Valour

by John Gwynne

  It was over soon, the Vin Thalun breaking and scattering, deeper shadows in the gloom disappearing amongst the rubble. Fidele dismounted and tethered her horse, Orcus her shieldman walking protectively beside her.

  Peritus and Krelis had rounded up a handful of survivors. One of them barged forwards, hands bound.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing, you stupid bitch?’ he yelled. ‘Lykos won’t stand for this.’

  Orcus clubbed the man across the jaw and he dropped to the ground, tried to rise and Orcus kicked him.

  ‘Enough,’ Fidele said. She looked to Peritus and Krelis. ‘Is it true, then?’

  ‘Aye, my Queen,’ Peritus said.

  ‘Show me.’

  They marched across a rubble-strewn street, a ruined tower looming before them.

  ‘Careful,’ Krelis warned as they entered through a fallen archway.

  Inside, the ground had subsided, revealing stone basements beneath – cellars originally, most likely. They had been dug out, a ring cleared around the edges where Fidele and her companions stood. She looked down into the cleared space and at first did not understand what she saw.

  Bodies, the dead piled in a corner, blood pooling, flowing in rivulets. Cells had been erected, built from wood, like tiny stables, and in them stood men, some staring back at her. Some were young, not much more than boys, others older, all battered, battle scarred, all with a feral look in their eyes.

  So it was true. They had discovered a Vin Thalun fighting pit.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  VERADIS

  Veradis sat in Dun Carreg’s feast-hall. Bos sat beside him, the big man devouring his way through a trencher piled high with meat and gravy. The room bore the marks of conflict – charred beams above, smoke-blackened patches on the walls, the dark residue of stains on the stone floor that had been scrubbed at but not removed. Could not be removed. Blood leaves a stain, he thought, one finger tracing the scar on the palm of his right hand, mark of his blood-oath to Nathair. We are brothers now, Nathair had said to him that night, long ago in Tenebral. Nathair had been only a prince then, Aquilus still alive. He remembered how he had felt – excited, coursing with life, the future a grand destiny he had only to claim. And now here he was, a thousand leagues from home, claiming that destiny. There was just too much politicking going on for his liking. That’s why he’d enjoyed his morning in the Rowan Field so much, just to be able to face an opponent with a sword in his hand, even if it was only made of wood, not iron.

  Just then figures walked through the hall’s doors: Evnis and a handful of his shieldmen – no one here seemed to move without a guard – Conall, the warrior he had sparred with earlier, was close to him.

  ‘He was lucky,’ Bos said, nodding at Conall. ‘You should’ve beaten him.’

  ‘He was fast,’ Veradis said. ‘And I’m not so used to fighting like that now; spent too much time in the shield wall.’

  ‘Excuses,’ Bos chuckled.

  ‘Not excuses, he fought well. Just the truth.’ It was the truth, Veradis having felt vulnerable and slow from the first strike of their practice swords. He would have to make sure his training was more balanced from now on – make time for both shield wall and individual sparring. He had already done that today, after his bout with Conall moving on to train in the Field with Nathair’s eagle-guard, then travelling out of the fortress, down to the meadows beyond to check on his warband and oversee their training.

  He had enjoyed the day. But now he was back, summoned to a meeting with Nathair and Owain, the King of Narvon. Back to the politicking. I’d rather leave that to Nathair and Calidus. Lykos had already left, the Vin Thalun sailing with the dawn tide, taking his ships and his Vin Thalun warriors with him. That had been Calidus’ idea, and a sensible one – Lykos had looked set to drink Dun Carreg dry if something had not been found for him to do. He had taken half the fleet, only the shallow-draughted attack galleys. The troop carriers would not be able to travel where Lykos was going.

  As if Veradis’ thoughts had summoned them, Calidus and Alcyon walked through the hall’s doors. Dark looks and murmurs spread about them, suspicious eyes watching Alcyon as he passed. Veradis felt a stab of anger at these people, at their ignorance, but understood their distrust. Once upon a time he would have felt the same, but Alcyon had saved his life once and – more than that – Veradis had glimpsed his humanity. And it came as a surprise to him that he liked Alcyon, had almost come to consider him a friend.

