Wrath (The Faithful and the Fallen Book 4)

by John Gwynne

‘Good point,’ Dath commented.

  ‘So I decided to prolong it a little. I thought I had his measure, could finish him when I was ready.’ He gave a sheepish smile. ‘I made a mistake. I forgot about the endurance of giants.’

  ‘One of our strong points,’ Laith said.

  ‘Aye, something I should have remembered,’ Gar said. ‘So as my strength began to fade, Ildaer’s didn’t. It made things a little harder.’ He reached over his shoulder for his sword hilt, only then realizing that it wasn’t there.

  ‘My sword?’

  ‘There were a thousand giants trying to kill each other,’ Farrell said, ‘your sword was hard to find.’

  Gar frowned.

  ‘I’ll tell you about the Jotun while I see to your wounds,’ Corban said, tearing a strip of linen from his shirt hem and soaking it in the stream, then ordering Coralen to sit beside Gar.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said.

  ‘You’ve just run a hundred leagues to rescue me, the least I can do is wash a wound or two. And Brina has taught me a little. I won’t poison you.’

  Coralen acquiesced and Corban began to wash their wounds. Coralen unlaced her leather vest to reveal a puncture wound from a giant’s hammer-spike. It hadn’t gone deep, but it had bled a lot. Corban dabbed the dried blood away and washed it clean, Kulla bringing over her pack and handing him honey for the wound and a roll of linen bandage. Coralen watched Corban work with interest, feeling his hand upon her wound, his expression completely focused. She liked the sensation, it made her feel safe.

  For a ham-fisted blacksmith’s son he’s remarkably good at this.

  Corban finished with her and moved on to the cut on Gar’s forehead. As he did so he told them all that had happened at the hold, filling them in on the Jotun, their hierarchy and something of their background. Dath and Farrell kept asking more questions, so Corban went back almost to the beginning, telling of his battle in the glade, the injuries he and Storm had taken.

  No wonder he favours one leg.

  Corban paused, reliving memories of that dark day, no doubt. After a few moments he continued, telling of being dragged from Storm and his journey through Forn.

  I wish I could tell him that Storm lives, but she was on the brink of death when I left her. Better to say nothing now than give him false hope.

  She listened in silence until he came to the part where the giants had tried to kill him.

  ‘I saw something that Eld did not want me to speak of,’ Corban said. ‘He has one of the Seven Treasures. The starstone dagger.’

  They all fell silent at that; talk of the Seven Treasures took them back to the attack on Drassil. Corban wanted to know what had happened.

  Gar spoke mostly, telling the tale in his matter-of-fact way, of the surprise attack, Nathair’s draig smashing through the trapdoor in Drassil’s great hall, of the legions of Kadoshim and Vin Thalun and eagle-guard, of the desperate fight and then retreat, and the deaths.

  ‘Cywen?’ Corban asked when Gar had finished.

  ‘We don’t know,’ Dath said, reaching out and putting a hand on Corban’s shoulder. ‘Brina said Cywen was with her in the great hall, but there was some kind of explosion, fire and smoke. They were separated, Brina escaped down the tunnel. We waited, but Cywen never came.’

  ‘There were prisoners,’ Gar said. ‘Within Drassil, we heard. Before we left after you. She could be one – she is brave, smart and resilient. If she survived the battle Calidus would likely keep her alive, use her as bait.’

  Corban grunted, head bowed, face in darkness.

  ‘And Meical may be a prisoner, too,’ Dath added.

  ‘No. Meical is dead,’ Corban said with grim certainty.

  ‘How do you know?’ Gar asked him.

  ‘I saw him, in the Otherworld. After I was taken by the Jotun. He told me of the battle at Drassil, of how he stood at the trapdoor and defended your escape. Calidus took him captive, had him executed.’ He looked up from the shadows, moonlight bathing his face. ‘They took his head.’

  ‘The Otherworld, huh?’ Dath said, nudging Farrell and sounding a little awestruck. ‘One of the advantages of being the Bright Star, I suppose.’

  Corban stared at Dath, something battling within him.

  ‘I am not the Bright Star,’ Corban said.

  Coralen looked around the small group, at their faces, disbelieving, confused. Corban stern and sombre.

