A Time of Dread

by John Gwynne

  ‘Why here?’ Drem asked.

  ‘Because it’s the Desolation, free of the Ben-Elim’s rule, and their watchful eye,’ Keld said.

  ‘Aye, and do you think it’s a coincidence that this is happening where the Starstone fell?’ Cullen asked. ‘I don’t. That’s why they’ve built a mine. They’ve been searching for a stray bit of starstone. They know the only way to free Asroth from his gaol is with the Starstone.’

  ‘And my da gave it to them,’ Drem whispered.

  ‘No, lad,’ Sig rumbled. ‘He was murdered, and had it stolen from him. That’s a different thing entirely. And one that requires vengeance.’

  Drem liked the way Sig said that. Not just as if she meant it, but as if it had already happened, was inevitable, and it was just the doing of it that was left to happen.

  ‘There’s just one other thing I need to ask you about,’ Sig said. ‘You saw a giant bear, stabled at this mine. And you think it’s the one that killed Olin.’

  ‘Aye,’ Drem nodded.

  ‘And you saw a figure, like a man, but bigger. As big as me?’

  Drem looked her up and down, closed his eyes, remembering the shadowed figure in the feast-room of the mine.

  ‘Maybe,’ he nodded.

  ‘They have a rogue giant?’ Keld said.

  ‘Sounds like it,’ Sig growled. ‘Perhaps it was him, or her, who hit Drem when Olin was killed. And then took the Starstone Sword.’

  Drem nodded thoughtfully.

  That would make sense of the abductions, the bear killings and sacrifices. Bear, giant and Kadoshim, all working together.

  A thought hit him.

  Fritha’s hold, smashed by a bear, and leather in the hound’s jaws. Surl the hound bit the giant, which killed it and old Hask, and abducted Fritha to take her back there, to the mine, to be experimented upon. She is one of their Feral things, now. It could have been her body parts upon that table, or she may have been one of the things that threw itself at the cage bars.

  The thought of it made him feel physically sick. Beautiful, kind Fritha, reduced to some creature consumed with bloodlust and used as a weapon.

  ‘So, what now, chief?’ Keld said to Sig.

  ‘We go kill them,’ Cullen said. ‘What else?’

  ‘No,’ Sig said. ‘We take Drem back to Dun Seren and report to Byrne.’

  ‘But we’re so close,’ Cullen said. ‘And what about these Ferals, and a Starstone Sword? How can we just walk away from that?’

  ‘You remember Ardain?’ Sig said. ‘Where we attacked one Kadoshim and its coven. We had the Battlechief of Ardain at our back with a few score of his best shieldmen, and it was still a hard fight.’

  ‘It was nothing,’ Cullen said, ‘we barely worked up a sweat.’

  ‘That scar on your arm says different,’ Keld said.

  ‘Aye, well, I’ve matured since then.’

  Rab squawked.

  ‘Three Kadoshim together,’ Sig muttered. ‘And what if each of their covens are with them? That is the most Kadoshim sighted together since the Battle of Varan’s Fall. Where your mother fell.’ She nodded to Drem.

  ‘Da told me only a little of it,’ Drem said.

  ‘I will tell you of it. Of her. Songs are sung of her that day.’

  ‘I would like to hear that,’ Drem said quietly.

  ‘How many acolytes?’ Sig asked him.

  ‘Acolytes?’

  ‘The shaven-haired warriors.’

  ‘Many,’ Drem said. ‘Two boatloads, and others already at the compound.’

  ‘And these creatures, these Ferals?’

  ‘In cages. It could be ten, could be fifty. A hundred. I’m guessing at much of this, you understand?’ Drem said. ‘It was dark. I was terrified.’

  ‘Poor Drem,’ Rab cawed from above them.

  ‘Aye. Approximate numbers, but the result is the same. A lot. Too many, and at least three Kadoshim. One Kadoshim is hard enough to kill.’ She looked at Keld and Cullen. ‘I’ve much faith in you two, in Hammer and Fen. And my own sword arm. But—’

  ‘And me. And Drem,’ Rab squawked.

  ‘Aye, even you, Rab,’ Sig said. ‘And Drem, but we’ve no right to ask him to go into any battle with us, let alone one where we are so heavily outnumbered. And Byrne needs to know of this. We should go back to Dun Seren, come back with a few hundred swords.’

