reng burst through the doorway, his wolven-hound still with him, a handful more of Keld’s scouts following. They turned and helped Drem and Keld with the doors, some reaching for the wooden bar. Halden was leading a knot of warriors up the steps. Drem ran to join them, chopped his axe into a Revenant’s wrist, severing the hand that had just grabbed a warrior’s shield. He ducked a swipe of talons from the other hand and stabbed upwards with his seax, punched into the creature’s belly, on, upwards and deeper, found its rotted heart, twisted his blade and then pushed it away.
‘YOU!’ a voice cried. Drem looked into the courtyard to see Gulla’s half-breed daughter staring at him. She hurled her spear; Drem stumbled to the side, the spear striking stone and flying through the keep’s doors.
She beat her wings, moving towards him.
Drem turned and ran, throwing himself into the hall just behind Halden.
Keld and Reng were closing the doors.
Drem hefted the wooden bar, ready to set it in the doors, another warrior helping him.
Something changed in the courtyard, a stillness settling upon the Revenants, all of them halting whatever they were doing. They all looked up. Survivors of the Order took the opportunity, running to the keep’s open doorway, flying through.
Drem saw the Revenants’ captain again, standing in the wreckage of the smashed gateway. He was looking up, too.
Drem followed their stare, saw half-breeds descending, maybe fifty of them, alighting in the courtyard amongst the dead, then a score of Kadoshim. They spread through the courtyard, forming a ring. Another figure descended, dark wings wide, beating slowly, dust stirring on the ground. He was a Kadoshim, but different. Taller, limbs stretched, musculature striated. He wore a coat of dark mail, a nimbus shadow about him like a dark halo, and he had only one eye, which glowed red.
‘Gulla,’ Drem whispered, though all in the hall heard him; the silence in the courtyard was absolute.
Gulla looked about him, surveying the dead, saw warriors of the Order scattered everywhere, the courtyard slick with their blood. He smiled, then looked up at the keep, saw Keld, Reng and Drem.
Keld slammed his door shut, Reng a heartbeat behind him.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
BLEDA
Bleda sat on a stone chair too big for him; he felt like a child with his feet dangling. He was exhausted, limbs heavy, his very bones aching, but there was also an energy flowing through him.
I am alive, when I thought I was dead. Should have been dead.
He looked about. They were in a huge cavern, wide bowls burning with blue-tinged fire set around the chamber.
Yul was lying on a table, his mail and deel stripped away, the giant cutting arrows from his body. All around them injured Sirak warriors were being tended. About a hundred of his warriors were still breathing, survivors of the battle in the gully.
‘Are you . . . Raina?’ he said.
The giant’s head snapped up at him and she frowned, brows bunching.
‘How do you know that?’ she said in her voice of iron.
‘A crow from Dun Seren was looking for you. Durl. He hasn’t found you yet, then?’
‘No,’ Raina grunted, her frown deepening.
The battle in the gully had been short and fierce. All of his Sirak had ridden at the Cheren, trying to get to Bleda and Yul, but the Cheren numbers had been overwhelming. But then the giants had charged from their hidden tunnels, crashing into the Cheren’s flank, axe and hammer and spear smashing the Cheren into pulped, bloody ruin. In less than a hundred heartbeats it had been all but ov
er, close to five hundred Cheren lying on the rocky floor, bleeding into the mountain’s bones.
Other giants came and stood around Raina, tall and brooding. All of them had shaved heads, strips of hair down the middle of their heads. Most of them wore leather and mail. One that was standing close to Raina wore a long, short-sleeved coat of lamellar plate, like Bleda’s, except that each iron plate was as big as Bleda’s fist. He was fair-haired, a twisted scar running through his nose.
He said something to Raina in a language Bleda didn’t understand.
‘This is Ukran, Lord of the Kurgan,’ Raina said to Bleda.
‘Oh, you are not their lord, then,’ Bleda said to her. For some reason he’d thought that she was.
‘She is not,’ the giant said haltingly. His voice deeper and rustier even than Raina’s.
‘The Kurgan are not used to speaking in the Common Tongue,’ Raina said with a shrug. She dug a knife into Yul’s back, coaxing an arrowhead out, soaking up blood with a linen rag. Yul grunted. With a sucking sound the arrow pulled free. Raina set to stitching the wound, a hooked needle on the end of a thread as thick as a bowstring.