  ‘It’s true. There is no Bright Star,’ he repeated. ‘Brina and Cywen came to see me, after your celebration,’ he said with a weak smile at Dath and Kulla. ‘Brina had found something in the giant book. It was confusing, contradicted things that Meical had told us.’ He sat back, sighing deeply. ‘I found Meical in the great hall, before Skald and the spear. I challenged him about it, and he told me . . . told me the prophecy is a ruse, a strategy devised by the Ben-Elim to force Asroth’s hand, and to guide Asroth along a path where the Ben-Elim could defeat him.’

  ‘They’re not doing a very good job, then,’ Farrell muttered.

  ‘That’s what I said,’ Corban agreed.

  Gar was staring at him. ‘Tell us again; everything that Meical said to you.’

  So Corban did. Coralen saw the muscles in his jaw bunching as he recounted parts of it, reliving his shock and anger, his devastation. He explained how Meical had asked for Corban’s forgiveness, that the Ben-Elim viewed the race of men and giants as collectives, not individuals, and that the end goal was to defeat Asroth, once and for all. If a few hundred or few thousand men and giants died along the way, then so be it.

  ‘I wish he were still alive so that I could kill him again,’ Farrell said through gritted teeth, his knuckles popping as he clenched his fists.

  ‘But, Storm and Shield,’ Dath said, frowning. ‘How could Meical know about them?’

  ‘He didn’t,’ Corban answered. ‘I asked him the same question. He just shrugged and said maybe Elyon was stirring . . .’ He was silent, as if remembering. ‘Meical said he didn’t write all of the prophecy, only the core of it, and even that he whispered into Halvor’s ear. He said over the generations it has grown and changed, become more.’ He shrugged. ‘But he wrote it, set the whole thing in motion.’

  ‘It cannot be true,’ Gar said, rubbing a hand across his face. ‘Some mistake . . .’

  ‘It is no mistake,’ Corban said. ‘I felt as you do now. Betrayed. Angry. I almost drew my sword on him. That is why I walked away, left Drassil for a time. To be alone, to think, to calm down.’

  Coralen looked at Corban. His face was twisted with so many emotions.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘Sorry to you all, and to all those at Drassil in the warband, those who fought, died.’ He looked away, his mouth a bitter line. ‘All those who followed me, believing me to be something that I am not. You’ve pursued me here, risked life and limb to save me. To save the Bright Star.’

  Coralen could hardly take in what she was hearing. She wanted to believe that Corban had made a mistake, misunderstood, or that Meical had some madness upon him.

  But no. I believe Corban. He’s no idiot, much as I might tell him that he is. And look at him. It has broken his heart, more for us than for his own self.

  She felt the sudden urge to reach out to him, to hold him and comfort him. It took an act of will to remain where she was.

  ‘I believe you,’ she said, her voice quiet.

  Corban nodded at her, a thanks.

  ‘And we came after you because you’re our friend, Ban,’ Farrell said. ‘Bright Star’s got nothing to do with it.’

  ‘So, what do we do now?’ Dath said. ‘If it’s true, if it’s all been a lie! What do we do now?’ There was an edge of panic in his voice.

  Corban put his head in his hands, rubbed his face hard, then looked up.

  ‘We could leave,’ he said. ‘Most of the people in this world that I still hold dear are here, before me. We could leave, walk away from war and death. Find somewhere quiet. Build a new life for ourselves.’

>   They all just stared at him, each thinking over his words, imagining. Coralen found herself thinking of a cottage by a stream, Corban working a plough in a field, her out hunting deer in green-dappled woodland.

  ‘You don’t mean that,’ Gar said.

  ‘I did think on it,’ Corban said. ‘Part of me would love nothing more than to walk away, to start a new life, maybe build a hold somewhere together.’ Coralen saw Farrell and Laith look at each other, Dath nodding to himself.

  ‘But I know that there is no hiding from Calidus, from Asroth,’ Corban continued. ‘They would find us. They mean to destroy all life in these Banished Lands. That includes us, no matter how far or fast we run. And there’s Cywen. I could never just walk away not knowing if she were alive or dead.’

  ‘So what does that leave?’ Gar asked. He looked as if he already knew the answer, but wanted to hear Corban say it.