  ‘Ach, we didn’t come all this way for nothing,’ Cullen said.

  ‘We’ve achieved much already,’ Sig said, frowning at him. ‘We’ve saved our long-lost brother, for one. And his information is more valuable than gold, for two.’ Even so, Drem could see it pained her even to consider walking away from this fight. But it was the logical thing to do.

  ‘You said I was your brother, your kin?’ Drem said.

  ‘Aye, that you are, Drem,’ Sig said. ‘I have told you, you are kin to me. As much a part of us as Olin was, and know this: if you have need, I – we – will be there, at your side. We are bonded, we few of the Order of the Bright Star, a bond of blood and friendship, unto death.’

  She held his gaze a long moment, giving her words time to settle into him.

  ‘Then I shall go where you go. Fight or freedom, either way.’ he shrugged. ‘Though freedom is the logical choice.’

  Sig smiled at him.

  ‘To ask you to walk back to that hell-hole, quite possibly to fight and die.’ She thought about that and shrugged. ‘Probably, not possibly. No, I will not ask you to do that. We came to help you, not march you to your grave.’

  ‘I could scout this mine out, with Fen,’ Keld said. ‘Don’t doubt Drem’s account, but some eyes on the place in daylight would give us a better idea, more solid ground for Byrne to make a decision on.’

  Sig looked at him thoughtfully.

  ‘I could send Drem back with Cullen and Rab,’ Sig said, ‘and come with you.’

  ‘You’ll not get to have all the fun while I walk back to Dun Seren,’ Cullen muttered sullenly.

  That mine is not what I call fun.

  There was the sound of hooves in the yard, all of them standing, reaching for weapons, then a strangled cry, high-pitched, a woman.

  Drem burst onto the porch behind Sig and Keld, saw a woman upon a dun horse. She was as pale as death, staring wide-eyed at the bear Hammer as it lumbered out of the trees to the north.

  ‘Dear Elyon above, it’s going to eat us!’ the woman shrieked.

  ‘Hold, Hammer,’ Sig shouted and the bear stopped.

  Drem ran forwards, recognizing the woman as Tyna, Ulf the tanner’s wife. She looked as if she was going to faint at the sight of Sig.

  ‘What is it, Tyna?’ Drem asked. ‘What’s wrong?’ Why are you here?’

  ‘I’m worried about my Ulf,’ she said. ‘Listening to you and your talk of Kadoshim, I told him he should have a look at that mine, just for some piece of mind.’

  ‘He didn’t go, did he?’ Drem asked.

  ‘Of course he did, and he took my three boys with him, amongst a dozen others. Went off yesterday morning, and he’s still not back.’

  Drem shared a look with Sig, Keld and Cullen.

  More fodder for the Kadoshim to mutilate and transform. Not Ulf.

  ‘We’ll go and take a look.’ Sig nodded.

  ‘Well, it would have been a shame to come such a long way for just one little fight,’ Cullen said.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  RIV

  ‘Water,’ Riv whispered, breath like a rasp in her throat, scraping her flesh raw. It was dark, the sound of rain, pounding and hissing against stone, a torch flaring bright, though she could just about manage to keep her eyes open now without the sensation of sharp, sliver-thin knives stabbing into the back of her brain and scraping upon the inside of her skull.

  That’s progress.

  Fractured memories slipped through her mind. Sparring with Kol on the weapons-field. His arm tight around her, his breath on her neck. Collapsing, a kaleidoscope of images in this room. Aphra, her mam, Kol.
A whispered meeting in the dark.

  There was a dark shape over her, a hand behind her head, helping her sit. Water, oh blessed, sweet, heaven-sent water, a trickle on her lips, over her swollen tongue and down her redraw throat.

  ‘Slowly,’ Aphra said as Riv tried to tip more water into her mouth.

  ‘Where am I?’ Riv croaked, looking around. The room was circular, one long window starting from the floor and ending with an arched top, tall and wide enough for a giant to walk through. Darkness, wind and rain leaked in, pressing upon the torchlight, making it swirl and hiss. Something about the way the wind whistled through the window whispered to Riv of height.

  ‘A tower room,’ Aphra said, ‘above our barrack.’

  Never knew this was here!

  ‘It’s my solitude room,’ Aphra said with a sad smile. ‘How do you feel?’

  Riv wasn’t sure. She felt as if her body had been put through a mangle, aching and entirely lacking in anything resembling energy. Keeping her eyes open and looking around seemed to be taxing enough.