‘So small it hardly needs stitching,’ Ukran grated.
Raina ignored him, carried on stitching.
Bleda was proud of Yul: he made not a sound.
When she was done Raina cleaned the wound, packed leaves and honey onto it and then wrapped a linen bandage around Yul’s back and chest. She took his arm and helped him sit upright.
That was the third arrow she had cut from Yul’s body, the third wound she’d stitched and cleaned.
‘I am in your debt,’ Bleda said to her. ‘To all of you.’
‘You are, little man,’ Ukran agreed. ‘I was of a mind to kill you all. I don’t like strangers.’ He scowled at Bleda.
‘Well, I am doubly thankful that you joined with us,’ Bleda said. ‘I am Bleda ben Erdene, Lord of the Sirak. Well met, Ukran, Lord of the Kurgan.’
The giant just looked at him.
‘We are all strangers until we meet,’ Bleda said with a shrug. He held his arm out, offered the warrior’s grip.
Raina’s mouth twitched at that.
‘Hmm,’ Ukran rumbled. Then he took Bleda’s arm in a huge fist.
‘And my thanks, for not killing us,’ Bleda said.
‘You have Raina to thank for that,’ Ukran said.
‘You spoke of Dun Seren and the Order of the Bright Star,’ Raina said. ‘Of Ethlinn and Balur and . . . Alcyon.’
‘Aye,’ Bleda said. ‘You know them?’
A smile ghosted Raina’s face.
‘Aye,’ she said. ‘Alcyon is my husband.’
Bleda nearly fell off his huge stone chair. Alcyon was the giant he had known the longest. Bleda had ridden upon Alcyon’s bear saddle all the way from Arcona to Drassil, so many years ago. Despite that, he had liked the giant. There had always been a sense of kindness behind his dark, quiet eyes.
‘So, what news from the west?’ Raina said. ‘Why is Durl searching for me?’
‘The news is war,’ Bleda said. ‘The Kadoshim have risen, Drassil is fallen, Asroth awakened. The Ben-Elim are routed.’
Raina was silent, her face unreadable. ‘And what of the Order?’ she asked.
Bleda looked at Raina. Was aware that he was giving her much information, while hardly knowing who she was.
But Durl is seeking her, a crow from Dun Seren, so she must be allied to them somehow. Alcyon is her husband. And most importantly of all, she saved my life, and the lives of my warriors. I am in her debt, and the least I can give her is the truth.
Bleda sucked in a deep breath.
‘In truth I know little of them. Only that one I love has gone to them, asking for their aid.’
‘One you love?’
‘Aye. Her name is Riv. She is a half-breed Ben-Elim. She has gone to Drassil with Meical and other Ben-Elim—’
‘Meical!’ Raina interrupted.
‘Aye. He was freed along with Asroth. Riv saved him, helped him escape from Drassil.’ He felt his chest swell with pride at that.
Is she not the fiercest, bravest warrior in all the Banished Lands?
‘And what are they asking the Order of the Bright Star to do?’ Raina asked. ‘What is Meical’s plan?’
‘To meet at Ripa. There is a garrison of White-Wings there, the largest force outside of Drassil. All those who survived Drassil are heading there. I too have promised to raise my people and take them to Ripa.’
Raina looked around the chamber.
‘One hundred Sirak will not make so much of a difference,’ she said.
Yul grunted at that. He clearly disagreed.
‘There are more of us than this. I led these brave warriors as a diversion, allowing eight hundred of my people to make it to the Tethys Pass.’
Raina looked at him a long while, then at Ukran.
‘You are an interesting man, Bleda ben Erdene,’ she said at last.
‘Aye,’ Ukran said. ‘I think I am glad we saved your life.’
Bleda dipped his head to them both.
‘So, you are bound for Ripa?’ Raina said.
‘Aye. Can you help me get there? These mountains are full of a Cheren warband hunting me.’
‘We will kill them,’ Ukran said.
‘Although I do not doubt your skill, they number three to four thousand riders,’ Bleda told him.
‘Hmm,’ Ukran rumbled. ‘Perhaps we shall leave them be, then.’
