by John Gwynne
‘What? But she’s in the Baglun.’
‘No. She’s here. Brina told me.’
Gar was silent, thinking it over. ‘We should go back. Now,’ he said eventually. He held up a hand to halt Corban’s forming protest. ‘I know you must miss her – I know I do. But, what is best for her? If you see her now, all you’ve done for her will be for nothing. They will kill her.’
‘I, just, I’ve brought her food . . .’ Corban muttered. His shoulders slumped, then he shook his head and straightened his back. ‘No, Gar. She’s followed me to another realm, almost a hundred leagues. I don’t know what to do after, but I must see her.’
They stood there, branches and leaves rustling above, distant sounds from the fortress filtering across, blending with the river’s steady murmur. Gar nodded. ‘If your will is set . . .’
‘It is.’
‘All right, then.’
Corban blinked, his mouth open, ready to argue on. ‘All right, then,’ he echoed. ‘Good.’
‘So, where is she?’
Corban shrugged. ‘Brina said the forest’s edge.’
‘It’s a big forest, lad.’
‘I thought it likely she’d be west, somewhere. Not too far from the fortress, if she’s followed us here.’
‘So, do you have a plan?’
‘Aye,’ Corban grinned. ‘To walk far enough into the forest that I won’t be heard at Uthandun, and start calling her.’
Gar snorted. ‘That should work.’
So they set off into the trees, Corban going first, trying to follow a fox trail through the thick undergrowth. After a while they reached a stream, mushrooms growing in clumps along its bank.
‘As good a place as any,’ Corban said, feeling suddenly nervous. He cupped his hands to his mouth. ‘Storm,’ he shouted.
He repeated the call a half-dozen more times, then sat on a stump beside the stream and waited.
It was not long before Corban heard foliage rustle, off beyond the stream, and saw a flash of white. Then Storm was there, loping towards him. She jumped the stream and powered into him, both of them falling, rolling in the damp leaves and earth.
Corban was laughing, could not stop, though tears streaked his face. Storm was bashing him with her head, whining and rubbing her muzzle against him, her breath hot in his face.
‘Whoa, girl,’ Corban said, trying to sit up, pushing her off him. She bounced away, spun in a tight circle and jumped back on him. He slipped and fell again.
Eventually he managed to stand. Storm looked up at him. He glanced at Gar, saw the stablemaster actually smiling at him. His own jaw ached from grinning. Storm was thinner than he remembered, her fur dirty and mud stained. He reached for his sack, pulled out a leg of mutton he had secreted away from last night’s meal and gave it to her. She instantly set to ripping strips of flesh from it.
Corban grinned at Gar, then dropped to his knees and buried his face in her fur.
They stayed like that a while, Storm eating hungrily, cracking bone between her powerful jaws to reach the marrow, Corban and Gar just watching her.
Suddenly Storm tensed, her head snapping up, looking over the stream. A sound filtered faintly through the forest: shouting? Screaming? the distant clash of iron.
‘Come, Ban,’ said Gar, splashing across the stream.
They struggled through thick vegetation at first, thorns snagging at their clothes, then they stumbled upon a wide track. In one direction they saw a lone rider, swaying in his saddle as he disappeared around a bend. Corban thought he wore a grey cloak. In the other direction, much closer now, was the noise that had drawn them. Beyond all mistake it was the sound of battle. Screams drifted up the track, iron clashing on iron.
‘Off this track,’ said Gar, slipping behind a tree. Corban followed, Storm beside him, her hackles raised. Slowly Gar picked his way through the forest, Corban and Storm behind him, moving parallel to the track.
The noise ahead stopped, the silence replacing it feeling heavy, oppressive. Still they made their way forwards, Corban trying to step lightly, every twig that snapped under his feet making him wince.
Then they stepped into an open glade, sunlight streaming down from above. Bodies littered the ground, men, horses, all still, blood soaking them, the grass. Crows exploded upwards as they entered the glade, squawking in protest. One stayed perched on a horse’s flank, its beak dripping red. Flies buzzed in thick clouds.
