A Time of Dread

by John Gwynne

  ‘Drem, we’re talking to you,’ Ulf said to him now.

  Drem blinked and focused back on Ulf, Hildith.

  ‘You coming or not?’

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw the goats, standing and staring. Heads swivelling from Ulf to Drem, as if they were waiting for his answer.

  ‘No,’ Drem said.

  ‘All right then. Too painful. It’ll bring it all back, I understand.’ Ulf nodded, turning his horse in a circle. ‘Wanted to make the offer, though. I’ll bring you a set of claws to match the one round your neck.’

  Drem didn’t say anything to that and after a moment’s silence Ulf clicked his horse on, back to the gates and track. Hildith hovered a moment, then dipped her head to Drem and followed.

  Drem waited until they had faded from sight, the track empty, just churned snow and ice and sentinel trees. He drew in a deep breath and sighed.

  ‘Best be on with it, then.’

  Drem stopped at the gates to Fritha’s hold and stared at the wreck of her cabin. A cairn stood to one side, between the cabin and some stables.

  Drem had returned to the cabin the same day as he’d given Asger his package. He’d found it exactly the same as the last time he’d seen it – no kin or friends of Fritha and Hask to raise a cairn over the body.

  Apart from me, he’d thought. So he’d carried Hask’s corpse out into the yard, and the hound’s, too, laying Hask and Surl side by side, and then gathered rocks from the field behind the cabin, loading them in a wain he found in the barn, and bringing them back to pile over the two bodies. When it had come to saying some words for the dead he’d stood there silent a while, thinking with sadness that Hask’s only mourner was a stranger who knew almost nothing about him.

  I knew his granddaughter, though. And to have raised a woman so fine and brave and kind – well, he must have done something right.

  And so Drem had said so, spoken words out loud to the stones and snow, adding something about the hound’s loyalty and Hask’s spirit.

  He waved a spear at my da, that was spirit enough!

  Then he’d left.

  But before carrying the bodies into the yard and raising a cairn over them, Drem had spent half a day going over the destruction of the cabin; every splinter of wood, every handspan of the room, the floor, the walls, the gaping entry and exit holes, meticulously checking both bodies, their wounds, fingernails, teeth, claws. Everything. It hadn’t been pleasant, limbs part-frozen with the cold, blood congealed and black.

  Now, as he thought of what he’d found, his hand drifted down to a pouch at his belt, fingertips through his gloves brushing it. Then he turned and looked to the snow-heaped forest, saw the track Hildith and Ulf’s hunting party had made through the snow, and followed after them.

  Drem stood in the woodland twilight, looking at the trampled ground. Searching. He found the buckle from his da’s belt, amidst forest litter and something darker. He didn’t want to look too close, didn’t need to. Ahead of him lay the path the white bear had trampled, the one he and his da had been following it along, branches splintered to ruin, bushes and undergrowth trampled and torn. And to Drem’s right lay another path, the destruction that the other ‘bear’ had caused in its attack, leaping out from the darkness. Drem stared into it, all shifting shadows and the rare glitter of daylight on ice.

  Behind him he heard the distant baying of hounds, somewhere north and west of him, Ulf’s hunt picking up the scent of the white bear. He kept his back to it.

  That is nothing to me.

  He thought of his da then, an act of choice, of will, basked in the memory of him, felt the grief stir in his belly, and something else, anger, fire in his veins. He thought of the decision he’d made when he declined Asger’s offer to leave Kergard and travel south, and the reasons why.

  Two reasons to live, I said to Asger, though I didn’t tell him what they were. One, to finish Da’s quest. To go to Drassil and cut Asroth’s head from his shoulders. But I need the Starstone Sword to do that.

  And the second reason, to see justice done for my da.

  He tugged off a glove with his teeth and reached down to the pouch at his waist, pulled out a cloth and opened it carefully, revealing a few strips of torn, tattered leather. He’d found them within the jaws of Surl, Fritha’s hound, and another strip hanging from one of the hound’s paws. They hadn’t matched any item of clothing within the cabin.

