Ruin

by John Gwynne

  ‘He called for you – Corban, when he saw the eagle-guard and our shield wall.’

  ‘Called for me?’ Nathair raised an eyebrow at that, for the first time looking more than mildly interested.

  ‘Aye. He called you out, declared you coward, claimed you slew his da.’

  ‘I did,’ Nathair whispered.

  ‘He challenged you to the court of swords.’

  ‘He did? Brave of him.’

  ‘Aye. I went to fight him in your place, but . . .’ He trailed off, remembering Bos dragging him back, because of the Jehar who had stood beside Corban, the one that had single-handedly slain Rauca and near a dozen other eagle-guard. He closed his eyes, the chaos and panic caused by the night raid coming back to him in vivid detail, could hear the crack of the shield wall closing up tight before him.

  ‘He got away,’ Veradis shrugged.

  ‘Aye, well. He seems to have a knack for that.’

  Veradis dropped his eyes.

  ‘It was meant to be, I suspect,’ Nathair said, his voice softening. ‘We shall meet someday, he and I, of that I have no doubt.’

  ‘Aye. As long as I am with you when that day comes. We should face him together. That is my dream – our warbands gathered behind us, facing the Black Sun and his allies, the war to be decided in one fell battle.’

  ‘That is how I imagined it, once.’

  ‘You don’t think it will happen like that?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Nathair sighed. ‘The Black Sun,’ he whispered, speaking the words as if for the first time.

  ‘Aye.’ Veradis frowned. What is wrong with him? It is as if he suffers with some malaise. ‘We will hunt him down,’ Veradis repeated, trying to stir up some spirit in his friend. ‘But first I must deal with this rebellion in Tenebral.’

  ‘Aye. It is a delicate situation,’ Nathair said. His face became stern, angry, more fire in his eyes than Veradis had witnessed since they’d been reunited. ‘But it is Tenebral. How can I lead an alliance or rule an empire if I cannot keep my own realm in order. You must be my hand of justice, Veradis.’

  ‘I know,’ Veradis said, fear edging his voice. Not fear of battle, of death, but fear of what he may have to do. My father. My brothers.

  ‘It is your kin, I know,’ Nathair said, his face softening. ‘I suspect your father’s hatred of the Vin Thalun is at the heart of it.’

  ‘And my brother’s,’ Veradis muttered. ‘Krelis despises the Vin Thalun.’

  ‘If that is the root of the problem then I think you can repair the damage that has been done. It will require some diplomacy, which is not your strongest point, but it could be done.’

  ‘Aye. If that is the problem, then I will solve it.’ But what if it is more? What if it is deeper than that? I remember how my father spoke to Nathair. Dismissing him as an arrogant boy. I chose whom I would follow that day. He took a deep breath, swallowing his worry. All choices have consequences.

  Nathair put a hand upon Veradis’ shoulder. ‘Perhaps I should send someone else, it is unfair to ask you to do this.’

  ‘No,’ Veradis said. ‘You can trust me in this.’

  ‘Trust you to do what?’

  ‘Whatever is right. To enforce your will. You are King, your will and word is law.’

  Nathair smiled, but even that was a faded shadow of its former self. His eyes narrowed as if he were in pain. ‘If you judge that force is necessary . . . tread carefully. Keep your blade sheathed until all other routes are exhausted. He is your father . . .’ Nathair looked at the palm of his hand, where he traced a white scar. Veradis had one of his own, made the night he and Nathair had sworn their oaths to one another, become brothers bound by blood. Alongside Nathair’s old scar was a new cut, pinked now, healing but obviously fresh.

  ‘What’s that?’

  Nathair stared at the new scar, then looked up at Veradis, emotion heavy within his eyes.

  ‘Someone comes,’ Alcyon said.

  ‘There you are,’ a voice called, Calidus and Sumur appearing over the crest of the dell. They marched quickly towards them.

  Nathair leaned close to Veradis. ‘It marks a new oath,’ he whispered.

  ‘A new oath? To whom?’ Veradis asked.

  Nathair’s face shifted, emotions crossing it like clouds on a windswept day. ‘Remember what I said, about your father.’

  ‘Of course,’ Veradis said. ‘Nathair, you are troubling me. What is wrong? What new oath?’

  ‘It is nothing,’ Nathair said. He turned away, back to his draig, then glanced back over his shoulder. ‘Keep a close watch on the path you follow, my friend, else one day you will look about you and not know where you are,’ Nathair said quietly.

