Malice: The Faithful and the Fallen Series Book 1

by John Gwynne

  Bos clung to the side of the ship, bent double, spittle flying in a stream from his mouth. Other men in similar poses were dotted around the ship’s edge. Veradis smiled. He had grown up on the bay, so the deck of a ship was more than familiar to him, but many of the warriors in Nathair’s warband had come from further inland. For many this was the first time they had seen the ocean, let alone journeyed on it.

  He looked grim. This would be an opportune time for the Vin Thalun, whose ships they travelled in, to turn on them. No, he thought, Nathair is right. If they wanted him dead they could have done the deed many times over.

  He reached the prow of the ship, the sun rising on the horizon before him, turning the sea to shimmering gold.

  Half a ten-night they had been at sea. Earlier, the coastline of Pelset had been visible, the most easterly of the Vin Thalun’s three islands. Now they were well into the great expanse of the Tethys Sea, nothing between them and Tarbesh but water.

  He glanced over his shoulder, spying the other ships in their fleet as black dots in the glare of the sun. Eight hundred of Nathair’s warriors were on those ships, only five or six score left at Jerolin to gather in and train any new recruits while they were away. He smiled at the memory of King Aquilus and Peritus, standing amazed as they had watched the warband train.

  It had been something to see.

  A third of the warband, some three hundred or so men standing shoulder to shoulder, the line three score long, five men deep. The other two-thirds of the warband, ordered to mass and attack as was common in the Banished Lands, an unorganized swarm. They had charged the still line of warriors, screaming war cries, wooden swords and spears raised. When only twenty or thirty paces had separated the two groups, the line of warriors had raised great round shields, forming a wall of oak and iron.

  The charging warriors smashed into it. The wall had trembled, bent at the edges like a newly strung bow, but held firm. After long moments of battering ineffectually against the shields, battle-cries turning to grunts as men strained and pushed, a single blast of a horn went up from behind the shield wall, and, as one, they took a step forwards. Then another. Men began to fall before the wall of shields, unable to move back or manoeuvre in the tight press.

  ‘How do they wield a blade in that crush?’ Aquilus had asked.

  Veradis and Nathair, along with Aquilus, Fidele and Peritus, had viewed the mock battle in the glade from a small muddy knoll recently stripped of trees. Veradis remembered Nathair’s smile.

  ‘The attacking warriors cannot, Father,’ Nathair had said. ‘The wall of shields forces them too close. They cannot separate into hundreds of individual duels, as has been the way, and so their swords and spears are too long. The shield warriors, though, have been equipped with these.’ He drew a short sword from his belt, sheathed where he usually carried a knife. Nathair had commissioned a team of smiths to make the weapons in secret, and wooden counterparts had been fashioned for the warband to train with. ‘These are more suited to this combat. See how they are thrust between the shields. They do not need room to swing a blade, only stab what is in front of them.’

  Aquilus glanced at Peritus, who watched the battle in silence. He nodded, once.

  ‘Your men are at risk of being flanked,’ the battlechief had said, pointing to the glade.

  ‘Aye, but watch.’

  The shield wall had curved at the flanks as the attacking warriors sought to overwhelm or surround them. A horn blew again, two short successive blasts this time, and warriors from the centre of the back row moved quickly to strengthen the flanks. At the same time riders had filled the glade, two groups of horsemen appearing from the trees, each a score or so strong. They flew at the warriors who were trying to breach the shield wall’s flanks, turning at the last instant to rake the massed warriors with spears and long swords.

  The outcome was clear enough.

  ‘It works well in partnership with mounted warriors,’ Veradis said.

  ‘I have seen enough,’ said Aquilus.

  Nathair raised a hand in the air. The horn sounded again, and instantly the mock conflict had stopped, the men in the shield wall helping fallen comrades regain their feet.

  ‘Well, Father. Do you not judge us ready?’

  Aquilus had sucked in a deep breath. Veradis could still remember the smell of the glade, the air damp with morning dew, the smell of rotting leaves, rich forest loam, sweat, horses, all mingling.

  ‘It is impressive, Nathair. What say you, Peritus?’