  If I find the Starstone Sword I will find the answer to who killed my da. A bear, yes, though not a white one with only four claws on its right paw. And it wasn’t alone. Bears don’t pick up swords and walk off with them, and nor do they wear leather clothing. It wasn’t the bear that struck me on the head, but a person. Whoever or whatever it was, it played a role in my da’s death, and now has the Starstone Sword.

  Drem wrapped the strips of leather back up and placed them in his pouch, then methodically went over his kit. A skin of water across one shoulder. A bag slung across his back, full with essential gear: tinder and kindling, flint and striking iron, fish-hooks and animal gut for the stitching of wounds, a roll of linen for bandages. Medicinal herbs – honey, sorrel, yarrow, comfrey, skullcap, seed of the poppy. Oats for porridge and strips of salted pork. A slab of cheese. And a pot. He wore layers of clothes, linen, wool, leather and fur, his bone-handled seax and his da’s axe at his belt, as well as his sword, and a thick-shafted spear in his fist.

  And courage in my heart, and vengeance on my mind.

  Drem breathed deep, his back straightening, and then he stepped off the path and into the splintered gloom made by his father’s killers.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  RIV

  Riv approached the walls of Drassil. They rose tall and forbidding before her.

  They had marched back from Oriens as fast as the White-Wings could travel. Riv had rushed to Kol, Aphra and the other captains in that grisly glade deep within Forn Forest, telling them of her suspicion that they had been lured from Drassil for a reason. At first Aphra would not entertain the thought, instead had ordered her to leave, to get back into rank before she was punished for more insubordination and rule-breaking. But Kol had called her back and questioned her rationale behind the suspicion. Meanwhile scouts were sent out into the forest, reconnoitring deeper to search for any signs of recent life or the vaguest hint of a trap.

  They had come back shaking their heads.

  Kol had ordered horns blown and an organized retreat. Then they had turned around and marched as fast as they could physically manage for Drassil. Kol had led many of the Ben-Elim ahead, and he had returned to their column on the east road two days ago, announcing the dark news that Kadoshim had indeed raided Drassil, a bold attempt to set Asroth free from his gaol of iron. Many had fallen, he reported, but the Kadoshim’s plan had been thwarted.

  Riv’s first thought had been for her mam, and for Bleda. She had asked Kol, who said that they were both alive, easing her mind.

  After that the horror of Kol’s news had seeped into her. Just the brazenness of the attack had shocked Riv deeply.

  A hundred and thirty-seven years since the Battle of Drassil, and never once have the Kadoshim attacked this fortress, whether in raid or assault.

  Why now?

  And how would they free Asroth from a cage forged from starstone? I thought that was impossible.

  She wanted to ask Aphra, to talk about the possibilities, but her sister had been consistently tight-mouthed and aloof with her since Oriens.

  What is wrong with her? She has never been so unkind and bad-tempered before.

  Then they were marching out onto the plain that surrounded Drassil, Riv’s heart leaping at the sight of her home, the white-winged banner snapping in a cold wind above the gates. She looked closer and forgot all about Aphra for a short while.

  New cairns had been raised in the plain before Drassil’s walls, the reality of the tragedy that had befallen their home, their friends and kin, hit her, all of them, a silence falling over
the White-Wings and giants as they marched past in sombre mood.

  The carcass of a Kadoshim was nailed to the battlements above the great gates; Riv was not the only one who stared up at it as she passed through the gateway. Its head lolled between wide, leathery wings, eye-sockets dark holes excavated by crows.

  Further above on the battlements she glimpsed a dark-skinned face, staring down at her, and she felt some warmth spark into life in her belly, welcome after the unsettling anger that was lurking in her veins.

  It was Bleda.

  The flagstones of the courtyard were stained with blood, even though eight nights had passed since the attack. The stains were faint, just an echo of what it must have been like, but Riv saw them.

  Blood always leaves a stain.

  It felt good to walk into her barrack, the fire-pit roaring, a deer turning on the spit, fat sizzling and crackling in the flames. A dash up to her chamber and it did not take long for Riv to unpack her and her sister’s kit, all of it already shining spotless, as Riv had tended to it each night on the road. When she finished, Jost and Vald tried to tempt her with a cup of wine in the feast-hall, but she felt the call of the weapons-field. As she stepped onto the turf she saw Bleda on the field, where he usually was, at the archery range. Riv felt a little flutter in her belly and increased her pace, only for it to drop like a stone as she saw Jin appear from behind him.

