Ruin

by John Gwynne

  Camlin and the three of them had spent half the day creeping closer to the fortification. When the sun was a shield of fire shimmering above the Baglun the gates had opened, Morcant riding out at the head of at least two hundred warriors. They had headed east, the sound of their horses hooves fading like distant thunder.

  ‘We should strike just before dawn,’ Camlin said, looking at Drust.

  The ageing warrior stared at Camlin. ‘I’ll not risk my men’s lives for nothing. You are sure the chest is in there?’

  ‘Aye. We saw it carried in there upon a wain, and it hasn’t come out. And Morcant just left with his warband. No wain.’

  ‘He’d have left men to guard it, though.’

  ‘Of course, but not many. I’ve counted six on this watch – there’ll be double that, then maybe a dozen others to keep the place running, no more’n that. Remember, Morcant’s a proud, arrogant bastard and the chest’s in his tower, behind a wall and a score of men. He doesn’t think anyone’d have the stones to try and take his silver.’

  Drust smiled at that. ‘Put that way it’s a hard challenge to resist.’

  ‘Now,’ Camlin whispered and ran, stooping low to the ground, his eyes never leaving the palisaded wall he was approaching. He heard the thud of Vonn’s footsteps behind him, Baird, Brogan and a few others as well.

  They approached from the south-west in the dim of false dawn, the tower a solid blackness amongst the shadows. They headed for a dark patch of wall between two torches, Camlin picking up his speed as he neared the wall, twenty paces, his heartbeat loud as a drum in his ears.

  Almost there.

  The slope was gentle but Camlin was still breathing hard when his back finally touched the wall, the timber planks smelling sweet and leaking amber.

  Other figures reached the wall about him and he searched out Brogan, nodding to the big man from Domhain. Brogan cupped his hands, Camlin put a foot in them, and then he was being hoisted into the air, hands gripping the wall’s rim and he was over. For a horrifying moment his slung bow snagged on the wall. He wriggled, trying not to snap the string, then he was free. He dropped to a walkway with hardly a sound, hand searching for the hilt of his knife.

  Baird appeared heartbeats later, the one-eyed warrior grinning like a fool, Vonn and three more following shortly behind.

  Camlin closed his eyes and listened. Heard the deep lowing of auroch nearby, further off the whinny of a horse. Nothing else.

  Place like this should always have a hound or two. Or a wolven. Or a crow. He missed Corban’s company, and the reassurance of Storm and Craf.

  He rose to a crouch and moved along the walkway, Vonn following him, Baird and the other three dropping to the hard ground and shadowing them.

  The torchlight over the gates grew quickly closer, two men standing within the circle of light. On the ground there were two more guards, and nearby the window of a small guardhouse bloomed orange with firelight.

  Another in there, most likely. He gestured to Baird, then, a handspan from the edge of the light, he put one knee on the walkway, pulled and nocked an arrow, drew and released.

  The first warrior toppled and fell with hardly a sound, until he hit the ground with a thud. Vonn had surged past Camlin the moment his arrow had left the string, his sword scraping from its scabbard, the second guard turning weary eyes their way. With a flash of red in the torchlight Vonn’s sword ripped the guard’s throat open.

  He saw Baird pausing for a moment in the doorway to the guardhouse. Camlin leaped to the ground, regretting it as he felt the impact in his knees. Vonn ran down the stairs to stand beside him.

  I’m getting too old for this. He winced at the throbbing in his knees.

  Vonn looked to him, the young warrior’s face all dark pools of shadow and flickering torchlight. Together they shouldered the bar from the gates and pushed them open.

  Brogan’s grinning face greeted them, standing at the head of fifteen warriors, Drust amongst them.

  Camlin held a finger to his lips and led them into the hold.

  Between scaling the wall and killing the gate guards true dawn had arrived, and now buildings were materializing out of the uniform shadow. The men moved methodically, checking the buildings as they went. All were empty apart from one – a naked man and woman wrapped around one another in a cot.

  Wife or whore? Probably whore, as there seem to be no families here, no bairns or other women, no signs of permanent settlement.