  ‘Weak,’ she breathed. ‘Cold.’ She shivered, trying to shrug the woollen blanket tighter around her. She frowned at the open window.

  A shutter would help.

  ‘Your fever is returning,’ Aphra said with a frown, her hand on Riv’s brow. ‘This is the third time. Twice I thought it had broken and you were healing.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Half a ten-night.’

  ‘What! Is that how long I’ve been . . . ?’ She didn’t know what to call it. ‘Unwell?’

  ‘Aye.’ Aphra nodded. ‘Since you collapsed on the weapons-field.’

  Riv drank some more water, managed to blink and roll her neck without feeling as if she’d spent a morning in the shield wall. Her back ached, a dull throb of pain, pulsing out from her shoulder blades.

  ‘Back,’ she said, trying to roll her shoulders. She felt different, somehow. As if she’d grown. ‘It hurts.’ She shifted, feeling muscle move that hadn’t been there when last she checked.

  ‘Your back. Well, I’m not surprised it’s hurting.’

  ‘Why?’ Riv said, not liking the sound of that, or the look on Aphra’s face. Not just worry. Something more. Something far greater than worry.

  Aphra held up a strip of something that looked like parchment, crinkled and opaque.

  ‘What’s that?’ Riv pulled a face.

  ‘Your skin. It’s been peeling from your back for half a ten-night.’

  ‘Ugh!’

  ‘And there’s plenty more where that came from.’

  What’s happening to me? Have I caught some disease from the mission to Oriens and into Forn? Some plant spore that has infected me? I’ve heard tell of warriors breathing spores or seeds into their lungs, their stomachs, and fungus growing inside them, eating its way out!

  ‘Am I going to die?’

  Riv found the fact that Aphra didn’t immediately discard that option deeply worrying.

  ‘No,’ Aphra eventually said. ‘But I think we’re going to have to get you out of Drassil.’

  ‘What! Why?’

  ‘Riv, you’re growing. You have new muscle forming—’

  ‘I can feel it,’ Riv said, flexing her shoulders, feeling muscle bunch between her shoulder and neck. It was an odd sensation.

  ‘This must be how Vald feels,’ she said.

  ‘You’re starting to look like him,’ Aphra agreed with a wry smile. She stroked Riv’s face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

  ‘Why?’ Riv said. ‘What for?’

  ‘So many things. For the way I’ve been, with you. I’ve had my own troubles, but that is no excuse. You are my blood, the most important thing to me in all the world, and I have neglected you, let you down.’ A fat tear rolled down Aphra’s cheek.

  Riv looked up at her, a whole host of emotions whirling through her. She tried to find words, but they wouldn’t come, so she settled for a smile.

  The latch on the door rattled. Riv jumped, twisting to look and immediately regretting that, a wave of dizziness.

  A figure entered. Aphra was standing, a hand on her sword hilt, stepping between Riv and the door. She relaxed when she saw who it was.

  ‘Mam, you startled me.’

  ‘How is she?’ Riv’s mam said.

  Aphra stepped out of the way.

  ‘Hello, Mam,’ Riv said.

  ‘Oh, my darling,’ Dalmae said, crouching down beside Riv, stroking her face.

  ‘Nice to see you,’ Riv whispered, feeling an edge of delirium starting to fog her brain again.

  ‘It’s nice to see you, too,’ her mam said, a half-laugh. Riv was surprised to see tears in her mam’s eyes. She wasn’t much of a crier. Riv was also surprised to see that beneath her cloak her mam was dressed in her old White-Wing uniform, a short-sword hanging from her belt.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Riv asked, brow wrinkling, her sense for danger tingling, a faint echo in her head.

  ‘The fortress is on alert,’ Aphra said, her eyes flickering to their mam. ‘Word of a possible Kadoshim attack.’

  ‘I’d better—’ Riv started, struggling to rise, though too quickly, a new wave of dizziness and she blinked and found herself lying in her cot again.

  Try again, slower this time.

  ‘Garidas is downstairs, asking for you,’ her mam said to Aphra. ‘He’s not alone. A score of his hundred in the barracks. More outside.’ There was meaning in the words that Riv didn’t understand.

  ‘What did you tell him?’ Aphra asked.

  ‘That he cannot see you. That you are indisposed at present.’

  ‘Do you think he will settle for that?’