  ‘As you say, my King. You use the terrain well, Nathair,’ the battlechief had said, ‘but here it is in the favour of your wall of shields; that would not always be so–woodland battle, a more open space, where the attackers are not so hemmed in, high ground.’ He had shrugged. ‘I am uncomfortable with some of the things I see here. These men are warriors, yet they are being herded as cattle. And your weapons: I would prefer to fight warrior to warrior, know that my skill with a blade had kept me alive.’

  ‘A craftsman brings the right tools to complete the task,’ Nathair said. ‘And if the right tool does not exist, then he would make it. This is no different. The task is to win, to defeat Asroth’s Black Sun, is it not, Father?’

  ‘Aye, that is so,’ Aquilus had agreed, frowning.

  ‘Defeat in the coming war cannot happen. We must do all that is within our power to ensure victory,’ continued Nathair.

  Peritus had been silent awhile. ‘There is truth in what you say. And your methods are effective–of that there is no doubt. How would your wall of shields fare against a charge of horse, do you think?’

  ‘Just as well. A horse will not charge a wall of stone or timber, or a forest where there is no gap between the trees. This is no different.’ Nathair had smiled.

  ‘You say that, but you do not know,’ the battlechief said. ‘It looks impressive, but your warband is made up of untried warriors, most of them not long past their Long Night. How many veterans of campaigns are in your ranks? None. In times of danger, panic, experience holds a line better than youthful passion.’ Peritus had looked at Aquilus and shrugged, ignoring Nathair’s gaze.

  There had been a long silence before Aquilus gave judgement.

  ‘You shall go to Tarbesh,’ the King had said. ‘We shall begin organizing it today, for I would have you back with me by Midwinter’s Day.’

  ‘Aye, Father. My thanks,’ Nathair had said, his joy spilling onto his face.

  The Queen had lingered as Aquilus and Peritus had ridden from the glade.

  ‘You are growing into a rare man,’ she said to Nathair. He had just smiled at her. ‘Remember your father’s words. Follow his will, and all will go well for you; for us.’

  ‘What do you mean, Mother?’ Nathair had asked.

  She stepped forward, cupping his cheek in her hand.

  ‘I think you know, my son. Remember, you are all I have. I would not see you fall from your father’s grace. You have a sharp mind, a strategic mind, but you must curb your enthusiasm. You have new ideas, that is clear.’ She had gestured to the warband. ‘Some can help the cause now. Some, maybe, must wait for another day. Others should be laid aside, perhaps permanently.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Your association with the Vin Thalun.’

  ‘Mother, I am a child no longer,’ Nathair had said, rolling his eyes.

  ‘No, but a son should obey his father, no matter his age, a subject should obey his king.’ She had looked at him sternly, then turned to leave. ‘Look after my son,’ she said to Veradis.

  Only a few nights passed, and then they had left Jerolin. Nathair rode at the head of eight hundred men with Veradis beside him. Rauca was just behind, holding a banner displaying the eagle of Tenebral.

  They had followed the river Aphros for a ten-night, and Veradis remembered the tension building in him as the first trees of the Sarva came into view, the knowledge that he would face his father soon a growing pressure within. But then Nathair had changed course, travellin
g south towards the coast.

  The Vin Thalun were waiting, Lykos standing on a beach of shingle, alongside Calidus and his looming guardian, Alcyon. A fleet of ships was anchored at their backs.

  ‘Your father will not be pleased,’ Veradis had said to Nathair. ‘Nor your mother.’

  Nathair had grinned. ‘What they know not will wound them little,’ he had said. ‘Besides, Father wants me back for Midwinter’s Day. By travelling this way I will ensure that.’

  ‘And what of flapping tongues? We have close to a thousand men here.’

  ‘This will be a test of their loyalty,’ Nathair said sternly. ‘This is my warband, they are my men, not my father’s. I shall make this clear to them.’

  Veradis had shrugged, relieved at not having to see his own father, and in half a day all of the warband, horses and supply wains as well, had been loaded onto the Vin Thalun’s ships.

  The sound of footsteps brought Veradis back to the present. He turned his head and saw Nathair approaching.

  ‘A good thing we are not fighting a campaign at sea,’ the Prince said, gesturing at the sick warriors scattered around the ship’s edge, vomiting.

  ‘Aye,’ grunted Veradis, part of him still concerned about that possibility.