  ‘Well met,’ Bleda said to Riv as she approached them, and she thought she saw the hint of a smile ghost his lips, just for a moment. His hair was longer than she remembered, no longer close-cropped like the White-Wings, as it had been for so many years. It stuck out at angles, giving him a scruffy appearance. Riv supressed the urge to smooth an unruly tuft behind his ear.

  Bleda gripped his double-curved bow, a quiver of arrows at his belt. And he had a bandage wrapped around his shoulder.

  ‘You were injured in the attack?’ Riv said, hurrying forwards and reaching a hand out to Bleda’s injury.

  ‘Aye.’ he nodded, his serious face back in place.

  ‘Bleda fought,’ Jin said proudly. ‘It was he who realized the Kadoshim’s plan. He fought in the Great Hall, slew many Kadoshim and their Dark-Cloaks and Feral beasts. And he foiled the plot, put an arrow in the black sword.’

  Dark-Cloaks and Ferals?

  ‘Black Sword?’

  ‘The warrior with the Starstone Blade, who tried to set Asroth free,’ Jin said. ‘My betrothed is the hero of Drassil.’

  Riv blinked, looking from Jin’s proud face to Bleda’s embarrassed one, both of them seeming to have lost the ability to maintain a cold-face.

  Bleda is a hero!

  A rush of pride made her grin.

  Betrothed!

  She felt something else at hearing that word, but chose to push it away into some dark corner, not even acknowledging it.

  ‘Your mission?’ Bleda asked her, shifting his feet.

  ‘A ruse, to lure us far from Drassil and weaken the defences here. Or so we suspect, anyway.’

  ‘So you have not fought, then?’ Jin said. The words were spoken flat, no intonation, but Riv felt the insult in them.

  Please don’t make me angry.

  ‘No. I did not fight.’

  Not the enemy, at least.

  ‘The bait to lure us from Drassil was a terrible thing,’ Riv said, trying to ignore Jin.

  She told Bleda of their discoveries at the town of Oriens, Jin moving closer to hear properly. Riv was still talking when a Ben-Elim alighted close beside them, the only warning a blast of air.

  ‘The Lord Protector wishes to speak with you,’ the Ben-Elim said to Riv.

  Oh dear. Riv gulped. Has he heard of my fighting at Oriens already?

  She took a resolute step.

  ‘And you,’ the Ben-Elim said to Bleda.

  ‘Not you,’ he said to Jin as she made to walk with Riv and Bleda.

  The only thing that made the thought of the dressing-down she was no doubt going to receive from the Lord Protector bearable was the look on Jin’s face as they left her behind.

  Riv and Bleda sat in the entrance hall of Israfil’s chambers.

  ‘You are a hero, then,’ Riv said to Bleda as they sat waiting.

  ‘No,’ Bleda said, sounding very certain of the fact. After a few moments of staring straight ahead he looked at her, more emotion in his face than she had ever seen. ‘I would like to tell you something,’ he said. ‘I could not tell anyone else.’

  ‘Not even Jin?’

  ‘No. Especially not her.’

  She felt a warm glow at that.

  ‘Of course you can, Bleda. You can tell me anything, we are friends.’

  ‘I was terrified,’ he said, looking down at his clasped hands.

  ‘What?’

  ‘During the battle. In the courtyard, a Kadoshim attacked us. Me and Jin. I dropped my arrows, fumbled my bow. I am surprised I did not soil myself. I froze with terror.’

  ‘You’re alive, though?’

  ‘Alcyon chopped it to tiny pieces.’

  ‘He’s good at that, I’ve heard,’ Riv said. ‘And what about these acts of bravery, the Kadoshim you slew?’

  ‘That happened later. In the great chamber. With my bow.’ A brief flicker of a smile.

  He does love that bow.

  ‘So let me get this right. You were attacked by a Kadoshim, and you felt scared—’

  ‘Terrified,’ Bleda corrected.

  ‘Terrified. And then, soon after, you killed Kadoshim and their servants in the Great Hall. And wrestled some man-beast thing that chewed your shoulder to pulp.’

