Wrath (The Faithful and the Fallen Book 4)

by John Gwynne

  ‘Kletva,’ Alcyon whispered. ‘A place of shadow and death. None go there.’

  ‘That’s it,’ Cywen said. ‘Anyway, that is where Lykos is going. To get the starstone torc,’ she finished.

  ‘Why the river?’ Maquin asked.

  ‘It flows from Arcona,’ Alcyon growled. ‘It is like a road carving through Forn for them.’

  ‘How many swords went with him?’ Maquin asked Cywen.

  ‘I did not see them leave,’ Cywen said, ‘but they had five boats – rowing-boats they built for the task.’

  ‘How many oars did their boats have?’ Javed asked.

  Cywen considered. ‘Three on one side, three on the other. So six.’

  Javed nodded. ‘Six-oared rowing-boats. Five of them. A hundred men and they’d be overloaded, so probably less. Eighty to ninety men is my guess.’

  ‘Not a great warband, then,’ Corban said.

  ‘No. A raiding crew, designed to move fast and strike hard. Lykos’ ship-breakers, no doubt.’ Javed glanced at Maquin, who nodded a curt agreement.

  ‘My thanks,’ Maquin said and turned to leave.

  Alben grabbed his arm.

  ‘You cannot go alone,’ he said to Maquin. ‘You will fail.’

  Corban stood up. ‘We need that torc,’ he said. ‘Fidele must be rescued and Lykos stopped. So someone must go, and you’re right, Alben. They cannot go alone.’ He strode to Maquin. ‘Maquin, are you fit to lead?’ Corban asked him. ‘Brina said you speak the truth, even if it is harsh. Would you turn that truth upon yourself?’

  Maquin regarded Corban, as if seeing him for the first time. ‘I am fit to lead,’ he said grimly.

  ‘You will have two tasks: rescue Fidele, and bring the starstone torc back to us.’

  ‘Fidele will come before the torc, always,’ Maquin said. He thought about it a few moments. ‘Fidele said we are all dead, in the end, if we do not defeat Calidus and the Kadoshim. So if the torc is vital to that, then, yes. I will bring the torc back, if it is in my power.’

  ‘Then choose who you will take with you,’ Corban said.

  ‘I need hard men, men of endurance to hunt him down; men who can keep up with me,’ Maquin said, looking around the ring of captains. ‘The Vin Thalun called me the Old Wolf,’ he growled. ‘Now they will find out how true they spoke. We shall all be wolves, and Lykos will be our prey.’

  ‘I’ll come with you, Old Wolf,’ Javed said. ‘And I’d think a fair few of my Freedmen will be like-minded. A chance to kill Lykos and Vin Thalun – sounds like fun.’

  ‘How many?’ Maquin asked him.

  ‘Fifty of us, if they all want to come.’

  ‘Good. But not enough.’

  Alcyon, Teca and Alben all stepped forwards.

  Maquin nodded but looked at Alben.

  ‘It’ll be a long run,’ Maquin muttered, ‘and you’re recently injured.’

  ‘I’m well enough, and if I can’t keep up, then just leave me behind,’ Alben said. ‘I’ll pick some men from Ripa. Fidele is in their hearts and many will wish to come.’

  ‘Good, then,’ Corban said. ‘Without boats it’ll be a long, hard journey. You’d best make ready.’

  Maquin didn’t need telling twice, he marched off.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Brina asked Cywen.

  ‘Better,’ Cywen said.

  Corban began to pace about the circle, looking at his remaining captains. ‘We need to work out how we’re going to win this war,’ he said. ‘But I’ve been away too long. So first, tell me, where do we stand now?’

  They gave Corban a run-down of the warband’s numbers and the new arrivals. They spoke of their tactics, orders left by Gar, to harass and disrupt wherever they could, but to avoid open engagement.

  ‘At first there were daily patrols that ventured forth from Drassil,’ Akar said. ‘Vin Thalun, eagle-guard, even Kadoshim. They thought us beaten and routed and wanted to keep us running. That strategy didn’t work so well for them.’

  Cywen remembered seeing the gates of Drassil opening, a ragged band of wounded Vin Thalun limping through it.

  ‘So now they patrol no longer,’ Akar said.