  Calidus saw Veradis and beckoned him to follow. The three of them marched through the keep’s high-arched corridors to Nathair’s chambers. Veradis noticed more of the Jehar warriors spread about the keep, standing unobtrusively in alcoves and shadows; more of them materialized the closer they came to Nathair. It gave him a sense of security. No one will come close to Nathair without their permission, and if anyone is more fanatical about Nathair’s safety than me, it is these men.

  Nathair barely acknowledged them as they entered; he had been withdrawn for some time, since they had questioned the girl in the dead of night. Veradis had felt uncomfortable about that, so many of them breaking into her house, probably terrifying her half to death. The conversation with her had clearly affected Nathair, and not only him. Calidus had been uncharacteristically short tempered. You should not have let the boy escape, he had said. It was the closest Veradis had heard anyone come to reprimanding Nathair.

  ‘Sit down,’ Nathair said, waving a hand. ‘Owain has asked me to meet with him soon; things are gathering pace here. A confrontation with Rhin is not far away.’

  ‘Owain will want to know where your allegiances lie,’ Calidus said. ‘You have a lot of men about you. Enough men to decide a battle.’

  ‘I do. More than enough, when over two thousand are Jehar warriors and a thousand of my eagle-guard are trained in the shield wall,’ Nathair said. He smiled grimly at Veradis.

  ‘We must still be cautious,’ said Calidus. ‘You may be guarded by the Jehar, but even their skill can be overwhelmed by weight of numbers, and you sleep in the heart of Owain’s lair. Things are balanced on a knife-edge here. Dun Carreg, Ardan, the west – it is volatile and likely to change at any given time. The maps are being rewritten.’

  ‘I know.’ Nathair grinned. ‘It is exciting. The new age we have heard so much about, spoken about, it is being formed around us. Right now.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Calidus said. ‘And you are certain of your path?’

  ‘Yes, and so I must play my part here, to make that happen.’

  ‘What of Evnis?’ Veradis asked. ‘You have given him an important part in all of this. Can he be trusted?’

  ‘Yes,’ Calidus said emphatically.

  Veradis looked at him but the silver-haired counsellor said no more.

  ‘Do not worry about Evnis,’ Nathair said. ‘I have his measure. And, besides, even if he were to disappoint me, it wouldn’t be disastrous. Not with you watching him.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes. I want you to watch Evnis, keep him alive. I think he will prove to be useful. And, as you will be watching him closely, you will soon know if he means to betray me.’

  ‘Aye.’ Veradis frowned. ‘But I am not best suited to that kind of task.’

  ‘There is one other that must be watched,’ Calidus said, ignoring his protest. ‘The girl, Cywen. Her brother may return for her. We must find that boy.’

  ‘I know,’ Nathair said, scowling into his cup. ‘I should not have let him escape.’

  ‘What’s done is done,’ said Calidus. ‘And there was much happening, at the time. But we must do all in our power to right the mistake.’

  ‘What is it about the girl’s brother?’ Veradis asked.

  Nathair looked at him, his gaze dark. ‘Calidus thinks we have uncovered Asroth’s Black Sun.’

  ‘You giants made good roads,’ Veradis said to Alcyon.

  ‘All the better to speed us to our enemies,’ Alcyon said. ‘That is the giant clans – always rushing
to their deaths.’

  They were marching along the giantsway, Dun Carreg a faint shadow on the horizon behind them. Warriors in their thousands marched before them, the bull of Narvon on banners everywhere. Owain had decided that marching out to meet Rhin in open battle was the best thing to do.

  ‘I will not cower behind stone walls,’ Owain had said when he had summoned Nathair to his chambers. ‘I have had reports of her numbers, and know that I have more men than she. And she will not expect us to ride out and meet her on the open field.’

  Nathair had questioned the wisdom of such a move, but Owain’s will was set.

  ‘I will make an end to this, once and for all. And Ardan is mine. I have conquered it, slain Brenin; it is mine by right of conquest, and I will not have that old spider hemming me into a fortress and lording it around the land while watching me starve to death.’

  Nathair had said little during the meeting, listening far more than he spoke. Owain had been rambling – a man weighed by a thousand burdens. All that he said came down to one thing: ‘Will you fight for me?’ he had asked. ‘You have a sizeable warband here, and I have seen what a hundred of your Jehar can do.’