  ‘We fight,’ Corban said with a shrug. ‘The prophecy may be a ruse, but Calidus and his Kadoshim are real enough, and they are murdering their way through our lands, our kin. I may not be the Bright Star, but I can still hold a blade. I fought Sumur and took his head. I don’t say that as boast, but as fact. One man, or woman –’ he nodded to Coralen, Kulla and Laith – ‘can make a difference. Can do something. It may not change anything, but we won’t know unless we try.’

  He sighed. ‘It’s taken me a long time to come to this conclusion. I’ve thought long and hard on it, come through the darkness of Meical’s deceit, and now I can see it for what it is, and what it isn’t. But you’ve only had a few moments. Think about it, sleep on it, we can talk again on the morrow.’

  ‘No need for that,’ Farrell said. ‘Least, not for me. You’re my friend, Ban. I’ll go where you go. It’s as simple as that.’

  ‘Me too,’ Dath said. ‘You were my friend before all this seven disgraces business came along. My only friend. You’re good, Ban, in here.’ Dath put two fingers over his heart, tapped his chest. ‘And I’ll follow you wherever you choose to go. You’re my friend, and I trust you, Bright Star or no. And I’m still your shieldman, unto death.’

  ‘Aye,’ Farrell rumbled his agreement.

  Corban was looking at their faces, ranged in a half-circle before him. His eyes rested upon Gar, who was looking back at him, unreadable as always.

  ‘Good advice. We’ll talk more in the morning,’ Gar nodded. ‘Decide which way we’ll be running.’

  Farrell groaned. ‘Always the running!’ he muttered.

  ‘I’ll take first watch,’ Coralen said, and walked away, jumping across the stream and standing beneath a tree. She looked east and west, deciding whether Gramm’s hold or Forn Forest was the greatest danger, then faced west, towards Gramm’s hold.

  Giants and bears, and some of them tried to kill us today.

  What a day. A duel, a battle, an escape. And a revelation.

  Her head was spinning with it, but sitting alone in the darkness helped her think it through.

  In truth Corban not being the Bright Star didn’t matter to her. She’d met him and known his worth before she’d heard any mention of prophecies. And he was right, there was a war that still needed fighting, an enemy that still needed killing, regardless of the names and titles you gave the combatants. She knew what her choice would be come sunrise. Had known all along.

  She heard the murmur of conversation amongst her companions, even that slowly dying out, the rasp of a whetstone, Corban lovingly tending to his reunited blade, then silence. Finally, Laith’s snoring. And a while later, a soft footfall, the crackle of leaves underfoot. From the corner of her eye she saw Corban approaching through the hawthorns.

  A smile twitched her lips, her heart suddenly beating faster.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CORBAN

  There she is.

  ‘Ban, you’re as loud as a lumbering bear,’ Coralen said, not even turning her head.

  I thought I was being my most skilfully quiet!

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ he said, his eyes picking out the shape of her in the darkness. Her shadow merged with the tree, a curve gilded by the moon. She looked at him, red hair dark in the starlight, face pale and dappled with freckles, her eyes deep shadows. His heart was beating hard in his chest, as fast as it had been during the battle and long run all the way here from Gramm’s hold.

  ‘I . . . It’s good to see you,’ he mumbled, ‘all of you.’ He waved a hand behind him. ‘I’m grateful, to you all, for . . .’

  What is wrong with me? I can fight Sumur, a Kadoshim demon from the Otherworld, yet now I’ve lost the ability to speak!

  She stepped close to him, so close that he could smell the hint of apples on her breath.

  Like in my dreams.

  ‘Unless you’ve come here to finally return my kiss,’ she said, ‘then you’d better turn around and walk away. I’ve been angry with you a long while and may not be responsible for what I do to you.’

  He leaned forwards, hesitantly brushed his lips against hers, his heart pounding louder than a Benothi war-drum, then harder and, suddenly, his arms were around her, pulling her close, and he felt as if he was drowning, spinning.

  Their lips parted; a jolt passed through him, like thinking there was an extra step as you walked down a stairwell.

  ‘Well, better late than never,’ Coralen murmured with satisfaction, and Corban realized she was smiling, saw the glint of teeth through her parted lips.

  ‘Apples,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I dreamed of kissing you, and in my dream you tasted of apples.’

