Malice: The Faithful and the Fallen Series Book 1

by John Gwynne

  Part-way through, Tull halted Rafe, who was then handed a shield. He hefted it a moment, then the sparring began again, this time Tull pressing forwards, probing Rafe’s defences.

  Eventually Tull held a hand up. ‘It is done,’ he rumbled, beckoning to Helfach.

  Rafe’s father stepped forward, carrying a sheathed sword. He stood before Rafe, who sank to one knee.

  ‘Rafe ben Helfach,’ Tull boomed. ‘You came to the Field a boy, you are leaving it a man, a warrior. Now rise, take your sword, and hold as tight to truth and courage as you do your blade’s hilt. Take strength from all three through your Long Night: truth, courage and blade.’

  Rafe stood, facing his father, Helfach holding the sword by the scabbard, hilt offered to his son. Rafe gripped it, slid the blade free and held it high.

  Cheers rippled through the small crowd, loudest in a group near to Corban and Farrell where Rafe’s friends stood.

  ‘Now make your oath,’ Tull said, and Rafe pledged himself to Elyon, Ardan and King Brenin. He finished by cutting his palm with his sword, blood dripping onto the ground out of a clenched fist.

  Helfach placed a new-made torc around his son’s neck and then embraced his son, pounding his back. Slowly the crowds began to disperse. Rafe eventually stepped out of his father’s grip and, after a few words, strode towards his gathered friends.

  ‘Here, I have no more need of this,’ he said, tossing his practice sword through the air to Crain.

  Corban stood and watched, remembering with sudden clarity the day Rafe had taken it from him.

  Rafe glanced at him and winked. Corban turned away.

  Soon after, Corban and Dath were trudging through wide stone streets, making for Corban’s home, where Cywen would be waiting for them. Storm padded a few paces behind.

  ‘Do you think he’ll get through his Long Night?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Rafe. He sits his Long Night. Tonight.’

  ‘Oh. Aye, why not?’

  The Long Night was the final seal on the warrior tests, when a boy truly became a man. Rafe would have to leave the fortress before sunset, armed with his new sword, spear and a small sack of provisions, to spend the night on his own in the open, somewhere beyond the safety of Dun Carreg and Havan. The Long Night was supposed to be spent in vigil, unsleeping; a silent, solitary contemplation of those who had raised and guarded them through childhood.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Dath muttered. ‘I just wish he would fail it, somehow.’

  Corban shrugged.

  They reached his home, Corban throwing Dath a chunk of honey-bread still warm from the oven as they passed through the kitchen. He caught a glimpse of Cywen through the window, standing at the far end of the garden near the rose-wall.

  ‘Go through, Dath. I’ll just get our practice sticks.’

  They had collected a stockpile of sticks that they used for their training, ones that closest resembled a sword, and Corban kept them rolled in a cloth in his chamber, so they would not rot from rain and frost. As he sped down the corridor he saw his mam and da’s door was open, sunlight streaming through an unshuttered window and pouring out into the hall. He drew to a sudden stop and peeped in. His mam was sitting on the edge of her bed, her back to him. Without thinking, he stepped into the room.

  His mam jumped, surprised, and twisted round. ‘Oh, it’s you, Ban,’ she murmured, wiping her cheek.

  ‘What are you doing, Mam?’ he asked, peering over her shoulder. She had an old piece of fabric on her lap, alongside a piece of wood. He smiled at seeing the wood–a carving he had attempted when little more than a bairn. It was supposed to be a star, he dimly remembered, though poorly done and abandoned before it was finished. He had not known his mam had kept it.

  ‘Just remembering,’ his mam said with a sniff. She put an arm around his waist and hugged him.

  ‘What’s that?’ he said, pointing at the fabric.

  ‘Your sister’s first effort at stitching.’

  ‘It’s not very good,’ Corban observed.

  ‘No,’ his mam agreed.

  ‘But… why is it making you cry?’

  His mam’s grip tightened. ‘Time passes too quickly.’ She rested her head against his waist, and he stroked her hair. ‘I love you,’ she whispered.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  VERADIS

  ‘Not long, now,’ said Calidus.

  Veradis leaned forward, peering over Nathair’s shoulder. The new King was kneeling on the ground, staring intently at a large egg nestled before him in mounds of straw.

