by John Gwynne
Cullen looked from the axe to the dead draig.
‘Byrne said she wants every starstone weapon we can lay our hands on, and I’m not much for axe work,’ he said. ‘Think I might just have a look at that spear.’ He dipped his head to Drem and Riv and trotted his horse towards the draig.
And then, with a rushing of wings, Asroth was upon them.
He spiralled down from the sky and landed beside Fritha, who lay upon the ground, staring up at Asroth. He bent, and Riv saw his lips move, though she could not hear what he said. Then he stood tall and looked around.
His Kadoshim guards swirled above him, some landing, spreading protectively around him.
Byrne reined in her horse a hundred paces before Asroth. Meical and her warriors lined up either side of her. Beyond them Riv heard Ert shouting orders, shields cracking together, and the hissing roar of the Revenants as they threw themselves at the shield wall.
‘Meical,’ Asroth said, as if speaking to an old friend. ‘Back for another beating?’
Meical said nothing, just stared at Asroth. He held a shield and sword.
Asroth’s face twitched. ‘Two thousand years you have been plotting my demise, and now you have nothing to say?’
‘This is the day you die,’ Meical said.
‘Ha,’ Asroth laughed. He looked genuinely amused. ‘Not by your hand.’ His gaze shifted to Byrne.
‘So, you are the leader of this rabble?’ Asroth said to her. He took a few strides towards her, shrugged his long axe from his back. Swirled it around his head, like an athlete preparing for a training bout. Black smoke curled around him.
‘I am Byrne ap Baradir, High Captain of the Order of the Bright Star, descended from the line of Cywen ap Thannon, sister to Corban, the Bright Star,’ Byrne said.
‘Corban! That pathetic worm,’ Asroth spat. His hand brushed a white scar that ran along his forehead. ‘I never had the chance to grind Corban’s skull to dust. I shall make up for that with you.’
Byrne flicked her reins and her horse walked forwards. She reached inside her cloak and pulled out a vial.
‘Talamh, coinnigh an t-aingeal dorcha,’ she said, clicking her horse to a canter. Meical and the line of riders broke into movement.
‘Best be joining in,’ Riv said to Drem.
‘Aye,’ he said. He began to walk towards Asroth, black sword and black axe in his fists.
Asroth frowned at Byrne, looked around him, as if he sensed something. The ground shifted beneath his feet, thick ropes of vine bursting from the ground, wrapping around his ankles. He pulled on one leg, but the vines held it tight.
Byrne’s horse came faster, the warriors behind her charging.
The Kadoshim on the ground leaped into the air, the ones circling above swooping down, a winged charge at the riders.
‘Let her through,’ Asroth yelled to his Kadoshim, and they parted for Byrne, regrouping after she’d passed through their ranks, and they hurled themselves at Byrne’s followers. Asroth smiled at Byrne as she bore down upon him, her curved sword levelled at his heart.
‘Scaip,’ he said, waving a hand at the vines around his ankles. With a hiss and slither they seemed to just dissolve, evaporating into thin air.
Byrne gripped her sword blade with her free hand, made a fist, crushing the vial and cutting her palm, the contents of the vial mixing with her blood.
‘Cóta ceangailteach,’ she shouted, and threw blood and liquid at Asroth. Riv saw it shimmering in the air, changing, growing, the droplets merging, expanding, swirling into a cloak of red sinew, fibrous and slick with blood. It hit Asroth with a wet slap and wrapped around him, like a living skin, pulling tight, snaring his arms.
Asroth writhed, trying to pull free.
‘Lig saor mé,’ Asroth grunted, and the net of blood and sinew collapsed around him, dropping to the ground. He raised his axe, Byrne’s sword clanging against it as she thundered past him, pulling on her reins to turn.
The line of Kadoshim and riders met, flesh and bone colliding, screams, the ring of steel, horses neighing.
Riv gritted her teeth and flew at Asroth.
Kadoshim swirled around Asroth and Byrne like a shield, fighting with an unbridled ferocity to protect their king, keeping all from him. Riv heard Byrne shouting words of power, glimpsed fragmented images, the ground bucking around Asroth, throwing him to his knees, Byrne flinging more droplets of blood at him, hissing into flame, Asroth screaming as the sizzling blood seared him, but he cried out his own words, a pulse of air battering Byrne’s horse away, the animal neighing, rearing, hooves lashing at Asroth, Byrne slashing with her sword, Asroth’s axe swirling, chopping into the legs of Byrne’s horse, the animal screaming, collapsing.