  The man was snoring. A helmet and leather cuirass hung over the end of the bed, scabbarded sword leaning against a chair. His eyes flickered open and he opened his mouth to cry out but Camlin’s sword-point at his throat silenced him.

  Kill him, move on. Time is short.

  Camlin drew his arm back, tensed for the killing thrust, the warrior on the bed frozen. Yet he hesitated.

  For a moment he felt as if he was back in Braith’s crew, knew he would have cut the warrior’s throat without a second thought.

  I’m not that man now.

  The door creaked and Vonn entered, eyes moving from Camlin to the two upon the bed.

  The moment stretched.

  ‘Bind them,’ Camlin said, holding his sword ready as Vonn tore strips from the warrior’s cloak and bound and gagged the two on the bed.

  They moved on, past a small smithy and a stable; beyond them was the tower that the fortification was built around. An open space ringed the tower and Camlin stopped in the shadows of the stable, gestured to Drust and the others to do the same, then nocked an arrow and waited.

  It only took a few moments for the tower doors to swing open, revealing a small feast-hall. Warriors emerged, three of them, others clustered behind. Camlin’s first arrow hit one through the eye and he collapsed bonelessly; his second arrow punched into a warrior high in his chest, piercing leather vest and woollen shirt beneath, sending him stumbling back into someone behind. Others came out, shields raised. Camlin sent another arrow into an exposed thigh. Another dinged off an iron helm, the man staggering, and then Drust’s men were amongst them. Camlin dropped his bow and drew his sword.

  Vonn was ahead of him. He had no shield and so was sending controlled strokes at ankles and heads. Beside him Brogan roared into the fray, face twisted like a madman, swinging an overhead blow crashing into a shield with such force that the rim crumpled, his blade carrying on to crush a helm. The warrior collapsed, dead or unconscious. Brogan leaped over him as he roared a battle-cry.

  With his left hand Camlin pulled a knife from his belt and joined the battle.

  Baird was retreating before a man who knew how to use his shield. Camlin stepped in close on the man’s flank and stabbed his sword behind the shield, felt it scrape along knuckles and flesh.

  The warrior lowered his shield, blood dripping from the rim and lunged wildly at Camlin. Baird punched his sword-point into the warrior’s face and he collapsed in an explosion of bone and brains. Two of Drust’s men were battering at an enemy, pushing him back into the doorway of the tower. There was a hissing noise and suddenly a spear sprouted through one of Drust’s warriors, dropping him. Camlin glanced behind, searching for the spear-thrower. He was standing on the walkway of the palisade, over a hundred paces away, three or four other warriors in black and gold about him.

  Hell of a throw, that.

  The battle here was moving inside the feast-hall, only a handful of Morcant’s men left. Camlin grabbed Vonn, Brogan and Baird and pointed to the men on the wall. With only a fierce grin from Brogan they set off running, Camlin stooping to retrieve his bow.

  A hundred paces closer and Camlin saw the warrior who had cast the spear take his comrade’s spear. Camlin skidded to a halt, drew an arrow as he saw the warrior aim for Camlin’s comrades. Camlin sucked in a breath, held it, drew back the arrow until the feathers brushed his cheek, then released.

  Camlin’s arrow hit the man at the base of his throat, just above the rim of his cuirass. He crashed back a couple of paces into the wall and toppl
ed over it. Then Brogan and Baird were charging up the stairs, Vonn right behind them. Camlin launched another arrow before they clashed, sending another warrior in black and gold reeling. He slung his bow and ran, drawing his sword as he reached the stairs. By the time he made it to the top the remaining enemy were dead, Vonn, Baird and Brogan all blood-spattered and breathing heavily.

  The sun had risen fully now. Inside the hold the clash of arms still rang out, but it was the sound of only a few men.

  It is done. We’ve taken it. Camlin gave his friends a savage grin. ‘We’ve done it, lads.’

  He told Vonn and Brogan to put on black and gold cloaks and patrol the walkway. ‘Keep an eye out, just in case Morcant forgot something,’ he grinned again.

  ‘Aye, chief,’ Brogan said. Camlin quite liked the sound of that.