  ‘We will save at least a whole moon of hard riding, travelling like this, and the same if we return this way. No more than five nights, and we should be on solid ground again.’

  ‘Are you so keen to face the giants of Tarbesh?’ said Veradis.

  ‘Indeed.’ Nathair waved his hand, bit into a plum, dark juice dripping to the deck. ‘They will fall before us. The Banished Lands have not seen our like before, Veradis. Destiny calls us; we will not fail. This will be a fair trial for us.’ He gave a ferocious grin. ‘My father was right: we need combat to sharpen us. He is wise, in some things.’

  But not all, Veradis thought, finishing Nathair’s unsaid sentiment.

  ‘This fixation he has about the Vin Thalun; he will come to see it is unjustified. I will change his mind. He is a man of reason–and we must think of the future, not the past, is that not so?’ Nathair bit the last flesh from his plum and cast the stone into the sea.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Just look about us. They are a great asset, these Vin Thalun. Not only has this saved time on our journey, but also now we will arrive in Tarbesh rested, not weary from a hard road. And there are so many more possibilities, so much more potential–the speed with which we can move warriors, the element of surprise attacks. So much more.’

  Rested? Maybe not all of us, thought Veradis, glancing at a warrior vomiting bile over the ship’s rail. Still, overall he could not fault Nathair’s logic.

  ‘And there is more to their worth,’ Nathair continued, talking more quietly now. ‘I set Lykos a task, asked him to gather infor mation for me.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘You remember the book Meical read from, at my father’s council.’

  ‘Of course. Many things were spoken of.’

  ‘Yes. I have talked of some of it with Lykos and Calidus. They are helping me to understand it.’

  Veradis frowned, not sure he liked the sound of that. ‘What of your father and Meical? Why not ask them?’

  ‘I have tried. Meical will say nothing to me, and Father only says soon… But soon will be too late. So I must take help where I can find it. Lykos has built up quite a network of–what shall we call them…’

  ‘Spies?’ Veradis offered.

  ‘Informers. And Calidus seems to know much about everything. Do you recall white-walled Telassar that Meical’s book spoke of, and the shadow warriors?’

  ‘Aye. It all sounded like riddles, to me.’

  ‘And to me. But Lykos has told me of Telassar. It is a fabled city, hidden by a glamour, home to warriors fiercely devoted to Elyon: shadow warriors, the Jehar, they call themselves. They know of the coming God-War, have spent their lives preparing for it, preparing for the Bright Star.’ Nathair looked around him, lowering his voice. ‘I am the Bright Star, Elyon’s chosen, so they will fight for me.’

  Veradis nodded. ‘That would all make sense,’ he said, ‘except for one thing. Where are they? Fabled cities are often just that–fabled. And if they are hidden by a glamour, how will you find them?’

  ‘Yes, good questions. As to where this fortress is, Lykos has heard word it is in Tarbesh.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Exactly. So the time we are saving on our journey can be put to good use. I will find this Telassar, and talk to these shadow warriors.’

  ‘Before or after we have dealt with Rahim’s giants?’

  ‘After.’ Nathair flashed a smile. ‘We shall take council on that now. I have asked Lykos and Calidus to join us here, as soon as they are able.’

  ‘And the giant. Are you not troubled about taking aid from such as he?’

  ‘Troubled? No, Veradis. Never take your eye from our goal, my friend.’

  ‘The goal. And what is that, in the end?’

  ‘Victory,’ Nathair whispered. ‘I will use man, giant or beast to attain that goal. For the greater good I will do what is required.’

  Veradis heard the creak of a door, turned to see the hulking shape of Alcyon emerge from the hold, Lykos and Calidus walking in the giant’s shadow.

  There was something wolf-like about Lykos, Veradis thought, as the lord of the Vin Thalun approached them, iron rings clinking in his grey-streaked hair. His walk was graceful, confident, speaking of years on the deck of a ship. ‘My lord,’ the corsair chief said as he drew near. Many in the warband had been surprised to hear Lykos refer to Nathair so.

  ‘Greetings,’ said Nathair. ‘As you know, I go to the aid of King Rahim. He is plagued with giant raids. Can you tell me anything that will ease my task?’

