by S J Hartland
“Gendrick.” Aric grabbed his shoulder. “Tide’s End will hold. Even if Cathmor breaches the walls, we’ll defend the breach. And he doesn’t know where I’ve sent our ships.”
His brother shoved off his hand. “Ships.” He sneered. “You place the future of the Isles on a reckless plan that can never work. I’ve found us a way to win, Aric. Win. To defeat this upstart from Dal-Kanu and unite Telor under a true Caelan king. Our father.”
“You cannot trust Archanin,” Kaell said.
“Do not speak.” Gendrick stabbed a finger in his face. “Say another word and I gag you. I don’t even know why you’re here.”
Hatton slumped into a chair. He gestured to Aric. “Read the message.”
Aric straightened rolled parchment.
“It says: By my hand, I, Archanin, who stood with the ancient ones before the dawn of time, send greetings to my ally, Gendrick Caelan.”
Hatton stared beyond the window. He drummed his fingers on the chair arm.
“As a demonstration of my intent to deliver up your enemies, I hold the Fern Castle. In return, I seek only what is mine, what I intimately claimed. This warrior you call—” Aric hesitated. He kept his eyes on the parchment. He didn’t look at Kaell.
“Say it,” Gendrick said.
“He wants Kaell,” Aric said.
Kaell dropped his head, numb.
Aingear whirled on Hatton. “Kaell belongs to our gods. I must have him back to complete the ceremony, restore Roaran’s spells.”
Gendrick laughed in her face. “You foolish woman. We have no need for spells. Archanin is no threat. He’ll help us smash the false king.”
“And in return?” Aric asked quietly.
“He wants the Mountains. That’s all.” Gendrick shrugged. “It’s harsh, treacherous land anyway. Let him have it. The rest of Telor will be ours.”
“You can’t trust Archanin,” Kaell said again. Gendrick took two steps and hit him. Kaell reeled. He tongued salty blood on his lips.
The Isles lord shook his head. “What have you done, Gendrick? What have you done?”
“What I’ve done? Won, father. Won this war. With Archanin’s help we’ll take back Telor, bring this land firmly under the reign of a true Caelan king.”
“This is nonsense.” Aric threw his arms wide. “This god has deceived you.”
“Our ally just delivered us a border castle at the false king’s back. And all he wants in return is Kaell. So what? He’s no longer human. Who cares what Archanin does with him?”
“I must complete the ceremony,” Aingear protested. “If Aric had not interfered, we would be safe already. I demand he answers for his defiance before a temple court.”
“Aric is yet to answer for the deaths of his men,” Gendrick said. “He led them into an ambush. No one else. Him. But nothing touches him, it seems.”
With restless fingers, Hatton beat out a furious rhythm. “I do not know what to make of this. My son in league with a fallen god. My priestess insisting we restore centuries-old magic. I cannot decide this matter tonight. I will summon the council of lords tomorrow.”
He gestured at Kaell. “Lock him up until the council decides how we proceed. If they accept Gendrick’s arguments then we surrender him to Archanin. If they accept Aingear must complete the ceremony, then she shall have him.”
A crazed laugh died on Kaell’s lips. Either a priestess butchered him on a slab or Archanin took him. His legs folded.
Aric caught him. “I need to question him. Kaell has information about Cathmor’s ally, Vraymorg. About how many men and weapons he likely brought from the Mountains.”
“You have until dawn,” Hatton said. “Then I want him in irons, below.”
“And Aric?” Gendrick said. “The high priestess brings a serious charge against him.”
Hatton dragged fingers through his grey hair. His face was haggard and old. “Aric commands this castle in time of war. This charge must wait until Tide’s End falls or stands. If my son survives, then he will surrender to the temple.”
Aric bunched his hands. “Once this war is done, I will submit.” He swept an arm at Kaell. “Have the guards lock him up until I can question him.”
The cell door slammed shut. Kaell slid his back down the wall, dizzy with shock. Death he no longer feared. But this? To be Archanin’s prisoner or Aingear’s sacrifice.