  As Veradis watched, a thin crack, no wider than a hair, appeared amidst the blue and green of the shell. It spread quickly, cobwebbing out from a central point that soon became a hole, growing before his eyes.

  Thick, clear fluid leaked from the hole, then the shell began to push outwards. There were a series of audible cracks and suddenly a flat muzzle was visible.

  ‘Help it, Nathair,’ Calidus said sharply, ‘this must be done by one man alone.’

  They were in a stable box, with Valyn, a larger crowd gathered beyond the stable gate.

  Nathair began pulling bits of shell away, widening the hole, his hands soon slick with the jelly-like fluid oozing from the egg. The creature within thrust its snout through the hole, its head following, getting stuck at the shoulders. It twisted about, jaws snapping, trying to free itself.

  Nathair dug his fingers into the shell, around the creature’s shoulders, strained, and with a snap the egg broke and fell away, leaving a slimy, lizard-like creature standing in its ruin, about half an arm in length, from snout to tail-tip.

  Veradis shivered, suddenly remembering seeing this creature’s kin charging up a hill slope towards him. It bore the same broad skull, flat muzzle and thick tail. Needle-like teeth glittered as it opened its mouth, letting out a strange, dog-like bark.

  ‘Feed it, quickly,’ Calidus said.

  Nathair reached behind him into a wooden bucket and pulled out a handful of raw meat. He opened his palm before the muzzle of the baby draig, which was sniffing loudly, its head twitching from side to side with eyes shut tight. It caught the scent, head lunging forwards. A long tongue snaked out of its mouth, licked Nathair’s hand and the meat, and it started eating noisily.

  ‘Now give it the remains of its shell,’ Calidus said quietly, as the draig ate the last meat from Nathair’s hand. Obediently the King of Tenebral did so and the draig crunched up pieces of shell, Nathair guiding them into its mouth, slime hanging in thick tendrils from its jaw.

  ‘Ugly beast,’ Valyn whispered in Veradis’ ear. He smiled.

  When the draig was done, it scratched at the straw, turned in a circle and promptly went to sleep.

  ‘Well done,’ Calidus said as Nathair stood and they all retreated from the stable box. ‘He will be bonded to you already, but you must continue to feed it. You and only you.’

  ‘Aye. Did you hear that, Valyn? No one else is to enter this box but me. I want a guard set to watch it, and word sent whenever it needs feeding.’

  ‘Aye, my King,’ Valyn said, dipping his head. ‘Uh, if you don’t mind me asking,’ he muttered, ‘how often, exactly, does it need feeding?’

  Nathair looked to Calidus, who frowned. ‘I’m not sure.’ The Vin Thalun shrugged. ‘I would imagine the draig will let you know.’ He smiled.

  ‘Use your judgement, Valyn,’ Nathair said. ‘Now, fetch me a bucket of water for my hands.’

  The crowd that had gathered to watch dispersed quickly, and soon Veradis was left with Nathair, Valyn, Calidus and the giant.

  ‘Draig-Rider,’ Nathair said, grinning. ‘Alcyon, I am in your debt.’

  The giant said nothing, just dipped his head.

  ‘You must teach me all you know of these beasts,’ Nathair said to Calidus as they left the stables, Valyn peering over the stable door at the sleeping draig.

  ‘Of course,’ Calidus said.

  ‘Good. Very good. Now, I have a task to attend to. My mothe
r has asked for me, and she is still fragile. I will summon you all later. There is much I need to discuss with you. It is time, I think, for a Council of War.’

  Sunlight streamed through the open window, a shaft of light slicing into the gloomy room. Veradis grimaced, looking out onto the lake and plains beyond the fortress. It was a little past highsun, thin clouds high above blunting the full heat of the day. The mountains were a ragged, white-tipped outline in the distance. He sighed and turned away from the view.

  The last time he had been in this room he had discovered Nathair lying in a pool of blood and Aquilus dead beneath the window.

  He squeezed his eyes shut.

  ‘Are you well, Veradis?’ Nathair asked.

  ‘Me? Aye, well enough.’ He poured himself a cup of wine from a jug on the table and offered some to Lykos, who was reclining in one of a few chairs arranged around the table. The Vin Thalun held his cup out.