  ‘Veradis,’ Calidus said as he reached them. ‘I have been looking for you. There are many last arrangements to speak of, before you sail.’

  ‘Of course there are,’ Veradis sighed. He was frowning, still looking at Nathair. ‘I was just . . .’

  ‘What?’ Calidus asked, his wolf eyes boring into Veradis.

  ‘Saying goodbye,’ Nathair said for him.

  ‘Ahh.’ Calidus looked between the three of them – Nathair, Veradis and Alcyon.

  Veradis looked behind Calidus to Sumur. He had seen little of the Jehar since they had arrived, so busy had he been with the organizational duties of the journey to Tenebral that he had not even had time to go and view the cauldron, something that he had dearly wanted to do.

  Seeing Sumur now he blinked and swore.

  ‘What has happened to you?’ he gasped. Sumur was clothed in his usual dark chainmail, his curved sword arching across his back; he was eating a chicken leg. His tanned skin had paled, though, veins clear beneath the skin. More striking though were his eyes. They were black, no pupil, no iris, just dark, inky wells.

  ‘A token of the battle for the cauldron,’ Calidus said. ‘Witchcraft was used by the Benothi, and the Jehar bore the brunt of it. Many died, and those who survived now bear this memento. Think of it like a scar. A badge of honour, of their bravery.’

  ‘This has happened to every one of them?’ Veradis asked.

  ‘Aye. Every last one who survived.’

  ‘What of your vision?’ Veradis said to Sumur, peering closely at the Jehar. ‘Is it hindered?’

  ‘No,’ Sumur replied, his accent thick.

  Veradis frowned, not quite believing him.

  Sumur threw his chicken leg into the air; faster than Veradis could track he drew his sword from his back and left a silver blur as the blade hissed through the air.

  The chicken leg fell to the ground, in two portions, neatly chopped in half.

  ‘See,’ Sumur said, sheathing his sword smoothly.

  Veradis shrugged. ‘Clearly your vision is fine.’

  Calidus put an arm around Veradis’ shoulder and steered him away.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you,’ Calidus said. ‘Of the rebellion in Tenebral.’

  ‘We have just been speaking of it,’ Veradis said.

  ‘No surprise, it must be on your mind.’

  ‘Aye, it is.’

  ‘Kin, eh. You can choose your friends, but not your kin,’ Calidus said. ‘My kin have had a habit of getting me into trouble. Try and find the middle ground. Avoid bloodshed if you can.’ Calidus steered him back towards Uthandun. ‘Of course he is your kin so a peaceful solution must be sought, but even putting sentiment aside, we need your father, Ripa, and his swords. Only remember, most of all you must support Lykos, not undermine him. And let your support for him be seen.’

  ‘I will. Nathair has already asked as much.’

  ‘Good. There is more, though. The situation in Tenebral is delicate.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Fidele is involved.’

  ‘Fidele, how?’

  Calidus sighed a deep breath. ‘There is no easy way to say this. I suspect that her mind is unhinged.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She has behaved most strangely, I fear there is no other explanation.
You remember when we met with Lykos at Dun Carreg, he told us of how the barons of Tenebral were manipulating Fidele, how she was proving unsuited to ruling.’

  ‘Aye. Nathair thought that she was still grieving for Aquilus.’

  ‘Yes. Well, upon Lykos’ return Fidele began behaving in ever more erratic ways. She divided the eagle-guard and sent them to the four corners of the realm on meaningless errands. She arrested Peritus and Armatus.’ He stopped walking and looked back at Nathair, checking that he was well out of earshot. ‘She wed Lykos.’

  ‘What!’ I cannot believe that. Regal, cultured Fidele and that corsair.

  ‘It is true, and Nathair cannot know. Not yet. He has too much to focus on. I need you to bring her to me, discreetly. And by that I mean secretly, in chains if needs be.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  RAFE

  Rafe threw Sniffer a strip of dried meat, the animal seeming to swallow it without chewing.

  ‘Go on, boy, after them,’ Rafe said, pointing into the distance with a flick of his wrist. Sniffer turned and loped ahead, his nose low to the ground.

  ‘How far ahead, do you think?’ Evnis asked him.

