by John Gwynne
‘You slew her?’ Drem and Cullen asked together.
‘No. She fell. Might have died in the fall, but I cannot be sure.’ Drem and Cullen shared a look.
Byrne took the blade, studied it, turning it in her hands.
‘It is starstone metal,’ she breathed.
‘The point is, Asroth can bleed,’ Cullen said.
‘Aye,’ Balur rumbled, ‘and what bleeds can die.’
‘Yes,’ Bleda murmured.
‘That is good, but there is much more to this,’ Byrne said, looking up at all of them, a new fire in her eyes. ‘We need this starstone metal. Asroth appears to be wearing or wielding it – a coat of mail, a helm, a gauntlet, black axe, sword and whip. But if this weapon is out there, then perhaps he has gifted starstone weapons to more of his captains. We need it all.’
‘What for?’ Cullen asked.
‘To change our world, end the war, forever, not just for a generation. So, on the morrow, if any of you come against an enemy wielding or wearing this starstone metal, take it from them. At all costs.’
Nods and grunts amongst them all.
‘You have fought hard, fought for Ripa and the Ben-Elim, given your all, and lost much,’ Byrne said, her eyes resting upon Riv. ‘But I would ask you to fight once more. One more day, to change our world. To avenge our fallen. Can you do that?’
Riv held Byrne’s gaze and gave one sharp, curt nod. Avenge our fallen. Yes.
‘Good,’ Byrne said, and gave the black knife back to Riv. ‘Riv, Ukran, Bleda, I would talk with you, before we move out.’
Riv nodded and climbed to her feet.
Kill stepped forwards, until now a silent shadow at Byrne’s shoulder.
‘Who commands the White-Wing survivors?’ Kill asked.
Aphra’s name formed on Riv’s lips, a fresh twist of pain in her belly. The other White-Wings were looking at one another – Jost, Ert, Fia and Sorch.
‘Ert is the best of us,’ Fia said, Jost and Sorch nodding.
‘I am an old man, had some luck on the battlefield, that’s all,’ Ert said.
‘Luck!’ Jost snorted a laugh. ‘I stood next to you, and I’m glad I did. What I saw today wasn’t luck.’
Kill looked him up and down. ‘I have heard the White-Wings are not bad at the shield wall.’ The twitch of a smile at her lips.
Ert smiled back. ‘I have heard that said,’ he answered.
‘We will need the shield wall on the morrow, and you would be welcome in our ranks. I have been thinking during the long journey here, how best to face these Revenants.’
‘With our runed blades in their hearts,’ Cullen snapped.
‘Aye, but if my thinking is right we will still be heavily outnumbered. They are like a flood.’
‘They are,’ Ert agreed.
‘Well, I have had an idea, and have been drilling my shield wall in it, but I would be glad if the White-Wings would join us and tell me what you think of it?’
‘I am intrigued,’ Ert said.
‘Good,’ Kill said.
Byrne smiled grimly. ‘Come, join us, Ert, and together maybe we can work out how to defeat our enemies and take Asroth’s head.’
‘Best thing I’ve heard all day,’ Cullen whispered.
Riv stood with her back to a tree, looking at Byrne, who was sitting upon her mare, before the massed warband. Giants, Ben-Elim, the Sirak, White-Wings, Queen Nara and the warriors of Ardain. And the Order of the Bright Star. Talking crows, bears, wolven-hounds.
So many of us, all with one thing in common. An enemy that would take everything from us. All that we love. She glanced at Bleda, who was close by, surrounded by his Sirak warriors.
Pale moonlight gleamed on the water, reflecting into the forest.
‘The day is finally here,’ Byrne said. ‘The Battle of the Banished Lands upon us. Some here have waited two thousand years for it, some a few score. For me, it feels as if I have been waiting all of my life.’ She looked at the faces staring back at her. ‘Our enemy are out there, and they would take everything from us. Take this land, take our homes, our families, our loved ones. Our lives. Make no mistake, Asroth wants it all.’
A silence settled over them.
‘I say no. Not this day, not ever.’