Despite the shackles on his wrists, he must escape. Overpower Aric, then the guards. Get to the Fern Castle and kill Archanin. Or die. Yes, probably die; but at least with some dignity, knowing he tried to avenge his men. Tried to make his lord proud.
Kaell closed his eyes, longing for the touch of Vraymorg’s hand on his shoulder. Again he heard steel clattering on stone as Vraymorg hurled his sword in that prison as if unable to bear the turmoil of emotion within. Or afraid of it.
Afraid. He turned the word over in his mind. As a child he thought his lord feared nothing. But what if he did?
He pictured the cell below the fortress, remembering the look on Vraymorg’s face.
Like a shout, understanding clamoured. His lord feared one thing. Love.
Kaell let that sink into him. Wasn’t he just as afraid? He fixed only upon what he yearned for. Affection. Tenderness. Praise. He never told his lord he loved him.
A sob rattled in his throat. It was too late. He was alone, about to die on a stone altar or become Archanin’s prisoner.
Even if he escaped, his path did not lead to Vraymorg, to a chance to tell him he understood. That he loved him; even if his lord couldn’t love him in return.
Fetters sang a discordant song as Kaell fell to his knees, wretched. Perhaps in this bare cell, when every certainty broke inside him, the habit of prayer could fire his courage.
Sultry air nipped at his neck. Cold, though, rose from the stone floor into his bones. Through thick walls, the sea rumbled. Kaell muttered words that tasted ashen in his mouth.
A torch flared. Aric filled the doorway. “Do your gods answer you?” he said. “The last time I prayed to mine, they stayed silent, and I rode to Dal-Kanu to kill a stranger.”
“So it’s the gods’ fault you tried to kill me?”
“They had a hand in it. Though they didn’t force you to fight me.”
“So it’s my fault?” Azenor blamed Kaell too—when she thrust a knife in him. A shadow woman, with secrets behind her kisses. An ache ripped his breast. No, don’t think of her.
“The blame lies with me,” Aric said. “Everything that happened that day and everything that’s happened since. And just like that dreadful day in Dal-Kanu, I can hardly understand you, Kaell. You Mountains folk sing the words.”
“Then let’s limit our talk to the language of swords. I’m game if you are.”
Aric leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Has anyone said you’re prickly?”
Arn called him that. Kaell’s irritation faded. “Like a Mountains pear.”
“I like that. A pear.”
“It’s from a children’s song. Cahirean. Pears look sweet when Mountains bred, but prick their skin and end up dead. It doesn’t sound as silly when it’s sung.”
“Prickly.” Aric studied him with eyes too like his sister’s. Azenor, why?
“A warrior who spins words and believes in his gods.”
“Why is that peculiar? Unless you don’t believe in anything.”
Aric shrugged. “My ancestor Roaran didn’t. He turned from the gods as false. He’s on my mind tonight. Sometimes I think I’ll turn a corner and find him walking these corridors.”
“You believe in ghosts but not gods.” Kaell found Aric just as bewildering as that day in Dal-Kanu when the Isles prince baited him.
“All of us, fascinated by a dead king.” Something flitted behind his eyes. Fear? “What would you say if I told you I thought I saw—” He broke off. Wet his lips. “Never mind.”
Thought he saw a ghost? Roaran’s ghost? Kaell’s scalp crept with unease.
He remembered
the dead bonded warrior he had heard when Archanin held him prisoner, a voice calling down into his dreams. Yes, there were ghosts.
“What do you believe in, Aric Caelan?”
Aric flashed a cocky smile; whatever doubt banished.
“Myself. My wit. The strength of my sword arm. All gifts of the gods. Here.” He draped a cloak over Kaell’s shoulders. “Come with me.”
Kaell did not rise. “I like this cell. It’s warmer than my last.”
“I’m glad our prisons are superior. Still, I must insist, prickly pear though you are.”
Kaell lifted his fettered arms. “Do I have a choice?”
He trudged after Aric up a tower stairwell spiralling into darkness. Only torches smoking in sconces challenged shadows. Their boots echoed loudly on stone. The castle slumbered, waiting for dawn.
Aric ushered Kaell into the top room. “Now.” He lit a candle on a table. “We must talk.”
