Wrath (The Faithful and the Fallen Book 4)

by John Gwynne

  Calidus snarled.

  ‘Run,’ Veradis whispered. Then, louder. ‘RUN.’

  Behind him the Kadoshim bounded forwards on Calidus’ orders, sprinting faster than Veradis thought possible, smashing people out of their way, leaping over them.

  Veradis’ feet thudded, echoing in the archway of Drassil’s walls, out onto the plain, urging his men on. Shouts were rising up from the courtyard, screeches from the Kadoshim, yells from the battlements of Drassil, and spears began to hiss down from above. Some of Veradis’ people fell, skewered, but most ran on, the darkness enveloping them. Veradis looked back over his shoulder, saw the first line of the Kadoshim come hurtling through the gates. They sprinted across the open ground, dark blurs, curved swords glinting in moonlight as some drew their blades.

  They’re going to catch us. No point running. Maybe some of us can hold them, let the others get to the trees.

  Veradis yelled an order and turned, drawing his sword and hefting his shield, a dozen others turning with him. Ilta was one of them.

  The Kadoshim were almost upon them, five well ahead of the rest of the pack. Veradis could see the dark glint of their teeth as they smiled gleeful, grisly smiles.

  ‘You have to take their heads,’ he yelled.

  Then shadows were rising from the grass around him, taking shape: giants and men wielding war-hammers and battle-axes. Veradis recognized one of the figures.

  Krelis.

  ‘Didn’t think I’d let you win all this glory for yourself,’ Krelis called to him with a wide grin, and then they all fell howling upon the Kadoshim.

  He saw Balur One-Eye swing an axe and take a Kadoshim head with his first blow, a hiss of vapour forming an inky shadow in the air, punctuated by two red coals for eyes. It shrieked its fury at them, the sound torn and frayed by the breeze a lingering moment, then it was gone. One giant fell as two Kadoshim leaped upon her, but they were soon dispatched by Alcyon and his son, swinging their axes as if they were felling trees.

  Horn blasts echoed and a voice rang out across the plain; Calidus, calling his demons home.

  The first wave of the Kadoshim were down, but those that followed were surprisingly disciplined, wheeling and fleeing back towards the walls of Drassil like a colony of bats. Veradis punched his sword in the air and gave a fierce victory howl, grinning fiercely.

  We did it.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  HAELAN

  Haelan stumbled along the rough tunnel, old roots sticking out, poking and tripping him. He was the last of their motley group, Cywen leading the way, Shadow and Buddai padding almost silently beside him. Haelan didn’t fear pursuit, at least not straight away; the tunnel entrance had collapsed after the mysterious fire had occurred.

  Did Cywen . . . make that fire?

  The smell of burning flesh was still thick in his nostrils, the screaming of men echoing in his mind. And Trigg, poor Trigg.

  Tears filled his vision, blurring the torch light ahead.

  Every time he closed his eyes he could see her face, eyes locked on him, choosing to sacrifice herself to save them.

  Abruptly the torchlight ahead disappeared as if Cywen had just turned a corner. When Haelan reached it he realized it was a corner of sorts, only that it went down, not sideways. Cywen climbed down it, hanging onto the root that the tunnel followed. She reached what looked like a dead end and stopped, stamped one foot on the ground, then crouched to inspect the earth around the root.

  The smell that had drifted up from this tunnel was stronger now, an acidic burn that clung to the back of your throat and felt like it was singeing the hairs inside your nostrils.

  Cywen dug the end of her torch into the earth, then she stood and climbed back to them, using the tree root to pull herself up.

  ‘There’s another tunnel down there. We just have to dig through to it,’ she said.

  ‘What’s that smell?’ Hild said, pulling a face.

  ‘Good question,’ Cywen said. ‘It smells like draig dung to me.’

  ‘Draig dung!’ the warrior from Tenebral, who had introduced himself as Arcus, said.

  ‘Aye, draigs. It makes sense,’ Cywen said. ‘Coralen told me she’d come across a draig den on one of her scouting trips north-east of Drassil. A great mound, dung hills about it, tunnels boring into it.’