  ‘Nothing?’ Corban asked. ‘Not even scouting parties? No reconnaissance at all?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Akar said, a touch of pride in his voice. ‘Since Nathair left to join Lothar, the gates of Drassil have remained closed. Apart from when Veradis tricked his way inside. See! Another victory through guile.’

  ‘Much to be said for guile,’ Wulf said.

  ‘I’m fond of a good ambush, myself,’ Coralen said beside Corban, her hand brushing his just for a moment, a gentle caress.

  Looks as if those two have sorted themselves out at last!

  Krelis informed Corban of how they had eradicated the threat of Gundul’s warband from Isiltir, and told him of Lothar’s warband cutting its way closer to Drassil, building a road with the protection of Nathair and two thousand eagle-guard.

  ‘We should try and stop them reaching Drassil,’ Corban said. ‘As with Gundul, they will be weaker apart than together.’

  ‘Aye,’ Veradis said.

  ‘So we must find a way for fifteen hundred to destroy six thousand, without losing many swords along the way.’

  ‘That won’t be easy,’ Veradis said. ‘Gundul was unprepared, taken totally by surprise. Also, Lothar is a different beast. I knew him when he was Braster’s battlechief. What I saw of him was capable and efficient. He fought well at the battle of Haldis. Not innovative, though. A traditional man.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Krelis said.

  ‘It means he’s like you,’ Veradis said. ‘He doesn’t like change.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Krelis nodded. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘But he has Nathair and two thousand eagle-guard,’ Veradis said. ‘Their shield wall will be very hard to beat.’

  ‘But beat them we must,’ Corban said.

  ‘We are working on some ideas,’ Veradis said with a small smile.

  ‘What about the earth power?’ Corban asked. He looked from Brina to Ethlinn. ‘You giants are versed in it, are you not?’

  ‘Things are not as they were,’ Ethlinn said. ‘When the clans split, all were powerful in the earth power, but as the years passed, faith dwindled. I do not know what you understand of the power, but faith is . . . important.’

  Cywen felt the weight of the book still inside her cloak.

  There are different forms of the earth power, she thought. The way of faith, more powerful, but less reliable, or the other way – the way of blood and bone. But that has a price, and it is difficult, awkward. She glanced at Brina, saw that the healer was watching her like a hawk.

  ‘Some remained scattered throughout the clans who were versed in the power,’ Ethlinn continued. ‘Nemain and Uthas were two such in our clan. But for the most part the power withered amongst us and died out.’

  ‘Each road feels as if it is blocked before it is even begun,’ Corban said. ‘And what of Calidus and his Kadoshim? What is he up to now?’

  ‘He has not ventured from Drassil since the day they took it,’ Akar said.

  ‘Nor will he,’ Cywen said. ‘His every thought is of the Treasures – to protect the ones he has, and to gather the others to him.’

  ‘So we are back to the Treasures again,’ Corban observed.

  ‘I’ve a feeling the Starstone Treasures will decide this war, one way or another,’ Brina said to them all. ‘I have the beginnings of an idea, but it would be fraught with danger, the risks high. And it would only be possible if the Treasures were all together.’

  Which is a danger in itself, if Calidus were involved.

  ‘Three are accounted for in Drassil,’ said Ethlinn. ‘And we have heard tonight about the others. The torc is in Arcona. The dagger with the Jotun in the Desolation. That still leaves the cup and necklace in Benoth.’

  ‘Rhin has them,’ Cywen said. ‘Or says she will have them, before too long.’

  All
in the circle looked at her.

  ‘Rhin and Calidus communicate, somehow. By dark magic, I think.’ She glanced at Brina. ‘Calidus has summoned Rhin here, ordered her to muster her warband and ride to Drassil with the other Treasures.’

  ‘So Drassil is the heart of the web,’ Veradis muttered.

  ‘It is,’ Ethlinn agreed.

  ‘Only one Treasure would be left unaccounted for, if Cywen’s information is right,’ Brina said, tapping a long finger on her chin. ‘The starstone dagger.’

  ‘It is not unaccounted for,’ Corban said, standing and reaching beneath his cloak. He pulled a scabbard around that was hooked to his belt, hidden on his back. He grasped the hilt of what looked like a short sword, similar to the one that Veradis wore at his hip. Corban drew it, held it up, and Cywen saw that its blade was coal-black.

  ‘The starstone dagger,’ Corban said.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  RAFE

  Rafe rose from his cot and stretched tentatively, testing his wounded leg.