A Kadoshim flew at Riv and she swerved, swept his spear wide as he stabbed at her and then she was inside the spear’s range, was stabbing her black knife into the Kadoshim’s belly, ripping it up, the Kadoshim screaming, dying, falling from the sky.
Riv flew on, veering around another Kadoshim, a slash of her knife through its leathery wing and muscled arch and it was plummeting to the ground. Another Kadoshim came at her, and died, and then she was through the Kadoshim’s barrier and flying at Asroth.
Byrne was on the ground, rolling as Asroth swung his axe at her. It carved into the ground where she’d been, Asroth ripping it free, an explosion of turf, Byrne back on her feet, darting in, slashing twice at his belly, sparks on mail, then she stabbed at his leg, opened a red line across his thigh, just below the rim of his mail coat. Asroth bellowed, lashed at her with his gauntleted fist, caught Byrne on the side of the head, sending her spinning through the air, slamming to the ground, rolling to crunch against her dead horse.
He strode after her, raising his axe.
Riv crashed into his back, an arm wrapping around his neck, stabbing at him with her black knife. He dropped his axe, grabbed her wrist, twisted and threw her over his shoulder, flying through the air into Byrne, who was clambering back to her feet. They fell in a tangle of limbs and wings.
Asroth picked up his axe.
Riders broke through the Kadoshim around them, three, four warriors of the Order, Meical with them, all of them riding at Asroth, weapons raised high.
Asroth snarled, ran at them, wings beating, axe spinning. He took the first rider in the chest, chopping her almost in two, hurling her from her saddle, then he was spinning, a rider galloping past him, sword hissing through air and the spike of Asroth’s axe punched into the back of the rider’s head.
‘Come, child,’ Byrne said, helping Riv to her feet.
Byrne rolled her curved sword in her wrist and ran at Asroth. Riv stood, shaking her head, and then followed.
Meical was exchanging blows with Asroth, upon his horse, slashing at Asroth’s head and neck.
Asroth just walked through the blows, letting them bounce off his helm and mail.
‘Páirt agus coinnigh mo namhaid, cré agus cloch,’ Asroth yelled, the ground shifting beneath Meical’s horse, turning to bog, hooves sinking, and Asroth smashed the butt end of his axe into Meical’s chest, hurling the Ben-Elim from his saddle.
Byrne was running now; she leaped at Asroth, holding her sword two-handed, stabbing it at his back, a concussion and explosion of steel splinters as Asroth’s coat of mail shattered Byrne’s blade.
Byrne fell to the ground and Asroth turned, lifted his knee and cracked it into Byrne’s face, throwing her through the air. He swung his axe at another rider, slicing through a shield and severing an arm at the elbow. Then he was twisting, a further backswing as Byrne was rising, the spike of his axe stabbing into Byrne’s back.
She cried out as she was thrown back to the ground, where she rolled and lay still.
Riv screamed, threw herself at Asroth.
More figures came bursting through the Kadoshim perimeter: acolytes, in their scores.
Gulla must be here.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN
DREM
Drem saw Byrne fal
l and yelled her name. He broke into a run, Friend and Fen beside him.
Revenants were breaking past Ert’s shield wall and hurling themselves at riders of the Order, dragging them from their saddles. Acolytes came pouring into the battleground, hundreds of them. Some were forming a shield wall, but most were charging in an undisciplined mass, howling battle-cries. Riders of the Order tried to turn and meet them. Almost directly in front of him Drem saw Gulla swoop from the sky and crash into a rider, ripping her from her saddle, the two of them slamming to the ground. Gulla’s jaws opened wide, distending, and he bit down upon the warrior’s throat, ripping and lacerating.
Keld, Drem thought.
Revenants flocked to Gulla, forming a ring around him.
‘GULLA!’ a voice cried out: Shar, charging at the Kadoshim, her sword held high.
She wants her vengeance for Utul’s death at Dun Seren.
Gulla looked up, his chin slick with blood.
Drem ran at Gulla, Revenants swarming towards him. He hefted his sword and axe.
