by John Gwynne
‘Good.’ Dumah nodded.
‘What about the air?’ Meical asked. ‘What are our numbers?’
‘Around a thousand Ben-Elim,’ Dumah answered.
‘They outnumber us in the air, as well, then,’ Meical said. ‘Have you planned for that?’
‘We will stay close to Ripa, and low. There will be archers in the tower, on the walls.’
‘Lead the Kadoshim and their offspring over my Sirak,’ Bleda said, ‘and we shall teach them to fly high.’
Riv looked back at the channels dug into the land.
‘Raina,’ she said. ‘That powder you have, that sets blue flame burning on anything. Does that include water?’
‘It does,’ Raina said, her voice like an iron rasp.
‘How much do you have?’
CHAPTER SEVENTY
FRITHA
Fritha padded through the darkness along a stone-flagged street, a skin of wine in one hand. Behind her the sounds of revelry echoed out from Balara’s hall and tower. She did not feel like merrymaking.
I will save that for after the battle.
All had their own way of finding their courage before a fight. Fritha wanted quiet but the noise in the hall was filling her head with chaos. She walked along the wide street that led from Balara’s tower towards the gates. Behind her she heard the slither and rasp of scales on stone, and then Elise was beside her.
‘What issss it?’ Elise asked her, ‘enemy in the treesss? A night attack?’
‘No, my love, I just wanted some quiet,’ Fritha said.
‘May I ssstay?’ Elise asked.
‘Of course,’ Fritha said, her fingers brushing Elise’s hand.
They walked silently through the fortress, passing guards stationed along the way. Iron braziers burned in the courtyard, flames swirling in a breeze. Acolytes sat around the fires, others lining the walls. They moved out of the way as Fritha and Elise scaled the stairs and walked along the wall.
Arn was already upon the wall, staring out towards Ripa. He nodded a greeting and fell in silently behind them. Stone turned to timber beneath their feet as they crossed sections of the wall that had crumbled to ruin and been repaired by men. Fritha eventually found a spot that she deemed right for her mood, dark and silent. It was to the west of the gate tower, overlooking the dense shadows of the Sarva Forest. She sat, dangling her legs over the wall, and took a drink from her wine skin. Arn sat one side of her and Elise coiled the other.
Silence settled about them, only the soughing of wind in trees, the creak and scrape of branches. In the distance, from within the forest, Fritha heard the howl of one of her Ferals, taken up by others.
My babies are hunting in those woods. And guarding us, too. Nothing on the ground could slip past them.
‘A long time,’ Fritha said into the darkness, ‘since my Anja was murdered by Ben-Elim, and you both found me, somehow brought me back from a darkness worse than death.’ She looked at them both. ‘You both saved me.’
‘We have sssaved each other, countless timessss,’ Elise hissed, her tongue flickering.
Arn grunted his agreement, his hand on the starstone axe at his belt.
‘And everything we have done, strived for, it will be decided on the morrow,’ Fritha said, taking another sip of wine.
And if we win, what then? A brave new world. One where Asroth rules, with me at his side. She felt a shiver at the thought, pleasure and fear. Will Asroth keep his word, once we have helped him win? I do not know, and that is why I am gathering my friends. Wrath, Elise, Arn; and Jin will be next. She is no fool. Together we are a force that Asroth cannot discard. Or easily destroy. But these are thoughts for another day. Right now, there is only the morrow. She felt so many things; excited, melancholic, fearful, angry, all of those emotions swirling through her blood, mixing and blending. She reached out a hand and put it upon Elise’s, squeezed it, then reached out to Arn, too, and squeezed his hand.
‘Together we shall face all that this world throws at us.’
‘Aye,’ Arn said. ‘Together. We are as close as kin now.’
‘We are,’ Fritha agreed.
‘We shall avenge my fallen mother, hung from a rope by Ben-Elim for no real crime,’ Elise hissed. ‘We shall wipe the Ben-Elim from the face of the earth, and make thisss a better world for those who follow after usss.’
‘We shall,’ Fritha said. Her hand went to the swell of her belly. She felt a kick, as if her unborn child agreed with her.
‘No flying away if thingsss go bad, thisss time,’ Elise said.
