Ruin

by John Gwynne

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘The spear of Skald.’

  ‘It is there still, then?’ A deep voice rumbled behind Cywen, making her jump. It was Balur. He stepped into the light.

  ‘It is,’ Tukul said. ‘I left ten of my sword-kin there to guard it.’

  ‘Ten is not a great number,’ Balur observed.

  ‘No, it is not. All the more reason to return there as quickly as we can,’ Meical said.

  ‘What is the spear of Skald?’ Corban asked.

  ‘It is one of the Seven Treasures,’ Meical answered. ‘Skald was the high king of the giants, when there was only one clan.’

  ‘Aye, before we were Sundered,’ Balur said. ‘The spear was not his. It was used to slay him, and it was left in his body; thus ever since it has been named Skald’s spear.’

  ‘It is in his body still,’ Tukul said. ‘Or what is left of his body. We did not move it.’

  ‘You have spoken of the Seven Treasures before,’ Corban said. ‘Forged from the starstone?’

  ‘Aye, that is right,’ Balur said.

  ‘The cauldron is the most powerful. Together the Treasures can form a gateway between the Otherworld and this world of flesh,’ Meical said, locking his gaze with Corban’s. ‘That is why Calidus seeks them. The cauldron is one. The axe is another. To thwart Asroth they must be destroyed.’

  ‘But we have the axe. Let us destroy it now – if Asroth needs all Seven Treasures then he will be defeated.’ Corban sounded excited. ‘We can end this now.’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that,’ Meical said. ‘To be destroyed, the Treasures must all be gathered together.’

  ‘There’s always a catch with these things,’ Dath muttered. Coralen punched his shoulder.

  ‘So Calidus has the cauldron, and we have the axe.’

  ‘And we have the spear,’ Tukul said. ‘In Drassil.’

  ‘Do you understand now?’ Meical asked Corban. ‘There are good reasons to go to Drassil. The spear must be made safe.’

  Corban gazed into the fire. ‘What you say, it does make sense. I just . . . my oath.’

  ‘There are other options,’ Meical said. ‘Send word to Edana. Perhaps she will join us. The danger is wasting time, Corban. The world will not stand still and wait for you. Asroth is moving. Calidus also seeks Drassil. He has not been able to find it, yet, but it is only a matter of time.’

  ‘I would not break my oath.’

  As Cywen watched, emotions swept Corban’s face: doubt, anger, pain, settling into one she recognized well.

  Pig-headedness.

  ‘Calidus has been laying plans for many years.’

  ‘Calidus,’ Corban said, the hatred he felt for him apparent to all. ‘Tell me of him.’

  ‘He is high captain of the Kadoshim, second only to Asroth,’ Meical said, ‘as I am high captain of the Ben-Elim. He is cunning, deadly, utterly devoted to his cause.’

  ‘I will see him dead,’ Corban said, his voice flat, emotionless.

  ‘We could go back, slay him now,’ a new voice said. Akar the Jehar, who had been sitting quietly, listening the whole time. ‘Calidus is the puppet-master in all of this: Asroth’s will made flesh. Kill him and the war is won.’

  ‘And how would we kill him?’ Gar asked. There was something in his tone – not quite scorn.

  ‘With a sword in our hands, courage in our hearts,’ Akar spat back.

  Tukul rested a hand on Akar’s wrist. ‘We would fail. He is surrounded by a thousand Kadoshim clothed in Jehar bodies, all that strength and skill at their disposal. Corban would most likely be slain, and the war would be lost.’

  ‘It can be done,’ Akar insisted.

  ‘Your shame blinds you. You were deceived and there is no dishonour in that. Sumur is responsible. As for you; master your emotions, see clearly. Meical and Corban are right. We will fight other battles first, wait for a better time.’

  ‘And if there is no better time?’

  ‘Then we will die then, instead of now.’

  Corban stood. ‘Meical, all of you, thank you for your wisdom, your guidance. You’ve given me much to think on. There is so much to consider . . .’ He fell silent, eyes distant. ‘I have not decided, but my heart whispers to me that I should find Edana. I don’t say this out of stubbornness . . .’

  Really?