  ‘I am reluctant to shed my people’s blood over your and Rhin’s affairs,’ Nathair had replied. ‘I will have my own battles to fight soon enough.’

  ‘Fight for me and I shall join your alliance,’ Owain had countered, almost pleading.

  ‘I have already given you great aid, opened the gates of Dun Carreg to you, stopped Brenin from forming a resistance while you stormed his fortress. I would think that such acts would have been enough for you to join with me,’ Nathair had retorted.

  ‘I will not be able to join you and your alliance if Rhin has my head on a spike, and you would surely rather have me as an ally than her. You cannot trust her, the scheming bitch.’

  ‘Do you think that Brenin was right about her – that she manipulated your war against Brenin, and then struck when Brenin was dead and you weakened?’

  Such a look had passed Owain’s face then – doubt, shame, fear. ‘How can that be possible? Marrock was seen leaving my Uthan’s chamber after he had been murdered. No, I think she is greedy, opportunistic and she saw two realms ripe for the taking. But I am not dead yet. She has underestimated me . . .’

  Owain had ranted on, seeming almost to forget that anyone else was there. In the end Nathair had not committed himself, had told Owain that he would talk with his counsellors and speak more on the morrow. That had been two days ago. Veradis had not been present at the final meeting between Nathair and Owain, but Nathair had clearly committed to some level of aid, as their marching with Owain’s warband testified.

  Nathair rode some way ahead of Veradis. He was sitting upon his draig, the great beast almost filling the width of the giantsway. Horses gave it a wide berth, especially as it looked at them as if it wanted to eat them. Nathair had told Veradis that that had been one of the hardest things in his training of the draig back in Jerolin – to teach it not to chase and kill any horse that trotted past it. Nathair was surrounded by a sea of the Jehar, all clad in dark chainmail, curved swords jutting from their backs. Beyond them the red of Narvon flowed along the giantsway, disappearing into the distance. Veradis had a thousand eagle-guard with him. The survivors of his warband from Forn were all mounted, whilst the recruits that Lykos had brought from Tenebral marched in orderly ranks; the sound of their iron-shod sandals cracking on the stone of the giantsway filled the air. Just in front of Veradis’ column rode Evnis, two or three score of his shieldmen about him, Conall amongst them. Beside Conall rode the girl, Cywen, a brindle hound padding at her horse’s hooves. She had spent most of her time scowling at Evnis. Veradis grinned to watch it, though if she were as good with a knife as Conall had said, then he worried for Evnis’ safety, particularly as Nathair had charged Veradis himself with keeping the man alive.

  ‘There’ll be no giants to kill at the end of this march, though,’ Alcyon said, unusually talkative. ‘It will be men that we are killing at this journey’s end. How does that sit with you, king’s man?’

  ‘If they are Nathair’s enemies it does not matter what shape they take; man or giant, I will slay them if I can.’

  ‘Well said,’ called Calidus, riding his horse back down the line from Nathair. He pulled in beside Veradis and spoke more quietly. ‘Be on your guard, and keep a particular eye on Owain’s rearguard. The King of Narvon is unpredictable at present and likely to behave impulsively.’

  Veradis looked over his shoulder. Beyond his own warriors more of Owain’s men brought up the rear, at least half a thousand mounted men.

  ‘I will.’

  Calidus spurred his horse back to Nathair. Has he really uncovered the identity of Asroth’s Black Sun? Veradis had always expected it to be some king or man of power, but from what he had been told, this boy – Corban – was a blacksmith’s son, no one of consequence. Maybe Calidus is right. It is a cunning way to grow in secret, a deception from the very beginning, which would be fitting as Asroth’s champion. Calidus knows best, and he has guided us well so far. I hope the boy is the Black Sun, for then I will stand a chance of meeting him, and his companion, this Gar. I will see Rauca avenged.

  Nathair had told him how Rauca had died – defending Nathair from this Corban’s father, and that afterwards Gar had attacked silently, taken Rauca by surprise. Rauca had deserved better. But time could not be reversed, and nor could the dead be brought back to life.

  But they can be avenged.