‘No,’ Fritha said. ‘This is one battle that there is no running from. Tomorrow we will win or we will die.’
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
BLEDA
Bleda sat on a stool as Riv scraped her sharpest knife across his head. Dawn’s first rays filtered through cracks in the fabric of their tent curtain, along with sounds of the camp stirring. They had both woken in the dark, lying there, silent, holding each other.
Today is the day. Today we fight. Live or die, this is the day.
Bleda blew out a long breath, felt knots of tension and excitement building in his stomach and chest.
‘I know,’ Riv murmured, as she shaved stubble from the last part of his head, leaving only the long warrior braid.
‘All done,’ she said, wiping her knife clean and sheathing it.
‘My thanks.’ He stood and looked into her eyes.
‘Well, it’s a special day, you should look your best,’ Riv said.
‘It is,’ Bleda agreed. ‘For so long, I have just been living from one day to the next, not knowing if I would see the next dawn. This day, this battle, has always seemed so far away. And now it is here, upon us.’
‘I feel it, too,’ Riv said. ‘Like a song in my blood.’
‘Aye, that is it.’ He looked at Riv, so strong and beautiful, her wings magnificent.
‘I want to . . . thank you,’ Bleda said. ‘You have given me so much. My heart was buried in a deep, dark place for so many years. You awoke it, the day you gave me my brother’s bow. That act of kindness, of friendship, when I felt so alone . . .’ He paused.
Riv smiled and stroked his cheek. ‘I love you, Bleda ben Erdene,’ she said, and leaned forwards and kissed him. ‘I have one more gift for you,’ she said, and reached into her bundled cloak. She drew out a long knife in a scabbard. ‘It is rune-marked,’ she said. ‘You have runed arrows, but, just in case.’
‘My thanks,’ Bleda said. He threaded the scabbard-loops onto his weapons-belt, which was draped over his lamellar coat.
‘Come, let’s get you dressed,’ Riv said. She was already in her coat of mail; Bleda had helped her into it earlier. Riv passed him a tunic of wool, which he shrugged over his head, and then his grey deel of felt. A lot of layers beneath his lamellar coat, but the combination of felt and wool would help to snare an arrow if it found a gap in the iron plates of his armour.
A cough beyond the tent’s entrance.
‘Come,’ Bleda said.
Ruga entered, carrying two clay bowls. ‘Porridge and some honey,’ she said. ‘It’s going to be a long day.’
Bleda took his bowl and stirred it, steam rising, blew on a spoonful and ate. Ellac and Yul entered the tent behind Ruga, silent and grim, both in coats of mail, leather vambraces on their forearms, their grey deels clean and bright. Ellac had a sword across his back. Yul had the same, and his bow and quiver at his waist. The rune-marked arrows were easy to pick out, their feathers grey, where the rest were goose-wing white.
Bleda had given out twenty-five runed arrows to twenty hand-picked warriors, including himself. They were the best archers in his warband and Riv had told him of the importance of putting Gulla or his captains down.
Without a word Ruga helped Riv with Bleda’s lamellar coat. He stood with his arms out, helping them thread it over him, then cinching it tight at the back and buckling it. He rolled his shoulders, enjoying the welcome weight of it. Riv and Ruga slipped his weapo
ns-belt around his waist, Riv buckling it, his bow-case and quiver comfortable on each hip. Finally, his sword-belt was looped over his shoulder, a leather baldric, and the scabbard settled across his back. It was not his father’s sword, which Erdene had given to him. That had been taken from him by Jin and Uldin when he had been taken captive in Forn Forest. But this was a good Sirak sword, taken from a fallen warrior. He reached over his back, gripped the leather-bound hilt, checked that it did not snare in the scabbard. It was perfect.
He and Ruga helped Riv with her weapons-belt. The bow he had made her in its case, a quiver of runed arrows. Two short-swords and a knife.
Riv went through a routine of checking her blades for their draw, adjusting the straps of her quiver, brushing the palm of her hand across the feather-tips.
‘I think we are ready,’ Bleda said. He took a moment, looked at all of them.
‘My brave warriors,’ he said to them. ‘You have followed me, saved me, proved your courage and heart to me a thousand times.’ He nodded to himself. ‘Whatever happens this day, I am proud to know you, and call you friends.’
