Wrath (The Faithful and the Fallen Book 4)

by John Gwynne

  ‘How?’ he said.

  ‘No time for that,’ Coralen said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back towards the buildings behind them, into their shadow.

  ‘What—’

  ‘No time for that, either. Come on, got to get out of here before Gar’s show is over.’

  ‘Leave? Not without Gar.’

  Still stubborn and difficult, then.

  ‘It’s his plan,’ Coralen grunted. ‘We’re just doing what we’re told. Come on!’

  She cupped her hands to give him a boost up to the forge roof; the plan was to go from there to the wall and then over to the meadows beyond. After that running like hell was the general idea.

  ‘Corban,’ a voice called out.

  A blond-haired giant was striding towards them. He saw the two dead giants, paused, eyes narrowing, then came straight at them. Coralen moved without thinking, leaping forwards with her sword rising, rolling under his arm as he tried to grab her, sliding on the dirt, one leg hooking behind his ankles, the other kicking his shins. He teetered for a moment, Coralen rolling and slamming her shoulder into his legs to make sure he went down.

  He did, with a thud and a cloud of dust exploding, then she was kneeling on his chest, sword-tip stabbing at the giant’s throat.

  Suddenly she was yanked off him.

  ‘Not him,’ Corban said. He looked from Coralen to the giant, then offered his hand to the giant.

  ‘You are not what I expected at all,’ the giant rumbled.

  He makes friends in the strangest of places.

  Corban looked at Coralen.

  ‘Damn, but it’s good to see you,’ he said, and grinned.

  This is not the time or place for grinning. I think he must have had a blow to the head.

  ‘The feeling’s mutual,’ she grunted. ‘Maybe better if we talk as we run, though.’

  ‘I can’t leave Gar here,’ Corban said.

  ‘I’ve just told you; this is Gar’s plan. We’ve come a long way to get you, so don’t go spoiling the plan. You’ll upset Gar.’

  ‘You should go,’ Varan said.

  ‘Is nobody listening to me,’ Corban said, ‘I’m not leaving without Gar.’

  ‘If he defeats Ildaer, Eld will allow him to walk away. It is his right,’ Varan said. ‘If Ildaer wins, well, you won’t be leaving with him then, anyway, because he’ll be dead. You should go, now.’

  ‘You’d let me?’ Corban asked.

  ‘You just saved my life,’ the giant said. ‘I owe you. And you, little woman, are very fast. And stronger than you look.’

  This is the strangest rescue I’ve ever been involved in.

  ‘Can we?’ Coralen said, pointing at the wall.

  The giant grabbed them both by the waist and lifted them up to the forge roof, Coralen and Corban pulling themselves up. Coralen had just leaped and grabbed the top of the wall when a huge roar from the crowd behind them rang out.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CORBAN

  Corban turned and stared.

  Gar was down, on one knee, one hand on the ground, Ildaer striding towards him. Corban felt as if every joint in his body was suddenly frozen. Coralen had been scrambling up onto the wall but now she thudded down beside him. They both stood there, on the forge roof, staring at Gar.

  Ildaer raised his hammer and swung overhead, like a man striking at a tent peg with all his might, the intention to crush Gar to a pulp. Gar seemed dazed, slow. At the last moment he rolled to the side as the hammer crashed into the ground he had just occupied, dirt spraying. On unsteady legs Gar rose to his feet and shuffled backwards. Ildaer rushed at him, war-hammer moving faster than a heavy lump of iron had a right to, Ildaer’s strength and speed phenomenal. Gar blocked, ducked and swayed, always retreating; Ildaer finally slowed a fraction, then Gar’s sword was striking at the giant, a combination of loops and thrusts, each one flowing into the other. All were blocked, except for Gar’s last strike, which slashed low, the tip slicing through the leather of the giant’s boot, droplets of blood sprinkling the ground in the wake of Gar’s blade.

  Ildaer paused then, the two warriors facing each other. Both of them wounded, breathing hard.

  ‘I’ll admit, you’re better at this than your da,’ Ildaer said. ‘But you’re still going to die.’

  With his free hand Gar reached behind his back and pulled at something strapped to the back of his belt, revealing a short-handled axe.