  Coralen also said that a draig attacked her and tried to eat her.

  ‘This could well be part of the same draig nest,’ Cywen said. ‘Perhaps it bores under the forest for leagues.’

  ‘Only one way to find out,’ Arcus said, jumping down past Cywen to land heavily on the hard-packed soil, which promptly collapsed under his weight. He fell with it, grabbing on to the tree root to break his fall. He climbed down the root, disappearing into the darkness.

  Cywen followed after him, taking her torch with her, one hand grasping the root. Buddai landed with a thud on the earth behind her.

  ‘Pass the cubs down to me,’ she said, dropping her torch to Arcus.

  The cubs weren’t happy about being passed into the hole, muzzles wrinkled, growling.

  They’ve never met a draig, but they must know it doesn’t smell like anything good.

  Sif went next, then Swain and Hild. Haelan followed, gripping the old root with one hand and being helped to the ground by Arcus. Pots jumped down after him and Shadow sniffed and whined, wrapping herself tight around Haelan’s legs.

  Haelan looked about, as the torch shed some light on the place they were now standing. It was a tunnel, much wider and higher than the one they’d just been stumbling through. All of them would be able to walk abreast here if they’d wanted to. It was roughly circular in shape, the floor and sides showing long raking claw-marks, as if they had been gouged out. The earth was dry and hard, the air musty and stale.

  What if this tunnel goes nowhere, except to hungry draigs? Haelan thought. He eyed the root and hole above him.

  We could probably all climb up to the passage above, but it wouldn’t be easy getting Buddai and the cubs back up there, and less so with a draig chasing us.

  He shivered, trying not to think about that.

  ‘What now?’ Swain asked.

  ‘Now we walk, and find a way out of here,’ Cywen said.

  ‘You said your friend found this draig den north-east of Drassil?’ Arcus asked.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘So,’ Arcus said. ‘This tunnel goes two ways.’ He gestured with his torch, showing a wall of darkness that seemed to swallow his torchlight. He pointed ahead of them. ‘That way’s close to north, from what I can make, so I suppose that’s the way we are going.’

  They all stood and stared into the darkness beyond the torch’s reach, black as pitch, the silence was almost a physical thing, heavy and stifling.

  ‘What if there’s no way out?’ Sif asked, a tremor in her voice. ‘No matter what way we go.’

  I was wondering that, but wasn’t going to say that out loud.

  Hild pulled her close, hugged her. ‘We’ll find a way, even if I have to dig a new tunnel.’

  Arcus took a new torch from Haelan’s pack and lit it with the one already burning, then held it up high. It flickered a moment, weakly, its flames ruffled as if by a dying breath.

  ‘Well,’ Arcus said, something close to a smile flitting across his face.

  ‘Good,’ Cywen said, a hint of victory in her voice. ‘A breeze down here tells us there’s an entrance it came in by. I told you these tunnels would be our route to freedom.’

  A route to freedom. That’s wonderful. Now all we have to do is wander these tunnels until we find it and hope that we don’t stumble into a hungry draig while we’re looking for the way out.

  He didn’t think sharing that thought would be appreciated, though, so he stroked Shadow’s head.

  ‘Right then, best be doing this,’ Arcus muttered as he lifted his torch high and drew his sword, looking suspiciously into the darkness. They set off in a line after him, Cywen and Buddai, Swain, Sif and Haelan in t
he middle, Pots at his ankles, Hild behind them with a torch of her own. For once the cubs were remarkably subdued, the six of them staying huddled near the centre of their small company, tails tucked between their legs and ears twitching.

  Not very comforting, Haelan thought as he looked at them. They’re not usually scared of anything.

  They marched through the dank tunnel that twisted and turned, and in no time at all Haelan had lost absolutely all sense of what direction they were travelling in. Occasionally they would reach a fork in the passage, with another huge tunnel leading off who knew where. They would stand at these junctures a while, listening, holding the torches high to see if a breeze flowed from either way. Sometimes they waited for what felt like a long time until eventually something tugged at the torch-flame. They were repeating this ritual for the fifth or sixth time when Haelan felt a hard piece of earth underfoot. He crouched down and rubbed at it, brushing it away to reveal a long, curving talon. He tugged and scraped and it came free. Holding it up to the torchlight, he could see it was pale, like bone, wide at one end, curved and tapering to a point.

