by John Gwynne
Veradis smiled. ‘You don’t have to resemble a mountain to wield a sword, you know.’
‘Maybe not that little pin you like to call a sword,’ Krelis laughed, ‘but anyway, battlechief of Ripa is for another day. Let us see what our King Aquilus makes of you first, and what he turns you into.’
Veradis walked into the great hall of Jerolin, huge black stone columns rising up and disappearing into the shadowed darkness of the vaulted ceiling. Great tapestries hung along the walls of the chamber, sunlight pouring through narrow windows dissecting the hall. Warriors lined either side of the room, wearing gleaming silver helms, hooked nose-bars giving them a raptor-like appearance. Silver eagles were embossed on black leather breastplates; even the leather strips of their kilts shone, polished and gleaming. They gripped tall spears, longswords hanging at their hips.
His steps faltered and the warrior behind trod on his heel. He balanced himself and quickened his pace to keep up with Krelis, who was striding purposefully towards the far end of the hall, his ironshod sandals cracking out a quick rhythm on the stone floor. People were gathered in clumps about the hall, waiting on their king–servants tending to those in the court, barons come to petition Aquilus on border disputes, no doubt, crofters, all manner of people seeking the King’s justice on a host of matters.
People parted before Krelis and the warrior leading them. ‘Armatus,’ Krelis had whispered to him, a grizzled, knobbly-armed man, his skin looking like the bark of an ancient tree. He was weapons-master of Jerolin, King Aquilus’ first-sword, a man whose reputation with a blade was known to all.
They made their way quickly through the hall, a handful of Aquilus’ eagle-guard striding behind Veradis, the Vin Thalun prisoner somewhere amongst them. Veradis passed through an open doorway, a spiral staircase before him. Without pause, Armatus led them down wide stone steps, then the floor levelled and they were marching along a narrow corridor.
Armatus turned off the corridor and stepped through a doorway into a large, bare room: no furniture, no windows, flickering torches the only light. Iron rings were sunk into the stone of the walls and floor, rusted chains and manacles hanging from them.
Three figures stood at the far end of the room, a man and woman standing in the light, the vague form of someone else shrouded in the shadows behind them.
Aquilus and Fidele, King and Queen of Tenebral. Veradis recognized them vaguely from the last time they had visited Ripa, half a dozen years gone, attending the barons’ council. Fidele looked much the same, pale and perfectly beautiful, though Aquilus looked older, more creases around his eyes and mouth, more silver in his close-cropped hair and stubbly beard.
‘Krelis,’ King Aquilus said with a nod. ‘Where is this man?’
Krelis had been ushered into Aquilus and Fidele’s presence as soon as they had arrived at the black-stoned fortress, leaving Veradis and their warriors to guard the prisoner. Krelis had not been gone long, though, returning with orders to present the prisoner immediately.
‘Here, my King,’ Krelis said, stepping aside so that the eagle-guard could herd the captive forward. He stood before Aquilus with head bowed, hands shackled. In the flickering torchlight his many battle-scars stood out like dark tattoos. One of the eagle-guards grabbed a chain fixed to the floor and locked it to the man’s bonds.
‘I have not seen your kind for many a year,’ the King said. ‘How is it that a Vin Thalun raider is in my realm, in my keep?’
‘He was part of a raiding galley, lord, looking for plunder. They burned more than one village along the coast, but they sailed too close to Ripa…’
Aquilus nodded, starring thoughtfully at the man, whose head was still lowered, eyes fixed on the iron ring sunk into the floor that he was chained to.
‘And I am told that you have information for me. Is this so?’
The man did not respond, stayed perfectly still.
With a snort, Krelis leaned over and cuffed the prisoner, bringing his head up with a snap, eyes flashing, teeth bared for an instant. The iron rings woven into braids in his beard chinked together, one for each life he had taken.
‘Let us start with something easier,’ Aquilus said. ‘What is your name?’
‘Deinon,’ the Vin Thalun muttered.
‘Where did you come by so many scars, Deinon?’
‘The Pits,’ said the warrior with a shrug.
‘The Pits?’
‘The fighting pits. There’s one on each of the islands,’ Deinon said, glancing at the scars on his arms. ‘Long time ago,’ he said dismissively.