Friend reached them first, limping, blood leaking from her wounds, but still prodigiously strong. She smashed into them, sending Revenants hurtling through the air. Drem, moments behind the white bear, hacked and chopped with the Starstone Sword and the black-bladed axe. Blue fire crackled.
These blades are rune-marked, too. The dark blades carved the Revenants to pieces. He ran on.
Shar screamed, slashing and stabbing to either side as Revenants slammed into her horse, ripping at the animal with long talons.
Gulla strode through his Revenants, drawing a longsword from his hip. A Revenant leaped up onto the saddle behind Shar and dragged her crashing to the ground.
‘Hold her,’ Gulla snarled, and stood over Shar.
The Kadoshim raised his sword high, Shar struggling on the ground, a Revenant pinning her.
A thundering of hooves.
‘GULLA!’ a voice yelled, and Gulla paused, looking round to see a warrior riding at him.
A red-haired warrior with a black-bladed spear.
Fear flashed in Gulla’s red eye and his wings beat, lifting him into the air.
Cullen drew his arm back and hurled the spear into the air. It flew, slicing into Gulla’s belly, bursting out of the Kadoshim’s back. He fell, screeching and flailing. Cullen leaped from his mount’s back, hitting the ground, rising, drawing his sword and running towards Gulla. Revenants ran at him and Cullen slashed, blue flame crackling, limbs and heads flying through the air.
Drem reached Shar, stabbed down into the Revenant holding her. Shar grabbed her sword and climbed to her feet. She ran, Drem following.
Revenants were encircling Gulla, who was writhing on the ground, screeching and hissing, holding onto the spear shaft in his belly.
Drem, Shar and Cullen carved into the Revenants. Cullen reached Gulla first, screaming Keld’s name as he swung his sword.
A burst of blue flame and Gulla’s head rolled away from his body.
A pause, the Revenants switching from their too-fast, stuttered movement to absolute stillness. Then, as one, the Revenants dropped.
All around the battlefield warriors paused, looking at the creatures dropping around them. Cheering rang out across the field. Drem saw Ert turn, shouting orders to the remnants of his shield wall, saw them turn, a tide-line of Revenant dead piled beyond them. A crack as warriors’ shields came together, and then they were marching towards Asroth, cutting down acolytes, pushing through the swirl of horses and Kadoshim.
Asroth was surrounded by battle, riders, Kadoshim, Ben-Elim sweeping down from above, warriors of the Order on foot, acolytes in their scores. Drem saw Byrne’s body, lying where she had fallen, small and still amidst the swirl of violence. Without thought, he was weaving through the arena of battle, until he burst out into the open space that ringed Asroth. Riders were circling the Lord of the Kadoshim. Meical was there, Riv as well, striking at him, seeking an opening. Kadoshim wheeled amongst them, and at the centre of it all, Asroth laughed his deep, baleful laugh, wielding his black axe and revelling in the bloodshed and death.
A voice in Drem’s head whispered of his oath, the black sword in his hand twitching, but he ran to Byrne instead, dropped to his knees beside her. She was lying upon her back, staring at the sky. Blood pooled beneath her, soaking into the trampled turf.
Her head moved as he fell beside her, gripped her hand and kissed it.
‘It’s going to be all right,’ he said, though ice coiled in his chest, snatching his breath away. Tears blurred his vision. This was the woman who had taken him in, fought for him, protected him, taught him, made him feel part of a family again.
‘My sword,’ Byrne said, and Drem saw it lying in the grass. He reached out, put the hilt in her fist.
‘I keep trying to get up, have to fight him,’ Byrne breathed, ‘but I can’t feel my legs.’
He looked down, saw Byrne’s legs were unmoving, one at an unnatural angle.
Screams drew Drem’s eyes.
Asroth had disappeared amidst the crush of bodies around him. Horses were neighing, rearing, warriors stabbing and slashing.
‘Cré, caith mo namhaid don ghaoth,’ a voice bellowed. There was a ripple in the earth beneath Asroth, like a restless giant turning in their sleep, and an explosion of blood, horses staggering and falling away, warriors hurled from Asroth in all directions.
Asroth stood there, blood-soaked, his black axe dripping gore, looking at the warriors cast down around him, and he smiled.
‘Does he still live?’ Byrne asked Drem.
Drem nodded, rose slowly.
