by John Gwynne
‘We will ride with you to Asroth,’ Jin said.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
DREM
Drem rode through the sentry-line, one of the last to return from a day scouting ahead of Nara’s vanguard. Warriors parted for Friend, nodding a greeting up at him as Fen loped at his side and Reng the huntsman trotted beside him. Since Keld had died, Drem had ridden ahead as scout every day. Reng had led, taking over Keld’s position amongst the huntsmen of Dun Seren, but had given Drem point on many occasions, having seen first-hand Drem’s skills as a woodsman and tracker.
They passed through countless lines of tents, the smell of woodsmoke from a hundred fire-pits drifting on the breeze. Up above, winged figures circled: Faelan and his kin, as well as Craf’s crows.
He glanced to his right, saw the spike of a tower beyond their camp. The fortress of Jerolin, its black tower pointing like an accusatory finger at the sky, a glistening lake beyond it, wide as a sea to Drem’s eyes. The fortress was empty; word of Asroth’s horde had sent all fighting men and women south to Ripa, those left behind running to hide in the wooded hills and forests of this land. It had been the same for over a moon: every hold, village, town and fortress empty. The people of the Banished Lands were afraid. Drem could feel it, a creeping sensation in his gut, a shiver down his spine, as if a spider’s legs crawled across his neck.
The end is coming.
He wiped sweat from his eyes.
‘It’s Hunter’s Moon, how can it be so warm?’ he muttered to Friend. ‘Though I don’t know why I’m complaining; you’re the one covered in fur.’
They reached the bear enclosure and Hammer lumbered over to them as they entered, a deep rumbling sound in her chest. She rubbed her head against Friend’s neck and he rumbled back, pushing against the huge bear.
‘We’re pleased to see you, too,’ Drem said to Hammer, ‘but let me climb out of my saddle first.’
Alcyon laughed, the giant following Hammer. Drem dropped to the ground, stretched his back and patted Fen’s neck. The wolven-hound padded off to the shade of a tree, turned a circle and flopped to the ground, mail coat clanking. Drem saw Alcyon looking up at Jerolin’s tower.
‘You’ve seen this place before?’ Drem said.
‘Aye,’ Alcyon growled. The memory did not seem like a pleasant one. The giant sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. ‘Those Kadoshim have caused a lot of hurt in this world. Too much.’
‘That will end soon,’ Drem said, his mind full of Gulla and Fritha and Morn.
‘Aye, it will,’ Alcyon said. ‘One way or another.’
The giant was helping Drem unbuckle and remove Friend’s saddle and coat when Cullen ran into the enclosure.
‘Byrne wants us,’ Cullen said. ‘Riv’s back from Ripa.’
Byrne was in her tent standing beside a table, pouring mead into a handful of cups. Riv was there, wings furled tight across her back. Meical was there, too, and Kill was at Byrne’s shoulder.
Riv looked over at Drem and Cullen as they walked into the tent, gave them a tentative smile that faded.
‘What’s wrong?’ Riv said. Then she looked at Fen, who had followed Drem and now padded into the tent. ‘Where’s Keld?’
Byrne handed Riv a cup of mead. ‘I haven’t had time to tell her,’ Byrne said to Drem and Cullen.
‘Keld . . .’ Cullen began, a tremor in his voice stopping him.
‘Keld fell, at Brikan,’ Drem said, his voice flat, monotone. He felt the grief, though, a nausea deep in his gut and a prickling behind his eyes.
‘How?’ Riv asked, colour draining from her face.
Drem drew in a deep breath. ‘Keld led a scouting expedition to Brikan. While we were there, Revenants attacked. Gulla was there. He and his daughter, Morn, slew Keld.’
‘And I will slay them,’ Cullen snarled.
Rage helps him.
‘Keld put a rune-marked sword through the heart of one of Gulla’s Seven,’ Drem carried on. ‘Thousands of Revenants fell.’
Riv shook her head and put a hand to her temple, rubbed it. She drank her cup of mead.
Byrne refilled the cup.
‘Keld is a loss we all feel,’ she said.
‘Aye,’ muttered Kill beside her.
‘I –’ Riv started, but words would not come. Her face twisted in a snarl. ‘Asroth, Gulla and all his scum need to die.’ She took a long, shivering breath, looked at Drem and Cullen. ‘I am so sorry,’ she said.