  Better, he thought, putting some weight on it. The wound was healing well, scabbed up and itching. It had been a hell of a job to cut the arrowhead out of his leg, taking two giants to hold him down as someone dug around inside his leg with a knife.

  That Camlin’s got a lot to answer for.

  He’d seen wounds like his before, a cut deep into the muscle of his thigh, and he’d known they could take well over a moon to heal, if ever, so he should be pleased, really. Who’d have thought drinking from an old stone cup would help me heal twice as fast as another man? Faster.

  Only a ten-night had passed since Camlin had put an arrow into him and run off with the starstone necklace.

  Horns sounded, coming from the direction of Stonegate.

  Visitors?

  The fortress and village were already full to bursting. Geraint had brought four thousand to Dun Carreg over a ten-night ago, which had made Rhin’s mood only slightly better after the loss of the starstone necklace.

  Scratcher got up, stretched, and came over, licking Rafe’s hand. Rafe pulled on his breeches, his new boots and a linen shirt and buckled his sword-belt, draped with silver, then set off in search of whatever had set off the horns.

  He was staying in his old chambers in Evnis’ tower, had swept out the room and brought in fresh linen for the bed, an armful of rushes for the dog to sleep on. Rafe was happier here, slept better.

  When he reached the courtyard of Stonegate a crowd was already gathering. He climbed the wide stairwell by the gate tower, the exercise helping to reduce the ache in his leg. Once on the wall he looked out over the rolling meadows to the north-east of the village, which were awash with tents, men and temporary paddocks. Beyond them the giantsway cut a dark swathe through the land, and as Rafe looked at the ancient road he saw a new warband upon it, well over a thousand strong.

  The heavy thud of giants’ boots drummed behind him: Uthas and his shieldman, Salach, striding into the courtyard, Eisa behind them. Rhin followed, walking with her battlechief Geraint and a score of shieldmen. The crowd parted for her and she climbed the stairwell, saw Rafe and joined him.

  ‘Good morning, precious,’ she said, smiling at him and running one finger down the length of his spine, ending with a squeeze of his buttocks.

  ‘My Queen,’ he dipped his head and blushed.

  Rhin had come to visit him in his tower room twice now since she had woken from the starstone cup’s sleep. Both times she had stayed all night, leaving him exhausted and unnerved when she padded from his chamber as the sun rose. It was all a bit of a shock, becoming a queen’s lover, and it had happened so quickly.

  Not that it hasn’t got its advantages, he thought, his hand resting upon the hilt of his fine new sword. On both occasions Rhin had brought him gifts, a silver torc one night, and this sword the other, complete with fine-tooled belt and scabbard.

  ‘It’s Conall,’ Rhin said beside him. ‘And only twenty-six nights have passed since I summoned him.’

  ‘He must have been riding through the night, my Queen,’ Rafe said.

  ‘Indeed. He must really want to keep his position as my regent in Domhain.’ She smiled at Rafe. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. Rafe remembered sitting with Rhin in a chamber in Dun Taras, Domhain’s seat of power, watching through Rhin’s sorcerous means as Conall had set his brother Halion free from her dungeons and helped him escape.

  Rhin’s not one to forget, or to forgive.

  Rafe recognized Conall; he was leading a small band up to the fortress, sitting tall and proud on a roan stallion. He looked up to the battlements and saw Rhin as he clattered across the wide bridge, through the arch of Stonegate and into the courtyard, where he turned his stallion in a tight circle, slipping from its back and landing lightly on his feet.

  He met Rhin by the gate tower, dropping to one knee before her, taking her hand and kissing her ring.

  ‘Up,’ Rhin said, and Conall rose with a wide grin on his face. He was dressed in travel gear but it still looked regal – wool and leather of the finest quality, a new gold torc about his neck, his warrior braid threaded with gold wire, his cloak the green and blue of Domhain. Rafe noticed more than one knife sheathed upon his sword-belt, both the belt, sword scabbard and knife sheaths finely wrought and studded with silver.

  Looks as if Conall’s enjoying the life of a ruler, but I see that old habits die hard. I’d wager he has half a dozen more knives secreted about his body.

  ‘Well, but I never thought I’d be riding through these gates again,’ he said, looking up at the brooding bulk of Stonegate. He turned back to Rhin.

  ‘I must say, you’re looking fine,’ he said.

