A Time of Dread

by John Gwynne

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BLEDA

  Bleda stood in the courtyard of Drassil, waiting. Jin was nearby, and he felt her eyes upon him, though he refused to look. Ever since Israfil had announced that they would be wed she had smiled at him more, touched him more, even if it were just resting a hand upon his shoulder when he made her laugh.

  Part of him liked it. It felt agreeable, he had to admit, and started other sensations fluttering in his belly which weren’t unpleasant, either. But he was also acutely aware of his mother’s presence at Drassil, as well as Old Ellac and a dozen more of his Sirak kin, and they seemed to be watching him all the time. He was straining to keep his cold-face on so much that it was a relief when he lay down in his cot at night and the torches were extinguished. Muscles in his face ached that he hadn’t known were there.

  Controlling your emotions is a tricky business.

  And Jin seems to be getting worse at it, instead of better.

  There was the sound of hooves on cobbles and he was grateful for the distraction, though he felt a swell of sadness as well.

  His kin were leaving Drassil.

  He saw his mother first, riding into the courtyard as if she lived in a saddle, which she mostly did. She had been in Drassil for most of a moon, and yet they had barely talked, and never alone, though the Ben-Elim had been mostly responsible for that. Bleda looked at her now and had no understanding of what she thought of him, whether she was proud or filled with shame. The thought of that gave him too much pain to cope with and he pushed it away quickly, a rapid blinking the only sign that he’d felt anything at all. His mother’s eyes touched him, moved to Jin, then on to the great gates and up to the sky, the ever-present shapes of Ben-Elim riding the currents. Close behind her rode Uldin, the Cheren lord and Jin’s father. He did not smile at his daughter, either, but he did dip his head to her for a moment as they approached the pair. Then their retinues were clattering into the courtyard behind them; Ellac was there, looking as balanced as the rest of them in his saddle, despite the lack of one hand.

  There was a blast of wind and a rustle of feathers as Israfil and Kol landed gracefully either side of Bleda and Jin, waiting for the riders to reach them. Giants, Queen Ethlinn and her father, Balur One-Eye were also standing nearby, and a host of White-Wings lined the courtyard, a sign of respect or a reminder of strength, Bleda was not sure.

  Probably both.

  Whatever it was, Bleda sensed a tension in the air. The members of his mother’s retinue might be skilled in the art of the cold-face, but some were not as adept at keeping their emotions entirely hidden. Bleda noticed white knuckles on reins, strung bows on saddle-pegs, horses with ears back or flicking as their rider’s mood was sensed on some level and transferred. And Israfil and Kol either side of him were fidgeting in their tell-tale ways that possibly only Bleda could read, a quiver through their wings, a tightness in their musculature.

  Something is wrong.

  Erdene and Uldin reined in before Bleda and Jin, Israfil and Kol.

  ‘We will give you your tithe of flesh,’ Uldin said, no preamble, ‘send you warriors from amongst the Sirak and Cheren.’

  A silent sigh seemed to ripple through the courtyard, the change to Israfil and Kol minuscule, but Bleda noticed it: a relaxing in the set of their wings, a slow breath from Kol.

  Ah, Mother and Uldin hadn’t told them yet, and Israfil thought they would leave without committing to the terms. He would not have allowed that to happen. My mother and the others were no doubt tense because of the shame of it. Another stain as we bend the knee to our new masters. Why could we just not be left to live free. The Sirak are not made for the Ben-Elim’s rules and regulations; we are a people of the plain, moving with the seasons and the sun, no yoke or master to bind us in one place.

  ‘When we return to Arcona we shall send a small party, to show our good faith while we select and organize a larger force,’ Erdene said. ‘First you shall have one hundred riders from the Sirak, one hundred from the Cheren. More shall come later.’

  ‘The Sirak and Cheren are noted for their honour in this,’ Israfil said.

  Honour? They are forced to bend the knee, something the Sirak have done to no one for as long as the grass wind has blown.

  ‘They will be the honour guard of our heirs. Of Bleda and Jin. A wedding-gift to show our commitment to their forthcoming marriage.’

  Even the word marriage caused Bleda some significant discomfort and proved difficult to keep from his face.

  Our honour guard! Will Israfil allow this? Technically the warriors would not be answerable to any except Jin and me. We would be their lords.