‘Asroth does need to die,’ Byrne said.
‘The Long War must come to an end,’ Meical said beside Riv. ‘And killing Asroth is the start of that, but it will only be over when every last Kadoshim is wiped from existence.’
‘So, let us be about that end,’ Byrne said. ‘What news, Riv?’
‘You are ten, maybe twelve nights from Ripa,’ Riv said slowly. ‘But Asroth is closer. He has crossed the Agullas far to the east of here, and is marching due south to Ripa. I have not had a close look at his warband, his scouts were thick in the air, but I saw it from a distance. It is . . . vast. Though much of it was cloaked in mist. The work of Gulla and his Seven, no doubt.’
‘They are four, now,’ Cullen said with a fierce snarl.
And soon they will be none.
‘How long until Asroth reaches Ripa?’ Byrne asked.
Riv looked at Meical and shrugged. ‘If his host were as disciplined as White-Wings, they would travel the distance in five days. But he is slower. Nine, maybe ten days. It is hard to tell.’
Byrne’s mouth formed a tight line. ‘Can he be delayed? It would be best for us to reach Ripa and fight him together. Divided we are both easier to destroy. And we have rune-marked blades, unlike the warband at Ripa. Until we reach there they are vulnerable to a Revenant attack. It would be overwhelming.’
‘Aye. Like Drassil,’ Riv said. ‘But Kol is in no hurry to join with you.’
Byrne raised an eyebrow.
‘He has seven thousand White-Wings around him, over a thousand Ben-Elim. He thinks he is invulnerable.’
‘Idiot,’ Byrne muttered.
‘Fortunately, he is not in total control of the Ben-Elim and White-Wings anymore,’ Meical said. ‘Thanks to Riv.’
All looked at Riv.
‘I named him as my father,’ Riv said, ‘in front of his Ben-Elim and White-Wing captains.’
‘Ah, well, better the truth be brought out into the light,’ Byrne said. ‘What happened?’
‘Kol will be tried before the Assembly after the battle with Asroth is fought, if anyone lives to try him.’
Byrne nodded. ‘But who commands at Ripa, now?’
‘Technically, the Ben-Elim Assembly,’ Meical said. ‘But that is too unwieldy. In reality it is spread between a handful of Ben-Elim: Dumah, Hadran, a few others. Kol still holds some power. He has many followers.’
‘So,’ Byrne said, ‘is there any way that Asroth can be slowed?’
‘Defences have been laid. Ditches dug, barriers built, but how long will they slow him?’ Riv shrugged. ‘Who knows?’
‘We must hurry, then,’ Byrne said, looking at them all.
‘There is something else I wanted to talk to you about,’ Riv said. ‘To ask you.’
Byrne sat down.
‘Sit,’ she said, ‘and tell me all about it.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
FRITHA
Fritha led three White-Wing warriors by a leash, two men and a woman, beaten bloody, staggering, half insensible. They had been caught by Morn and her half-breed kin, scouts spying on Asroth’s camp.
They were foolish to think they could come so close. They deserve what is about to happen to them. She walked out beyond the last tents of the camp and into the shade of a copse of alders. Behind her and the captives strode Arn, Elise there, too, slithering across the ground, and a handful of Fritha’s honour guard behind them. Fritha put a hand to the small of her back, rubbing knotted muscles. Her swelling belly was affecting all parts of her body. The child within her w
as growing, and quicker than a human child, she felt. Something in her spirit told her this baby would not be much longer in her womb.
Just wait for the battle to be done, she thought, stroking her belly.
The three captive warriors started to pull on the rope leashes tied around their necks and wrists.
‘Can you smell him?’ Fritha said to them, as she dragged the warriors on. They were pitifully weak after being put to the question, all three of them missing some body part or other, whether it be fingers, toes or teeth. ‘Or is it death that you can smell? Either way, I am sorry, but this is a cruel world. At least your deaths will be quick, and they are for a good cause. My Wrath will need his strength over the next few days.’
She heard Wrath’s rumbling growl, a reverberation in her boots and chest, and saw a hulking shadow move between the trees.
She stopped and let the warriors go. Just dropped the ropes. They tried to bolt backwards but Elise was there, her tail lashing and mouth wide, hissing, Arn and Fritha’s warriors pointing sharp steel at them.