Byrne looked up, along the ranks facing her. ‘Take your weapons and face your fear. There is only one hope today. And that hope is you.’ She pointed at a warrior standing before her. ‘And you.’ She pointed at another. ‘And you.’ She gestured at them all. ‘We are all the Banished Lands has left, we are this world’s last hope. Today there will be a reckoning. Today will be a time of vengeance.’ She nodded, looked along the rowed ranks, muscles in her face twitching. ‘Today will be a time of COURAGE!’
Riv felt her blood stir, her weariness washed away.
‘Take your Courage, and let’s go fight the devil with it,’ Byrne said.
‘COURAGE!’ the warband roared back.
CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN
FRITHA
Fritha woke suddenly.
Something is wrong. She was sitting in a high-backed chair in Balara’s feast-hall, a grey light starting to seep in through the doorway and shuttered windows. Asroth was in a chair beside her, one leg slung over the chair’s arm, his chest rising and falling in sleep. All around the hall Kadoshim and their half-breed children slept. It had been a night of great celebration, but Fritha had eaten little and drunk less. She felt surprisingly flat, a dark melancholy settling over her. They had won a great victory. A lifetime of hoping and planning, of blood and toil and labour, always working towards one end.
Victory over the Ben-Elim.
And here it was, virtually complete. The Ben-Elim were certainly broken and scattered. Fritha did not know how many had survived yesterday’s battle, but it could not be more than a few hundred. White feathers had littered the field.
She looked at Asroth, asleep in his chair.
He was magnificent yesterday. A god of war. He slew and slew and slew. And he saved me when I needed him. When the giant’s flame had cut me off and left me to face three thousand White-Wings, he crossed the flame, saved me.
But even that was troubling Fritha.
I never knew he had such power, that he was an Elemental. He commanded the ground to change for him, and it did. Yet there has been no hint or display of that power, until yesterday.
Why didn’t he tell me?
I do not trust him.
She shook her head.
Stop being so maudlin.
She stood and padded quietly from the chamber, knew that sleep was beyond her.
Guards stood at the hall’s doors, acolytes and Kadoshim. They dipped their heads as she walked past them. A slither and hiss of scales on stone and Elise emerged from the shadows, joined her.
‘Can’t sleep,’ Fritha explained.
‘I sssleep little, now,’ Elise said.
Fritha nodded. She looked north, saw a thick bank of black mist filling the street that led into the northern quarter of the fortress.
That is where Gulla sleeps, surrounded by his Revenants. His two remaining captains were supposed to be stationed north and west of Balara, guarding their flanks. They were in the shadows of the forest, most likely stripping Sarva of its blood-filled inhabitants.
Fritha turned south, not wanting to enter Gulla’s territory. Elise followed her and they passed along a wide street, its buildings filled with warriors, Aenor’s acolytes. The Cheren and Shekam were camped out on the plain, preferring to be close to their horses and draigs.
They reached the gates, barred and guarded, a brazier burning. Fritha and Elise climbed a stairwell and stood on the battlements. A cold breeze stirred Fritha’s pale hair, felt good on her skin. The sun was rising, just a thin line of gold on the horizon. To the south Ripa still burned, a blue glow.
Fritha frowned, shook her head.
‘What’sss wrong?’ Elise asked her.
‘I don’t know,’ Fritha said. ‘It’s like som
ething is . . . missing.’ Then she knew. ‘My Ferals.’ Always she could feel her creations, a distant whisper, a caress in her blood. ‘They are gone.’
Fritha looked to the forest, a dark, impenetrable sea, swaying, stirring in the wind. Gulla’s Revenants were supposed to be filling the forest’s borders, guarding their flank, but Fritha did not trust them, or Gulla, so she had sent her Ferals deeper into the forest, placing them as scouts against any sneaky tricks Byrne might be thinking of.
But she knew, beyond all doubt, that her Ferals were gone.
Have Gulla’s Revenants eaten them?
She felt a stab of fury at that thought.
Then movement caught her eye, on the plain, between Balara and Ripa.
At the same time, a sound grew within the forest, maybe half a league south and west. Branches scraping, shaking, and a shrieking, rising in volume.
‘Sound the call to arms,’ Fritha said.
CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT
DREM
‘There,’ Drem said.