  ‘I gave my word, and it seems to me that our hearts, our oaths, our choices make the difference between us and them.’ He glanced over his shoulder, northwards, into the night. His eyes came back to them, settling upon Cywen. ‘And I know, if my mam and da could see me from across the bridge of swords, they would want me to keep my oath. Truth and courage, they taught me. I’d not let them down.’ With that he turned and walked away. Storm appeared out of the darkness and padded alongside him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  FIDELE

  Fidele held a knife to the Vin Thalun’s throat as Maquin bound the man’s hands about the trunk of a tree.

  Lykos’ secret, Fidele repeated the words their prisoner had uttered back at the woodcutters’ cabin. The giantess and her whelp. Those words had kept him alive, at least for a little while longer.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Maquin had asked.

  ‘I’ll show you,’ the pirate had said, refusing to comment further, even when Maquin had put his knife to the man’s throat and drawn blood.

  Fidele and Maquin had shared a look, both of them intrigued. Fidele had changed into the breeches and woollen tunic Maquin had stolen for her. Then they had walked into the forest, Fidele a pace behind Maquin, who held his knife close to the Vin Thalun’s back, following a path that was little wider than a fox’s trail. As far as Fidele could make out, the Vin Thalun led them south, which was fine by her as it was away from Jerolin and Lykos. They passed through rolling woodland that turned steadily thicker. Dusk settled over them quickly, the forest becoming a place of dense shadows and eerie sounds, and now darkness was thick about them. The trail ahead was almost invisible. They’d stopped for the night; their prisoner sat with his back to a tree, arms bound about it.

  ‘No fire,’ Maquin said as Fidele passed the knife back to him and started gathering forest litter. Fidele frowned. Walking through the forest she had been sweating, but soon after they stopped she felt cold, shivering despite the cloak Maquin had stolen for her. The thought of a fire had lifted her spirits for a moment. She forgave Maquin when he opened the cloak that he was using as a makeshift sack, revealing a round of cheese and a leg of cold mutton. Fidele’s stomach growled at the sight of it. Maquin cut her a slice of each and she set to devouring them.

  ‘Any spare?’ the Vin Thalun asked them. Maquin gave him a flat stare but said nothing.

  Starve, you animal, Fidele thought. Just the sight of the Vin Thalun, his dark beard bound with iron rings, his sun-weathered skin, even the way he looked at her, all reminded her of Lykos. A tremor ran through her at the thought of the Vin Thalun King, part fear, part hatred.

  Shame and anger followed quickly. I am a coward, pathetic. But why do I still fear him? I stabbed him, maybe killed him. But when she thought of Lykos, she didn’t see him collapsed and bleeding in the arena. No, she smelt him, his sour breath in her face, felt his hands gripping her, his will controlling her.

  No! An inner scream. I will not be ruled by him still. And even if he does still live, he no longer has the effigy. He has no power over me. She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms. If I believed that, I would have walked back to Jerolin, not be sitting here, shivering and starving with a pirate and a trained killer.

  Her gaze shifted to Maquin; his face was all hard lines and shifting shadows in the moonlight, his eyes dark wells. She had seen him kill in the arena, both in single combat and against many. She was no stranger to death, had witnessed combat first-hand, seen life-blood spilt, heard death cries, had seen warriors in battle, straddling that line between life and death. None had seemed as ruthless, as devoid of emotion as the man before her. She had watched him with a
mixture of revulsion and fascination, in all her years never having seen someone deal out death so efficiently. Old Wolf, they called him in the arena. The name fits him. Lean, explosively violent, patient in combat, unrelenting.

  Maybe he sensed her watching him, for his head turned. She could not tell if he returned her gaze, his eyes in shadow. Nevertheless she looked away.

  ‘I know you,’ the Vin Thalun said to Fidele, breaking into her thoughts. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be enjoying your wedding night round about now?’

  ‘Shut up,’ Fidele snapped, instantly annoyed with herself at the emotion in her voice.

  ‘Got a long walk on the morrow,’ the Vin Thalun said. ‘Starve me and I’ll be too weak to show you the way to Lykos’ pets.’

  ‘Huh,’ snorted Maquin.

  Fidele regarded the Vin Thalun silently. He is younger than he looks – twenty summers, maybe, not much more. And he is someone’s son. At that thought an image of Nathair filled her mind. My son. Where is he? Halfway across the Banished Lands? Alive or dead? Someone’s prisoner? If he is, I hope that he will at least be fed, given water. She focused back on the Vin Thalun before her and felt a flush of shame at her earlier willingness to starve him. I will not become that which I hate. ‘Here,’ Fidele said, cutting a slice of cheese for the warrior.