  ‘Aye. And then Alcyon saved me. Again.’

  ‘Bleda, that is the definition of courage. Or so Balur One-Eye has told me, and if you want to argue with him, well, that doesn’t make you brave, that makes you stupid.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Bleda said.

  ‘You cannot be truly brave unless you feel truly afraid. That’s what courage is. Doing it anyway, even though you’re scared. Sorry, terrified. And you did. You chose to fight. To step into that furnace of blood and madness and pain, and fight. Despite your fear.’

  She watched him, saw his face shift in ways she’d never seen it move before as her words settled into him. He sighed at the end, a relief.

  ‘My mother said something like that to me, a long time ago. I’d forgotten, until you said those words.’

  He has fine eyes, she thought. Almond-shaped, a deep brown.

  ‘You fight all the time,’ he said to her. ‘Is that what you feel?’

  She thought about that, her frown deepening.

  I don’t ever remember feeling scared. Mostly just angry. No. Only ever angry.

  And even more so recently.

  ‘Tell me of your mother, your home,’ Riv asked him, avoiding answering his question.

  ‘My mother,’ he said, leaning back, a slight frown creasing his forehead. ‘She is strong, brave, wise. A respected leader of the Sirak.’

  ‘I know that already, tell me something different about her.’

  Bleda thought about that a moment.

  ‘Her laugh,’ he said. ‘When she laughs, really laughs, she snorts like a pig. My brother, Altan, he could always make her laugh, with just a look, a raised eyebrow. And once my mother started laughing – like a pig – then we would all be laughing.’ Riv was amazed to see a smile spread across his face, deep and genuine, muscles relaxing. He looked at her. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘It is like a gift, a forgotten memory. Ah, to be Sirak again, to live free, travelling with the seasons, dismantling and rolling the gers, herding flocks of goats, hunting with my father, with hawk and spear. The freedom of the Grass Sea . . .’

  I believe in the Way of Elyon with all my heart, and pray every day for his Lore to spread throughout the Banished Lands, to bring peace and harmony, but, listening to Bleda . . . She sighed. Life does not sound so bad, the Sirak don’t seem in any great need of saving or protecting.

  ‘Bleda,’ a voice said,
and they looked up together, saw Israfil standing in an open doorway.

  ‘Come in,’ Israfil said, and Bleda’s cold-face slipped back over his smile, like a mask. He rose and entered the Lord Protector’s chamber. The door closed, voices muffled. Riv could only stand being able to hear their voices but not the words for so long. Then she stood and crept oh so quietly across the flagstoned floor to the closed door.

  ‘. . . proud of you, Bleda,’ Israfil was saying. ‘You fought for us. For the people of the Faithful. I wanted to give you my gratitude, not just for the act that you did. Stopping the foul deed that could well have freed Asroth from his prison, but also for the principle of what you did. Of making a stand. Of fighting for us. A selfless act against our common enemy. I knew my faith in you was well placed, just as I know that you will make a fine leader of your people. We will accomplish great things together, when you are lord of the Arcona.’

  ‘The Sirak, you mean.’

  ‘The Sirak and Cheren will become one, when you and Jin are wed. One people, working with us, driving the Kadoshim from the land.’

  ‘The Kadoshim, they are terrible,’ Bleda said. ‘I could see their hatred, taste it.’

  ‘They are,’ Israfil agreed.

  ‘But I do not think I stopped them . . .’

  There was a pause.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Israfil said.

  ‘I think they wanted Asroth’s hand. Or part of him.’

  Footsteps echoed in the corridor beyond the entrance chamber and Riv ran to her seat, only to hear the footsteps pass the door and fade. She thought about going back to eavesdrop at Israfil’s door again, but then it opened and Bleda came out.

  ‘Riv,’ Israfil said sternly, and she rose and entered the chamber, giving Bleda a little smile as they passed each other. He didn’t acknowledge her, looked distracted.

  ‘Close the door behind you,’ Israfil said, walking away to stand before an open window, his chamber looking out over Drassil and the plain beyond.

  ‘Sit,’ Israfil said, gesturing to a chair, his back to her.

  Riv did, nervously, wood scraping on stone.

  ‘I am worried for you,’ Israfil said, turning to face her.