Ellac, Ruga and Yul looked back at him, tears in their eyes.
Bleda drew in a deep breath. ‘Let’s kill our enemies, and live to drink and boast of it together,’ he said, and all four of them grinned back at him. From Ruga, Ellac and Yul that was the deepest honour they could give.
Ruga swept the curtain open and went out before him, moved to one side, Bleda stepping out into bright morning sunshine.
His warband were arrayed in front of him, a thousand warriors all mounted, staring silently. Horse breath steamed in clouds on the chill of morning. A horse whinnied, leather harness creaked. Bleda strode to his mount, Dilis, one fist on the saddle pommel, and he vaulted onto her back, then looked at his warriors.
‘You have followed me this far, fought countless battles beside me. Spilt your blood. And it all comes to this day. Now we have our chance to avenge our kin; now we have the chance to put our enemy in the ground. The Cheren die today.’
‘HAI!’ his warband cried, and then they were breaking into motion, Bleda leading them out. Riv’s wings snapped open and she leaped into the air, rising above them.
Bleda looked at the battlefield. He was positioned halfway up a low hill on the eastern fringe of the plain, Riv standing beside him. The wall curved before him, circling out and away from the hills he had his back to, a huge semi-circle that took in leagues of open plain before it curled back in towards the coast, ending on the banks of the river that spilt from Sarva’s darkness. Bleda could make out Kurgan giants massed along the riverbank.
White-Wing warriors walked the palisade, over a thousand warriors in their polished black cuirasses and mail. Archers were amongst them, and at scores of points Bleda saw the heat-shimmer in the air, marking where great iron pots of pitch were being heated. On the walls about them warriors were tipping barrels of water down the timber palisade and walkways, soaking the wood, preparing it as well as they could for the imminent fire and pitch.
On the plain immediately behind the wall the ground was empty. Two or three hundred or so paces back the first ditch cut a dark line across the plain. It ran parallel with the wall, the water in it glistening, spikes bristling. Makeshift portable bridges were laid across it at the moment. Scores of pits had been dug into the ground on both sides of the ditch, filled with stakes and kindling and pitch, though it was not lit yet. The pits were covered with latticed branches and had loose earth and grass thrown onto them. Each pit had a stone placed upon it, painted with limestone whitewash so that Bleda and all the allies would be able to see them and know where the pits were. They gleamed in the sun, now risen over the hills and cliffs at Bleda’s back.
Further back still, behind the pits, were three regiments of White-Wings, each a thousand swords strong. Bleda had never seen a shield wall with such great numbers. Behind them was open plain, then the second ditch, and then behind that ditch were another two regiments of White-Wings, reinforcements or to protect any retreat. Arrayed behind them was the camp, spread across the hill that Ripa’s tower stood upon. Bleda could see gulls circling, a glimpse of the sea shimmering behind it all.
‘A lot of warriors,’ Ruga said beside him.
‘Aye,’ Bleda said.
‘But not as many as them,’ Riv said. She was standing beside Bleda.
‘No,’ Bleda said. They were far enough up the hill to have a view over the outer wall. On the plain to the north, still a league or so away, Asroth’s war-host approached. It filled the land like a dark stain, creeping towards them. On this eastern fringe, their right flank, banks of black mist rolled over the land, everything within it hidden. The mist was thinner in the centre, though, and Bleda could see warriors with shields marching, the same rectangular shields that the White-Wings used.
The western flank was wreathed in mist.
Where is Jin?
Above the warband Kadoshim and their half-breed offspring flew.
Wings from above and Bleda looked up, saw a score of Ben-Elim dropping towards him. Meical led them.
‘Well met,’ Meical said as he landed, his wings stirring up dust from the ground. Hadran alighted with him, other Ben-Elim hovering in the air above them. ‘A good day for a fight,’ he observed, looking up at the sky. It was cloudless, the sun at their backs, a gentle breeze taking the heat out of the sun, but not too much to foul bow work.
‘It is,’ Bleda said.
‘The Ben-Elim thank you for standing with us, Bleda ben Erdene,’ Hadran said.