  ‘Don’t know how long that has to last us,’ Maquin commented, looking at the cheese.

  ‘We are human beings, not animals,’ Fidele said, the words aimed at herself as much as anyone else.

  ‘Don’t think you’d get the same treatment if things were the other way around.’

  ‘I know I wouldn’t. I have a very good idea how I would have been treated. But I will not make myself . . . less.’

  Maquin said no more, just watched as Fidele offered the cheese to the Vin Thalun.

  Their prisoner glanced at his bound arms, then opened his mouth. Fidele hesitated.

  ‘I won’t bite. Think your hound might have his knife out quick if I did. I’ve seen him in the pit and arena. Seen what he can do.’

  Maquin’s gaze snapped onto him at that, something predatory in the movement, threatening.

  ‘No offence meant by that,’ the Vin Thalun continued, ‘made a lot of money out of you, Old Wolf. Seen you come through some pretty thin odds.’

  ‘They were lives. Other men’s lives. Not odds,’ Fidele said.

  Maquin’s eyes shifted to Fidele.

  ‘Aye. Well, he carved them up real good, whatever you want to call them.’

  Fidele broke a piece off the cheese and put it in the man’s mouth, glad that it shut him up for a few moments.

  Sounds rang out abruptly, branches snapping, footfalls thudding. Voices called to one another, sounding close. Fidele’s heart was instantly pounding, the fear of capture filling her mind. Maquin went from sitting to standing in one fluid movement. Fidele didn’t see him draw his knife, but it was suddenly in his hand. He stood poised, listening.

  There was the sound of iron clashing. Screams. Further away? Closer? I cannot tell. Fidele felt a moment of panic, took a deep breath to calm herself.

  ‘Don’t make a sound,’ Maquin whispered, ‘and do not come after me. I won’t be long.’ Then he slipped amongst the trees, merging with the darkness.

  That’s what you said last time, at the woodcutters’ cabin.

  Fidele counted time in heartbeats, the forest now eerily silent except for the sigh of the wind through trees, the creak of branches. Sporadically she’d hear a shout, a battle-cry, a scream, then nothing again.

  ‘I’m still hungry,’ the Vin Thalun said. She looked at him, knew that he must be weighing up whether to call out or not. She had been tempted by the same thought. But who would come if either of them cried out? Friend or foe? Not worth the risk, Fidele had concluded, and, judging by his silence, the pirate agreed.

  ‘My name is Senios,’ the pirate said. ‘Just a man, like you said. And I’m still hungry.’ Fidele gave him some more. As the cheese touched his lips he burst into movement, jerking against the tree trunk, his legs whipping round to coil about her, dragging her close. She sucked in a lungful of air to cry out, then his head was snapping forward, crunching into her cheek. Her vision contracted, an explosion of light and darkness inside her head, and she felt her body slumping. No! she yelled at herself, feeling her awareness flutter. Not, a victim – never again . . . She reached a hand down the pirate’s body, between his legs, grabbing and twisting. She heard a scream, wasn’t sure for a moment if it was her or the Vin Thalun, then the grip in his legs about her was gone and she was pushing away, crawling across the ground, the pirate gagging behind her, gasping for air.

  A figure loomed out of the shadows, Maquin. He paused a moment, taking the scene in, then exploded into motion, a boot crunching into the Vin Thalun’s head. He sagged against his bonds, unconscious, blood and saliva dribbling from his slack jaw.

  Maquin was beside Fidele. ‘Has he hurt you?’

  ‘I, no, it’s nothing,’ Fidele said, one hand to her face.

  Maquin gently lifted her, fingers touching her cheek. It throbbed.

  ‘You’ll have a bruise the size of my fist, but you’ll live.’ He looked at the unconscious Vin Thalun, took a step towards him.

  ‘Don’t,’ Fidele said. Maquin frowned at her.

  ‘It’s not compassion. I’d happily kill him myself. But I want to see these giants.’

  ‘It could just be a lie, to prolong his life, give him a chance to escape.’

  Fidele shrugged. ‘Perhaps. Give him one day – if we haven’t seen these giants by dusk on the morrow . . .’

  ‘We’ll kill him. You sure you can deal with that?’