Here and there, dotted amongst the fallen, were men in red cloaks, but most of the dead by far wore the grey of Ardan.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
VERADIS
‘Finally,’ said Veradis, reining in his mount and shading his eyes from the sun. He sat his horse at the head of a long, wide column of riders, Calidus and Alcyon either side of him.
‘Impatient to shed more giant blood?’ Calidus said, smiling thinly.
‘No,’ Veradis muttered, glancing at Alcyon. ‘It is just good to reach a journey’s end, that’s all.’ He frowned. ‘Well, one part of the journey.’
The passes had opened early in the Agullas Mountains, Veradis leading a warband across the mountains into Helveth almost as soon as word of the early thaw reached him. He had been preparing all winter, after all, so he and his warband were more than ready. He was leading around five hundred men of Tenebral north, and half that number again of the Jehar rode with them. They were led by Akar, the first warrior he had met in the hidden vale. Veradis felt proud as he surveyed the column: his was a warband the likes of which had never been seen before.
Almost a whole moon they had been travelling, nearly two hundred leagues since Jerolin, and now the end was in sight: Halstat, where they were to join the kings of Helveth and Isiltir in their bid to break the strength of the Hunen giants, once and for all.
Helveth had proved to be a land of great lakes in the south, giving way to wood and vale as they travelled further north. Now they rode on a far-reaching plain, flat as far as the eye could see in all directions except north, where the Bairg Mountains loomed tall and jagged. Their destination, Halstat, was a mining town, grown rich on salt and iron from the mountains.
Veradis clicked his tongue, touched his horse’s ribs with his heels and set off towards the distant town, the column of warriors lurching into motion behind him.
‘We are not the first to arrive,’ Alcyon said as they drew nearer. Before the town were scores of tents, two large groups clustered either side of a wide road that ran through the heart of the town. To the left of the road the banner of Isiltir snapped in a strong breeze, to the right the black and gold of Helveth.
‘It would appear we are the last,’ Calidus added.
‘Our journey was the longest,’ Veradis said, somewhat defensively. Though excited to be away from Jerolin at last, to be actually doing something, he also felt a pressure upon him. In Tarbesh, Nathair had commanded. The campaign in Isiltir Peritus had led. This time he was battlechief of this warband, his warriors’ lives resting on his decisions. He felt the weight of that responsibility keenly. And Calidus’ presence felt like some kind of watchdog, though he knew that was not Nathair’s reason for sending the Vin Thalun. They would be fighting giants again, likely with Elementals amongst them, so the presence of Calidus and Alcyon would be most useful.
Horns began to blow from the town wall as they approached, and soon a small company was riding out to greet them.
‘Have some wine, lad,’ Braster said, holding a jug under Veradis’ nose. ‘You’ve ridden a long way. Sit down, sit down. Though be careful, those chairs are hard as old bones, and your arse must be sore enough already.’
Despite himself Veradis grinned as he took the jug from the red-haired King of Helveth.
He had just entered Braster’s tent, summoned immediately to a war council. Beside the King of Helveth sat a face he recognized: Romar, whom he remembered clearly from Aquilus’ council, and after. He smiled at the King of Isiltir. ‘Well met,’ he said.
Romar did not return the smil
e. ‘Things have changed much for you, since last we spoke. I hear you are first-sword to your king now.’
‘That is true, though there has been much grief as well as good.’ He paused, a picture of Nathair sitting in a pool of his own blood flashing into his mind. ‘But that is a subject for another time.’ He smiled again. ‘This is a time for greetings. Is your nephew Kastell well? Or are you still playing maid to his and Jael’s squabbles?’
Romar looked away. Beside him sat another man who frowned at Veradis’ words. The hilts of two crossed swords rose from behind his shoulders. Braster introduced him as Vandil, Lord of the Gadrai, a band of warriors that patrolled Isiltir’s border with Forn Forest.
‘You are well acquainted with the Hunen, then,’ Veradis said.
‘Aye. And they us.’
‘Come, sit, let us get on with this,’ Braster said, easing his barrel-chested bulk into a creaking chair.
Veradis looked over his shoulder, a shadow filling the tent’s entrance. Calidus slipped into the tent, Alcyon ducking in behind him. There were gasps around the table, Vandil actually jumping to his feet, hands reaching for the hilts of his swords.