Dawn was a hint in the air, the solid mass of night breaking down into degrees of shadow. Drem was peering around a wide tree trunk, Faelan and Ethlinn behind him.
He was looking at a dell amongst the trees, a dip in the land before the hill that rose to the fortress of Balara. As Drem stared he saw a denser shadow within the dell, tendrils of mist curling sluggishly from it.
Ethlinn and Faelan looked where he was pointing. Faelan grunted his agreement.
‘I can’t see them,’ Ethlinn said.
‘They are there,’ Faelan said.
‘Good. Let’s do this, then,’ Ethlinn said. She turned and strode away, Drem following, Faelan taking to the air. Four hundred paces deeper into the forest Drem saw Friend waiting for him, amongst what looked like a wall of giant bears, all of them harnessed and buckled into coats of mail. The Order’s huntsmen were scattered amongst them, Drem spotting Reng. Wolven-hounds padded in the shadows.
Ethlinn climbed into her saddle upon a huge brown bear. Alcyon was there, sitting upon Hammer, other giants on foot spread amongst them, including Balur One-Eye and Tain. A murder of crows squawked in the branches above him.
‘Revenants are there,’ Ethlinn said. She lifted a long spear from a saddle-cup. ‘Remember, only use your runed blades. We need to put these creatures down.’
Balur One-Eye reached over his back and drew Sig’s longsword. He gripped it two-handed, sliced the air with it.
Drem remembered that blade, remembered Sig wielding it. Abruptly, he found his chest filling with emotion, found it hard to breathe.
‘Today you will be avenged, Sig,’ Balur rumbled, putting the blade to his lips.
‘Yes,’ Drem murmured.
A bear growled; Drem realized it was Hammer.
‘Let’s be to it, then,’ Balur said, looking up at Ethlinn.
Drem climbed into his saddle, settled himself, then drew his father’s sword. It still didn’t feel a natural part of him, but seax and axe were not right for this, he needed a weapon with a longer reach from Friend’s saddle.
He looked around him, saw Fen in his coat of mail.
‘You be careful,’ Drem told him.
Ethlinn rode forwards. A hundred giant bears, another hundred or so giants on foot; a hundred and fifty warriors of the Order, all hunters, accompanied by their wolven-hounds, followed. Drem spotted movement in the air above them, saw Faelan and other wings.
Drem rode with Reng, who led the hunters wide, moving on the left flank of the bears. Balur and the giants on foot filtered to the right flank, Ethlinn’s line of bear-riders filling the centre.
They moved through the forest, dawn’s grey light all around them now. Birds squawked in trees, startled by their passing. The ground trembled.
This is not a stealth attack. Those Revenants must know we are here.
Trees thinned around them and Drem saw the dell up ahead, the Revenants’ mist clear now.
‘Cumhacht an aeir, scrios an dorchadas seo ón talamh,’ Ethlinn called out, as she rode through the forest, lifting her arms. ‘Cumhacht an aeir, scrios an dorchadas seo ón talamh.’ Other giants added their voices to hers, a deep-booming chant like a war-song as they rumbled closer to the dell.
Drem heard sounds issuing from the mist, saw it start to seethe and bubble, shapes moving.
‘Cumhacht an aeir, scrios an dorchadas seo ón talamh,’ Ethlinn and her giants continued to chant, and Drem felt a wind pick up from behind him, swirling through the trees and rushing past him, growing in power and velocity. Drem saw the moment it collided with the mist, a swelling in the air as the mist resisted, making his ears pop, then the mist was tearing and shredding, evaporating, revealing a horde of Revenants within, pale-faced, long-taloned, mouths gaping and razored teeth champing. They were running towards Ethlinn and the line of bears.
I hate Revenants.
Ethlinn levelled her spear and her bear broke into a loping charge.
Bears and Revenants crashed together in a bone-splintering impact, Revenants hurled into the air, trampled, skewered and sliced by rune-marked weapons. It seemed to Drem that a wall of blue fire erupted as the first ranks of the Revenants were decimated.
The bears ploughed on, Revenants screaming their death-rage.