  ‘Yes. It will be an execution, not a murder – he is an enemy of my realm.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘What was out there,’ Fidele nodded at the darkness.

  ‘Death,’ Maquin muttered. ‘Vin Thalun chasing men of Tenebral – I glimpsed a few, running. They wore Tenebral’s eagle. They were a way off, running east, away from us. You should get some sleep.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can,’ she said.

  ‘You’re going to need your strength.’ He paused, his face softening for an instant. ‘You’ll be safe.’ He didn’t say more, didn’t need to. It sounded foolish – they were fleeing, cold, hungry, in a forest surrounded by enemies – yet, looking at Maquin, she did feel safe. She also felt suddenly exhausted.

  ‘You’ll need to sleep, too. Wake me later.’

  ‘I will,’ Maquin grunted and Fidele curled up on the ground, pulling her cloak about her. Forest litter crunched beneath her as she shifted, lumps in the ground digging into her back. Eventually she found a position that was vaguely comfortable and she tried to remain still. An owl hooted nearby, making her jump. I may as well sit watch with Maquin, I’ll never sleep out here.

  Something shook her and she opened her eyes to weak sunlight. A shadow hovered nearby, features pulling into focus.

  For a moment she thought it was Lykos, his face dark and tanned, eyes boring into her. She gasped and jerked away.

  ‘Sorry,’ Maquin mumbled, ‘didn’t mean to startle you.’ He stepped back.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said, her voice a croak. ‘I thought you were . . .’ She trailed off as a score of pains made themselves known, reminding her she’d slept on the forest floor. She groaned and hesitantly stretched, testing the pains. When she’d established that she was not completely crippled she tentatively stood, leaning on a nearby tree.

  ‘First night in the wild,’ Maquin said. A flicker of a smile creased his face.

  ‘It’s daylight,’ she said, her cheek aching as she spoke, a memento of the Vin Thalun’s blow.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘You were supposed to wake me.’

  He just shrugged and passed her a water skin. She drank thirstily, then glanced at the Vin Thalun, who sat with his back against the tree, arms still bound about it. His jaw was swollen, bruised almost black. He returned h
er gaze with open malevolence.

  ‘Senios, how far to this place?’ Fidele asked him. Maquin raised an eyebrow at the use of the Vin Thalun’s name.

  He mumbled something, grimaced, a line of spittle dribbling from the corner of his mouth. Fidele made out what sounded like ‘Half-day.’

  ‘His jaw is broken,’ Maquin said. ‘Don’t expect too much conversation from him today.’

  Senios led them on into the forest, Maquin a pace behind him. Sunlight slanted through the trees; birdsong drifted down from above.

  Time passed, the sun sliding across the canopy above. Fidele heard the sound of running water, faint at first. Soon they reached the banks of a river, its waters dark, wide and sluggish. Alder and willow lined the bank, willow branches draped across their path, dangling into the river. The sun was straight above when Senios stopped.

  ‘Bend,’ he said, pointing ahead.

  ‘What are we going to see?’ Maquin growled.

  ‘A ship. Vin Thalun. The giants.’ His words were slurred.

  ‘How many Vin Thalun?’

  Senios held both hands up.

  ‘Ten?’ Maquin asked. Senios shrugged.

  ‘We’ll go together. Any noise, any movement that I don’t tell you to do, you’ll feel my blade.’ He drew his knife, emphasizing his point.

  Slowly they crept forwards. They turned the bend; reeds grew thick and tall along the bank, then Fidele heard voices.

  Maquin crouched low, dragging Senios down with him, and motioned for Fidele to do the same. They moved into the bank of reeds, inched their way closer to the river’s edge. Sweat stung Fidele’s eyes. With every movement the reeds rustled and she expected warning cries to ring out. She could see the river through gaps in the reeds, saw the outline of a long and sleek ship resembling a Vin Thalun war-galley, only smaller. It had no mast, but a row of oars raised out of the water – ten, she counted. So that’s twenty oars – twenty men, double what Senios told us. And there could be more. At the rear of the ship was a large cabin. Figures moved on the deck, others were on the far bank, where a wide fire-pit had been dug. Near them, a great moss-covered stone slab rose from the ground. Lines dissected it, too straight to be natural. Giant runes? Something about it was strange, unnatural. An iron ring dangled from it.