‘I will help you get to Ripa,’ Raina said. ‘I will do more than that. I will come with you.’ She looked at Ukran. ‘I have news that the Order needs to hear, news that Ukran’s scouts have discovered. I am hoping that Ukran and his Clan will march with me, that they will join in this war against Asroth.’
‘We are safe here,’ Ukran replied with a shrug. ‘Why march my people to death, when they can stay here and live?’
‘Because if Asroth and the Kadoshim win, then death will find you, even here,’ Bleda assured him. ‘This is no political war, one king seeking land and titles. This is a war against evil. I have looked into a Kadoshim’s eyes and seen it. They would kill us all. Every living, breathing creature that walks the Banished Lands.’ He raised his hands, palms up. ‘That is why I fight. To protect those I love from death.’
‘That is the only reason to fight,’ Raina said.
Ukran regarded him with dark, brooding eyes.
‘What is this news that the Order of the Bright Star needs to hear?’ Bleda asked Raina.
I have been truthful with her, told her all I know. Will she do me the same courtesy?
She gave him another long, unreadable look.
‘The Shekam giants are riding to war, and Kadoshim fly above their Clan.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
DREM
‘Bar the doors,’ Keld said. Drem and the other warriors were only too happy to oblige. A thick oak bar slammed into place, latched with four thick hooks.
They stepped away from the doorway.
‘That Gulla you spoke of, their leader, he’s out there?’ Halden asked. He was bleeding from claw marks across one cheek.
‘Aye,’ Keld said.
‘And his half-breed daughter,’ Drem said.
‘And one of the Seven,’ Keld added.
Halden snorted and shook his head.
Drem looked into the hall. There were seventy or eighty warriors there, a mixture of Keld’s scouts and Halden’s warriors of Brikan. All had rune-marked blades; those who didn’t were corpses outside, bleeding into the courtyard’s stone. Friend loomed behind them, and Fen and Ralla padded in the shadows, four more wolven-hounds snarling at the keep’s doorway. The hall was vaulted, shuttered windows along two walls.
‘Ways out? Somewhere more defensible?’ Keld asked.
‘Rooms in the tower,’ Halden said, a jerk of his head towards a stairwell at the back of the hall. ‘Or the dungeons below.’
Drem already knew that, whatever the decision
, he wouldn’t be leaving this hall. The keep was built for giants, but Friend would struggle to fit through stairwells and corridors, and would certainly have no room to turn or fight. Drem walked to Friend’s side, leaned against the white bear.
‘I’ve led you into another tight spot,’ Drem said sadly.
Friend rumbled a growl, nudged Drem with his muzzle. Revenant flesh hung between his teeth.
‘I’m not of a mind to run,’ Halden said. ‘Let’s try and kill the bastards here.’
Keld nodded, grinned.
Warriors took water skins from their belts, drank deeply, some tending to wounds, ripping and tying makeshift bandages, no time for more. Some sat at benches in the hall, cleaning weapons.
A slow banging on the door, a fist shaking dust from timbers.
‘I saw you, son of Olin. Slayer of my son. I know you are in there. My daughter is out here with me. She dreams of your death.’ Gulla’s voice seeped through the door like a scratching hiss, squirming into Drem’s head, making his ears itch.
Drem looked at Keld.
‘I am coming in. You will all soon be dead. Best you say your last words, but know this: your time is over, the Long War is already won, the Banished Lands ours. You are already dead, you just do not know it yet.’
‘Less talking, more fighting,’ Halden called back, ‘and then we’ll see who will be doing the dying.’
A hissing laugh, then silence.
Warriors looked at one another, hefting weapons.
‘Ready,’ Keld said.
‘Kill Gulla’s captain and many of the Revenants will fall,’ Drem said into the silence. ‘Kill Gulla and all the Revenants die.’
‘He speaks the truth,’ Keld said. ‘Kill Gulla.’ He said it again, louder. ‘Kill Gulla.’
Voices joined him, becoming a chant.
‘KILL GULLA, KILL GULLA, KILL GULLA.’
A silence settled again, no sound of movement from the other side of the doors.
A sudden bang, a shutter across a window imploding, splinters of wood showered in. A Revenant crashed through into the hall, crunching into the long table, rolling to its feet, snarling, talons slashing. All along the wall Revenants smashed through the shuttered windows, falling and rolling, rising, running.