Veradis shuddered. When the Vin Thalun raided they took people for plunder as well as food and wealth. Veradis had heard tales that the boys and men taken were forced to fight for the Vin Thalun’s pleasure, the fiercest being given a chance to earn their way out of the pits, and a spot pulling an oar on a Vin Thalun ship. This man had done well to graduate to warrior.
‘And is what Krelis says true? That you were part of a corsair galley, raiding my lands?’
‘Aye.’
‘I see. But you raided too close to Ripa, and Krelis caught you. And now here you are.’
‘Huh,’ grunted the corsair.
‘And you know the sentence for what you have done is death? But you have some information that I may wish to hear?’
‘Aye,’ the man muttered.
‘Well?’
‘My information in return for my life. That is what he told me.’ The Vin Thalun nodded at Krelis.
‘That would depend on the information. And if it is truth.’
The prisoner dipped his head, licking his lips. ‘Lykos has a meeting planned, here in Tenebral.’
‘Lykos,’ Aquilus said, frowning.
Years ago, when Veradis was a child, the Vin Thalun had been a scourge along the coasts of Tenebral, even raiding deep into the realm, travelling up the rivers that flowed like arteries through the land, striking at Tenebral’s heartland, stealing, burning. But something had happened. There had been a great raid on Jerolin itself, beaten off with many casualties on both sides. After that things had gone quiet, the inland raids stopping, even the coastal ones becoming rarer. Around the same time the name of a man amongst the Vin Thalun had begun to be heard: Lykos, a young warlord. Over the years he had risen high in their ranks, one by one subduing the three islands, Panos, Nerin and Pelset, defeating their warlords, uniting the Vin Thalun for the first time in their history. The last great sea-battle amongst them had been less than a year ago. Since then the raiding had begun to grow again, although mostly still along the coast.
‘Tell me of this Lykos,’ Aquilus said.
‘He is our king,’ the corsair shrugged. ‘A great man.’
‘And he is the sole leader of the Vin Thalun, now?’ Aquilus pressed.
‘Our king; he is more than a leader. Much more.’
Aquilus frowned, mouth a tight line. ‘So, why is he planning to set foot on my land.’
‘A meeting with one of your barons. I know not who, but the meeting is south of here, close to Navus.’
Veradis heard gasps around the room.
‘How do you know this?’ Aquilus snapped.
Deinon shrugged. ‘I hear things. My brother, he’s Lykos’ shieldman. His tongue flaps after a jug of wine.’
‘When?’
‘Soon. The last night of the Wolf Moon. If I saw a map I could show you where.’
Aquilus stared long moments at the prisoner. ‘How can I trust you, a corsair who would turn on his own?’
‘Loyalty doesn’t seem so important, when you’re faced with that walk across the bridge of swords,’ the corsair muttered.
‘Aye, mayhaps,’ Aquilus said quietly. ‘And if you lie, you would only have delayed your journey. Your head would soon be parted from your shoulders.’
‘I know it,’ Deinon mumbled.
‘We must send a warband, Father,’ a voice said from the shadows behind Aquilus and Fidele; a figure stepping forward. It was a man, young, little o
lder than Veradis. He was tall, weathered by the sun, a shock of dark curly hair framing a handsome face. Veradis had seen him once before. Nathair, the Prince of Tenebral.
‘Aye. I know,’ Aquilus muttered.
‘Send me,’ Nathair said.
‘No,’ snapped Fidele, taking a step closer to her son. ‘We do not know the risk,’ she said, more softly.
Nathair scowled, moving away from her. ‘Send me, Father,’ he said again.
‘Perhaps,’ the King muttered.
‘You cannot allow this meeting to take place,’ Nathair said, ‘and Peritus is off chasing giants in the Agullas Mountains. The last night of the Wolf Moon is less than a ten-night away: barely time enough to get to Navus if I left on the morrow.’ Nathair glanced at his mother, who was frowning. ‘And this Lykos will hardly be riding at the head of a great warband. Not to a secret meeting in his enemy’s land.’
Aquilus rubbed his stubbly chin, skin rasping. ‘Perhaps,’ he said again, with more conviction this time, though his eyes flickered to his wife. ‘I will think on this, make my decision later. First, though, I shall send for someone to question our guest a little more thoroughly.’ He looked at Armatus, his first-sword. The grizzled warrior nodded and left the room.
