by James Wilde
‘Would ghosts need weapons?’ he called again.
These Attacotti carried long swords, bronze by the look of it, and in the flickering torchlight he thought he could see marks on the blades, like the odd symbols etched into Caledfwlch. They had no armour, no shields. Each wore only a leather belt to carry the scabbard, and a strip of cloth that hung down across the groin.
He counted twenty of them, about as many as they had along the line. For now.
That whining cry rolled out again, and the Wolf winced. Somehow they drew it from their throats without moving their mouths, only adding to the otherworldly air that surrounded them.
At first, they prowled on the balls of their feet, shoulders lowered, heads shifting from side to side, so slow they seemed to be wading through water. Then both flanks surged. Lucanus felt his breath catch in his throat at the speed of that attack, one moment among the trees, the next at the line, two groups of three warriors swinging their swords as one.
Blood spurted and a man staggered back, half his head hanging. Another dropped on the other end of the line. Two dead already, and they had not even raised their weapons.
‘Fight,’ Lucanus bellowed. ‘Hold them at bay.’
The two teams of Attacotti darted back as fast as they had come, and more rushed forward at different points along the line. This time the Grim Wolves were ready. Solinus threw himself into the path of one group, Comitinus dashing to repel another.
At their exhortations, the men around them stabbed with their spears, again and again. The Attacotti swept back.
Time and again, the pattern was repeated. The ghastly warriors rushed in, thrust with swift, precise strikes, then retreated.
For a while, Lucanus held on to the hope that they might be able to wear the Attacotti down. But then another defender collapsed back in a crimson spray, the soldier who had walked into camp earlier that day, one of their few skilled fighters.
And then he was darting back and forth along the line, throwing himself into the fray every time the Attacotti launched a strike. Caledfwlch raked across the shoulder of one pale warrior, blood streaking through the ashes. Small payment for his lost ear, he thought, but his heart thumped none the less.
His legs ached from the running. The line blurred. He saw only skull-like faces, piercing eyes, stabbing swords. Sparks flew as he clashed blades. His right arm grew weary.
As he reeled back from another fight, he heard Bellicus shout at him, ‘You can’t fight this battle on your own. If you try to save everyone here, you’ll only lose your own life when weariness takes hold.’
His friend was right, he knew. But he couldn’t bear to stand still if he could help, just a little, to save another life.
Finally, Mato caught his arm and yanked him to a halt. He grinned. ‘Stay by my side, brother. You know I fight like a child. I need your magic sword or I will lose my head.’
Lucanus nodded. Though he knew what Mato was doing, he was too weary to resist. The Attacotti outnumbered them now, and instead of tiring, they seemed to have been whipped into a greater frenzy by the deaths.
‘We can hold out,’ Mato said, as if he could read his leader’s thoughts.
The words had barely left his lips when one of the white warriors loomed in front of him, sword ready to slash down.
Time seemed to slow as the Wolf watched his friend speeding towards death. The thunder of his own heart swelled in his head.
As the sword began to swing, an arrow punched into the Attacotti warrior’s right eye.
Back he wheeled, his sword flying from his hand. Though he clutched at the shaft protruding from his socket, not a sound escaped his lips.
They are not men. They cannot be, Lucanus thought, though he knew it was not true.
As he struggled to comprehend what was happening, another arrow whined by, slamming into the back of a retreating warrior, who crashed face down on to the ground. Two of his fellows rushed out, grabbed his arms and dragged him into the dark.
Lucanus felt his senses come back to him and he spun round, searching for the bowman.
Catia stood behind him, another shaft already nocked. One eye was closed, the other sighting down the length of the arrow as she looked to fire through any gap in the line.
Lucanus started to yell at her to get away from the fighting, but she flashed him such a fierce look he was silenced.
Another arrow thumped into the shoulder of one of the Attacotti.
Bellicus looked at him and raised one eyebrow. Lucanus nodded.
‘Wolf-sister,’ he called, grinning.
