by John Gwynne
‘Aquilus honours me by sending you, Nathair,’ said Lamar.
The Prince inclined his head. ‘My father values you, Lamar. He knows your loyalty.’
Lamar leaned forward. ‘So. News of the council, I believe you said earlier.’
‘Aye. The council. We are on the brink of momentous times. As you know, my father sent messengers to all corners of the Banished Lands, and most honoured his call. Only a handful did not come.’
Veradis watched his father’s and brothers’ faces as Nathair spoke of Aquilus’ council, of Meical and the writings he’d discovered by the giant, Halvor. He told of the claims and mysteries spoken of in his book. Nathair finished with the proposal of an alliance of kings against the times ahead, and of the debate that raged back and forth.
Lamar’s face gave away nothing, but he asked many questions, especially regarding the arguments made for and against the alliance, and particularly about who had spoken against Aquilus. Krelis exclaimed often, audibly muttering whenever Nathair described someone speaking against the King. Ektor said nothing, but was intent throughout.
‘This Meical,’ said Lamar. ‘I have heard his name before, but never seen him. Tell me of him.’
‘He is counsellor to my father, but rarely found within the realm. He has been absent for many years, gathering the information I have told you of.’
‘What does he look like?’ Ektor interjected.
‘He is tall. Very tall. Dark haired, battle scarred,’ Nathair said with a shrug. ‘There is little more to tell.’
‘What of his eyes? What colour are his eyes?’
‘I . . . dark. I do not know for sure. Why?’
‘Probably nothing,’ Ektor said, waving his hand.
‘Is there aught else you can tell me of him?’ Lamar asked.
‘Aye. My father trusts him utterly. It was only after his return that the messengers were sent out heralding the council.’
‘And what of you? Do you trust him?’
Nathair leaned back in his chair. ‘He is my father’s counsellor, not mine. We do not confide in one another. But I bow to my father’s wisdom. If my father trusts him, then I see that as good reason to do the same.’
‘Aye, well spoken. Aquilus is no fool, that is one truth I know for certain.’ Lamar looked weary as he leaned forward. ‘So, this is news indeed. A God-War, fought before our eyes. More even, with us as their pawns. The evidence of the Scourging is left in the scars of the land, but still, it is hard to imagine, eh? Gods, angels and demons, here.’ He clenched a fist, knuckles popping, and winced. ‘But not before the coming of this Black Sun?’ He frowned. ‘I would like to see a copy of this book.’
‘As would I,’ said Ektor hungrily.
Lamar placed a hand on Ektor’s shoulder. ‘My son is most learned, and we have a collection of ancient manuscripts, here in this very tower. Ektor may be able to help in the understanding of these predictions.’
‘I have heard of Ektor’s reputation,’ said Nathair, and Veradis saw something flicker across his brother’s face. Pride? ‘I am sure that can be arranged.’
‘So, then, what would Aquilus have me do?’ Lamar asked.
‘Prepare. Train your warband for the coming war, and begin this alliance, helping those that stood with him at the council.’
‘And how are we to do that, exactly?’
‘My father will let you know. There is talk of a force needed to deal with the Hunen, the remnants of a giant tribe causing some kind of mischief in Helveth. It may be that my father will send a warband.’ Nathair shrugged. ‘It is only talk, at present.’
‘You have given me much to think on,’ Lamar said. ‘If there is no more to tell, I think I will retire now. We shall speak more on the morrow.’
Nathair dipped his head and began to rise. ‘My apologies, for earlier,’ he said.
‘Apologies?’
‘Aye. About the chair. Veradis has since informed me of your custom.’
‘It would have been well if he had informed you before the meal,’ Lamar said.
‘I have apologized, Father,’ muttered Veradis.
‘Apologized,’ said Lamar, quiet and cold. ‘Not to me. But anyway, how can you apologize for forgetting your mother? No amount of words can undo that.’ He rose.
‘You should not be so harsh, Lamar,’ said Nathair. ‘Veradis has risen far in Tenebral. Far indeed. He is my first-sword, and captain of my warband. You have much to be proud of. Why not think on those things, instead of dwelling on some petty mistake.’