  ‘It’s a draig claw,’ Cywen said behind him.

  ‘It’s too big, surely?’ Haelan said.

  ‘I’ve seen Nathair’s draig, been closer than most. That’s definitely a draig claw.’

  They all stood in silence, looking at the huge talon, letting the implications of Haelan’s find sink in.

  ‘This way,’ Arcus said, staring at his torch, and they set off again, walking along another wide passage. Haelan looked at the claw one last time and then slipped it inside his pack.

  The ground was softer now, and the walls. Haelan stumbled and steadied himself with a hand against the wall, his palm slipping on mud, something squirming beneath it. He regained his balance very quickly.

  As they walked Haelan listened, straining to hear beyond the tramp of their feet and their breathing, which sounded disproportionately loud in the stifling tunnel.

  How long have we been walking? We must be leagues beyond Drassil by now.

  They reached another junction, Arcus stopping and raising his torch into the face of one passage and then the other. Haelan looked at the ground, wondering if he might come across any other claws. Close to one foot, the ground looked different, as if the soil had been turned recently. He bent closer, frowned, then realized.

  ‘We’ve been here already,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ Cywen and Hild said, the others stooping over him.

  ‘Look,’ Haelan said as he pulled his draig claw from his pack and slotted it into the groove in the ground. It fit perfectly.

  Arcus cursed.

  We’ll never get out of here, even if there are no draigs, Haelan thought, feeling as if he was close to weeping. How can we guard against this, down here in the choking darkness? Then he had an idea.

  ‘Sif, did you bring your pack of stones?’

  ‘Of course,’ Sif said.

  ‘Can I have them?’

  ‘Why?’ she said suspiciously.

  ‘Please, Sif. I want to test something.’

  Grudgingly she rooted in her pack and pulled out her makeshift bag of stones.

  ‘Here,’ she said.

  Haelan rummaged around inside and pulled a stone out, one that had been chalked white on one side. Carefully he placed it on the ground, pushed it in a little.

  ‘What’re you doing?’ Sif asked.

  ‘Everyone back,’ Haelan said, ushering them back the way they’d just come, until the stone was taken by the darkness.

  ‘Now, as we walk forwards, look at the ground,’ Haelan said.

  They did, and when Arcus’ torchlight washed over the stone it glittered like a prize jewel.

  ‘Good lad,’ Arcus said, and Cywen patted him on the back.

  ‘Can I have my stones back now,’ Sif asked.

  ‘No,’ everyone said at the same time.

  Haelan walked at the head of their group, beside Arcus, the warrior seemingly calm, focused on the path his torchlight was revealing. Behind them the company walked in silence.

  They’d walked a long way since he had come up with the idea of using Sif’s stones as markers. It had served them well already – twice now the passages they’d taken had led back to where they’d placed one of the stones. Haelan had added a second stone beside each one they saw again.

  A sound rumbled in the distance, like faint thunder, almost too low to hear. Buddai, Pots and the cubs heard it clearly enough, though, stopping with their heads cocked, ears pricked. Shadow curled a lip and growled. They all froze, listening as the distant sound rolled on, rising and falling, until it faded away to nothing.

  He felt a twinge of fear.

  Is that what draigs sound like?

  Cywen shared a look with Arcus and Hild.

  They walked on in silence.

  The smell’s getting worse, Haelan realized. With each step it grew stronger, Haelan breathing through his mouth to try and lessen the stench, but that just made his throat burn.

  And then they stepped into a chamber, dug wider for about fifty paces, like the fat belly of a snake that had just consumed its prey. Mounds were scattered about, as wide as the base of a large shield, rising as high as Haelan’s head. Cywen bent close to inspect one, Haelan reaching out to touch it with his finger. It had a hard crust, like baked clay, or bread left in the oven too long, except that it was rough. Haelan poked a little harder, the crust cracking, a hiss of gas leaking from it, then something thick and slimy oozed out, like pus from a picked scab. The stench almost put Haelan on the ground and made Cywen gag, sending her reeling back a few steps.