  A silence grew, lengthening as Israfil considered this. Just as Bleda thought the time to answer without giving insult had passed, Israfil nodded.

  ‘Of course,’ he said.

  Erdene nodded, and then she looked at Bleda.

  ‘May your arrow fly true,’ she said to him.

  ‘And your horse never stumble,’ he gave the response, feeling a joyous warmth spread through him.

  She thinks of me as kin.

  Uldin said something to Jin, though Bleda did not hear it, his heart still soaring from his mother’s acknowledgement, and then Erdene and Uldin were riding away, towards the open gates of Drassil, their retinue following behind. Only Old Ellac looked at Bleda as they rode past.

  Before Erdene and Uldin reached the gates, a dozen giants mounted upon bears lumbered out before them, an honour guard to escort the Arcona lords partway along the eastern road.

  Bleda and Jin stood watching their kin, giants before them, a handful of Ben-Elim circling the skies above them as they rode a short way along the road of the dead, amongst the field of cairns, before they turned and headed east, moving swiftly out of sight. Bleda wished he could run up the wide stairwell to the battlements and watch them until they faded into the distance.

  She is gone, but I have her parting to me. And also those words she whispered in my ear while on the weapons-field, the day that Jin shamed Riv, the trainee White-Wing.

  ‘Well, what are you two doing, standing about?’ Kol said to them with an easy smile, glancing up at the sun, which had not long cleared Drassil’s high walls. ‘You’re due at lessons, are you not?’

  Bleda and Jin burst into the teaching chamber, a high-vaulted room of stone and wide-arched windows, one long wall filled with shelves full to bursting with scrolls and parchments. It was a room that Bleda was more familiar with than any other part of the fortress, because he had spent such a large portion of his life sitting in there, learning his letters, the histories, the theories of weapon and war, herbs and healing, the ways of earth and sky. And of course, the teachings of Elyon, how to live a life of faith, strength and purity. Of sacrifice, honour and duty.

  Though that sounds more like the Ben-Elim than Elyon, to me.

  It was fair to say that the Ben-Elim had brought more with them than just rules and an iron-shod foot upon the neck of those who lived and breathed within the Banished Lands. Though no trade that is forced upon you is a fair trade.

  ‘Where’s Jibril?’ Bleda said, skidding to a halt.

  A giant stood before one of the long windows. He was leaning over a table, hands resting upon it like two knotted saplings. It was a giant Bleda knew well, or better than most at Drassil, because it was the giant who had plucked him from Israfil’s grip that day in Arcona when he had been taken from his people. He had ridden with this giant upon the back of a bear all the long way from Arcona to Drassil, and for a giant he was more talkative than most.

  ‘Alcyon, where is Jibril?’ Bleda asked again.

  Jibril was their tutor, a dark-haired Ben-Elim who had taught them their histories ever since they had arrived in Drassil, some five years gone. Different Ben-Elim taught different subjects. Bleda suspected it was not because they specialized in different subjects, with some knowing more or less about certain subjects. Bleda believed that all the Ben-Elim were equally knowledgeable, bu
t that they also had their own likes and dislikes, subjects that brought them pleasure and subjects that they disdained.

  ‘Jibril is escorting your kin along the eastern road,’ Alcyon said. ‘So Israfil asked me to give you your lesson today.’

  ‘You?’ Jin said, looking Alcyon up and down.

  Much as any other giant, he stood a man and a half tall and was thick with muscle, his face a slab of forehead and angular lines, long moustache hanging and bound with leather. A tattoo of vine and thorn trailed up one arm and partway down the other. The things that were different about him when compared to other giants were his hair and weapons. His hair was shaved from his head, apart from a thick black strip across the centre of his skull, plaited into his warrior braid. And he wielded twin axes, single-bladed rather than one of the double-bladed variety that most giants chose. He usually wore them across his back, but now they were leaning against a wall, long-shafted with hooked, bearded blades.

  ‘Yes, me. I am not Ben-Elim, but I have a little knowledge inside this head of mine.’ He prodded his temple with a thick finger.

  Jin looked as if she didn’t quite believe him.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ Bleda asked, moving over to look at the table. A huge parchment was spread out, a map inked upon it. Bleda frowned as he stared at it, for at first it had looked like a map of the Banished Lands, but where the Land of the Faithful now existed, it was divided into different realms. Bleda smiled to see Arcona, a broad expanse to the east of the dark stain that was Forn Forest.