‘Not for long,’ he replied.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN
RIV
The Kadoshim was trying to throttle her, an arm wrapped around Riv’s neck. She was struggling, swinging her elbow, kicking, but he held on tight. Riv bit down on the Kadoshim’s arm, felt blood spurt between her teeth.
He screamed, his grip loosening, and she was twisting away, slashing with her short-sword across his throat. He fell away, choking on his own blood.
Riv stood there, chest heaving. She saw Meical trying to climb to his feet, using the saddle and harness upon his dead horse to pull himself upright. She stumbled to him, felt the weakness in her leg from the arrow wound, pain pulsing up her back, gave him her arm and helped him stand. They both stood there, battered, bleeding.
A tremor in the ground and Riv looked to the west. A giant brown bear was lumbering across the battleground, Ethlinn upon its back, a handful of giants running alongside her. All in her path were being crushed, hurled through the air. Behind Ethlinn other giants were following, some mounted upon bears, others running on foot. Balur One-Eye was amongst them.
Asroth saw Ethlinn, turned to face her. Kadoshim swooped down at Ethlinn, one of the giants running alongside her crashing to the ground with a spear deep in its chest, the others slowing, forced to fight off the aerial attack. More Kadoshim came, launching themselves at Ethlinn.
‘Bogann an ghaoth iad ó mo chosán,’ Ethlinn cried out, waving a hand. The Kadoshim attacking her were swept away by a tempestuous wind, hurled crashing into each other. Riv heard bones shattering. They fell to the ground, Ethlinn’s bear trampling over them.
Asroth bellowed a challenge.
‘Fréamhacha an turais domhain aici, coinníonn sí í,’ he cried, and the ground shifted before Ethlinn’s bear, roots bursting from the earth and wrapping around the bear’s legs.
‘Faigheann fréamhacha bás,’ Ethlinn shouted contemptuously, and the roots withered and crumbled, the bear stumbling, righting itself and ploughing on. It roared at Asroth, spittle spraying, waves of sound buffeting them. The bear’s jaws opened wide, Asroth standing before it, still as stone. He held his axe wide, one-handed, set his feet, raised the axe high. Then he was moving, stepping to the right, turning on his heel, spinning around, and swinging the black axe with all his might. The bear’s momentum carried it wide of Asroth, jaws snapping out at h
im, even as his axe blade crunched into the bear’s chest. It cut through the bear’s coat of mail, a shower of iron links, carved deep into the bear’s flesh, blood erupting, the bear bellowing, its momentum carrying it on, ripping the axe from Asroth’s hands and throwing him to the ground.
The bear lumbered on ten or twenty paces, then its forelegs folded and it was crashing to the ground, skidding, turf spraying. Ethlinn was hurled from her saddle, thrown through the air.
Asroth climbed to his feet, strode after the fallen bear, put his feet on its chest and wrenched his axe free. He walked towards Ethlinn, who was rising unsteadily to her feet.
‘ASROTH!’ a voice bellowed, Balur One-Eye, Sig’s huge sword in his fist.
Kadoshim fell from the sky, swirling around Balur, stabbing at him. He ducked, swung his sword, shearing through wings, but more Kadoshim flew at him and his companions.
Asroth turned back to Ethlinn.
Riv leaped into the air, Meical limping after her on the ground.
Ethlinn stood, her spear in her fists.
‘This world is not for you,’ she said as he approached her.
‘I like it here.’ Asroth grinned.
Ethlinn stepped forwards to meet him, swirled her spear over her head, ending with the spear pointing at Asroth’s heart.
He stepped in, swinging his axe.
Ethlinn sidestepped, stabbed at Asroth as his swing carried him, her blade scraping across his mail, glancing up, scratching his cheek.
‘Your coat of mail cannot save you,’ Ethlinn said.
‘Tine í a ithe,’ Asroth shouted, a hint of panic in his voice, wiping blood from his face and holding it on his gauntleted hand. The crackle of flame and fire grew upon his palm, expanding, and Asroth hurled it like a ball at Ethlinn.
‘Múchfaidh an ghaoth na lasracha seo,’ Ethlinn called out, and a swirling wind rose up around her, swept forwards and tore the flames to stuttering ribbons.
‘And neither can your words of power,’ Ethlinn said. ‘In every way you are outmatched. You have not the skill to best me, only your mail is keeping you alive a few moments longer.’