The White-Wings turned from Elise, panicked by her proximity, and ran straight into Wrath.
His neck darted out and one was in his jaws, bones crunching, blood spraying. One of the men. The other two warriors ran stumbling in different directions.
Fritha smiled, watching Wrath eat the first warrior, shards of bone spilling from his jaws.
‘The other two are going to escape,’ Arn said.
‘No, they won’t,’ Fritha said, gazing lovingly at Wrath. She looked at Arn. ‘He likes to hunt.’
Arn nodded.
‘Come,’ Fritha said, ‘I am supposed to be in Asroth’s tent. He has called another council of war.’
An acolyte pulled the tent opening wide for Fritha and she stepped into Asroth’s portable throne-room. She strode in and then stopped, staring.
Asroth was sitting in his high-backed wooden chair, Bune standing behind him, other Kadoshim in the shadows that pooled between burning bowls. Another Kadoshim was kneeling before Asroth. With a gesture from him the Kadoshim rose and looked at Fritha.
‘Behold, my bride,’ Asroth said to the Kadoshim.
The Kadoshim eyed her. He had jet black hair where Asroth’s was silver, his face pale as a fish’s belly, a scar running down his cheek and through his mouth, making one corner curl in a permanent sneer.
‘Beautiful,’ the Kadoshim said, his eyes running over Fritha. They hovered over her belly. Although she was strapping it with linen, it was still showing through her mail shirt. Her cuirass did not fit and needed the buckles adjusting.
‘Fritha, this is Sulak,’ Asroth said.
‘Well met,’ Fritha said, approaching Sulak. She held out her arm for him. ‘My Lord Asroth has spoken much of your loyalty and fierce bravery.’
Sulak regarded her. Slowly he wrapped his long fingers around Fritha’s forearm, squeezing her leather vambrace.
‘Well met, Fritha, high priestess and bride of the King,’ he said, his voice quiet, almost gentle. It did not match his dark gaze.
‘Come, sit,’ Asroth said, ‘eat, and drink wine.’ He snapped his fingers and acolytes came forwards with jugs and platters.
Fritha sat at Asroth’s table. Elise and Arn entered the tent, Arn to stand at Fritha’s shoulder. Sulak’s eyes followed Elise as she slithered around the tent, coiling and settling in a shadowed corner.
Aenor entered brusquely, sweating. He grunted a greeting and then sat and poured himself a cup of wine, filled his wooden trencher and started eating.
Fritha stared at him.
‘Hungry work, catching White-Wings,’ he mumbled through a mouthful of cheese. It had been Aenor who had captured the White-Wing spies Fritha had just fed to Wrath.
More movement at the tent’s entrance and Gulla and Morn swept in, black mist curling around Gulla like a cloak. Fritha noticed that he was still walking with a limp, and that his shoulders were hunched.
His wounds from Drem at Brikan still trouble him.
Fritha felt unduly pleased about that.
Four figures followed Gulla, what was left of his Seven: Burg, Tyna, Ormun and Thel. The smell of decay entered the tent with them, of things long dead and rotted.
‘Sulak,’ Gulla said with a dip of his head, and he sat at the table, too. Morn slammed down into a chair between Gulla and Fritha.
She does everything angrily.
Another shadow at the tent entrance and Jin stepped into the tent. She wore her blue deel tunic, a coat of riveted mail over it. Weapons bristled on her belt: bow, quiver, two knives. A curved sword jutted over her shoulder. A Cheren warrior followed her, Gerel.
Fritha smiled at them both, pleased to see them. Jin’s presence gave her a new confidence. Three thousand warriors that were not Revenants. Experts of warfare on horseback. Now their war-host was beyond formidable.
Jin nodded a greeting and Fritha patted the chair beside her.
‘Welcome, my captains,’ Asroth said. ‘So, to business. How long until we reach Ripa and I get to put my boot on Meical’s skull?’
‘Three days’ travel,’ Aenor said. ‘We will see the fortress of Balara in two days.’
‘Balara?’ Asroth said, raising an eyebrow.
He has been told countless times, Fritha thought, trying not to roll her eyes. He does not seem concerned with any details of the impending battle.
‘A fortress belonging to the Order of the Bright Star, my King,’ Aenor said. ‘It lies upon a hill on the northern fringe of the Sarva Forest, a day’s journey from Ripa. We should take it first, don’t want enemy at our back when we assault Ripa.’ Aenor shrugged, slurping on his cup of wine. ‘We do not expect much resistance there. It most likely has a skeleton garrison, much like Brikan did, in Forn.’