Kaell peered about the circular chamber. Fading moonlight filtered through shutters. The sea heaved against the walls, its voice the perfect music for a chaotic room filled to every corner with stacked scrolls and leather-bound books.
He picked his way through scattered parchments. “This is a strange torture chamber. How do you expect to make me spill my secrets about my lord?”
Aric looked baffled. Then he chuckled. “These books are dangerous, Kaell. One fell off a shelf onto my head only two nights ago. I could threaten to choke you with dust if I must. But really, I don’t have the heart for torture.”
“What do you have the heart for?” His sister had the heart for lies, even murder.
“Winning. Here.” Aric spread a map over books open on the table. A word on a page caught Kaell’s eye.
“Val Arques. Who’s Val Arques?”
Aric’s hands froze on the map. “You don’t know?”
“Should I know?”
Aric frowned. “Azenor said nothing? About what your lord told her?”
“No. What is this about?” So Azenor kept secrets all along? His lord’s secrets? Kaell fumed. Only minutes ago he thought he understood Vraymorg.
“It’s not my story, Kaell. You must ask him. Vraymorg.”
Kaell considered Aric’s guilty face. He knew more. Anger pricked up and down his arms. “You are a shadow man. Your sister tried to kill me and you try to deceive me.”
A shadow certainly crossed Aric’s face. Pain too. “I saw,” he muttered. “She stabbed you.”
“Why?” Kaell threw up his arms. “Do you know?”
“Kaell.” Aric dug his teeth into his bottom lip. “I can’t think about it. About her, about what she did and why she won’t wake. Any of it. Not yet. I must think only of defeating Cathmor and then this ghoul god my brother foolishly trusts.”
Grim-faced, he stabbed the map. “The king has three camps. Here, here and here. Guard posts here and here. Still, I’ll get us through the king’s lines. Here.”
Get through? Bemused, Kaell could only stare.
Aric looked up. He grinned. “I read men well, Kaell. Know when they’re lying, when they’re desperate. That’s why I win in swordplay. I smell a feint, sense when an attack is true. You don’t just watch a man’s eyes; you watch his feet and shoulders, the way he tenses.”
Kaell nodded. “I do the same.”
“I know why you sought your gods; for fortitude to face Archanin. What was the plan? Hit me and run? No need. I intend to free you and help you kill Archanin.”
“My fight with Archanin does not concern you.”
“Doesn’t concern me?” Aric caught his arm. “This monster seized a Mountains castle on the edge of the Isles, less than a day’s ride away. My brother is a fool to plot with him.”
“Not your fight. Mine. You need to worry about the king smashing your walls.”
Aric broke away to pace. “It is not only your fight, Kaell. I know what he did to Azenor.”
A shudder of shameful memory whipped him. Warm flesh. Archanin’s kiss. Desire, guilt. Did part of her break as it did him? How else could she betray him?
“Why risk your life? Just let me go. My life is over anyhow.”
“It’s not that simple. My brother has guards watching me so I don’t just free you.”
“Then this is pointless,” Kaell shouted, surrendering to his anger. “You may as well march me back to that nice, warm cell.”
“Kept tight until either Gendrick or Aingear marches you somewhere not so nice? No, I thought we’d leave.” Aric pointed to the window. “That way. I learnt all about sliding down ropes from some fool who broke me free from the king’s interrogators.”
Kaell gaped. Then his anger fled with a burst of laughter. “After seeing how the king’s mistress interrogated you, I wasn’t sure you wanted to be free. Vicious it was.”
“She was certainly skilled. And your timing was awful.” He grinned. “It’s nearly dawn. We need to move.”
“Aric, you can’t come. Archanin wants to punish me. That gives me a chance to get close and kill him. You, he’ll just butcher.”
“When he and my brother are allies?” Aric shook his head. “I knew Gendrick sought power, but how can he believe he can use and trust a fallen god?”
“He can’t,” Kaell said. “Archanin is dangerous.”
“Talking of dangerous. If by some chance I survive and you don’t,” Aric said with morbid cheerfulness as he freed Kaell. “Is there a message for your lord? He’s with the king.”