  There was a knock on the door, and Peritus entered without waiting for an answer. Following him strode Calidus, with the hulking shape of Alcyon close behind.

  ‘Please, sit,’ Nathair said, waving a hand. Veradis sat next to Peritus, who acknowledged him with a twitch of his lips.

  ‘This is a Council of War,’ Nathair said, addressing the room. ‘Things have been difficult for me, since Midwinter’s Day. The effects of my wound lingered much longer than I expected. But my father is now avenged, and I am fully recovered. It is time to start doing, rather than waiting.’

  ‘What do you mean by “doing”, exactly?’ asked Peritus.

  ‘My father set things in motion. I would see his plans, his dreams, come to fruition. He planned for aid to be given to those who stood with him in his alliance: to Rahim of Tarbesh, Romar of Isiltir, Braster of Helveth, Brenin of Ardan.’

  ‘Aye,’ Peritus grunted.

  ‘Rahim has received that aid. The others have not.’

  ‘When will we leave?’ Veradis said, feeling a flicker of excitement.

  Nathair smiled. ‘Patience, my first-sword. There is much to arrange.’ He looked at Peritus. ‘I would not have my personal war-band split between these tasks.’

  ‘You are King of Tenebral, now,’ Peritus said. ‘Its warriors are yours to command.’

  ‘Yes, and the warriors of my realm shall fight, make war, as I see fit.’

  Peritus frowned.

  ‘You saw my wall of shields in action, did you not?’ Nathair levelled at the battlechief.

  ‘Aye, I did. It was efficient.’

  Nathair snorted. ‘Efficient? Veradis returned less two score men than he set out with. Your warband lost over five hundred swords, and Veradis led the van.’

  ‘I know it well. He is a brave lad,’ Peritus added.

  ‘Brave. Aye, he is. But that is not what I speak of. Peritus, I do not have a limitless supply of warriors–Tenebral does not. I can ill afford to lose more, unnecessarily. If you had trained your warband in the shield wall, how many would have fallen? How many would have made the journey back with you, lived to fight another day, that are now corpses, lying cold on the bank of a river?’

  Peritus mumbled something, looking away.

  ‘So I have made a decision.’ Nathair stood. ‘All that would hold a blade in my realm, that would call themselves a warrior of Tenebral, must learn this new way of making war. They must learn the shield wall.’ He fixed his eyes on Peritus. ‘I will brook no dissent on this matter.’

  ‘Yes, my King,’ Peritus said, his face now a blank, his thoughts hidden.

  ‘Good,’ Nathair said, smiling suddenly. ‘You will see, Peritus–the shield wall will help us win our war against Asroth and his Black Sun.’

  ‘Aye, my lord. How, exactly, do you mean to execute this plan?’

  ‘Veradis shall choose a few score men that were with him in Carnutan, those he deems capable of leading as well as teaching. They will be sent to my barons and will train their warbands. They shall be the foundations of a new breed of warrior, forging warbands the like of which has never been seen in the Banished Lands before. We are mustering for war.’

  Veradis felt his blood stirring at Nathair’s words. He could almost see the warriors locking shields, thousands instead of hundreds.

  ‘When?’ he said.

  ‘Immediately. Give some thought to the men you would choose. As soon as that is done they will leave.’

  Veradis nodded thoughtfully. ‘If your warband is being split to train new men, how will we be able to aid Braster and Romar, or Brenin?’

  ‘You see to the heart of it, my friend. The answer is we must wait a while, until these new warbands are ready.’

  Veradis frowned. ‘How long?’

  ‘Two moons, at the earliest. Maybe longer.’

  ‘But summer will be past by then, and with a long journey, we would be arriving at winter’s beginning.’

  ‘Possibly. If that is the case, then we may have to wait for next spring.’ Nathair shrugged. ‘There is much else to do, Veradis. Do not fret: I will not have you sitting idle in these cold walls. But if the training goes well you may yet see more battle before the year is out.’

  Veradis looked doubtful. ‘Helveth we can reach, but Ardan–that is a long way.’

  ‘Aye, it is,’ Nathair said. ‘By foot.’ He looked to Lykos, who was lounging in his chair, long legs stretched out.