‘Wolf-brother,’ she called back. The excitable joy in her voice made his heart pound faster; he hadn’t heard it since she was a child.
As he hurried along the ranks, urging the men to hold fast, he heard an alarmed cry from the end of the line. When he raced towards it, he saw Aelius shouting and pointing towards the enemy.
Two Attacotti grappled with a flailing man they had clearly wrenched from the defensive line, hauling him away from the band of torchlight into the dark. The captive’s face was twisted with terror, but Lucanus recognized him – earlier that day his features had been lit with joy after his wife had given birth to a son.
Lucanus shook himself from his daze. Snatching up one of the torches, he threw himself beyond the line and raced into the dark.
The shadows swooped away from the circle of his torchlight. He half expected to see pale eyes reflecting that orange glow, a pack of those ghostly warriors loping towards him through the trees, but it seemed that he was alone. The Attacotti had melted away into the night.
Not long after, a single scream rang out. It seemed to go on for too long, grow too high-pitched, until suddenly it was snapped off.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The Chalice
AS THE FIRST pink light of dawn filtered through the trees, Catia stroked Marcus’ head by the fire while she watched Amatius pacing around the edge of their camp. She felt his urgent glances in her direction, but she didn’t meet his eyes.
Eventually he loomed over her. ‘A woman with a bow,’ he said. ‘You bring shame on me and upon yourself. Even the barbarians do not have their women fighting.’
‘And you bring shame on all of us by your cowardice. Hiding away instead of putting your neck on the line, like—’ She caught herself before she said Lucanus’ name. But Amatius’ face flared with anger none the less, as if he expected it.
Fists bunching, he advanced on her, as he had done a hundred, a thousand times before. This time she eased Marcus aside and jumped to her feet. ‘Lay one hand on me and it will be the last thing you ever do.’
Amatius gaped like a codfish. As the shock faded, he scowled, but she saw his eyes darting, assessing, no doubt, whether he could get away with striking her under the gaze of her family. Aelius was already on his feet, spear in hand, his lips pulling back from his teeth.
‘Please,’ Marcus begged, throwing his arms around Catia’s waist. ‘Don’t fight.’
‘See?’ Amatius said. ‘You have woken the boy and upset him. What a poor excuse for a mother you are.’ He spun on his heel, beckoning for his son to follow. ‘Come. Leave her. She only cares about herself.’
He strode away before she could answer, still, and always, the coward. Marcus skipped after his father, wiping away his tears as he ran.
‘How long do we stay here?’ Catia asked.
Lucanus stood at the line of torches, watching a group of men dig a long trench. With only a few shovels to go round, some were breaking the soil with sharpened sticks and scooping it out with their cupped hands. The spoil was being piled up along the perimeter, a wall in the making, but still far from being any kind of defence.
The Wolf shook his head. ‘Not long. I don’t know. These folk need us. I couldn’t abandon them.’ He forced a smile at her. ‘Nor would you, I know.’
She thought how weary he looked. Tired eyes, new lines on his brow and by his mouth. True, he hadn’t slept, but she knew it was the
burden of responsibility that was wearing him down. Yet he’d never once complained. She felt her heart go out to him and wished she could show her affection, care for him in the manner that he deserved. But somewhere her husband was watching, she was sure of it, and Amatius had a streak of cruelty that would only cause more misery if he decided he wanted revenge, as he undoubtedly would.
‘You’re a good man,’ she whispered.
Leaving the diggers to continue their work, they walked down the slope. Catia grasped Lucanus’ hand and tugged him behind a bank of holly where she knew they would not be overlooked, and then she threw her arms around him, kissing him deeply. She felt like a starving woman who had finally been offered a meal. The heat rose in her, and she would have pushed him down and ridden him there and then if she could.
‘We must take care,’ he whispered when he broke the embrace.
‘I know.’ She rested her head on his chest. ‘Sometimes I feel crippled with guilt. So many deaths, so many terrible things, and yet I feel happy that the world I lived in has gone. Happy. How selfish I am.’
‘You did not have a good life.’
