Ruin

by John Gwynne

  He has always seemed so strong, so in control. Something about seeing Gar weep had made him seem more human, somehow. Corban felt a sudden surge of emotion for the man, his teacher and protector. His friend.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Corban asked him.

  ‘The Jehar that followed Sumur and Nathair,’ Gar said with a nod towards the Jehar, who had risen and all started forming the lines for the sword dance practice. ‘They have recognized my father as their captain.’

  ‘Good. And him?’ Corban said, looking at the one who had spoken with Tukul.

  ‘Akar. He was Sumur’s captain. He is ashamed that they followed the Black Sun, that they were fooled by Nathair. That he was fooled. And he is proud. It is making him say foolish things.’ Gar shrugged, the emotion of a few moments ago gone or well hidden.

  ‘He looked like he wanted to fight you.’

  ‘It may come to that.’ Gar looked at the warrior, mingling now in the line of the sword dance. ‘And we have a history.’

  Corban waited but Gar said nothing more.

  ‘Where’s Meical?’ Corban asked.

  ‘Scouting. He set off soon after the attack – took a giant and a few of my sword-brothers and left.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we go and find him?’

  ‘I think Meical can look after himself. He’ll be back soon. Best use our time.’ Gar ushered him forward amongst the ranks of Jehar warriors. Corban drew his sword and slipped into the first position of the dance, his mind sinking into the rhythm of it, muscle memory automatically taking over from conscious thought. Time passed, merging into a fusion of contraction and extension, of focus and sweat, of pumping blood and his beating heart and the weight of his sword. Then he was finished, Tukul stepping from the line and ordering the Jehar to break camp.

  Corban stood there a moment, savouring the ache in his wrists and shoulders, clinging to the familiarity. He looked around and saw his friends were nearby, watching him – Farrell and Coralen, standing with Dath. A figure walked towards him – Cywen, their mam’s knife-belt strapped diagonally across her torso.

  ‘Happy nameday, Ban,’ Cywen said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s your nameday. Seventeen summers.’

  Is it? He shook his head. It’s been over a year since we fled Dun Carreg, since I last saw Cywen. A year of running and fighting, of blood and fear. But at least I have spent it amongst my kin and friends. What has she been through? A year by herself, surviving who knows what. And only to come back and be reunited with us and help bury our mam. He took a long look at her – thinner, grime on her cheeks highlighted by tear tracks. The bones in her face were starkly defined, and her eyes were haunted. They hadn’t spoken much last night before sleeping. There’d been too much happen to all of them that day for them to relive anything else. Instead they’d sat by the fire for hours, just comfortable in each other’s company, Dath teasing Cywen and trying to make her smile, Farrell quietly watching and Coralen pacing as if she couldn’t quite settle.

  Before he could respond to Cywen’s greeting there was a drum of hooves as a handful of riders crested the dell. Meical led, with the hulking forms of giants following behind. Corban could barely believe that what had once been mankind’s fiercest enemy was now their ally. Meical rode into the camp, dismounted smoothly and strode to Corban. Balur and another giant, a female, accompanied him, with Tukul following behind.

  ‘Only one of the Kadoshim survived last night’s attack. We tracked him halfway back to Murias before we gave up the chase. The land between us and the fortress is clear, for now,’ Meical said. ‘My guess is that the Kadoshim will stay within the fortress walls a while and become accustomed to their new bodies.’

  ‘Fech is watching them for us,’ the female giant said. ‘We will not have another surprise like the one last night.’

  ‘Good,’ Corban nodded, then looked at Meical. ‘What next?’

  ‘That is what we have come to ask you,’ Tukul said, staring at Corban.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Of course you. You are the Seren Disglair. We follow you.’

  Corban felt a shift around him and looked about to see the whole camp still and silent, all watching him. He gulped.

  CHAPTER THREE

  UTHAS

  Uthas of the Benothi stared down at the dead. He was standing just within the great doors of Murias, the sun warming his back. The bodies of his kin were laid out before him, scores of them, the might of the Benothi laid to waste. Here and there survivors of his clan moved, a handful remaining of those who had joined him – little more than two score – pulling fallen Benothi from the mass of the dead. The whole chamber was clogged with corpses, giants, men, horses¸ the stench of blood and excrement underlying all else.