  ‘Isiltir, Carnutan, Helveth, Tenebral,’ Bleda read. ‘What are these places?’ he asked.

  ‘That is the Banished Lands before the Day of Wrath,’ Alcyon said. ‘There were many realms then.’

  ‘Where have they gone?’ Bleda asked.

  ‘They have been welcomed into the Protectorate of the Ben-Elim, become part of the Land of the Faithful,’ Alcyon said.

  Is this what will happen to Arcona? Bleda thought, a shiver of fear rippling through him, Absorbed into the Protectorate, as if it had never existed.

  ‘Sit,’ Alcyon said, waving a hand and rolling up the map.

  There was a table and bench for their letters, with sheaves of parchment, quills, pots of ink, blotters, a supply of salt and powders of ground cuttlefish. If writing was not required, there were other chairs that they would usually take – more comfortable, covered in leather and fur – usually used when a subject that required a level of deeper thinking was being taught.

  Bleda took one look at Alcyon’s huge hands and concluded that he would not be teaching the art of letters, and so sat in a more comfortable chair of leather, draped with fur. Jin followed suit, though she dragged her chair over so that she was much closer to Bleda.

  ‘What are you teaching us, then, with that knowledgeable brain of yours?’ Jin asked Alcyon, keeping her face free of the sarcasm Bleda was sure lurked behind her dark eyes. She wiped a stray strand of her jet-black hair from her face, her glance flickering to Bleda, the hint of a smile twitching her lips.

  Alcyon walked around the table and sat on the bench, the wood creaking. He smiled and spread his arms wide.

  ‘What would you like me to teach you?’

  ‘Jibril never gives us a choice!’ Jin said, surprised.

  Bleda shot her a dark look.

  ‘Strategies of war,’ Bleda said hurriedly, thinking to make the most of this slip in Ben-Elim discipline.

  Alcyon frowned, his massive brow bunching like a storm cloud.

  ‘And how does Jibril teach that?’ he rumbled.

  ‘Battles are described, the forces involved, opposing sides. Numbers, styles of combat, strengths, weaknesses. Strategies and tactics,’ Bleda said with a wave of his hand. Jin looked at him, a broad smile, smoothed away quickly.

  ‘Ah, I see,’ Alcyon said, regarding them both thoughtfully. Bleda thought he’d seen through his plan, but then Alcyon nodded. ‘All right then. The Battle of Drassil. Midwinter’s Day, the first Year of Lore.’

  ‘We’ve heard that one so many times,’ Bleda said. It was true, they had. All about the Ben-Elim’s triumphant entry into the Banished Lands, saving the beleaguered forces of mankind from the overwhelming numbers of Kadoshim and their terrible allies. Jin pulled a bored face.

  ‘What battle, then?’ Alcyon said.

  ‘Name some,’ Bleda said with a shrug.

  ‘The Battle of Dun Bagul: that one was fought twenty years after Drassil.’ He looked at them both.

  ‘Can we hear a few others, then choose?’ Jin asked sweetly.

  Alcyon shrugged, making his bench creak again. ‘The Battle of Haldis, a few years before Drassil. Domhain Pass. Gramm’s Hold, Taur—’

  ‘What about the Battle of Varan Falls,’ Bleda said.

  Alcyon frowned at him. ‘How have you heard of that one?’ he asked.

  ‘Jibril’s mentioned it,’ Jin said.

  ‘He has?’

  He did, but only to dismiss the idea of ever telling us about it.

  ‘Why would you think he wouldn’t?’ Bleda asked Alcyon.

  ‘Because that was a bad day for the Ben-Elim, that one.’ He paused. ‘A grievous day for us all.’ Quieter.

  ‘It’s important to analyse the defeats, so that they do not happen again, no?’ Bleda said.

  ‘True,’ Alcyon murmured, rubbing his chin. He stared past them, a far-away look in his eyes. ‘Very well, then.’

  Alcyon tugged on his moustache.

  ‘First of all, it isn’t the Battle of Varan Falls. It’s the Battle of Varan’s Fall.’

  ‘Oh. I thought it must have taken place close to a waterfall, or something like that,’ Jin said.