  ‘This was my da’s,’ Gar said, ‘gifted to him by Wulf ben Gramm. He used it when he fought you here, left it in the skull of one of your bears.’ Gar rolled his wrist, the axe-blade tracing a circle in the air. Then Gar was closing in, sword and axe blurring, Ildaer blocking frantically, the clang of iron ringing out. The entire courtyard was quiet before the savagery and skill unleashed before them. Gar leaped out of range, danced back a few steps, then he was launching himself forwards, running at Ildaer. The giant snarled and swung his hammer, low and horizontal, aimed to connect with Gar’s hip and sweep him away. Gar dived to the ground head-first, rolled beneath the hammer-swing, came out of the roll behind Ildaer, and the giant was bellowing in pain as Gar’s axe was buried deep in the back of his leg, between knee and buttock. Ildaer stumbled on a step, then dropped to one knee.

  Gar rose, walked a wide circle around the wounded giant as a shocked silence filled the courtyard. Ildaer gripped the axe-shaft in his leg and ripped it free, roaring like a wounded bear, flung the axe at Gar. The Jehar’s sword flashed, the axe was knocked aside. Ildaer tried to rise but his leg would not take his weight and he crashed back to the ground again. Gar stood before him, gripped his sword two-handed and raised it high. Ildaer swung wildly with his war-hammer, missing Gar and almost dragging himself over. Gar slashed with his sword and the war-hammer fell to the ground, Ildaer’s severed hand still gripping it. Blood jetted from Ildaer’s wrist, the giant howling in shock and horror. Gar stepped forwards, sword slashing again, and Ildaer’s cry was cut short, his head spinning through the air and thumping into the dirt. It rolled, coming to a stop at Eld’s feet.

  Gar stood there, bloody and battle-grim, his chest heaving, nostrils flaring. He bowed his head, closed his eyes.

  He is thinking of his da.

  Corban blinked away tears, let out a hiss of suppressed emotion. His hand ached and he looked down to see Coralen’s hand in his. He had no idea whether he had gripped her or she him.

  Eld’s voice rang out across the courtyard.

  ‘Your blood-feud is done, Garisan ben Tukul. Leave us now; only remember that the Jotun dealt with you fairly, and with honour.’

  Gar looked up, eyes opening as if coming out of a deep sleep.

  ‘NO,’ a voice cried out, ringing from the walls: Mort. He was close to Gar, staring at Ildaer’s decapitated head with horror and rage. In a burst of speed, Mort clubbed Gar across the shoulders with his axe-haft, sending the warrior crumpling to the ground.

  ‘Ildaer was our Warlord, our leader; he returned pride to the Jotun, washed away the shame of ages, amassed by Eld the coward,’ Mort yelled out. Angry murmurs rippled through the giants.

  ‘Mort, enough,’ Sig said.

  ‘And after all Ildaer has achieved, battle-fame and even winning us land beyond the Desolation, Eld is happy to watch Ildaer cut down, allow his killer to leave, and march us all back across the river into that desolate place again, never to return.’

  ‘I said, enough.’ Sig pushed through the crowd to reach Mort.

  Eld just stared at him.

  ‘Well, I for one will not go back to the Desolation. I have fought alongside Ildaer for our clan, spilt my blood, saw my brother slain. Under Ildaer’s leadership we won renown and land, a new home, pride in ourselves, but now you say it is for naught!’ Mort held up a fist and clenched it at Eld.

  ‘I say NO,’ Mort yelled. ‘No to our cowardly King. Your time is done.’

  He spat towards Eld, eyes bulging, then launched himself at the ancient giant, his axe swinging. It connected
with a warrior-giant standing before Eld, one of the King’s guards; the giant was hurled through the air in a spray of blood.

  There was a moment’s shocked silence, then the courtyard erupted into madness, giant fighting giant, hammers and axes swinging. Corban recognized many of Ildaer’s warband attacking Eld’s guards or warriors loyal to the King. Even as he watched, Hala went down in a mass of limbs, Eld staggering backwards, Sig’s longsword flashing free of its scabbard and cutting giants down as she attempted to carve a way to Mort.

  Corban and Coralen looked at one another, then leaped back down into the courtyard.