  Other figures lurked in the shadows, the Kadoshim. They moved awkwardly, not yet fully accustomed to their new bodies of flesh and bone. Uthas suppressed a shudder and looked away; the sight was unsettling now the chaos and rush of battle had passed.

  Most of his surviving kin were gathered around a large ink pot, dipping bone needles as they inscribed the tale of thorns on their bodies. All had killed during yesterday’s battle; all would have fresh thorns to tattoo into their flesh. He saw Salach, his shieldman, bent close over Eisa as he tattooed her shoulder. Uthas’ eyes strayed back to the corpses lined at his feet, searching the faces of the dead. One that he had hoped he would find was not there. Balur. I should have known he would not have the good grace to die. He felt a flutter of fear at the knowledge that the old warrior was still alive, knew what Balur would wish to do to him. He will carry this blood-feud until the end of days. He needs to die. His gaze came to rest upon the corpse of Nemain, once his queen, now so much food for carrion.

  What have I done? Fear and doubt gnawed at him. He cursed the events that had led to this. Cursed Fech, the damn bird that had warned Nemain of his betrayal. He put a hand to his face, felt the claw marks that Fech’s talons had raked into his forehead and cheeks.

  Things could have been different if I’d had time to reason with Nemain . . . He gritted his teeth. No. It is done, no going back. I must salvage from this what I can, protect and rebuild my clan. I am King of the Benothi now.

  Voices drew his attention and he looked up to see Nathair’s adviser, Calidus, emerge from a hall, the giant Alcyon looming behind him. After the battle they had set a makeshift camp in the chamber of the cauldron, deep in the belly of the mountain, but Uthas could not stand it in there; the stench of so many dead wyrms was making him retch. Besides, it was foolish to leave the great gates unguarded, the only entrance and exit to the fortress of Murias. Their enemies had seemingly fled, but who knew what they were capable of? Meical and his followers had already stormed their way into Murias once and shattered the ceremony, preventing many of the Kadoshim from passing through the cauldron into the world of flesh.

  Calidus saw him and strode over.

  ‘How many of the Benothi live?’ Calidus asked. A cut across his forehead was scabbing, the skin puckering as he spoke. After the battle he had appeared weary to Uthas, face drawn, his silver hair dull. For the first time he had looked frail, like an old man. Now that was gone. He stood straight, his body alive with new energy, his yellow eyes appearing feral, radiating power.

  ‘Forty-five, fifty maybe of those who stood with me. Others still live who fought against us, or at least, their bodies have not been found. Balur is one of them.’

  ‘Balur has the starstone axe. He took it from Alcyon.’ Calidus flickered a withering stare at the giant beside him who stood with head downcast, his face stained with a purple bruise. Uthas noticed Alcyon had a war-hammer slung across his back, replacing the black axe that had been there. Taken from a fallen Benothi, no doubt. That stirred anger in his belly and he scowled at Alcyon, a member of a rival giant clan, the Kurgan.

  No, he told himself, if my dream is to become reality I cannot think like that. We were one clan once, before the Sundering. It can be so again. Looking at Alcy
on, though, he realized just how deep the old grudges ran.

  ‘You have something to say?’ Alcyon growled at him, standing straighter, returning his dark look.

  Control your temper, build bridges, he told himself.

  ‘I see you carry a Benothi weapon. There is much honour in that.’

  ‘Honour, in the Benothi?’ Alcyon sniffed.

  ‘Aye,’ Uthas growled, anger rising. ‘As there is in all of the clans. Even the Kurgan.’

  Alcyon looked slowly around, his gaze lingering on the fallen Benothi. ‘I see little evidence of Benothi honour here.’

  ‘I did what had to be done,’ Uthas snarled. ‘For our future. Yours, mine, all of the clans’. If Nemain had continued to do nothing all of the clans would have faded, become a tale to frighten wayward children.’

  ‘And instead we will slaughter ourselves to extinction.’

  You fool, you do not see the long path, only the next step. His temper was fraying.

  ‘You would be better served by concentrating on the task set for you.’ Uthas shrugged, feeling the spite rise in him like bile after too much wine. ‘But you were unable to do that, as you could not even hold onto the starstone axe.’

