Ruin

by John Gwynne

  ‘Do you recognize that?’ Coralen asked Yalric – hailing from Gramm’s hold he was the only one of them that had any experience of Forn.

  ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘But I have never travelled deep into Forn. Strange things live beyond its fringes.’

  As you’ve told me before. Yalric was deeply superstitious and always making the ward against evil, but Coralen had come to find him an intuitive tracker and as brave as Storm when he could see that he was fighting flesh and blood and not a demon from the Otherworld.

  Wait until he meets the Kadoshim.

  The smell became progressively worse. Coralen’s horse started shying, the mare’s ears flattening to her head.

  ‘Perhaps we should stop, go back,’ Yalric muttered, wrestling with his reins and snapping a command at his horse. ‘Whatever is making that smell, it’s nothing good.’

  Coralen frowned at him. We need to know what’s causing them to behave like this.

  In the end Coralen slid from her saddle, the others doing the same. Teca stayed with the horses and Coralen led Enkara and Yalric on. The smell was so intense now that she was fighting the urge to gag.

  About fifty paces ahead something appeared on the ground – a series of mounds, more of them coming into focus, Coralen counting thirty or forty as they drew closer. She paused before the first one, a mound about chest high. It was steaming – a few of them were, others were hard-crusted and frozen with the cold. The stench was overwhelming, crawling up her nostrils, coating the back of her throat. Coralen prodded the mound in front of her. Beetles seethed out from it, covered in viscous slime.

  It’s dung.

  Something was poking out of it. Not seeming able to stop herself, Coralen grabbed it and pulled; a knobbly bone emerged from the pile of steaming dung.

  This is not good.

  Just beyond the dung piles there was a dip in the land, invisible until you were this close. Coralen crept to its edge and peered down a long, gentle slope. At its base there was a hillock, its peak not quite as high as the ground Coralen was standing upon, made of craggy black rock coated with thin soil and patches of grass. Caves dotted it, eight, ten, more than Coralen could see, dark openings that bored into the black rock.

  Enkara touched her shoulder and indicated that they should leave.

  Coralen nodded and started to inch backwards when in the darkness of one of the caves something moved. A hulking shadow emerged, lizard-like but huge, its squat body low to the ground, legs splayed and ending in clawed feet, a long thick-muscled neck with a broad, flat muzzled head and sharp fangs.

  A draig.

  The three of them stood frozen a moment, desperate to move, too scared to make a sound.

  The draig raised its head, a long tongue flickering from its jaws, tasting the air. Abruptly it went still, completely motionless, then its head snapped up and it stared straight at them.

  It roared.

  Like a release from a spell the three of them were sprinting back towards the horses.

  Coralen skirted a tree and saw Teca a hundred paces away.

  She glanced over her shoulder, saw the draig explode over the slope, all fangs, muscle and jaws kicking up earth as its claws raked the ground.

  Teca’s eyes bulged and she leaped into her saddle, tried to lead the horses towards Coralen and the others but the horses were neighing wildly, rearing and kicking.

  There was a huge crack behind Coralen, the draig ploughing into a tree in its haste to reach them. It roared, making the world shake. It sounded as if it was almost upon them.

  Then Coralen was swinging into her saddle, her horse almost mad with fear. She saw Yalric yelling curses at his horse as it powered away past her, heard hooves pounding behind her, then a collision, a horse screaming, bones crunching.

  Fear had her in a grip she’d never known before. She was too scared even to look back. Ride, just ride, get away.

  Another scream from behind her, this time human.

  Enkara.

  She heaved at her reins, her mount slowing, skidding to a halt, and looked back.

  The draig was crouched over a horse, one claw upon its neck, pinning it as it bucked and writhed, the draig’s jaws slick with blood as it tore bloody holes in the animal’s side. Enkara was squirming on the ground, one leg trapped under the fallen horse.

  Before she could think Coralen was kicking her horse into movement, swearing and cursing at it when it resisted, eventually acquiescing to its rider and moving hesitantly back towards the draig. Teca appeared from the left, her bow nocked, Yalric riding back to them, an axe in his hand.

  We can’t fight it – look at the power of it. But maybe . . .

  Coralen shouted to Teca and Yalric and then she was picking up speed, a trot to a canter, her mount back under her control now.