  Without thinking, he grabbed his iron bar and ran into the fray, Coralen on his left, both of them heading for Gar.

  Corban ran down the slope, heard roars and rumbles from the open gateway to the bear pens on his left.

  If all of those bears have a bond with their riders, as Long Tooth did with Varan . . .

  He veered into the stable-block and ran along the line of pens, releasing bolts and swinging doors wide. Together the bears burst out of the stables into the sunlight, a storm of angry fur, teeth and claws, turning the place into a seething mass of murder, crushing flesh and bone as they searched out their riders.

  The courtyard was awash with violence, giants locked in combat with one another; some found their bears and mounted, to deal death out from their backs. Corban kept running, the need to reach Gar driving him; Coralen swung her sword at anything that threatened to slow them.

  Corban hurdled a pair of giants that were grappling on the ground, then something crunched into his side, sent him crashing to the dirt. His iron bar went skittering from his hand. He tried to rise but a giant’s boot shoved him back down, a dark-haired giantess loomed over him. Corban recognized her as one of Mort’s young companions, a blood-crusted axe in her hands.

  Move, roll, get up, or you’re dead.

  Then the giantess was stumbling backwards, a dagger hilt protruding from her chest. She looked at the weapon, confused, staggered another step. There was a whirring sound and an arrow-point exploded from her throat. She plucked at the tip even as another dagger slammed into her shoulder, sending her staggering back another few paces before she toppled like a felled tree.

  Corban scanned the wall beyond the courtyard, saw a small dark figure kneeling, bow in hand, another figure standing at its shoulder.

  Dath and Kulla.

  It didn’t last long, though; another giant was coming at him.

  ‘Duck,’ a voice shouted behind him, and instinctively he did. Something whistled over his head; there was a crunch and the giant in front of him was spinning and crashing to the ground.

  Corban turned to see Farrell and Laith standing behind him. Then Farrell was hugging him, crushing him in a fierce embrace.

  ‘I’ve run across half the world for you, Corban ben Thannon,’ Farrell said. ‘Cursed your name most of the way, but seeing you, by Asroth’s teeth, I have to say it was worth it.’

  ‘Not half the world, just half of Forn Forest,’ Laith corrected as she collected her daggers back from giant corpses. ‘He exaggerates.’ She shrugged.

  ‘Touching as this is, how about we save the reunion until we’re somewhere with less chance of dying,’ Coralen said as she joined them, yelling over the din of battle.

  ‘Before you go running off, thought you might like this,’ Farrell said, nodding and gesturing enthusiastically to Laith. She shrugged something from her back, long and wrapped and tied in leather. She ripped the thong off and unwrapped it, revealing . . .

  My sword. The sword my da made for me.

  Almost reverently, Corban gripped the hilt, a hand and a half of sweat-stained leather; he stroked the wolven-head pommel. He lifted the cross-guard high and kissed it.

  ‘You left it in a giant,’ Farrell said.

  ‘True friends.’ Corban looked up and saw them all smiling at him. ‘The best of friends.’ He looked about at the battle and gritted his teeth. ‘Let’s find Gar and get out of here.’

  ‘First sensible thing you’ve said,’ Coralen grinned.

  They threaded their way through the melee, only engaging when they had to, heading ever closer to the steps that led up to the new hall, before which Gar had slain Ildaer. Right in front of Corban two bears slammed together, giants on their backs, the bears clawing, biting, raking each other with teeth and claws, the giants bellowing and swinging hammer and axe at each other.

  Corban looked about frantically; the fighting on the steps was fierce. He sighted Sig near the top step, wielding her longsword two-handed, swinging it in great bloody arcs. A handful of warriors were ranged behind her, standing in a loose curling line.

  Eld’s honour guard? Does the Jotun King even live still?

  Giants were hurling themselves up the steps at Sig – younger warriors, fierce and reckless in their rage.

  ‘Gar? Where is Gar?’ Corban shouted to the others, all of them searching for their friend.

  Varan stepped into the clearing, carrying Gar in his arms, approaching Corban and holding Gar out. He was unconscious, battered and bruised, looked as if half the Jotun clan had trampled over him, but his chest rose and fell, for which Corban breathed out a silent prayer of thanks. Laith stepped forwards and took Gar from Varan; the Jotun giant’s eyebrow rose at the sight of her.