‘I tell no lies,’ the prisoner said, a hint of panic in his voice.
‘We shall see. Krelis, I am indebted to you, and to your father.’
‘We are glad to serve you, my lord,’ Krelis said, dipping his head. ‘We cannot guarantee the truth of what he says, but we thought it too important to ignore.’
‘Aye, right enough. I will have rooms prepared for you and your men. You must have ridden hard to reach us.’
‘That we have,’ Krelis said. ‘But my father has bid me return as soon as my task is done.’
Aquilus nodded. ‘We must all obey our fathers. Give Lamar my thanks. I shall make sure your packs and water skins are full, at least.’
‘There was one other matter,’ Krelis said, glancing at Veradis. ‘A request.’
‘If it is in my power.’
‘My father asks that you take my little brother, here, Veradis, into your warband for a time. To teach him, as you did me.’
For the first time Aquilus’ eyes rested fully on Veradis. He bowed low to the King, a little clumsily.
‘Of course,’ the King said with a smile. ‘It did you little harm. But perhaps not my warband. Peritus is away, and if I remember rightly, he was needed to keep you out of trouble on more than one occasion.’
Krelis grinned.
‘My son is gathering his own warriors. You have need of good men, do you not, Nathair?’
‘Aye, Father.’
‘It is settled then,’ said Aquilus. ‘Good. Welcome, Veradis ben Lamar, to my home. You are now the Prince’s man.’
‘Well met,’ Nathair said, stepping closer, gripping Veradis’ arm. Intelligent, bright blue eyes looked into his, and Veradis had the sense of being measured.
‘It will be an honour to ride with you, my lord,’ Veradis said, inclining his head.
‘Yes, it will,’ said Nathair with a grin. ‘But none of this “my lord” talk. If you are to fight beside me, for me, risk your life for me, then I am just Nathair. Now go and clean the dust of the road from you. I will send for you and we shall talk more, over some meat and wine.’
Krelis and Veradis bowed once more to Aquilus and Fidele, then turned and left the damp room.
‘Farewell, little brother,’ said Krelis as he grabbed Veradis and pulled him into an embrace. Veradis scowled as they parted.
‘I still don’t understand why I have to be here,’ he said as Krelis climbed into the saddle of his stallion.
‘Yes you do. Father wishes you to become a leader of men.’ Krelis smiled.
‘I know, but can’t I do that at Ripa?’
‘No,’ replied Krelis, his smile fading. ‘Here you will not be treated as the Baron’s son. It will be better in the end, you’ll see.’
‘He just wishes to be rid of me,’ Veradis muttered.
‘Probably,’ Krelis grinned. ‘That is what I would do. You cannot blame him.’
Veradis pulled a sour face, scuffed a toe on the stone floor.
‘Come,’ Krelis said, frowning, black bushy eyebrows knitting together. He leaned over in his saddle, speaking quieter. ‘There is value in this. It will make you a better man.’ He straightened, stretching his arms out wide. ‘Look what it did for me.’
‘Huh,’ Veradis grunted, not able to keep a smile twitching the corners of his mouth.
‘Good, that’s better,’ Krelis grinned. Behind them Krelis’ warriors were mounting up. The sun was high in the sky, now, a little past midday, the stables buzzing with activity. Krelis’ horse danced restlessly.
‘I would stay longer, see what this warband you are joining is like, but I must get back to Father. As it is, it will be over a ten-night before I reach the bay.’ He winked at Veradis. ‘We’ll meet again soon enough. Until then, make the most of your time here.’
Veradis stepped back as Krelis pulled his horse in a tight circle and cantered away, his warriors following close behind. The sound of hooves ringing on cobblestones hung in the air.
The young warrior stood there awhile, then turned and entered the large stable block, walking down a row of stalls until he found his grey. His horse whickered and nuzzled him as he entered the stall. Veradis found a brush and iron-toothed comb, began grooming his horse, though a quick glance told him the stablehands had already seen to him. He carried on regardless, finding a peace, a reassurance in the process, losing track of time.