  ‘Well, it did, which adds to the confusion. It took place in the north-west of Forn Forest. But it was given its name because it was the battle where Varan fell.’

  ‘Varan?’

  ‘A giant, great amongst us,’ Alcyon said, a sadness behind his eyes. ‘And my friend. He was brave and loyal. Lord of the Jotun Clan for a short time, before he bent the knee to Ethlinn as she united the Clans and we became one; what was left of us.’

  A silence fell as Alcyon drifted in thought. Bleda saw the giant differently, then, if only for a few moments. Until now he had only ever thought of the Ben-Elim, the giants and White-Wings as the Victors. The triumphant, conquering army that were strangers to loss and defeat. Briefly he saw grief writ across Alcyon’s face, in his eyes, and for a few heartbeats felt a sense of kinship with him, a bond created between those who suffered the same pain.

  Alcyon shook his head.

  ‘We had information that the Kadoshim were building a fortress, secreted in the north-east of Forn. Our informants spoke of a place built largely beneath the ground, a subterranean structure of labyrinthine tunnels. So, we set out to find it. Giants, Ben-Elim, White-Wings. And we worked with our allies, the Order of the Bright Star.’

  ‘I thought there was bad blood between the Order and Drassil?’ Bleda said. ‘Aren’t they not to be trusted?’

  ‘The Order? I would trust any one of them with my life, and frequently have.’ Alcyon shrugged, an acknowledgement. ‘There are some trust issues, between the Order and the Ben-Elim, aye. But the Kadoshim are enemy of all, and the Order are as fervent in their hatred of the Kadoshim as the Ben-Elim are.’

  ‘But I—’ Bleda began, but Alcyon held his hand up.

  ‘If you wish to hear of the Battle of Varan’s Fall before horns sound and you’re wanted in the prayer-hall, then I suggest you hold your words.’

  Bleda and Jin nodded silently.

  ‘A force marched from Drassil, me amongst them. Other giants, Balur leading us. The White-Wings, and Ben-Elim.’

  ‘How many of you?’ Bleda asked.

  ‘A thousand, roughly. Half of that White-Wings. Our plan was to meet with a force of the Bright Star, marching east from their fortress of Dun Seren, and assault the Kadoshim’s new lair together. We marched north-east, made slow progress the further we travelled. F
orn can be a dark and dangerous place, well suited to the hiding of demons, which is why we have spent a hundred years building roads and thinning the trees. But this part of Forn, well, we hadn’t given it our attention at that time, so the trees were ancient, their canopy a lattice of limbs wide as my leg, and the paths thick with thorn and vine. And rivers were many, draining from Forn into the Grinding Sea. It was hard going. Until we came to a well-trod path – a road almost, the ground cleared and levelled, wide enough to march upon. We thought it the Kadoshim’s, cleared by them as they carried materials for the building of their lair. The Ben-Elim could not scout well, hindered by the dense canopy, but what they saw they deemed safe. We guessed the Kadoshim believed themselves secure that far north, hidden by the warp and weft of Forn.’

  His mouth twisted in a snarl.

  ‘We guessed wrong. It was a salmon trap.’

  ‘A what?’ Bleda and Jin asked together.

  ‘When you fish for salmon, the easiest way to catch them is you build an easier path for them to follow, steering them into safe waters, or so they think. But it leads to nowhere, and when they are piled up in their road to nowhere like cattle in a pen . . .’ He snapped his fingers, a loud crack when it is made by giant fingers.

  ‘We were late to our meeting point, you understand. Which saved us, I don’t doubt. We heard the screams, the sound of battle, ringing out through the forest. I ran, because I knew it was the Order, and had both kin and friends amongst them. Balur ran with me, all the giants did, but the Ben-Elim and White-Wings, they were more cautious, fearing an ambush. Sensible, as that’s what happened, but sometimes you just listen to your heart. The Ben-Elim were none too happy about that, I heard afterwards.’

  ‘Did the Ben-Elim punish you for your disobedience?’ Bleda asked, knowing that Israfil came down like a hammer on the smallest transgressions at Drassil. Part of the Way of Elyon, as were all the imposed rules of the Ben-Elim.

  ‘Disobedience?’ Alcyon frowned.

  ‘The Ben-Elim are your masters, and you ran off and abandoned them, disobeyed their order to stay with them.’