  He headed back to the tower with Baird, found Drust putting his men to work, dragging the dead out into an open space before the tower.

  ‘Twenty-one of Morcant’s dead,’ Drust said as Camlin approached.

  ‘There’s another six dead on the wall,’ Camlin said with a jerk of his thumb over a shoulder. ‘Five more at the gates.’

  ‘Thirty-two, then. More than you guessed. Bad odds for my men, bad guess from you.’

  ‘How many dead of ours?’ Camlin asked.

  ‘Three,’ Drust said.

  ‘Don’t know what dice you’ve been playing but that sounds like good odds to me,’ Baird said.

  ‘A risk worth taking,’ Camlin added. ‘We need that chest of silver.’

  They found the chest in a room at the back of the first floor. Camlin just smiled when they opened its lid, the silver glowing in reflected torchlight.

  Half a dozen men carried it out while others found the wain it had arrived in and harnessed an auroch up to it. When Camlin emerged from the tower the day was bright, all of the enemy warriors stripped of their useful items – weapons, boots, armour, warrior torcs.

  ‘Take their cloaks,’ Camlin said to Drust. ‘Anything else with Rhin’s colours or sigil.’

  ‘We’ll not be wearing Rhin’s black and gold,’ he spluttered.

  ‘Might come in handy,’ Camlin said with a shrug. ‘This is the second newly built tower we’ve passed in the last ten-night. My guess is they’re in your – the resistance’s – honour. Might have to do something about that.’

  ‘What do you think they’re up to?’

  ‘Flushing you out. Morcant wants results. Did you see the pyre piled high out on the hill? Looks suspiciously like a warning beacon to me.’

  Drust nodded thoughtfully. ‘Let’s get that chest onto a boat.’

  They left the hold behind; the ground levelled as they approached the marsh. Meg came scampering out from a tall bank of sedge.

  ‘There’s someone over there, on the north slope in the long grass. He’s watching you. Best not look – don’t think he can see us from where he is, but better safe than sorry.’

  ‘How many?’ Camlin asked.

  ‘Just one that I saw,’ she shrugged. ‘Could be more. Saw him hobble his horse and sneak closer. He was good at it.’

  ‘Better get this chest loaded,’ Drust said. ‘I’ll send a few swords to poke him out of the long grass.’

  ‘Best not kick the nest till you know how deep it goes,’ Camlin said. ‘I left Vonn and Brogan walking the walls in black and gold; that should buy us some time. Get everyone out of that hold and into the marshes, but calmly. No rushing. I’ll go and take a look at our uninvited guest.’

  Drust caught his arm and stared at him. ‘You did well, Camlin. I may have judged you wrong.’

  ‘Too early for back-slapping,’ Camlin said gruffly. ‘We’re not out of this yet.’

  Camlin left them to it, slipping into a bank of tall sedge, Meg at his heels.

  ‘Best stay here, lassie,’ he said to her. ‘Don’t want you getting hurt.’

  ‘I can look after myself,’ she sniffed. ‘And you don’t know where he is.’

  Camlin took a moment. ‘All right, come part of the way. Stop when I tell you.’ He held her eyes until she nodded.

  They looped wide around the hill, following the sedge and willows that grew thick on the marshland’s border, eventually replacing that cover for tall witch-grass. Camlin stooped low, following narrow trails through the grass that spoke of foxes and weasels, curling slowly north-east around the base of the hill.

  ‘Over there,’ Meg eventually whispered to him, pointing towards a gnarly old elm that grew in the meadow on the north side of the tower.

  ‘All right, lass. You get on back to your boat, now.’

  She nodded, flashed him a grin and disappeared back into the meadow grass.

  It was highsun when he saw the horse tied on the far side of the elm, a dapple-grey mare. He edged closer, saw it was fitted with what looked like good-quality but travel-sore kit, the saddle-blanket fine wool but mud-spattered and its edges fraying. He scanned the area between the elm and the tower, eyes methodically running over every patch of ground.

  There.

  A shadow in the grass, a flicker of movement. Slowly he pulled an arrow from his quiver, quieter than the sighing of the grass, then crept closer, eyes flitting between each new space for his feet and the shadow up ahead.