‘Are you all right, lad?’ said a voice behind him. He turned to see a man looking over the partition door at him, the stablemaster who had organized the settling of their horses when they had arrived.
‘Aye. I’m well,’ he answered. ‘Just…’ he shrugged, unsure what to say.
‘Never fear, lad, your grey’s in good hands here. I am Valyn.’
‘Veradis.’
‘I saw your brother leave. A good man.’
‘That he is,’ Veradis replied, not trusting his voice to say any more.
‘I remember well his stay with us. He was missed when he left, by more than one lass, if I remember right.’ He grinned. ‘I hear you’re to join Nathair’s warband.’
‘Huh,’ Veradis grunted. ‘I am honoured,’ he added, feeling that he should, although right now he just felt very alone.
The stablemaster looked at him for a long moment. ‘I am about to take my evening meal. I often sit on the outer wall. It’s quite a view–care to join me?’
‘Evening meal?’ Veradis said, ‘but…’ His stomach suddenly growled.
‘Sundown is not far off, lad. You’ve been in here a fair while.’
Veradis raised an eyebrow, his belly rumbling again. ‘I’d be happy to join you,’ he said.
Valyn led him to the feast-hall, where they quickly filled plates with bread and cheese and slices of hot meat, Valyn grabbing a jug of wine as well. Climbing a stairwell of wide, black steps, they found a spot on the battlement wall.
Jerolin sat upon a gentle hill overlooking a wide plain and lake, fisher-boats dotting its shimmering surface. Veradis looked to the east, following the line of the river as it curled into the distance, searching for a glimpse of Krelis, but he was long gone. To the north and west the peaks of the Agullas jutted, jagged and white-tipped, glowing bright in the light of the sinking sun.
They sat there in silence awhile, watching the sun dip behind the mountains, and then Valyn began to speak, telling tales of Aquilus and the fortress. In return, Veradis told of his home, his father and brothers, and of life in Ripa, the fortress on the bay.
‘Do you have a wife, children?’ Veradis asked suddenly. Valyn was silent a long time.
‘I had a wife and son, once,’ he eventually said. ‘It feels like another lifetime now. They died. The Vin Thalun raided the fortress, many years ago. You have probably heard the tale, tho
ugh you would have been clinging to your mother’s skirts at the time.’
Veradis coughed. He had never clung to his mother’s skirts; she had died birthing him. He blinked, putting the thought quickly away. ‘I have heard tell of that,’ he said. ‘They were bolder in those days.’
Valyn suddenly jumped to his feet and stared out over the plain below.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Veradis, coming to stand beside him, following the stablemaster’s gaze out over the battlements. Approaching the fortress was a lone horseman, riding a large dapple-grey horse. Veradis could make little out from this distance, other than that the rider’s mount moved with a rare elegance.
Valyn passed a hand over his eyes. He stood there in silence a while, watching the rider draw nearer to the fortress.
‘Do you know him?’ Veradis asked.
‘Aye,’ Valyn muttered. ‘His name is Meical. He is counsellor to our King, and the last time I saw him was the night my wife and son died.’
CHAPTER THREE
CORBAN
‘Oh no,’ muttered Dath as the two boys scrambled to their feet.
A group of lads were watching them. Vonn stood at their head. He was son of Evnis, who was counsellor to the King, and so considered himself of some importance in and around Dun Carreg. He was a few years older than Corban, had recently passed his warrior trial and sat the Long Night, so had passed from boy to man. By all accounts he was an exceptional swordsman.
Another lad stepped forward, tall and blond haired. ‘Well?’ he repeated. ‘What are you doing?’
Not Rafe, thought Corban. Rafe was part of Evnis’ hold, a year or so older than Corban, son of Helfach the huntsman. He was cruel, boastful and someone that Corban made a point of avoiding.
‘Nothing, Rafe,’ said Corban.
‘Didn’t look like nothing to me.’ Rafe took another step closer. ‘Looked like you two were having a good time, rolling in the mud together.’ Some of his companions sniggered. ‘What have you got there?’
‘Practice swords,’ answered Dath. ‘We just saw Tull fight, did you see him…?’
Rafe held up his hand. ‘I see him every day in the Rowan Field,’ he said, ‘where real warriors use real swords, not sticks.’