  Enkara was still pinned, the weight of the draig upon the horse grinding her leg into the forest litter. Teca and Yalric rode at the draig, both of them sighting their weapons and loosing while their mounts were moving. Teca’s arrow sank into the soft flesh between its foreleg and torso, Yalric’s axe bouncing off of its head with a dull thud.

  Thicker skull than a bear, then.

  The draig swung its head about, confused for a moment, then bellowed, shifting its weight momentarily off of the horse. In an instant Enkara had pulled free and was on her feet, lurching into a hobbling run. Coralen guided her horse close and grabbed Enkara’s forearm, swinging her into the saddle behind her and then she was off, kicking her horse hard, letting it do exactly what it wanted most in the world – gallop as fast as it possibly could away from the draig. A hasty glance over her shoulder and Coralen saw that Teca and Yalric were following behind, the draig obviously deciding that more chasing was not necessary when it had a tasty meal under one claw.

  ‘Can we go back to Drassil, now?’ Enkara shouted in Coralen’s ear.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  CAMLIN

  Camlin felt a sharp pain in his back, Braith’s sword-tip prodding him, directing him to walk on. The snow had stopped falling now and was turning to slush under his boots. Vonn trudged before him, blood matting one side of his face, his hands bound behind his back, just as Camlin’s were. Braith’s companion, a lad holding a long spear, was leading the way, two grey hounds at his heels. They were tall and sleek, and they looked hungry, too.

  Long as I’m not the meal. Wouldn’t put it past Braith. He’s probably been starving them and promising them me for dinner.

  ‘You made it back home, then,’ Vonn addressed the lad with the dogs. He turned and looked at Vonn.

  ‘I did, no thanks to you.’

  Camlin recognized him, then. The prisoner Coralen had caught in the hills of Domhain, the one who had told them about Cywen and Conall both being alive.

  ‘Strange, Rafe, that we’ve ended up on different sides, when we were once such good friends.’

  ‘Were we?’ Rafe asked.

  ‘I thought so.’

  ‘Well, friends or no, I chose to stand by my oath – the one I swore to your da.’

  ‘That’s strange, too,’ Vonn said, ‘because I chose to stand by my oath – the one I swore to my King.’

  Rafe looked back and scowled at Vonn then, one of the hounds doing the same and growling.

  ‘Family should come before kings, or queens,’ Rafe said.

  Vonn frowned, staring at Rafe’s back, and said no more.

  They were walking down to the stream where two men waited for them, one of whom was sitting with his back to a tree, blood drenching his belly, soaking into his breeches, staining the white snow about him. He was screaming.

  Might have something to do with my arrow in his gut.

  Braith made an irritated sound behind him, though Camlin wasn’t sure if it was aimed at him for shooting one of his men, or at the man on the ground for making so much noise.

  ‘Sit,’ Braith ordered Camlin and Vonn as he dumped both of their sword-belts and Camlin’s bow and quiver against the tr
ee, next to the straw man. When he was happy that Camlin and Vonn were both secure, Braith went and sat beside the wounded man. He unstoppered his water skin and gave the man some. He drank in short sips, panting in between with the pain.

  ‘Madoc, this is going to taste sweet as heaven in your mouth,’ Braith said to the warrior, ‘but when it reaches your gut it’s going to hurt like every demon in the Otherworld is trying to claw their way out of your belly.’

  Madoc nodded, sweat slicking his face, his shirt sticking to his body.

  ‘My boot,’ Madoc breathed. ‘Some coin for my Rhian.’

  Braith nodded. ‘I’ll see it gets to her.’ He lifted the water skin to Madoc’s mouth and with his other hand drew a knife from his belt.

  ‘You ready?’

  Madoc nodded and Braith cut his throat.

  ‘That’s seven of my men, now, by my counting,’ Braith said, wagging his knife at Camlin.

  ‘Aye, that’s what I make it,’ Camlin agreed. He shrugged. ‘It’s war.’

  ‘So it is,’ Braith said, wiping his knife clean and sheathing it. He came and sat close to Camlin.

  Not so close that I can reach him, though.

  ‘But this is more personal than that, between you and me.’

  ‘I was afraid you were going to say that.’

  Braith barked a laugh.