  ‘Do not judge me, you that have betrayed your kin, your queen.’ Alcyon looked about the room, eyes resting on Nemain’s broken body. ‘And I lost the axe to Balur One-Eye. I feel no shame in that, when I can smell the fear in you at the mere mention of his name.’

  Uthas felt the words like a blow across his face. ‘We have both served the same master here,’ he said.

  ‘Aye, but you out of choice,’ Alcyon glowered.

  ‘Enough,’ Calidus snapped. He glared at Alcyon until the giant looked away from Uthas. ‘Balur is a problem. I hoped that he would have been slain in the battle.’

  As did I. ‘He will do all in his power to see me dead.’ Uthas felt a stab of shame at the tremor in his voice. He gripped his spear tighter, his shame shifting to anger. ‘He could be dead, slain by those that left in the night.’

  There had been a disagreement after the battle; one of the Kadoshim had argued with Calidus. It had been unsettling, hearing a voice so alien issuing from the Jehar’s mouth – rasping and sibilant.

  ‘You have failed Asroth,’ the Kadoshim had accused Calidus, arms jerking. ‘We must regain the axe now, before it is too late, and reopen the pathway.’

  Calidus had taken a long shuddering breath, mastering himself. ‘It is too great a risk, Danjal,’ Calidus had said. ‘Battles are still being fought. We must secure the fortress, make sure the cauldron is safe. Would you have us abandon it?’

  ‘Our great master must be allowed to cross over. For that we need the starstone axe.’

  ‘Seven Treasures are needed to open the way for Asroth, not just the axe. It will happen, but we must wait. I seized an opportunity, and over a thousand of our brothers are now clothed in flesh. Be content with that. Asroth waits to enter this world wrapped in his own form, not filling someone else’s, as you have done. And, besides, to pursue Meical now would be foolish; it would put the cauldron at risk, and many of you will lose your new skins.’

  ‘Your body of flesh and bone has made you craven,’ the Kadoshim had snarled. ‘Asroth will reward me when he knows it was I who secured the axe and made his passage possible.’

  Calidus took a step back from the Kadoshim and unsheathed his sword, the rasp of it drawing all eyes. ‘Craven? I have just fought Meical, high captain of the Ben-Elim, and seen him flee. I have fought countless battles to reach this place and made a bridge between the Otherworld and the world of flesh, to bring your worthless spirit here. You will not call me craven. Or would you challenge me, reckless Danjal?’

  Muscles clenched and unclenched in the Kadoshim, a spasming ripple. Eventually he lowered his eyes.

  ‘I seek our master’s glory,’ he growled.

  ‘As do I,’ Calidus said. ‘Go after Meical and you will be rejoining our master in the Otherworld before you know it.’ Calidus had turned his back and walked away. The once-Jehar looked about, called for help and then ran from the chamber, a dozen or so Kadoshim surging after him.

  ‘If you find them, try and kill Meical’s puppet, his Bright Star; you may actually achieve something useful with your death that way,’ Calidus called out after them.

  Uthas had felt a glimmer of hope. To retrieve the starstone axe they would need to slay Balur.

  He wished it was so, but as yet there had been no sign of the Kadoshim that had left during the night.

  ‘Your comrades that went after the axe, they may have killed Balur, retaken the axe.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Calidus shrugged. ‘But I doubt it. More likely is that the Kadoshim that went after the axe are slain, their spirits returned to the Otherworld. Meical may be foolish in some things, but he would have set a guard, and he knows how to fight.’

  Uthas could not hide his disappointment as his hope flickered and died.

  ‘It is of no matter. Danjal has always been a fool; we are better off without his rebellious nature. Do not fear Balur. I will protect you. Your future is with me, now. Your loyalty to Asroth will not be forgotten. I have the cauldron because of you, and I am grateful.’ The old man paused a moment; Uthas took strength from his words.

  ‘How many are with Balur?’ Calidus asked him.

  ‘A score that cannot be accounted for, his dreaming bitch of a daughter Ethlinn amongst them. And none of our young have been found – they were hidden in a higher chamber. Around the same number again.’ He shook his head, a wave of regret sweeping him. ‘The Benothi are close to extinction, our numbers . . .’