‘I had friends. And a father and a brother who loved me. And a son who meant more than anything to me. That’s more than most can hope for. Only one black cloud hung over me.’
‘Don’t belittle it.’
For a moment, one only, she closed her eyes, enjoying the smell of him, and dreamt of how things might be.
A sword’s length lay between them as they wandered down the slope to the narrow line of pebbles at the water’s edge. Myrrdin was leaning on his staff, watching Amarina, Decima and Galantha paddle through the shallows, their dresses pulled up to their calves. The three women laughed and chattered, oblivious, no doubt used to the eyes of men upon them.
‘Hello, sister,’ the wood-priest said to Amarina as she passed.
Amarina splashed by without meeting his eyes. ‘I don’t know you.’
‘But I know a moon-child when I see one.’
Though Amarina ignored him, Catia sensed that some nerve had been touched. The wood-priest turned to her and bowed. ‘The Chalice,’ he said. ‘An honour.’
‘The Chalice?’
‘You are the cup that holds the royal blood.’
Just as Lucanus had said. She felt unsettled under the scrutiny of those dark eyes, but she pushed her chin up and tried not to show it. ‘I have many questions for you. About why I was chosen, and who took me into the woods when I was a babe. Who left me with the wolves, and how they knew I would not be eaten. Who branded me—’
Myrrdin held up a hand. ‘And they will all be answered. In good time.’
‘Don’t waste your breath,’ Lucanus sighed. ‘He will only lead you round and round in circles, promising to tell you all, and when he’s done and many, many words have been spent, you’ll find yourself back at the beginning and none the wiser.’
‘I’m wounded,’ the wood-priest said. ‘Truly.’
‘No games,’ Catia said. ‘I only want to keep my son safe.’
‘Then we are of like mind.’
‘Lucanus tells me there are many people who would like to get their hands on Marcus.’
‘And many of them do not have the charm that I do. They are …’ he waved his fingers as he thought, ‘unpleasant.’
‘Dangerous,’ Lucanus said. ‘Men who will do anything to gain power.’
Myrrdin nodded.
‘Then we need a sanctuary,’ Catia said. ‘Somewhere we can be away from prying eyes.’
‘Your kind have spent an age hiding, wood-priest,’ the Wolf said. ‘I would think you’d be good at that kind of thing.’
The druid shrugged. ‘There are such places. But this world is in flux. Power shifts, and no man can predict where it will end, and where will be safe.’
‘What, then?’ Catia tried to keep the worry out of her voice.
‘For a while, we will be like a leaf caught in the wind. But if you put your faith in me, I will guide you.’
Catia looked from Myrrdin to Lucanus.
‘And you’ll protect us from the cut-throats who will want to steal Marcus from us every step of the way?’ the Wolf said.
‘That’s your work, Lucanus. That is why you are here.’
Night after night the attacks came.
Every evening Catia would offer her prayers for Lucanus as he took his place at the centre of the defence and every morning she would see the scars of those long hours upon his face. She yearned to see the light-hearted man she had once known, and felt her heart break for the suffering she knew he silently endured.
Men died, good men, cut down by the barbarians. Every dawn their wives wailed and their children sobbed. This was not the way it should be. They had known peace for so long.
‘The lights are going out,’ Bellicus said, time and again, and she couldn’t help but think he was right: a great darkness was sweeping in to swallow everything they had ever known. All she wanted to do was hug Marcus to her and run away with Lucanus towards the dawn, in the hope that they could snatch a little happiness in the midst of all this misery.
But the wall of earth was growing higher, reinforced with felled trees, and the network of ditches spread, some of them filled with spikes to catch any unwary barbarian who ventured too close. Every day Lucanus would oversee the works, grabbing fleeting sleep when he could. Catia watched the admiring looks that followed him and felt proud that everyone could see the truth of the man she knew.
On the third dawn, he had told her that the threat they faced was no longer just the Attacotti: that night he had seen Picts and Scoti. Only a few, he said, but he was worried that the numbers were growing. If that were true, what hope did they have with such a collection of unseasoned defenders.