  Five days out from Dun Carreg, well before highsun, Veradis heard horns blowing further ahead. Word slowly filtered back down the column that Rhin’s forces had been sighted. It was half a day before Veradis’ warband saw them.

  Owain’s forces had drawn up on the slopes of a gentle hill, spilling in a disorderly crush either side of the giantsway. All seemed to be chaos, with horns blowing, men shouting, oxen bellowing as they were led from the giantsway, pulling wains to a makeshift camp on the hill’s crown. To the north-west marshland stretched to the sea, shimmering in the summer sun. Rhin’s warband was spread on a plain below them, tents in the distance; a mass of men on foot dominated the centre, whilst mounted warriors were loosely grouped on both flanks. Veradis stood and stared at them a while, the sounds around him fading as he focused.

  ‘How many?’ Bos said beside him.

  ‘Six, six and a half thousand men.’

  ‘And us?’

  ‘Between us and the Jehar Nathair has three thousand swords. Owain commands at least nine thousand warriors.’

  ‘She will lose, then.’

  Veradis looked at his friend, shielding his eyes from the sun. ‘Time will be the judge of that, but I have heard that she is cunning. I think she may have more planned than what we can see.’

  ‘Best keep our wits about us, then,’ said Bos.

  ‘Aye. And our swords sharp.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  UTHAS

  Uthas crawled through the long grass and wildflowers, up an incline. He stopped when he reached the top, gazing in silence.

  Dun Taras stood in the distance, its smooth walls reflecting the morning sun. It had been one of the giants’ great fortresses once, alongside Dun Carreg and Dun Vaner, before the hordes of men had come to Benoth. Now Eremon sat upon its throne, ruling all he could see from its high tower. Uthas felt his blood stir, yearning for a lost time. He blinked tears, saw a memory superimposed on the landscape, of his kin gathered on green meadows, celebrating the Birth Moon. Bairns playing in the river, diving and plunging after salmon, the men gathering in contests of strength, throwing tree trunks or the hammer. He walked amongst them, laughing, smiling . . .

  The vision faded, shifting into something else: columns of the Benothi marching through empty fields, the landscape behind them black and charred, the walls of Dun Taras fading in the distance. They had walked away from Dun Taras, fled before the tide of mankind.

  It will be ours again. A new order i
s coming. And I will do what needs to be done to make it so.

  He glanced over his shoulder, saw Eisa and Struan crawling up the slope, the others standing still, almost invisible amongst the rocks and trees far below. Eisa and Struan settled either side of him.

  After gazing for a long while on Dun Taras, Struan whispered, ‘What now?’

  Uthas rolled onto his back and searched the sky. It was cloudy, the air humid, heavy. Rain was coming. Amongst the clouds a black dot moved. Uthas beckoned and the dot spiralled lower until Fech landed beside him.

  ‘We can go no closer,’ Uthas said. ‘Can you fly to Dun Taras, seek out Eremon, listen to his plans.’

  ‘Fech is good at listening and seeing,’ the bird said and flew away, winging towards Dun Taras.

  Was that a threat? Uthas thought. What will he tell Nemain when we return to Murias? He watched Fech fade and disappear, then he made his way down the slope to his companions. A hundred and fifty leagues they had travelled since they had left Murias in the cold north. Over a moon had passed since they had raised a cairn over Aric’s body and placed the heads of their enemies about it. That will give Rath cause to fear us again, or whoever else discovers it. Too long we have been timid, fearful. They moved silently through the boulders and stunted trees that blanketed this rolling land of hill and vale. In time they came to a stream and followed it deeper into woodland until they eventually came to a great boulder, part of a cliff face that rose before them. Uthas found the cave entrance and passed through the glamour that had hidden it for over a hundred years. Fray struck a light with his flint and soon they had a small fire burning. Then they settled in for the wait. Fech would know where to come.

  Eisa passed him a skin, more brot. He pulled a face but took it and drank some. It had kept them alive, fuelled their journey south, into the heartland of their enemy. Twice they had come close to being discovered, but Fech had given them good warning both times, and Uthas had been more interested in speed than battle. He had already blooded his followers, bound them closer to him through that act. They were more his than Nemain’s now.