  ‘It’s draig dung,’ she said when she could breathe properly. ‘These draigs seem to be animals of habit, which use the same spot for their waste. I don’t think this chamber has been used for a very long time. This dung’s old. The stuff I’ve shovelled from Nathair’s stable did not have a crust like this – not even after it had been on the midden for a moon.’

  ‘Perhaps they’ve dug out a new one,’ Haelan suggested.

  ‘I think you might be right,’ Cywen said, trying to summon a reassuring smile. She wasn’t wholly successful.

  Just so long as we don’t walk into that one as well.

  Another rumble reverberated through the hall, echoing on and on, a rhythm to it, eventually fading. It was much louder than the previous one.

  Sif sniffed.

  ‘We’ll be out of here soon,’ Swain said.

  A shared look amongst them all and they set off again.

  No point going backwards, can only go forwards.

  They trudged on, a sense of foreboding growing in Haelan’s gut, hovering on the edge of all-out fear. He knew if they were caught by a draig down here there was very little to do except die.

  Horribly.

  The thought of ending up in a draig’s belly was not appealing.

  It’s different, being slain in combat, even if it means your enemy wins. At least then you die fighting for a cause that means something; not just dying to satisfy an animal’s hunger.

  They stepped into another chamber, this one so much larger than the last one. Swain lit more torches and handed them out.

  It was a circular room with a number of dark tunnels leading from it – six, eight.

  Haelan saw a mound of something at the centre of the room. Not like the dung hills: this one was much lower, and wider. It looked like it was made up of separate objects, all piled together, like pumpkins on Midwinter’s Day. Without realizing, he found that he was walking towards it. He stumbled over something on the ground, looked down and saw that objects were scattered all over. Then he recognized what they were.

  Bones.

  A ribcage here, a spine there, a long skull, large canines protruding from a jaw.

  A wolven?

  He carried on, picking his way more carefully. Then he stepped over a bone with fingers at the end of it, close to a human skull with a great hole in it.

  That’s b
eyond worrying.

  Something tickled Haelan’s face, tugged at his hair. It took him a moment to understand what it was.

  A breeze.

  He paused and saw Arcus’ torch flicker and crackle as the warrior stepped in front of one of the many exit tunnels. Haelan looked around at his companions, saw that they had all felt it, hope lighting up all their faces within a few heartbeats.

  He crossed the last few strides to the mound, stood for a moment with his torch held high, just staring.

  It was a shallow circular pit, like one of the fire-pits they’d built while travelling through the forest.

  Except this one’s got things in it.

  Twenty, thirty, each one about as big as his head, roughly oval in shape, colours rippling across their surfaces, hues swirling, like paint spilled in water as the light of the torch caught them.

  ‘Haelan, what are they?’ Cywen hissed at him.

  He gulped. ‘I don’t know, it looks like . . . eggs?’

  ‘Oh no,’ he heard Cywen whisper.

  Somewhere behind Haelan, Buddai, Pots and the cubs all started to growl.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CYWEN

  Cywen rested a hand upon Buddai’s shoulder, dread trickling down her spine, watching in horror as with a sinuous movement a shadow rose up from the ground and lumbered ponderously into the room. Taller than a horse and twice as wide, a long body set upon four bowed, powerful legs. Its head was broad and flat-muzzled, somehow reptilian with curved teeth as big as daggers protruding from its powerful jaws. For a moment it stood still as stone, only its tongue flickering, tasting the air. Then it raised its head on its long-muscled neck and roared.

  The sound was deafening, the blast of it almost snuffing out Haelan’s torch. Cywen clasped her hands over her ears, feeling the ground tremble beneath her feet, a cloud of dust rising up about the draig.

  Then Arcus was yelling, pointing down the tunnel from where the strong breeze had emanated, and they were all running. Cywen was the last through, looking back to see the draig powering across the chamber towards her, the sound of other draigs roaring ringing from other tunnels.