Lamar tensed. ‘Petty.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Importance is oft a case of perspective. Risen far, you say. Maybe, but maybe too far, too fast. A child does not become a man overnight.’
‘No, true enough. But perhaps your eyes expect a child, where a man now stands.’
Lamar gripped the back of his chair, hands whitening. ‘Do not seek to instruct me, in my own hall, on how I treat my own kin. You are not king yet, Nathair. You are young, but your years are poor excuse for such arrogance.’
There was a moment’s silence, Lamar’s words hanging in the air.
He calls you a child, Veradis’ thoughts whirled, and insults Nathair, the one man to believe in you. Anger flared deep within. ‘You owe Nathair an apology,’ he growled, finding himself rising in turn, ‘he is your prince, and is due your respect.’ His heart was pounding, and suddenly Krelis was standing too. Lamar’s gaze shifted from Nathair to Veradis, and for long moments they all just stood there.
‘Respect,’ Lamar eventually said. ‘A pity you know so little of it.’ He turned and left, Ektor rising quickly and following him. Krelis lingered a moment, then left too.
Veradis rode at the head of his small column of warriors, Nathair beside him.
The Prince had made the decision to leave at sunrise. I have said all my father bade me, my duty is done, he had said, so at first light Veradis had headed for the stables, ready to ride. There was more than one red-eyed, sore-headed warrior amongst his small band, but nevertheless, and much to Veradis’ pride, they were all soon gathered in the courtyard before the main gates. As soon as they were ready, Nathair had walked from the hall, deep in conversation with Ektor. Krelis loomed through the doors behind them. He walked straight to Veradis.
‘Farewell, little brother,’ he said, offering his arm. Veradis had leaned forward in his saddle and gripped it.
‘Last night, Father . . .’ Krelis began, then shook his head. ‘I think I will visit you soon. Until then, have a care.’ His eyes flickered briefly to Nathair, and suddenly the anger of the previous night had gripped Veradis again.
‘Have a care,’ he said. ‘I would remind you that I was sent to Jerolin, and have returned the better for it. I am no child, Krelis. I serve the Prince of all Tenebral.’
‘Aye. You made that clear enough last night,’ Krelis said, his voice quiet, meant only for Veradis.
‘Is it a crime to serve your Prince?’ Veradis said tightly. ‘It is Father who should have a care. His words bordered on treason.’
Krelis’ eyes narrowed, and he quickly released his grip on Veradis’ arm.
‘Be very sure you mean the words that come out of your mouth. You cannot unsay them.’ Before Veradis was able to reply Krelis had taken a step back and raised his hand in farewell. He raised his own arm, fist clenched, and led his band of warriors from Ripa. He had not looked back.
They were cantering along a worn track skirting the northern fringe of the forest. Nathair had insisted, saying that he would explain later. Veradis was not overly concerned – his mind kept returning to his brother’s face and their harsh words. Never had he been at odds with Krelis before. Never.
They made camp before sunset, within sight of the broken walls of Balara, the old giant ruin.
‘Leave your horse saddled; you and I will be riding out soon,’ Nathair said. Veradis just nodded and helped the other warriors settle their mounts and make camp.
He ate a bowl of fish stew as the sun sank i
nto the forest, high clouds glowing a soft pink. Soon after, Nathair called him.
‘If we are not back by first light,’ the Prince said to Rauca, pointing to the outline of the giant ruins, ‘take everyone here, ride to that tower and kill anyone that you find there. Do you understand?’
Rauca frowned, but nodded.
‘We are going to meet Calidus of the Vin Thalun, and another. His master, Lykos,’ Nathair said as they rode into the darkness, the ground rising gently as they passed amongst the first trees of the forest.
‘Is this safe, Nathair?’
The Prince shrugged. ‘I believe so. Sometimes risks must be taken, if the rewards are great enough. Tonight I will further my father’s cause.’
‘But, what if they mean to kill you, or take you prisoner and ransom you?’
‘Aye, there is that. But they could have done that already. Calidus made that point quite clearly, remember.’
‘Still . . .’ grunted Veradis, not liking it at all.