‘Peace. They are with me,’ Veradis said. ‘Calidus is counsellor to my King. And this is Alcyon, his guard.’
Veradis took a place at the table, Calidus sitting next to him. Alcyon stood behind them.
‘This is most unusual,’ Vandil said, slowly sitting back down, eyes still fixed firmly upon Alcyon. ‘May I remind you why we are all here, man of Tenebral.’
‘To break the strength of the Hunen,’ Veradis replied calmly.
‘Aye. Giants.’
Calidus chuckled. ‘The giants warred with each other for far longer than they have fought with our kind. You need have no concerns over Alcyon’s presence here, or his loyalties.’
‘He has fought beside me, and saved my life,’ Veradis added. ‘In service to Nathair he has slain giants – the Shekam of Tarbesh.’
‘What is your clan?’ Vandil said, eyes still fixed on the giant.
‘The Kurgan,’ Alcyon replied.
‘My King sends greetings to you all,’ Veradis said over the silence. ‘He thanks you for your continuing support of the alliance begun by King Aquilus. He hopes you view my presence here as a sign of his commitment both to you and to the ideals of his father.’
‘Of course, of course,’ blustered Braster.
Romar looked away.
‘How fares Nathair?’ Braster asked.
‘He is fully recovered now, though it took many moons. Mandros did great damage.’
‘A pity he was not tried for the things he was accused of,’ Romar murmured.
Veradis flushed, the words hitting a nerve. He regretted that he had had to slay Mandros, hated that he was now named kingslayer. You had no choice, whispered a voice in his mind. And Romar was not there, who is he to judge? ‘He fought and lost, was tried by me,’ Veradis said. ‘And given more justice than he gave King Aquilus. Would you question that?’
‘Yes, I would. A king should be tried by kings,’ Romar said, meeting Veradis’ gaze.
‘In an ideal world,’ Calidus said, ‘it should be as you say. But in battle there are no guarantees. May I remind you that Mandros fled Tenebral. He attacked Peritus and Veradis, ambushed them whilst they forded a river—’
‘Some might say he attacked a warband that had invaded his realm,’ Romar interrupted.
‘Mandros was guilty.’ Veradis felt his temper stir. ‘I stood outside the door when he . . . when he did the deed. I saw him flee. I saw Nathair with a knife in his side, saw Aquilus . . .’ Suddenly he could hear Mandros’ words from the forest glade, clear and sharp. ‘Nathair killed Aquilus . . .’
He rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes for a moment. Don’t listen to his lies, the voice in his head murmured.
‘Are you all right?’ Calidus asked, touching Veradis’ elbow.
‘Aye.’ He sat straighter. ‘Mandros was a murderer, a liar, a coward.’
‘Nevertheless,’ Romar waved a hand, ‘it does not change our ancient law, brought with us from the Summer Isle, that only a king can judge a king, and I am not the only one who is unhappy about what has happened. I have heard the same from Brenin, in Ardan.’
Braster slammed a fist on the table. ‘That deed is done, Romar. It is past,’ he growled. ‘And to judge its merits is not why we have gathered here. There is a chance, here, to rid our borders of the Hunen. Would you destroy that?’
‘We do not need . . .’ Romar glanced at Veradis and Calidus, at Alcyon towering behind them.
‘I say we do. And, besides, I gave my oath to Aquilus. That was not lightly given.’
The two kings stared at each other a few moments, then Romar looked away, and nodded.
‘Good. Now, we are here to talk of how best to root out the Hunen.’
‘But know this,’ Romar said. ‘When this is over, I will be demanding an inquiry into what happened in Carnutan – you do not take the life of a king lightly. My support of your alliance will be withheld until I am satisfied. If I am satisfied.’
Calidus frowned.
‘What do we know of this enemy? Do you know their numbers?’ Veradis asked, relieved to move away from the subject of Mandros. He had not liked Romar’s questions, his accusations. Nathair’s words came back to him. ‘The powers are gathering – all will fight, either for the Bright Star or the Black Sun. The question is, who will fight for me, and who against me? Trust no one.’ Veradis eyed Romar suspiciously.
‘No, for a certainty,’ Braster said.