  Rhin smiled. ‘I think this sea air agrees with me.’

  ‘That it does,’ he said, looking Rhin up and down. She seemed to like the attention.

  ‘You are not dressed for war,’ Rhin observed.

  ‘I’m dressed for fast travel, my Queen,’ Conall said. ‘Brought my war gear with me, though, never fear.’ He flashed a smile. ‘Thought there might be a fight at the end of the road.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Rhin said, ‘there will be. Though there’s still a long road left to travel, and we’ll be leaving on the morrow. Rest your men and your mounts today, Conall.’

  ‘And where will this road be taking us, if you don’t mind me asking?’ Conall enquired.

  ‘Drassil.’

  Rafe entered Rhin’s chambers and saw that he was not the first to arrive. Conall was sitting with his boots up on a table. He greeted Rafe with a warm smile.

  ‘Good to see you, lad,’ Conall said, sounding as if he meant it. He was like that, all warmth, like your oldest friend, or hard as frostbitten nails. There was no in-between or subtlety with Conall; he wore his emotions openly.

  ‘You too,’ Rafe said. He actually liked Conall.

  ‘So you’re not coming to Drassil with us, then,’ Conall said. ‘More’s the pity. It’ll be a rare sight, I’m thinking, and a good fight at the end of it.’

  ‘Rafe will join us there, won’t you?’ Rhin said as she stepped out from her bedchamber, gold wire wrapped through her silver hair. She was dressed in riding gear: woollen breeches and long boots, a leather fur-trimmed jerkin. She looked as healthy and fit as a much younger woman, her skin all but glowing with vitality, her eyes sparkling.

  ‘I will,’ Rafe said. ‘Once I’ve completed a task.’ He shared a look with Rhin.

  Others were entering the chamber now, Uthas and Salach, last of all Geraint.

  They all sat around the table in Rhin’s antechamber, apart from Salach, who assumed his customary place behind Uthas.

  ‘Quite a day,’ Rhin said. ‘At first light on the morrow we begin a long journey, taking the might of the west to fabled Drassil.’

  ‘And what awaits us at Drassil, my Queen?’ Geraint asked.

  ‘Battle and blood,’ Rhin said. ‘Victory and glory.’

  Conall slapped the table, grinning.

  ‘Our
allies are there,’ Rhin continued, ‘Nathair and the lords of his alliance. He needs us. His enemies close on him, and so we must go.’

  ‘Over four thousand men are gathered on the meadows, not counting Conall’s warband, and more will be travelling down the giantsway over the next ten-night,’ Geraint told her. ‘It will be a long journey, though, and some of it through winter, I would guess.’

  ‘Aye,’ Rhin said, ‘you are correct, Geraint, and practical as ever. We must travel fast. Spare horses for every man, and no wains. All our provisions must be carried by pack-horse. This will be no ponderous crawl through the Banished Lands. No, this will be a sprint to the finish line. A race to the greatest battle of our time. We must not fail.’

  ‘Sounds like my kind of war,’ Conall said. ‘I hate all that waiting around for battle. This is much better. Run at them. Hah!’ He slapped the table enthusiastically again.

  ‘We will be travelling through our allies’ lands,’ Rhin continued, ‘and I have been assured that we will be welcomed at their fortresses along the way, and reprovisioned. As for winter, if we move fast, we will be at the outskirts of Forn Forest by winter’s first kiss. Seasons are different within Forn, I am reliably informed. Stripped of their extremes. We must make good time, and then all will be well.’

  ‘When do we leave?’ Conall asked.

  ‘First light on the morrow,’ Rhin said. ‘Morcant, you will remain, as regent of Ardan.’

  ‘What about Edana?’ Morcant asked.

  ‘That spoilt bitch not still causing you trouble?’ Conall asked.

  ‘A little,’ Rhin said, watching Conall closely.

  Does he know that his brother Halion is here, fighting for her? Surely he must.

  ‘That is why you will stay, Morcant. I will leave you fifteen hundred men, more than enough to see her and her fledgling warband rooted out of their hole and put into a cairn. And when you are finished with her you shall lead those men to join me.’

  ‘It shall be done,’ Morcant said.

  ‘Good, then all that is left is for us to make ready and go,’ Rhin said, clapping her hands. She stood, her chair rasping on stone, then paused and looked at them all. ‘These Banished Lands will be a different place when we are done.’