Reng led Drem and the hunters in a looping circle through the trees, cutting back in ahead of Ethlinn’s host as they began to slow, the sheer press of Revenants bogging them down. Drem gripped his sword, saw wolven-hounds loping around him, low to the ground as if they were stalking an elk, breaking into a run. Drem shouted a word to Friend and the bear increased his speed, breaking away from Reng and the other hunters, and then he was crashing into the flank of the Revenants, Friend trampling, crushing, rending with his jaws. Drem saw Revenants fall away, chests caved in, half of their face torn away, only for them to jerk back to their feet and throw themselves at Friend. Drem swung his sword, blue flame crackling, and then Reng and his riders were charging into the flank, spears and swords stabbing, and this time Revenants were falling and not getting back up.
Shadows flitted overhead, arrows hissing down into the press of Revenants between Drem and Ethlinn’s bear-riders, more bursts and sparks of blue flame, and far away Drem heard the battle roar of Balur One-Eye and heard the impact as his giants ploughed into the Revenants’ right flank.
Drem slashed and hacked to either side of him, cutting the creatures off Friend. To his side he glimpsed Reng stabbing a spear into a Revenant that was rolling with Fen on the ground, all along the line hunters working with their wolven-hounds.
They had slain hundreds in the first few heartbeats of their attack, but Drem saw more, maybe thousands.
A Revenant leaped at Friend, its claws raking across the bear’s coat of mail, somehow finding a purchase and scrambling up towards Drem. He stabbed his sword down, into the Revenant’s mouth, but before his blade touched the Revenant it was abruptly still, staring into the distance. Then it sighed, slumped and slithered down Friend’s side, collapsing into a boneless heap on the floor.
All around Drem the Revenants fell, the echo of battle fading.
Drem looked around, searching for who had slain the Revenants’ captain. Then a victory cry drifted down from above, Faelan swooping low. He was brandishing his bow, whooping. Drem cheered, along with three hundred others.
‘A great victory,’ Ethlinn called up to the half-breed Ben-Elim.
‘Aye,’ Balur agreed, striding amongst the Revenant dead. ‘Now let’s get on and find Byrne. Don’t want to be late for the battle of the century.’ He patted his sword and rested it over one shoulder.
Silently they moved on, the trees thinning around them, in the distance Balara’s hill becoming visible, and the plain beyond it.
CHAPTER NINETY-NINE
FRITHA
Fritha climbed onto Wrath’s back and buckled her helmet strap under her chin.
‘Where have you been?’ Fritha asked the draig.
‘Humping,’ Wrath g
rowled. ‘Shekam draig pretty.’
‘Well, as long as you’ve got some strength left for today,’ Fritha said.
‘Wrath STRONG!’ the draig roared, lashing his tail.
The clatter of hooves and Arn was riding into the courtyard, leading Fritha’s honour guard. Seventy warriors had survived yesterday’s battle. Elise slithered beside them, looking glorious in her mail and helm, a round shield on one arm, her black-bladed spear in her fist. The courtyard was heaving with acolytes as Aenor shouted them into rowed order.
Aenor looked up at Fritha, scabbed cuts across his face, a bandage around his ankle visible beneath his greaves. He hefted his shield, slung it across his back.
‘Think I’ll be off,’ he grunted at her.
‘Kill your enemies, and stay alive,’ Fritha said to him. ‘You fought White-Wings yesterday. The Order of the Bright Star will be easy in comparison. They don’t know how to form a shield wall.’
He gave her a smile.
‘I’ll see you after,’ he said, and led over a thousand acolytes out of the courtyard and down the hill.
Asroth stalked into view, his long axe slung over his back. Kadoshim thick as a cloak trailed behind him. Sulak was there.
Asroth was limping, a fresh bandage bound around his lower leg where the half-breed Ben-Elim had cut him, and he was rolling and flexing his arm where she had stabbed him with Morn’s starstone knife.
Asroth climbed into the saddle of his huge stallion, an acolyte standing at its head, holding the bridle. Asroth took the reins, then looked at Fritha.
‘Being flesh is not all wonderful,’ he said, flexing his bicep where he had been stabbed. ‘I am not so keen on this pain.’