‘Their numbers when they raid are increasing,’ Vandil said. ‘It used to be tens or twenties. Their last raid on Isiltir’s border was forty or fifty strong. And they had wyrms.’
‘Wyrms?’ Veradis said. First draigs, now wyrms . . .
‘Aye, wyrms. And they are preparing for something. For the God-War.’
Veradis felt Calidus shift beside him, stiffen. He looked at Vandil intently. ‘You speak with great surety. How is that?’
‘We took one prisoner in their last raid. He was put to the question, told us the raid was to steal iron. To forge weapons for the God-War.’
‘Can I speak to this captive?’ Calidus asked.
‘No. He broke his chains, took his own life.’ He shrugged.
‘The success of our attack is essential, then,’ Calidus said. ‘They must be broken before they are fully prepared, before they march on you.’
‘My sentiments exactly,’ Braster growled.
‘We know, or have heard rumour,’ Vandil continued, ‘that they dwell to the north-east of here, in a place called Haldis.’
‘Our problem,’ Braster said, ‘is how to make them face us, fight us. It is unlikely they will just march out of Forn Forest to give battle. We have a great force massed here. We’ve considered just striking into the forest, but there is no guarantee they would face us, and, well, it’s a big forest.’
‘I can take you to them,’ Alcyon suddenly uttered, his voice like stone grating over stone, making them all start.
‘What . . .?’ Romar said. ‘Just march us straight to them? And what will make them stand and fight, stop them from disappearing into the forest?’
‘The rumour you heard, of Haldis, is true. That is their dwelling place. I can take you there.’
‘Would they not just hide from a force as big as ours?’ Vandil asked, leaning forward in his chair.
‘No. Haldis is not one of their fortresses, like Taur or Burna. It is their burial ground. It is holy to them, sacred. They would not suffer for you to set foot there – they would defend it. Every last one of them.’
A silence grew as they all stared at Alcyon. Then Braster banged the table again. ‘Ha,’ he shouted. ‘You have useful friends, lad.’ He beamed at Veradis. ‘Unusual, but useful.’
The sun was warm on Veradis’ face, the scent of pine sweet and heavy in the air as they rode along a wide track, twisting through the mountains.
/> Veradis’ warband held the rearguard, the warriors of Helveth and Isiltir so many that he could not see the front of their long column, which, along with his own men, must number close to four thousand.
As usual, Calidus rode alongside Veradis, Alcyon striding along next to them.
‘Alcyon, you are sure that you can lead us to Haldis?’ Veradis asked the giant.
‘Aye.’
‘But, the Kurgan lived in the south and east, did they not? Have you ever been here before?’
‘I have been here, though you are right, my clan dwelt far from these lands. I have seen Haldis. Even if I had not, the earth power would help me find it.’
‘Ah.’ Veradis said no more. He still felt uncomfortable whenever Alcyon’s or Calidus’ abilities were mentioned.
Still, those abilities had served him well before, and most likely would again. And Nathair had been adamant that Alcyon accompany him.
‘You will need him more than I,’ Nathair had said. ‘There are no giants in Ardan.’
He would have set sail by now, Veradis thought. When Veradis was leaving Jerolin, Lykos had said it was almost safe to brave the seas between Tenebral and Ardan, and that was over a moon ago. Nathair might already have arrived at Dun Carreg.
He felt a sliver of worry twist in his gut. He was glad, honoured, to be leading a warband in this campaign, but he always felt anxious when he was not guarding Nathair himself. Still, Rauca would be with him, and Sumur, the Jehar lord, with a few score of his warriors. They should be able to keep Nathair safe between them.
The sound of hooves drew his attention. Two riders were heading towards him – one an older man, grey streaking once black hair, the other much younger, a mop of unruly red hair escaping an iron helm. Veradis suddenly recognized them and smiled.
‘Maquin, Kastell,’ he called out. ‘Well met.’
‘We heard a rumour an ugly, broken-nosed bairn was leading the warband from Tenebral,’ Maquin said. ‘Kastell said it had to be you.’
Veradis grinned at them.
‘So you’ve come to try your hand at giantkilling.’ Maquin glanced at Alcyon.