Nathair reined in his horse and dismounted. ‘First I would talk with you, of something else.’
Veradis slipped from his saddle and faced Nathair, whose face was mostly shadow, eyes reflecting liquid starlight.
‘My father’s cause. Our cause. Do you believe it to be true?’
‘Aye, Nathair.’ The Prince stared at him in silence, so Veradis continued. ‘I am not a thinker, like Ektor, but I am, I guess, a fair judge of people. I know King Aquilus, I know you. I follow your lead. I trust my King. And these are strange times, there’s no denying. Stones weeping blood, white wyrms roaming the land.’
Nathair shook his head. ‘No. Following my lead, my father’s lead, it is not enough, Veradis. I must know what you believe.’ He poked Veradis in the chest. ‘Halvor’s book. What it predicts, about the God-War. Do you believe that?’
Slowly, deliberately, Veradis nodded. ‘I do.’ And he was surprised, for, saying it out loud, he realized that he did, completely.
Nathair smiled, ran a hand through his hair, the silence growing. Eventually he spoke.
‘My dreams. The ones I have told you of.’
‘Aye.’
‘I think I have some understanding of them. The voice that I hear, always the same. I believe it to be Elyon, the All-Father.’ He paused. ‘Do you think me mad?’
‘No, Nathair.’
‘The one spoken of in the prophecy, the Bright Star, Elyon’s champion. I believe . . . I believe I am that man. That through my dreams Elyon is summoning me. When we met Calidus, when you leaped through a wall of fire for me. Afterwards I talked with Calidus a long while, in his tent. He knows. He spoke of the God-War, he told me I am . . . chosen.’
Veradis shivered.
‘My father has been telling me of these times. Warning me of them. Preparing me for them. We are on the brink of the abyss, Veradis. I must have good men around me. Great men. You are the first of those. Already we have stood for each other’s lives, you and I. You leaped through the fire for me, when no one else did. And I saw your loyalty to me last night, before all else, even your own kin.’
Veradis was silent. He wanted to look away, feeling suddenly awkward, but Nathair’s gaze held him. The Prince drew a knife from his belt. It glinted in the starlight.
‘I would make a blood-oath with you. You are Elyon’s gift to me: the brother that I never had, my first-sword, champion, battlechief and friend. Bind yourself to me now, and Elyon will take us on to glory you have never dreamed of. We shall face Asroth’s Black Sun and change our world. What say you?’
Everything that had happened over the last turn of the moon flashed through Veradis’ mind. He saw his father’s face, heard his words of the night before – a child does not become a man overnight – he saw Krelis’ face, Ektor’s, but above them all Nathair’s words resonated. Somehow, utterly, he knew that Nathair was destined for greatness. He felt it, could almost hear a voice whispering it in his mind, urging him to bend his knee. But more than that, Nathair believed in him. Suddenly he was overwhelmed by this man before him: prince, leader, friend, and he sank to his knees.
‘I would swear this oath gladly. I would bind myself to you and your cause, Nathair, now and until death.’
‘Then stand, brother, for that is what you are to me now, and let us seal this oath with our blood.’ He drew his knife across his open palm, then offered the hilt to Veradis. With a quick motion Veradis did the same, and they gripped each other’s hands, standing there long moments in the darkness.
‘We are blood-sworn now, bound while blood flows in our bodies.’ Nathair smiled. ‘Come then, let us go meet our destiny.’ He swung back into his saddle and urged his horse forwards. Veradis stood there a moment, clenching his stinging palm, then he scrambled onto his horse.
The ruin of Balara rose up, a dark shadow framed in the starlight. Veradis felt a pang, being this close to the place of so many childhood terrors, but Nathair was determined to enter. The gateway was blocked with fallen rubble, so they rode around the walls and soon found a section that had collapsed. There was no path for the horses, so they dismounted and hobbled them amongst a stand of trees, then entered the ancient fortress of giants.
Nathair strode along a wide street, Veradis a step behind, eyeing the deep shadows to either side suspiciously. He saw a light up ahead, filling an arched doorway, and above it reared the broken tower, rubble littering the ground around it.