  ‘Thank you,’ Corban said simply.

  Varan nodded, then he was wading into the battle, swinging his war-hammer in a bid to reach the stairs and Sig.

  Corban shared a look with his friends, and then they were running for the gate. A giant loomed before them, hammer rising, but an arrow sprouted from his eye and he crashed to the ground. Corban ran on, circled two bears that slammed into each other like two avalanches, and then he was at the gates.

  They were open and clear, meadow grass rippling in the wind beyond.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CORALEN

  Coralen ran through the long grass, her heart thumping with exertion. Laith set their pace as she was carrying Gar, but even so they were running fast, probably faster than at any time during the chase through Forn Forest.

  It’s amazing what knowing there’s a warband of angry giants and bears at your back will do.

  Gramm’s hold was now a silhouette behind them, their shadows running ahead of them, elongated dark streaks in the bloody glow of sunset.

  Gar groaned over Laith’s shoulder, his eyelids fluttering.

  We must stop soon. She glanced at Corban, saw he was favouring one leg, though he was keeping up well enough. Can’t have an injury now, though. We may need to outrun bears in the not-too-distant future. Looking at him, she felt a rush of emotion; his dark hair was sweat-stuck to his neck, the gash on his face red. The thrill of victory and success filled her, making her feel that she could run all night.

  We did it. Found him, got him out, and no one dead. Relief was sinking in; only now did Coralen realize that she’d been living under the shadow of dread for over a moon. She risked another sidelong glance at Corban, their eyes touching for a moment, and then she looked away.

  She grinned at the high clouds, glowing pink with the sinking sun, and enjoyed the feeling and sensation coursing through her. Whatever it was, it stopped her thinking about the burning in her lungs and the soreness of her feet.

  It was almost full dark when they reached the outermost fringes of the forest. They stopped beside an ice-cold stream, drinking thirstily and resting briefly beneath a stand of hawthorn, its branches full of sweet-smelling white flowers. Gar propped himself up on one elbow and winced.

  ‘Feel like I’ve been trampled by a herd of auroch,’ he grunted.

  That’s close enough to the truth.

  The Jehar made to stand, hissing with pain, and Coralen hurried over to him.

  ‘Let me check you over, first. Things may be broken.’

  ‘Ban, where is Ban?’ Gar said, ignoring her and rising to his feet. She put an arm around his waist and helped him stand.

 
‘I’m here,’ Corban said, emerging from the darkness. They stared at each other a long moment, then Gar’s arms were rising and Corban was stepping forwards, the two men embracing one another, hugging, both of them crying, laughing.

  Coralen felt that she should look away, that she was intruding on something deeply personal.

  ‘Don’t ever do that to me again,’ Gar said. ‘You’ve led us a merry chase.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ Corban laughed through his tears.

  ‘You’re back where you belong, now,’ Gar said, cupping Corban’s cheek.

  ‘I am. Are you hurt badly?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Gar said, testing limbs and joints, flexing, twisting slowly. He grimaced, fingers probing his ribs and one of his hips. ‘Well, it hurts, but doesn’t feel like there’s anything broken.’

  ‘Ildaer,’ Corban said. ‘Your da is avenged.’

  ‘Aye.’ A grim smile creased Gar’s face. ‘He is.’

  The others were gathering round now, water skins filled.

  ‘It was a fight, and no mistake,’ Dath said to Gar, ‘you and Ildaer, I mean. A dozen times I nearly shot that big tree – every time I thought he was going to kill you.’

  ‘My thanks for holding back,’ Gar said. ‘I would not have appreciated that.’

  ‘I guessed that,’ Dath said. ‘In fact, I said to Kulla, if I shoot that giant, Gar’ll most likely stab me. Though you did drag it out a bit. I thought it’d be over quicker.’

  Coralen shook her head. That’s Dath, always speaking before he thinks on it.

  Gar was staring at him.

  ‘Sorry,’ Dath muttered.

  ‘No, you’re right,’ Gar said. ‘I felt I had him, in the first rush, was almost ready for the killing blow, but then I remembered I needed to buy you time, to get Corban out. It struck me that a duel of ten blows or less wouldn’t buy that much time.’