“He is?” Kaell arched his brows. “What am I saying? Of course he is.” His gaze slid towards the window. His lord. So close. That hurt more. Because beyond these windows was too far.
“You plan to ride into the king’s camp to deliver my message?”
“Tempting.” Aric’s eyes shone with mischief. “What might Cathmor do if I did?”
“Put your neck in a noose.”
“And your lord? If I should drop in to see him?”
“Give you to the king so he can put your neck in a noose.”
Aric sighed. “I thought he had come to like me. Vraymorg that is. When we met yesterday. When he came to Tide’s End.”
Lost, Kaell stammered, “He? Here?”
“He brought the king’s demands. Conditional surrender. All reasonable enough—even my cousin’s plan to hang me. I’d hang me too, if I were Cathmor. Spectacle is very welcome after besieging a castle. Otherwise it’s boring sitting about watching someone’s walls.”
“You prattle on with a lot of nonsense,” Kaell said.
“Does it provoke you?” Aric unlocked a chest. He drew out Fortitude and passed the blade to Kaell. “Vraymorg warned me not to provoke him; said he bore me a grudge for poisoning you.”
“Did he?” Kaell’s voice lifted with gladness.
“He asked about you. I suspect that’s why he really came; to find out about you.”
Warmth fluttered in Kaell’s belly. “And he is without? With the king?”
“He is the king’s man,” Aric said in a strange voice. “And, it seems, always will be.”
Aric
Waves breaking with thunder and clamour beneath the cliffs shrouded their footsteps to a boat on pebbly sand below the castle. An alert sentry shouted a challenge.
Aric showed his face. “All is well. Remain vigilant.” The man saluted and melted into the darkness.
He and Kaell each took an oar. The craft glided around a headland into a narrow cove. Ragged clouds hunted a sinking moon. The remnants of night curtained, a veil of grey shadows and soft scents. Brine. The perfume of Murraya.
“My spies get in and out this way.” Aric hauled the boat in. “Under the king’s nose.”
He groped up a rocky cliff path, starlight his only guide. The darkness tinted charcoal, rimmed by prowling dawn, its awakening a reminder of his father’s order to surrender Kaell.
Guilt niggled at him. But not regret.
The king’s interrogator had taught him a lesson in agony and degradation that would ha
ve ended with his humiliating execution. Kaell risked his life in Dal-Kanu to save him. The life of the man who tried to kill him.
He shook his head, still puzzled by that kindness.
“We go through caves up there. Isles lords kept these passages secret for centuries.”
“Then how far to the Fern Castle?”
“On horse? A few hours. We’ll be there by noon. Just when the ghouls are sleeping.”
“Aric, no. You must return. The king is readying his men to attack Tide’s End.”
“They’re still assembling his beast of a trebuchet. The battle, when it comes, will well and truly wait for me. Besides,” Aric hesitated.
“Besides?”
Aric debated how much to say. Kaell could hardly betray him to the king. “I don’t intend to only sit and wait for Cathmor to haul missiles at our walls.”
“The reckless plan your brother dismissed? Something to do with ships? I counted only five off Tide’s End. The Isles fleet is triple that. Where have you sent them?”
Aric considered him. “It’s as well you’re not fighting for Cathmor. Work it out.”
“I once read of a traitor lord who besieged King Rollo at Tide’s End. Rollo left half his men guarding the walls and sailed with the rest to Cahir. They marched through the night and attacked the traitor’s camp from behind. Cathmor should know this. It’s a famous victory.”
“And I thought I came up with the idea.” Aric’s foot slipped on shale as he clambered higher. “I didn’t know about this Rollo and his ships so I doubt Cathmor will.”
“So that’s it?”
In grey light Aric glimpsed Kaell’s eager face. Stories of battles and old heroes interested him also, could distract him, too, even in the worst moments. Under other circumstances—if he hadn’t tried to kill Kaell—could they have been friends?
“Through Cahir. An interesting idea. But no. Even if I surprised the king, his army still outnumbers my men.” Thanks to the Damadars. To think he once liked Heath.
“My plan is a little more ambitious.” Aric could not hold back a smirk. “What would you say if I told you the Isles fleet sailed east, not west? Towards the Falls.”