  ‘You see, Cam, despite everything, you can still make me laugh. You’ve poisoned me, cut me open with this blade on your belt.’ He paused, pulled back his shirt at the neck and showed Camlin an ugly white ridge of scar tissue. ‘Hurt, that,’ Braith said.

  ‘Aye, well, I’ve a scar of my own from you.’ He pulled his shirt open. ‘See. You shot me. The arrow had to be pushed through. That hurt a bit, too.’

  Braith shrugged. ‘Not that this is a contest, but you did dump me into the ocean for the fish to gnaw on.’ He shook his head.

  Camlin smiled grimly. ‘If it helps, I did think you were dead at the time.’

  Braith chuckled. ‘But the thing that hurts most, Cam, is the betrayal. I thought we were friends.’

  Camlin laughed at that. ‘So did I,’ he said, still chuckling. ‘Perhaps we can be reconciled, eh?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Braith said. The smile disappeared from his face. ‘But I can even the score.’

  He stood, looking about the marshes at the endless banks of reeds, willow and alder.

  ‘Where is she, Cam? Your new Queen?’

  ‘If you think I’m going t’be telling you that,’ Camlin said, ‘then you don’t know me.’

  ‘If you think you won’t tell me,’ Braith said, moving closer to Camlin, ‘then it’s you who doesn’t know me.’

  I’ve seen Braith put people to the question. He tries to be their friend first, gets what he can that way, then lights a fire under their feet, just to make sure.

  There’ll be no torture here,’ a voice said. Vonn, sounding just about as commanding as Camlin had ever heard him. ‘You will take us to my father. We will not talk to men such as you.’

  Braith smiled at Vonn, walked over to him.

  ‘Get him up,’ Braith said, the warrior behind Vonn yanking him to his feet.

  ‘My father is the regent of Ardan, representative of Queen Rhin and—’

  Braith punched Vonn in the gut, doubling him over. He grabbed a fistful of Vonn’s hair and yanked him upright.

  ‘Your father is not my king,’ Braith snarled. ‘I answer to Rhin, no one else, so your precious father can go kiss my arse. And you’ll not be giving out your orders to me, or any of my crew. Is that clear?’

  ‘All two of them,’ Camlin murmured.

  Vonn dribbled spittle.

  ‘I said, is that clear?’ Braith repeated, bunching his fist.

  ‘Aye,’ Vonn muttered.

  ‘Good,’ Braith said, letting go of Vonn’s hair, the young warrior dropping to the ground.

  You tried, lad, I’ll give you that.

  ‘Don’t you worry, Vonn, I’ll take you to your da soon enough. Not sure what kind of welcome you’ll get, but at least you’ll live to find out, which is more than I can say for my old friend Camlin.’

  Braith spun around and kicked Camlin in the face. He fell back, pushed himself onto one elbow and spat blood, and a tooth.

  ‘I’m going to leave you with that thought for the night. Come morning I want answers to my question. Where is the bitch, Edana? Answer true and I’ll end it quick. No pain. If I don’t believe you, well, I’ll be taking this knife,’ he drew it from his belt, the one he’d used to cut his man’s throat. ‘And I’m going t’start taking body parts off you. Think I’ll start with the fingers on your bow hand.’

  Camlin lay close to the stream, his arms stiff and the skin on his wrists rubbed raw. Beside him lay Vonn – sleeping, he thought, from the steady rhythm of his breathing.

  Something had woken him.

  Maybe the cold. He was shivering enough for his teeth to rattle. There were no clouds above now, the sky a panoply of stars, the thin crust of snow on the ground had frosted to ice and was glittering in the starlight. Trying not to make any noise, he rolled over, the snow crunching, sounding loud enough to wake the dead.

  Braith was sitting against the tree, his head drooped to one side, his surviving warrior curled in a blanket while Rafe was standing on the stream’s edge, spear in his hand, staring out into the darkness.

  His watch, then.

  One of the two hounds growled, its ears pricked. There was a rustle amongst the riverbank and they were both bounding forwards, snuffling amongst the reeds. Rafe followed them, spear levelled, then the hounds came out, tugging at something between them. Camlin heard the wet ripping sound of amphibian flesh.

  Some poor frog’s having a bad night. He thought of his fate approaching with the rising of the sun. I sympathize.