  Rafe squinted into the distance. ‘Half a day,’ he said. The Baglun Forest was a solid wall to their right, curling away westwards as they rounded its eastern fringes. Behind them a hundred warriors sat upon their horses, a mixture of men from Ardan and Cambren, though all wore Rhin’s colours.

  Rafe sucked in a deep breath, the air fresh and clean with dawn.

  I am riding at the head of a hundred shieldmen, beside Evnis my old lord and new King; it is good to be home. Good to be alive. He had not felt like this for a long time. Ever? Certainly since Da died. He felt happy. But Evnis had been so full of praise for him, had treated him so well since they had ridden out from Dun Carreg, that he found it almost impossible to feel any other way. The only blight in the ten-night since they’d left had been on the first day, when they’d ridden down the winding slope of the hill that Dun Carreg was built upon, past the wind-choked copse of trees where he had had his arm ripped open by Corban’s wolven. Memories of that day had flooded him. Idly he ran a finger down the scar on his forearm, running near enough from elbow to wrist.

  There’ll come a day of reckoning, mark my words.

  He knew why Evnis had been so full of praise for him.

  Vonn.

  Rafe had brought the news that Evnis had wanted to hear. His son was back in Ardan. Not with absolute certainty, of course. But he knew that Edana had intended to flee to the marshes in Ardan, and that when Rafe had last seen her, standing upon a ship’s deck as it sailed away from a beach in Domhain, Vonn had been standing beside her. And that pleased Evnis.

  ‘Let’s be after them, then,’ Evnis said and kicked his mount on. With a clatter of harness and the drumming of hooves the hundred-strong honour guard lurched into motion. The sun rose steadily in the east and soon Rafe was sweating.

  ‘You were a friend to my Vonn,’ Evnis said after they’d ridden some leagues in silence.

  ‘I was, my lord,’ Rafe said.

  ‘We can dispense with the “lord”, I think,’ Evnis said. ‘At least when we are alone, anyway. I have known you since you were a bairn clinging to your mam’s skirts.’ Evnis smiled good-naturedly at Rafe. ‘What kind of friend was Vonn to you?’

  ‘I always looked up to him,’ Rafe said automatically. ‘He’s a couple of years older than me, seemed like a hero. He was the best out of us all with sword and spear, always knew what to do, no matter the problem.’ He thought a bit harder. ‘He always tried to do the honourable thing.’

  ‘Hmm, yes,’ Evnis muttered. ‘That was becoming a problem.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Evnis shrugged. ‘It’s no secret that we argued. That’s why he’s been wandering about the Banished Lands, instead of riding beside me now. He was – is – young, his head still full of tales of noble warriors and deeds of valour. The world was black and white to him – good and evil. And he was in love, which didn’t help matters.’

  ‘Mordwyr’s girl,’ Rafe said.

  ‘Aye. I thought it was their secret.’

  Rafe shrugged. ‘I’m born and bred a huntsman’s son. Been used to watching, observing, reading signs.’ Spying.

  ‘I wish I’d spoken to you sooner,’ Evnis sighed. ‘As you know, I had plans. Brenin stopped me from saving my wife Fain . . .’ He fell silent, mouth twisting. ‘That is avenged now. But Vonn did not understand.’

  ‘You have to be realistic,’ Rafe said.

  ‘Exactly. Perhaps some time in the world has helped to teach that lesson to Vonn.’ Evnis sighed and shook his head.

  ‘If he is with Edana still, we will get him back,’ Rafe said. ‘We will, one way or another.’ They rode on in silence.

  Highsun came and went, the sun sinking ever westwards, sending their shadows stretching towards the first trees of the Baglun. A few hundred paces ahead a figure emerged from a copse of rowan, one man upon a horse, a hound at his side. Sniffer bounded up to them, began leaping playfully about the hound.

  ‘It is Braith,’ Rafe said to Evnis.

  ‘We are close, then,’ Evnis said.

  ‘Well met,’ Braith said as they drew near. The huntsman flashed a grin at Rafe, then dipped his head to Evnis.

  ‘Well met,’ Evnis replied, riding close and offering his arm to Braith in the warrior grip.

  ‘Halion. Where is he?’

  ‘Less than half a day ahead.’ Braith pointed into the distance, along the southern fringes of the Baglun. ‘The marshlands of Dun Crin are south and west of here, where Halion is headed, but he is keeping to the edges of the Baglun for now – more cover, is my guess.’