  At the edge of his vision he saw a figure walking along the tower wall, knew without having to focus that it was Brogan. Closer and closer he inched, until the whole figure was outlined in shadow through the grass, now only twenty paces ahead.

  Close enough that I won’t miss, too far for a dash with a sword.

  He straightened and drew his bow, the wood creaking.

  The man in front of him froze, hearing the sound. He held his hands out, showing they were empty.

  He knows what a drawn bow sounds like.

  ‘Nice and slow, turn around now.’

  The man turned.

  Elyon’s stones, it cannot be. Then Camlin was blinking, lowering his bow, rushing forwards to embrace the man before him, caught up in a bear hug in return.

  It was Halion.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  EVNIS

  Evnis rode amongst the wide-spread trees, dappled sunlight slanting in from the east. His eyes constantly drifted out onto the meadow to where Braith and Rafe rode, the two grey hounds ahead of them. Beyond them sunlight glistened on a thousand waterways, the marshlands opening up like a jewel-crusted spider web of streams and rivers, fragmented by drab, impenetrable clusters of woodland.

  Is Vonn truly out there? When Rafe had walked into the feast-hall and told him that Vonn was most likely back in Ardan it had hit him like a punch in the gut.

  What will I say to him? Will I ask him for forgiveness? Will I scold him for a fool? He recoiled at that thought. No, I will not drive him away. Not again. I will reason with him. He has had a taste of the real world now, surely his notions of honour and glory have been doused with a good dose of reality.

  ‘My lord,’ Glyn said close by, startling him from his reverie.

  ‘What is it?’ Evnis asked, more irritably than he had intended.

  ‘Rafe’s coming.’

  Indeed he was. Evnis raised his hand, his warband stuttering to a halt amongst the shadow-drenched woods.

  ‘Braith thinks you should join us,’ Rafe said as he entered beneath the first branches.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Dogs are acting strange, and there’s something up ahead, in the distance. Looks like a tower.’

  ‘It may be one of Morcant’s. I received a message from him some time ago that he was considering building a series of watchtowers around the marshes. I told him to do whatever he liked, so long as it ended in rebels swinging from a noose.’ Laughter sputtered fitfully through the warriors at his back.

  ‘Maybe it’s one of them, then. But still, the dogs. Think we’re getting close to Halion.’

  Evnis sat there a moment, felt a lightness in his chest, excitement and fear mixed.

  ‘Glyn, send two men
with a change of horse. Tell them to ride and bring Morcant back. Quickly.’

  ‘Aye,’ Glyn grunted.

  ‘And give me that,’ Evnis said, pointing at a horn hanging from a hook on Glyn’s saddle.

  ‘Come on, then,’ Evnis said as he kicked his horse into a trot. Rafe caught up with him and they rode into the meadow.

  Evnis crept through the long grass, occasionally catching a glimpse of the tower.

  My back aches. He’d joined Braith and ridden through the meadows for a while, but then the hounds had become excited, so agitated that they had been forced to dismount and creep through the meadow grass, crouching low. It felt as if they’d been walking for a ten-night, but in truth it was only a little past highsun. Long enough to cripple my back. I am a king now; I should not be slinking through the grass like a snake. Not for the first time he reminded himself why he was here. Edana, a threat to my crown. And Vonn, my son. Just a little more patience and all will be well. Edana dead, Vonn back at my side. And I can do patience. There have been years of waiting, and now my dream is reality. I rule Ardan. At first it had been the most overwhelmingly euphoric feeling, just knowing that he was king. Lord of all he surveyed. Crossing Stonegate as the lord of Dun Carreg, walking into the feast-hall as king. Not king, a voice whispered in his head. As Rhin’s regent.

  That does not matter. The reality is that I rule.

  Rafe stopped in front of him and Evnis almost collided with him. He slipped to the side, saw the two hounds a dozen paces ahead, their whole bodies trembling, tense as drawn bowstrings. They were staring straight ahead. Rafe put a hand on each one and they seemed to calm, marginally.