  The sound of footsteps on a stairwell. A knock at their door. A silence.

  ‘There’s your answer,’ Dalmae whispered.

  ‘Aphra. Aphra, it is I, Garidas. If you are in there, I must speak with you.’

  A shared look between Aphra and her mam.

  ‘Enter,’ Aphra said, her mam slipping back into the shadows behind the door as it opened.

  Garidas walked in, Riv, trying to sit up again, was abruptly aware that she had little in the way of clothes on. She pulled the woollen blanket higher, saw her clothes at the bottom of the bed.

  Garidas’ eyes took in Riv, a look of concern. Genuine.

  Riv liked Garidas. He had always seemed straight and kind, if a little pompous. She could see that kindness in his eyes now.

  ‘Are you well?’ he asked Riv.

  ‘No,’ Riv said, feeling honesty was more appropriate than politeness, and she didn’t have the energy for any social niceties, anyway.

  ‘I am sorry if I am interrupting something,’ Garidas said, looking to Aphra, ‘but I need to speak with you. It is most urgent.’

  ‘My sister is unwell,’ Aphra said. ‘This is not a good time.’ Her eyes glanced to the dark window, looking out, beyond, though all Riv could see was the blackness of night, hear the rattle of rain on stone and the wild gusts of wind through the great tree’s branches high above.

  ‘I will be quick,’ Garidas said, something about him making it clear he would not leave until he had said what he came to say.

  ‘Go on, then,’ Aphra said, a sigh, a hint of resignation in her voice.

  ‘You must leave Drassil,’ Garidas said. ‘Tonight. Now.’

  Aphra did not answer, just stared at him. There was clearly more to come.

  ‘You’re in danger.’ He opened his mouth, closed it, pinched his nose. ‘You know I think highly of you. I hoped that one day . . .’

  He paused, the words seeming to stick in his throat, and took a deep breath.

  ‘Kol is finished. His transgressions are uncovered. I know that you have been . . . involved with him, in the past. But not for many years. I would not see you torn down and destroyed with him in his ruin.’

  A long silence, emotions playing across Aphra’s face.

  Kol and Aphra, like Adonai and Estel! Riv felt as if she was experiencing it all through a veil,
like a secret observer. As if it were all a dream, just another of the many lurid, irrational, sometimes insane dreams she’d experienced lately.

  No, I am here. It is the fever in my body making it feel like this.

  ‘What do you mean, finished?’ Aphra said.

  ‘My men have taken Kol into custody, are taking him to Israfil as we speak.’

  ‘Who else knows?’ Aphra asked.

  ‘That does not matter,’ Garidas snapped. ‘The whole sordid tale will be spilling from Kol’s lips soon. His confession is only a formality. Israfil already knows, and he will carve a confession from him, if needs be. Go, now, before it is too late. Once this is settled and over, you will be able to return—’

  ‘That will be impossible,’ Aphra said. ‘Lorina? Does she know?’

  ‘Not of Kol’s arrest, no.’ Garidas scowled. ‘She is in league with him. Did you not know?’

  ‘I suspected,’ Aphra said.

  ‘We are wasting too much time. You have to leave, now, or it will be too late. I have horses ready for you, a wain if you need it. Come.’ He held out an arm to Aphra, stood there long moments as she hesitated.

  ‘Please,’ Garidas said.

  A creak of leather behind him, a familiar hiss, one they all knew instantly. The sound of a sword being drawn.

  Garidas turned, hand on his sword hilt, drawing his blade as he moved.

  A sword punched into his belly, low, beneath the line of his cuirass, and he gasped, slumped forwards onto his killer, rested his head upon her shoulder, as if she were his lover.

  ‘I am sorry, my sword-brother,’ Dalmae said as she pushed him away, pulling her sword free, the splash of blood on stone, and he fell backwards, clutching his gut, staring up at her. He cried out, loud, wordless betrayal, full of pain, and Riv heard an answering call below. Dalmae stepped forwards and stabbed him in the throat.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  SIG

  ‘We’d best leave the track, now,’ Drem said beside Sig. After hearing the news from Ulf’s wife they had ridden hard from Drem’s hold, using a well-worn path that hugged the fringes of the northern woodland. To their right was the Starstone Lake, dark and still, and in the distance Sig saw the outline of a stockade wall, buildings rearing within. A pier jutted into the lake with boats moored along it.