  ‘Too late for remorse. You’ve made your choice. And a wise one – you have chosen the victorious side. The Kadoshim walk this world, and this is only the beginning.’ Calidus grinned a smile that didn’t reach his cold eyes

  He is right. And added to that, what other road is there for me to follow? The Benothi’s fate is entwined with the Kadoshim now.

  Uthas took a shuddering breath. ‘And what now?’ he asked Calidus. ‘You have the cauldron. What would you do with it?’

  ‘Make it safe.’

  ‘It is safe enough here.’

  ‘Clearly not. We took it. No, it must be taken to Tenebral. There it will be at the centre of a web that has taken me many years to build. I will have Lykos and his Vin Thalun, and Nathair’s eagleguard to protect it, along with your Benothi and my Kadoshim.’

  Uthas frowned. ‘A long journey. Much could happen.’

  ‘Aye, but it will have an honour guard this world has never seen before. You Benothi and over a thousand Kadoshim.’

  ‘And once it is in Tenebral?’

  ‘One thing at a time. First, to journey there with the cauldron. I would have you and your Benothi build a wain for the cauldron to travel upon, sturdy and strong.’

  ‘We shall do it. To Tenebral, you say. For that you will need Nathair.’

  Calidus looked thoughtful and frowned. ‘Yes. The time has come for me to speak with our disillusioned King.’

  Calidus had tasked Uthas with keeping a watch over Nathair. During the battle he had sat on the dais steps before the cauldron, the truth of his actions unfolding before him, settling upon him like a shroud. After having believed himself to be the Seren Disglair for so long, witnessing the events he’d set in action had only left him questioning his true position. After the battle he had attempted to confront Calidus, who had just ignored him. It seemed that was the last straw for Nathair. He had flown into a rage and attacked Calidus, spraying spittle as he spat curses, denounced him as a traitor, but Uthas had grabbed Nathair, held him, and Calidus had struck him unconscious. He had then cut a lock of hair from Nathair’s head.

  ‘Where is Nathair?’ Calidus asked him.

  ‘Out there,’ Uthas waved at the gates.

  ‘Accompany me. I need Nathair’s cooperation. Some persuasion will be necessary, and your example may be helpful.’

  ‘And if he does not ag
ree?’

  ‘There is always this,’ Calidus said. He opened his cloak to show a crude clay figure, strands of dark hair embedded within it.

  Does he have strands of my hair bound within an effigy of clay? Uthas felt a shiver of fear at that thought.

  ‘But I’d rather it didn’t come to that,’ Calidus said, dropping his cloak.

  ‘Compassion?’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot,’ Calidus said with a sneer. ‘It would be one more thing that I have to maintain – it is hard work, conquering a world.’

  As they strode towards the gate one of the Kadoshim called Calidus’ name. Uthas recognized its body as Sumur, the leader of the Jehar who had followed Nathair. ‘This body,’ the Kadoshim said, its voice a serpentine growl. ‘It is weakening, not responding as it did.’

  ‘Men of flesh must eat, to restore their energy,’ Calidus said. ‘Ideally every day.’

  ‘Eat?’

  ‘You must consume sustenance: fruit, meat, many things.’ Calidus waved a hand.

  As Uthas watched, ripples of movement ran across once-Sumur’s face. The black eyes bulged, lips pulling back in a rictus of pain as a scream burst from its lips. For a moment the flesh of the face writhed, fingers trying to gouge their way out. With a twist of the neck and a groan the features became smooth again, calm, expressionless.

  ‘This human objects to my presence,’ the serpentine voice said. Something passing for a smile twisted its face, a tongue licking its lips. ‘It gives good sport.’

  Uthas was horrified. He had assumed the souls of the hosts had been displaced, were not still residing trapped within their own bodies, struggling to evict those who possessed them. He shuddered – such a thing would be a living death.

  ‘He was a master swordsman, all of your new hosts were,’ Calidus said, raising his voice to all the Kadoshim in the great hall. ‘Examine their souls, pick them apart, absorb their skills. Learn the ways of your new bodies. And eat.’

  Sibilant laughter echoed about the chamber as Calidus walked away. Uthas saw one Kadoshim drop to the ground, burying its face in the belly of a dead horse, the wet sound of flesh tearing.