A man stood beside the door, a long spear in his hand. Veradis gripped the hilt of his sword but Nathair walked past the man and through the open doorway. The spearman was Deinon, the Vin Thalun he had taken to Jerolin in chains. The corsair dipped his head to Veradis, who grunted and followed Nathair into the tower.
Torches burned around the room, which was wide and round; crumbling stone and rotted wood were scattered across the floor. A stone stairway wound around the tower wall until it abruptly ended, stars shimmering beyond the jagged outline of the shattered wall.
Three people stood before them. Two he instantly recognized – the thin, grey-bearded face of the Vin Thalun Calidus, and his giant companion, Alcyon. The other one stepped forward. He wore a plain leather cuirass, sharp eyes staring out from a weathered face, all deep lines and brown skin. He extended a hand towards Nathair, a jewelled ring of office glinting in the torchlight.
‘Welcome, Nathair. I am Lykos. I have waited long for this moment.’
Nathair gripped his arm.
‘Lykos. I have come as you asked. I am glad of the treaty between us.’
‘There was a time when it would have been impossible, when no one man could speak for the Vin Thalun,’ Lykos said, voice smooth but with an edge of gravel. Veradis thought of wolves. ‘But now the warlords of the Three Islands have bowed their knee to me. We are no longer a fractured people. We are a force, rather than an annoyance to greater realms.’ He tugged thoughtfully at a braid in his beard, streaked with grey. Iron rings bound in it chinked together. ‘I wanted to meet you, thank you for your part in the treaty. I am sure that without your efforts it would not have come about.’
Nathair dipped his head.
‘And for what else? What other reason are we meeting here, in the dead of night?’ Nathair asked.
‘You do not know?’
‘I think perhaps I do,’ Nathair said quietly, almost a whisper. ‘But I would hear you say it.’
‘So be it.’ Lykos drew a breath. ‘For decades I have known that I would serve you. And I have been preparing the way. You are set apart, Nathair, chosen.’
Nothing differed in Nathair’s expression or bearing, but suddenly Veradis sensed a change, a tension filling the room, setting his skin tingling.
‘Why would you say such a thing?’ Nathair whispered.
‘Because I have dreamed it. And in my dreams I have been told of a coming darkness; but more than that. I have been told of a man who will change the world we tread, someone who will unite the whole of the Banished Lands under one banner. I have been told that man is y
ou, Nathair.’ Suddenly Lykos dropped to his knees.
‘I am at your command, Nathair, and along with me the Three Islands of the Vin Thalun, and a fleet the likes of which the Banished Lands has not witnessed since the coming of the Exiles to these shores.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CORBAN
Corban checked again the list of herbs and plants that Brina had sent him to collect: goldenrod, heartsease, meadowsweet, poppy, monkshood, elder. They were all in the sack he had slung over his shoulder.
Keep them separate, she had warned. Before he had been able to clench his mouth shut he had asked why. Some days Brina would answer half a dozen whys before her patience snapped. Other days, like this day, he could tell there would be a sting in the tail of any answer, even for a single why.
Because some are for a poultice, and some he needs to drink, she had snapped . Now get you gone before the lad dies of waiting, she’d finished as she held her cottage door open.
‘GET YOU GONE,’ Craf the crow had screeched as he left. He really hated that crow.
Now he was trudging back to the cottage, a knot of fear germinating in his belly at the thought of having forgotten something.
‘Goldenrod, heartsease, meadowsweet, poppy, monkshood, elder,’ he recited out loud. Storm cocked her head at him as she trotted through the long grass nearby. She had been stopping frequently to pounce at butterflies or leap around clumps of grass, slowing his return, but he had been quite glad of the distraction.
He and the wolven-cub had hardly left each other’s sides since his return from the hunt, a ten-night gone. The only time he did leave her was during his trips to the Rowan Field. Thannon had insisted. Let them get used to the idea before she is paraded before them, he had said. There’ll be warriors in the Field that were close to those killed or hurt. When Thannon decided on something it very rarely changed. And anyway, his da was right. Men had died in the Baglun Forest. If it had been one of his kin he might not have been able to think of Storm without distrust.