Bleda nodded. ‘I am happy to stand alongside you, Hadran, and you, Meical. There are many reasons I am here. The Kadoshim are an evil that must be purged, there is no running or hiding from them. My greatest enemy stands with them, Jin of the Cheren. But above all, I am here for her.’ He looked at Riv.
‘There is much strength in love,’ Meical said. ‘You humans have taught me that.’
He held his arm out and Bleda looked at it a moment, and then leaned in his saddle and gripped it.
‘Whatever this day may hold for us, it’s an honour to fight alongside you,’ Meical said.
‘Aye, and you too,’ Bleda said. ‘Ha, you are a legend from our histories. How can we lose?’
‘So is he,’ Meical said with a frown, looking out at Asroth’s host. They could not see Asroth, but everyone felt his presence. A dark malignance approaching them.
‘Even legends can die.’ Bleda shrugged. ‘If you put an arrow in their eye.’
Behind him he heard Ellac grunt his approval.
‘Yes,’ Meical said, staring at the dark host on the plain. ‘Riv, it is time,’ he said. She looked at Meical, then at Bleda.
‘Kill your enemies, and live to boast of it with me tonight,’ she said to him, as her wings snapped out, repeating his words from earlier in the tent. She bent her knees, jumped and beat her wings and then she was airborne, hovering a moment before Bleda, looking into his eyes. He smiled at her, and then she was rising with Meical, Hadran and the other Ben-Elim.
Just live, Bleda thought, watching her shrink into the sky.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
FRITHA
Fritha rode upon Wrath’s back, swaying with his bow-legged gait, her eyes fixed on the wall before them. The sun was rising slowly, hanging low in the sky behind the hills and cliffs of Ripa, making Fritha squint.
They have the advantage of the sun at their backs, Fritha thought, not liking that. Only half a league separated her from her enemy now. Her heart was beating faster, a nervous energy in her limbs building, making her movements twitchy.
‘Fritha, something strange is happening to me,’ Asroth said.
She looked over at him. He was riding upon his huge stallion, clothed in his starstone mail and helm, his long axe slung across his back, his whip and knife at his belt.
He looked like a god come to earth.
Which I suppose he almost is.
‘What is it, my beloved?’ she said.
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‘I can feel my blood pumping through my veins, my heart beating faster, and look –’ he held his gauntleted hand out and Fritha saw a tremor pass through it.
‘Is this fear?’ he said.
‘I think it is,’ Fritha said. ‘Fear, excitement, the knowledge that we are about to face our enemy, and either you or they will be food for crows by the end of the day. The prospect of imminent death can focus the mind and make your heart pound.’
Asroth nodded. ‘I was thinking about that,’ he confessed. Then he smiled. ‘This fear is delicious. I have never felt anything like it. The possibility of death is . . . euphoric. Fear will not rule me, though. I will fight, despite my fear.’ He looked at Fritha, grinning. ‘No wonder you mortals cling so desperately to your lives, if it is so full of this. It is intoxicating.’
Asroth looked down at one of his acolyte honour guards, riding a few paces behind.
‘Summon my captains,’ he said.
The warrior put a horn to his lips and blew two short blasts.
In moments Gulla and Morn were sweeping from the sky, Bune and a dozen other Kadoshim as well. Aenor cantered up from further down the line, and a few moments later Jin was riding across the warband, her oathsworn man at her shoulder, as always.
‘It is upon us,’ Asroth said. ‘The last battle of our Long War. Can you taste it?’ He grinned at them all, heads nodding back at him. Fritha could taste it, everything heightened at this moment.
‘We all know what to do. To kill our enemies, we must get past that wall,’ Asroth said, abruptly focused. ‘Gulla, send the two of your Seven and take their flanks. Aenor, now is your time. You have served me faithfully and so the honour of striking first at the Ben-Elim is yours. Take the wall.’ He looked at Jin. ‘You, my violent friend, will wait until there is a hole in that wall. It won’t take long. Once it’s there, and we’ve cleared it, you will lead us.’
‘Aye,’ Jin said, nodding.
‘That is a nice sword,’ Fritha said, looking at the weapon that jutted across Jin’s shoulder, its leather-bound hilt threaded with silver wire.