  ‘I could get a warband to Ardan easy enough,’ the corsair said. ‘Though the further north we sail the more treacherous the waters become. Earlier would be better. Hunter’s Moon would be the latest it could be left.’

  Nathair nodded.

  ‘You have been of great service to me thus far, Lykos.’

  The Vin Thalun dipped his head.

  ‘You and your fleet are central to my plans. Already the speed you have gifted me has proved vital.’

  ‘We can do more than ferry your warriors. We would gladly fight for you, shed our blood for you. We believe in your cause, believe in you.’

  Peritus looked at the Vin Thalun, his eyes creasing.

  ‘I know. And you will have many opportunities to do just that, my friend.’ Nathair looked intently at them all. ‘The Vin Thalun are welcome here, are a valuable ally. We should do what we can to help them, for helping them helps me, us, our cause.’ He stood straight again, focusing on Lykos. ‘How many men can you transport?’

  ‘Now? Some three thousands, no more.’

  ‘We will build you ships. Tenebral has vast forests, and I will need to move more than three thousand at a time ere this war is finished. Bring your shipbuilders here, to oversee the work. Together we shall build a fleet.’

  ‘It shall be done,’ Lykos said, the iron rings in his hair clinking gently as he nodded.

  Nathair paced to the window, staring out over the lake and plain.

  ‘My father expected many to join his alliance, once Midwinter’s Day had passed. That has not happened. Carnutan is in hand now, of course, after the recent events. Gundul I can count on.’

  Whilst he benefits from you, thought Veradis.

  ‘But from the rest–silence. I have sent out riders. I would know where the realms of the Banished Lands stand. If they will not stand with me, then I must consider them against me.’

  ‘Perhaps Aquilus’ death has troubled them,’ said Peritus.

  Nathair frowned. ‘Why should that change anything? My father may be dead, but the alliance should stand–the sun darkened on Midwinter’s Day, did it not?’

  ‘Aye, my King,’ muttered Peritus.

  Nathair looked frustrated. ‘But you are most likely right. The kings of these lands are contrary. Even Romar, who pledged his aid at the council, is sounding hesitant. I have received a parchment from him, asking for a detailed explanation of the events around my father’s death. He even expressed, what was it…?’ He rummaged on the table they were seated around, pulling out a rolled parchment. ‘Ah, yes. He expressed his disappointment, regarding Mandros’ death before a trial.’ Nathair screwed the parchment up, th
rew it on the floor and returned to the window. ‘We shall do what we can, prepare for war. Then we shall do what we must.’

  A silence settled upon the room, growing until it seemed Nathair had forgotten they were there. Peritus shifted in his chair, a leg scraping. Nathair blinked, movement beyond the window catching his gaze.

  ‘A rider has just passed through our gates. One of the messengers I have been speaking of, I think. Peritus. Go, see what news he brings.’

  Peritus rose and left without a word.

  Nathair returned to the table.

  ‘My friends,’ he said, ‘you four shall be my inner circle, those that I trust without question. Others will be useful.’ He glanced at the door where Peritus had just departed, ‘But none do I trust as I trust you.’ He bowed his head, and looked troubled. ‘Elyon speaks to me. I dream, almost every night now. I must find the cauldron. I have been told it is vital to our cause–a weapon. Can you help me?’

  ‘In any way I can, my lord,’ Lykos said. ‘You have only to ask and I will attempt it.’

  Nathair nodded. ‘I know, I know. There is much I must accomplish. I feel the burden of it keenly.’

  ‘I can be of some help regarding the cauldron you speak of. I have information,’ said Calidus.

  Veradis looked at the old counsellor. It was still hard to believe this man was one of the Ben-Elim, the sons of the mighty, angelic warriors of Elyon. He understood why Calidus maintained the secrecy of his identity, but he longed for the day when the ancient warrior would reveal himself. And he had wings…

  Nathair brightened and sat straighter in his chair. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I have gathered some knowledge of this cauldron. Many, many generations ago, before the Scourging, a star fell from the sky. The giant clans were different, then, less warlike. They forged things from this stone. You may have heard tales of the seven Treasures.’

  ‘Aye, of course,’ said Nathair, and Veradis nodded agreement.

  ‘Well, it would seem there is some truth in those tales, is there not, Alcyon?’