  ‘Ever since we spoke of Telassar,’ said Lykos, ‘I have sent many men to Tarbesh, seeking to find your fortress. In the process my spies have travelled far and learned much.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘They report to Calidus. He has been my ears for many years now, and has served me well.’ He waved a hand at the gaunt man.

  ‘A river marks the eastern border of Tarbesh,’ Calidus said, ‘marking the boundary between Rahim’s realm and the Shekam giants. The Shekam have been crossing the river of late, raiding Rahim’s lands. It is a familiar tale, I hear. The giant clans that are left are becoming bolder throughout the Banished Lands.’

  ‘Aye, I have heard that also,’ Nathair said. ‘Do you know anything of how these giants, these Shekam, make war?’

  ‘There is one more knowledgeable than I on that subject,’ Calidus said with a grin and nodded to Alcyon.

  The giant took a step forward; Veradis felt a slight tremor in the deck.

  ‘You know of the Shekam?’ Nathair said, looking up at Alcyon’s broad, angular face.

  ‘Aye,’ the giant rumbled, his voice harsh and low pitched. ‘All the clans had many things in common: like most, their weapons of choice are the axe and hammer. There are differences as well, I remember. The Shekam often fought mounted.’

  ‘Mounted,’ Veradis said. ‘But a horse could not carry a giant.’

  ‘Aye, prince’s man,’ Alcyon said, turning small, dark eyes onto him. ‘They ride draigs.’

  ‘Draigs,’ Veradis spluttered, eyes widening.

  ‘Aye. Draigs,’ the giant repeated, the edges of a smile touching his mouth, making his drooping moustache twitch.

  ‘I did not think giants rode anything,’ Nathair said.

  ‘Most do not. We can match your horses, over distance.’ The giant shrugged. ‘But the clans are warlike by nature. We were fighting each other long before your kind ever came to these lands, and advantages of any kind were sought. The Jotun in the north rode bears. I do not know if they still do, since your kin drove them across the Bone Fells, but I suspect so. The Shekam ride draigs.’

  Veradis nodded, his mind filled with the coming conflict. He knew that the giant clans had been defeated
before, and that there were more of them then, far more, so the task they faced was surely achievable. But giants on draigs–now, that was an unsettling thought.

  ‘Is there any more you can tell us, Alcyon?’ Nathair asked.

  ‘Aye. Your greatest risk will be from Elementals. They are likely to be amongst their ranks.’

  Veradis’ eyes grew wide again. ‘Sorcerers,’ he muttered.

  ‘Aye. Wielders of the earth power,’ Alcyon rumbled.

  ‘This task is becoming more than a campaign on which to “cut our teeth,” Nathair,’ Veradis muttered.

  ‘Indeed,’ replied the Prince. ‘How can we combat these Elementals?’

  ‘Do not be troubled,’ said Calidus, ‘Alcyon and I will accompany you. We are also familiar with these powers.’

  ‘You are sorcerers?’ said Veradis.

  Alcyon said nothing and Calidus just smiled.

  The rest of the journey passed quickly enough: the weather was hot, tempered by a constant wind that sped their progress, the sun filled cloudless blue skies, baking the skin of all that stood on the decks. After the passing of five more nights, Veradis found himself standing once again at the prow of the ship, looking at a dark smudge on the horizon.

  ‘Tarbesh,’ he muttered quietly, excitement building within him, a weightlessness dancing in the pit of his stomach.

  As the day wore on, the land on the horizon grew until he could see the coast clearly. There were craggy cliffs of dark, reddish rock and sand with a covering of sun-blasted grass, here and there stunted olive trees with pale bark, looking like a twisted mass of tendon and sinew.

  The small fleet turned north and followed the coastline until they came to a large bay where a river flowed into the sea. Here the land was greener, with groves of tall cedars flanking the river. By nightfall Nathair’s warband was ashore. They made camp beside the river, and in the morning Lykos bid them farewell.

  ‘I shall return on the last night of the Reaper’s Moon,’ he said. ‘If you are not here we shall wait for you, or until you send word. I shall see you back to Tenebral and Jerolin in good time for Midwinter’s Day.’

  Nathair turned and swung into the saddle of his white stallion. Horns blasted, and with a great sound the warband moved out.