  ‘After him, then,’ Evnis said.

  ‘Not so hasty,’ Braith said. ‘You should lead your warband into the forest and follow along under better cover – it’s open woodland, easy enough to ride through, but it’ll hide you from prying eyes.’

  ‘Can he see us, then?’ Evnis asked, peering into the distance.

  ‘I saw you,’ Braith shrugged. ‘We don’t want to get too close or we’ll spook him, then we’ll never find Edana.’

  Evnis nodded and led his warriors into the fringes of the forest.

  ‘Not you,’ Braith said to Rafe. ‘You can ride with me.’

  They set off again, Scratcher and Sniffer leading them unerringly west, skirting the edges of the forest.

  ‘Anything to report?’ Braith asked him.

  ‘Evnis is desperate to find his son, Vonn. I saw him on the ship with Edana.’

  ‘I know,’ grunted Braith. ‘I was there.’

  ‘Thought you might have been too busy getting kicked off of the pier by Camlin to notice.’

  ‘That’s enough of your cheek, now.’ Braith’s expression shifted, a dark cloud. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘There is a resistance based in the marshes. There have been raids; nothing of any real impact yet. There is a warband down here hunting for them. Morcant leads them.’

  ‘Ahh. Not the best man for a task like this.’

  ‘How so?’ Rafe asked him.

  ‘To catch rats you need patience. Morcant is proud, impatient, spontaneous. Though I’d not tell him that to his face.’ Braith grinned. ‘He’s a rare talent with a blade.’

  ‘I know. I saw his duel against Conall. He lost, but then, so would most against Conall.’

  ‘He’s that good, Conall?’

  ‘Oh aye.’

  Braith nodded, looking thoughtful, but said no more.

  To the south the land dipped, spreading into a wide bowl of water-dappled land, dotted with patches of woodland. They passed a few villages, columns of smoke and tilled land marking them out. Rafe saw the occasional tower standing lonely on a rare hill, large pyres beside them built up high and silhouetted against the skyline. Sometimes there was a palisaded wall about the tower. It was hard to tell from that distance, but something about them suggested to Rafe that they
were recent constructions.

  As the sun began to sink behind the Baglun the hounds came to a sudden stop. They both stared into the distance, still as statues, their hackles rising.

  Rafe stared too, saw distant figures materialize in the fading light: riders, lots of them. ‘It’s Morcant, or at least a large portion of his men,’ Braith said. ‘See the banner – Rhin’s broken branch.’

  Hooves drummed behind them and Rafe turned to see Evnis approaching.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Morcant, I’m guessing,’ Braith said. ‘Do you want us to go and fetch him?’

  Evnis just sat and stared a while. ‘No,’ he said eventually. ‘I don’t want him charging in head first and scaring Halion off. We’ll likely only have one chance at this.’

  ‘I agree,’ Braith said. ‘We may as well make camp here. The dogs won’t lose Halion’s scent now. They’ve tracked him half a thousand leagues already.’

  And Vonn. That’s who Evnis really wants to find. Thing is – what will he do once he finds him?

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CAMLIN

  ‘How’re we going to get in there?’ Vonn asked Camlin.

  They were lying on a slope amidst long grass and wildflowers, staring at a palisaded tower that was built upon a low hill, a massive pyre of wood piled high about a hundred paces from the gates. The setting sun was hot upon their backs.

  ‘The wall’s not more’n two men high. Two or three of us with a lift over’ll get those gates open.’

  ‘Is that possible? There are men on the wall, at the gates. And how many more inside?’

  I’ve done it before. Many times. The last time had been at a hold south of Dun Carreg. He’d been leading the crew then, as well. It had gone smoothly at first – over the wall and gates open. Then they’d been heard and blood had been spilt. He felt a flush of shame as he remembered the women and bairns.

  Feels like a different life. A different man.

  ‘There’s not many left in there. Most of them rode out with Morcant.’

  They’d caught up with the chest of silver yesterday, after almost a ten-night of tracking it, Meg leading them through a confusing network of waterways that edged the marshes. Unfortunately, when they caught up with the wain carrying the chest, it had been surrounded by Morcant and a convoy of over two hundred swords. When Morcant had stopped in the open and made camp for the night Camlin had considered attempting to snatch the chest, but there had just been too many guards and Drust had refused to commit his men. So they’d followed Morcant and his chest of silver the next day to this tower.