  ‘You dream about me?’ Coralen asked. She didn’t sound so angry now. She grabbed his shirt and pulled his lips onto hers.

  Why have we not done this sooner. It’s wonderful.

  His thoughts disintegrated. Time passed – how long, Corban could not tell.

  Abruptly Coralen pushed him away, her head turning, cocked to one side.

  What have I done now?

  Then he heard it. A rumble, like distant thunder, but rhythmic, growing louder.

  Not louder. Closer.

  I recognize that sound.

  ‘Bears,’ he said.

  They exploded into movement, running back through the trees, leaping the stream.

  ‘Ware the Jotun,’ Corban cried, snatching up his sword from where he’d left it beside his cloak.

  All were jumping to their feet, Coralen standing and calmly buckling her wolven claws onto her left fist. Corban went and helped her.

  ‘Wish I still had mine,’ he said as he buckled the last strap for her.

  ‘We’ll have to go get it back for you, then,’ she grunted and drew her sword, staring back into the darkness. Dath sprinted away a score of paces, turned, started stabbing arrows into the earth around him, stringing his bow, Kulla at his shoulder as always.

  Gar limped close to Corban; Laith drew one of her many daggers, flipping it and tossing it to Gar, then another one.

  ‘That’s better,’ Gar said, running the blades of the two daggers together. They were like short swords for him.

  Farrell hefted his hammer.

  Corban set his feet, shifted his weight from left to right, testing his knee. It was throbbing, a dull pulse, but felt good enough.

  It’ll be all right. It’ll have to be.

  Then trees were splintering, cracking, and a bear was bursting out from the midnight dark in an explosion of leaves, a giant on its back.

  Mort.

  The giant saw Corban and bellowed a victory cry, raising his battle-axe over his head. Others were behind him, shadows huge as boulders – four, six, seven, Corban could not tell. Then the bears were amongst them.

  Corban jumped to his left, a bear leaping at him; he felt Mort’s axe hiss by his ear. Corban gripped his sword two-handed and hacked with all his might, his blade-tip slicing into the bear’s back leg as it hurtled past him. It bellowed. Corban pivoted and swung his sword over his head, moving into the dragonfly stance. Mort was yel
ling commands at the bear, trying to get it to turn as it slammed broadside into a tree, leaves erupting from above.

  Corban glimpsed Farrell swinging his hammer, deflecting an axe-blow, a shower of sparks cascading about him while Laith was hurling her daggers at a giant atop a bear. Then Mort and his bear were charging at him again.

  He held his stance as the bear pounded towards him. At the last possible moment Corban spun away, his sword slashing at the animal’s neck, ducking as Mort’s axe swung at his head. Then Mort and the bear were beyond range.

  Corban heard a rage-filled scream from Kulla and saw Dath swiped by a bear-paw slashing at his back, sending him flying, smashing face-first into a tree. Kulla half severed the still-raised paw, her sword rising and falling in a frenzy, hacking, chopping, the bear dropping, rolling onto its side and pinning its giant rider. Kulla ran up the bear’s broad chest, beheading the trapped giant, then stabbed two-handed down into the bear, her sword slipping through ribs and on, deeper and deeper, piercing its heart.

  A giant on foot came at Corban, looming out of the shadows, wielding a war-hammer. He feinted right with the hammer-head, struck with the end, the iron-shod butt catching Corban on the shoulder, sending him stumbling off balance. The giant followed, swinging his hammer, Corban ducking, slipping within the giant’s guard, stabbing up into the giant’s belly, through leather and fur, angling up, under the ribs.

  As he ripped his sword free the giant crashed to its knees. Two more bear-riding giants burst through the hawthorns and leaped across the stream.

  How many more? We will be crushed, have no chance.

  The first bear had a coat of mail buckled about it, a thick leather collar around its neck, and on its back rode a familiar blond-haired giant.

  Varan. Has he come to kill me? Or to bring me back, on Eld’s command?

  Corban watched as Varan leaned low in his saddle, whispering something to his mount, Long Tooth, who leaped forwards, Varan’s war-hammer whirring above his head, crunching into a giant that was attacking Gar.

  He’s helping us!

  At the same time Corban saw the rider behind Varan send her bear into the fray, striking at another giant. It was Sig.