  The hounds finished tearing apart whatever it was they’d found and settled to wolfing down their respective pieces. Rafe lowered his spear and went back to stamping his feet and blowing into his hands.

  Camlin looked at Braith, felt a wash of hatred for the man, swiftly tempered by the knowledge that he was just a man, like him, who’d made his choices and was seeing them through.

  Sometimes they lead to a pot of gold, other times they get you bitten on the arse, or see you watching your fingers go under the knife, one by one. What I’d give to take him with me, though . . .

  He heard a thunk, behind him, between him and the stream. He looked about but no one else seemed to have heard it, Braith still with his chin on his chest, Rafe staring in the opposite direction. Even the two hounds now seemed to be sleeping deeply, chests rising and falling. He rolled over slowly, saw something sticking in the turf and snow. A glint of iron, a leather-wrapped hilt.

  I love it when a plan comes together.

  Slowly he rolled over again, his back and bound hands to the knife, shuffled backwards a handspan, stopped as Braith muttered in his sleep. Another wriggle backwards, then waiting, eyes checking Rafe, the hounds, Braith, the other warrior. Another wriggle, checking again. Eventually, as a grey pallor seeped across the sky, he felt leather brush his fingertips.

  ‘Wake up,’ Braith said and kicked Camlin’s boots. With a groan Camlin squirmed onto his knees, holding the rope that had bound his hands tight behind his back.

  ‘You’re like a landed fish,’ Braith said. ‘Which is an appropriate analogy, because today I shall be gutting you, like a fish.’ He smiled, no humour in it. ‘But let it not be said that I am a cruel man. Dai, help him up.’

  For all of his bluster Braith is a careful man. He will not step within arms’ reach of me. I should be flattered that he thinks so highly of my prowess. He glanced at Vonn, who had clambered to his knees.

  Rafe was calling the hounds but they lay still on the stream bank.

  Camlin caught Vonn’s eye, looked over his shoulder, wiggled the knife in his frozen hands. Vonn’s eyes widened for a moment, then he looked away.

  ‘No funny busine
ss,’ Dai muttered, put a hand under Camlin’s arm and hoisted him upright.

  ‘Something’s wrong with my dogs,’ Rafe said, an edge of worry in his voice.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Braith asked, suspicious.

  There’s a reason he’s lived this long.

  ‘Look.’ Rafe prodded one of the hounds with his spear-butt. ‘Scratcher,’ he called. It didn’t move, though its chest still rose and fell, breath misting about its muzzle. Rafe fell to his knees, dropping the spear on the ground beside him and shook both of the hounds.

  Braith’s eyes snapped to Camlin.

  ‘Hello,’ a voice called behind them. Braith and Dai spun around; a figure stood on the snowy ground, surrounded by morning mist.

  Meg. She looked more like a ghost than a person of flesh and blood. She stepped back into the mist, disappearing.

  Braith reached for his sword and rushed after her. Dai let go of Camlin and took a step after Braith, then the knife in Camlin’s fist was punching into Dai’s back, through fur cloak, leather and wool into flesh, between ribs and into a lung. Camlin’s other hand clamped around Dai’s mouth, stifling the hiss of exhaled air. He pulled the knife free, stabbed again, and again. Dai slumped and Camlin let him go, grabbing his sword hilt as he dropped, the rasp of it sliding from its scabbard stopping Braith in his tracks.

  ‘Almost had me,’ Braith snarled as he stared at Camlin, hands free, a sword in one hand, bloodied knife in the other. It didn’t seem to put Braith off as he charged at Camlin, shouting to Rafe, who was oblivious, still shaking the hounds, looking as if he was crying over them.

  Camlin rushed to Vonn, slashed and sawed at the ropes binding his wrists, painfully aware of the crunch of boots on snow as Braith sped to skewer him with his sword.

  With a gasp, Vonn’s hands were free and then Camlin was turning, dropping the knife in the snow, for Vonn, Braith hacking at him, iron clanging as Camlin raised his blade in a hurried parry, staggering back, blocking a flurry of powerful blows.

  He sidestepped, sweeping Braith’s blade away, the rage in Braith’s attack adding to his momentum, sending him stumbling off balance for a moment. Camlin hacked at him, chopped into Braith’s hip, blood spraying.