Catia had no more arrows left, but she had set a man to whittling more for her and soon she would have a quiver full of well-fletched shafts.
But by then it might be too late.
As she tossed fitfully on the edge of sleep, Catia heard the cry ring out. She scrambled out of the shelter where Amatius slept the sleep of the dead and scrabbled up the slope to the line of defenders with Marcus trailing behind her.
Beyond the line of torches embedded in the wall, seven men watched from the edge of the wavering shadow. Not barbarians, these, she thought, even though they bore tattoos on their faces.
‘Who is that?’ she asked, pointing to the one who seemed to be the leader.
Mato leaned in and whispered, ‘His name is Motius and they are arcani like us. The Carrion Crows. They are the reason why we are in such dire straits.’
Lucanus rested one foot on the wall, addressing the traitors. Catia could see the coldness in his face and the depth of his contempt.
‘We are a brotherhood, Motius,’ he was saying. ‘We are forged by life in the Wilds. We are bound by blood. And you have sacrificed all that for a few coins in your palm?’
‘You are blind, brother, and you always were. You trusted too much. Our paymasters thought nothing of us. They didn’t care if we lived or died. We fought for nothing. We died for nothing. I am the honourable one here. I stand for the pride of the arcani. You … you are nothing but a lapdog.’
Catia saw Lucanus flinch. She wanted to rush to him, to calm him in the way that she always could. ‘You speak of honour,’ he said with a strained voice. ‘But we would never see an innocent die. We would not sacrifice our own brothers. Lie to yourself as much as you want, but you’ve taken the gold of the barbarians for your own gain. You will grow rich on the bodies of the people who once counted you friends.’
Motius shrugged. ‘We can argue about this until the world ends, Wolf. But we have work to do now. We want the boy and we will not rest until we get him.’
Catia felt her stomach knot.
Lucanus would not back down, though. She knew that. ‘You fight for gold,’ he said. ‘We fight for something greater than that. You will not win.’
Motius smirked. ‘But my message is n
ot for you, brother. It is for those poor souls who are sacrificing themselves without realizing the truth of why they die.’
Catia watched him take a step forward and turn his attention away from Lucanus to address the crowd that had gathered.
‘You have a boy there.’ His voice rang out across the still, watchful crowd. ‘A boy guarded by the man you have put your faith in. Give us the lad and you will live. Give us the boy and you have my word that we will leave this place and leave you in peace. If not …’ He shrugged. ‘Reinforcements are coming and you will be overrun.’
Catia sensed a stiffening in the people about her. As she looked around, she saw heads turn her way, stares growing harder, measuring, weighing.
Keeping Marcus tight at her side, she pushed through the gathered refugees and away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Pendragon
‘WILL YOU LET me speak?’ Lucanus asked.
The residents of the camp stood in a wide circle. Heads bowed, they had been listening to their leader Kunaris plead with them not to dishonour themselves. That was good, Bellicus thought; not everyone there was a spineless bastard.
‘Why do we need to hear from him?’ someone shouted.
Kunaris whirled, his eyes flashing. ‘Any man who has risked his life for us has earned the right to be heard.’
As the Wolf walked into the circle, Bellicus marvelled at his friend’s easy manner. This was not a Lucanus he had seen before. He had grown into his role.
‘Many of us are strangers here.’ The Wolf’s voice soared above the birdsong. ‘But you know a man the moment you look into his eyes. And I would hope that all who have met me will have seen what lies in my heart, and know I always speak true.’
A few grunts of assent rolled around the gathering.
‘A barbarian war-band is riding towards us even as we speak,’ Lucanus continued. ‘Many of you have seen what they can do. They are not ones to show mercy, even to innocents. We have been waiting here for the army to come and save us, but we can’t afford to wait any longer. We must make a choice, now. You know giving up the boy is not the right thing to do. Once they have him, the barbarians will not leave you alone. They will come for your gold, or your women, and they will leave nothing alive in their wake.