‘Although that was not as easy to crack as some thought,’ Asroth said, eyeing Gulla.
Gulla said nothing.
‘Aye. It should be scouted out thoroughly,’ Aenor said.
‘So, three days until we reach Ripa,’ Asroth said. ‘Most excellent.’ He grinned.
‘What is the plan, my King?’ Fritha asked. ‘The strategy of attack?’
Asroth looked at her over his cup of wine.
‘I shall lead the centre, you and Aenor at my side. Jin will watch the left flank, Gulla and his Revenants the right. Morn and Bune will lead the aerial attack. And you with me, of course,’ Asroth said to Fritha. ‘Your Wrath will cause quite the impression, I am thinking.’ He raised his palms. ‘And then our enemy shall die.’
‘You will remain on the ground?’ Fritha asked him.
‘Aye,’ Asroth said. ‘To begin with. It will be a battle, no plan lasts past the first hundred heartbeats. We have overwhelming numbers, both on the ground and in the air. Meical’s defeat is inevitable.’
‘The numbers are in our favour,’ Fritha said cautiously, ‘but we are not facing a rabble. Seven thousand White-Wings, possibly more. They are skilled at field combat.’
‘We shall tear them to pieces.’ Asroth smiled. He looked at Fritha, then pulled a sad face. ‘Do not look so worried, my bride. Our war-host is vast, unstoppable. But to add to that, Sulak has joined us; my loyal friend. He leads a thousand Kadoshim and their . . . children. He will join us at Ripa, with his winged forces, and our allies, the Shekam giants. Our enemy will not walk away from this fight.’
‘The Shekam giants,’ Fritha repeated, looking at Sulak. ‘En route from Tarbesh? That is a hard journey. How close are they to Ripa?’
‘They are speeding to Ripa as we speak,’ Sulak said. ‘Have no doubts, they shall be there when you need them. As will I.’
‘And what is the planned attack with them?’
Sulak raised an eyebrow. ‘Have you seen a warband of giants, three hundred strong?’
‘Yes,’ Fritha said, thinking back to Balur One-Eye charging up a hill upon his battle-bear, hundreds of giants and bears behind him. The ground had shaken.
‘Well, then you have some idea. But these gi
ants will be riding draigs. Three hundred draigs. There will be no stopping them, no defending against them. Seven thousand White-Wing warriors, ten thousand, the end will be the same. Their corpses trampled into the ground.’
Fritha hoped it would be that easy, but life had taught her never to underestimate anyone.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
DREM
Drem sat, unstoppered his water bottle and took a long, deep drink.
‘Thirsty work, riding bears,’ Alcyon said to him. ‘And sore on the arse.’
Drem nodded. Riding a bear was not the same as sitting in a horse’s saddle. The legs were pushed wider, different muscles used to maintain your position, and a bear’s movement was different to a horse’s. No walk, trot, canter and gallop. It was just shifting from one lumbering speed to the next.
‘Here,’ Alcyon said, passing Drem a wrapped parcel of dried, salted pork.
‘My thanks,’ Drem said, cutting himself a slice, and then passing it on to Riv, who sat the other side of him.
They were camped in the Sarva Forest, beside a black-flowing river, wide and languorous as it approached the sea. Night had fallen. Drem, Riv, Alcyon and Meical were sitting on the riverbank, a dozen warriors of the Bright Star with them. Cullen and the rest were on first watch, silent and still amongst the trees of Sarva. Fen was somewhere out in the forest, too.
Friend was with Hammer beneath high-boughed trees, close to the wains. The white bear was nibbling Hammer’s shoulder, and she swiped him with a paw.
‘How long?’ Drem asked.
‘We’ll see Balara on the morrow,’ Meical said. ‘We’ve made good time. Pulled ahead from Byrne and the Order by a day or two.’ They’d been riding hard for six days. Switching the horses harnessed to the wains every half-day, and the ease of travelling on the wide, hard-packed road, had seen them cover around sixty leagues in six days.
‘My thanks,’ Riv said. ‘These weapons that we are carrying may well save my mother’s life.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Drem said.
Wings flapped and Rab fluttered down out of the canopy above.
