As the first light of a new day blossomed across the Forth, the Gate Keepers let her in. They helped her along East Tunnel, but didn’t ask why she came at this hour, sodden, frozen and wordless. They left her in the eastern Reception Area with a tunic, leggings and boots. She sat alone in her nightclothes for an age until something inside her spoke of the steaming hot water so close to hand. In a trance, she showered, allowing the heat to wash over her. Mutely she dried and clothed herself, then stole to the Western Hall, where she warmed herself by the fire and one of the serving boys brought her bread and cheese.
Valhalla was quiet at this hour. Only a few warriors went about their affairs, but she found herself staring at each of them, searching for one with a freshly injured nose. What was she doing there? She grappled with the question and the only answer she could find was that there was nowhere else for her to go. Now she had no home, no family, no trusted friends. Even Tyler and Brante had left her. She knew her would-be killer had been sent by the Pantheon, yet she also understood that she was safest here in the halls of the Horde, where no weapons could be carried. It was, after all, the only place she now belonged.
She longed for Halvar. She didn’t know why, except that Tyler had said Halvar thought his sister was alive. She was beginning to realise that Tyler’s sister must be the key to it all. Was Morgan the reason she had been attacked? What had he said once to her? I think something – or someone – was really scaring her. Yes, and Halvar knew about Morgan Maitland, so now she needed him, yearned for him to come striding into the hall.
But the day matured and more troops bustled to and fro, and he didn’t arrive. She watched the activity in a daze. Warriors ate and talked and prepared for the final Raid that night. As the afternoon wore on, the place began to hum, and still she hunched by the fire and watched.
Later in the afternoon, Radspakr passed and he looked at her with his head held on one side. ‘Are you well, my dear? May we get you anything?’
She said something in reply, but couldn’t hear herself properly, and he smiled coldly, shrugged and departed.
Later it was Freyja who came to her and cajoled her into preparation. The final Raid was close and her Ravens were arming. Calder pulled on her armour and collected her helm and weapons from the Armouries, cleaned and oiled by the Schola apprentices since the last Raid. The touch of her sword on her hip strengthened her and her mind at last began to focus. Noise returned. Chatter. Urgent whispers. Grins from her comrades. Shared adrenaline. Perhaps she was among friends after all.
At precisely the appointed hour, the Horde streamed from the North West Gate. As always, Freyja led her Ravens in the vanguard and for the second time during the Raiding Season, they ran lightly through the back gardens of Ramsay Lane and out onto the wooded slopes above Princes Street Gardens, but on this occasion they turned uphill towards the black hulking walls of the Castle which sat squat and immovable on its cliff-top fastness.
It was an impregnable location and earlier Freyja had pored over maps with her Hersirs to identify the only possible place where the Valhalla climbers might be able to ascend. The Ravens now ran to this point, where the rear wall of the gift shop met the top of the wooded slope. Thirty feet of stone still stood above them, but it was the best option because fifty yards further along and the slope transformed into a loose, scrubby cliff which ran the entire way around the rest of the Castle’s perimeter.
This time the elite climbers waited while grappling irons were swung at the railings on top of the wall. It took several attempts and the clatter as the irons came back down reverberated around the trees, setting everyone’s heart pumping. Where were the Titans? They would throw their full force on the Castle as well, for they still hoped to claim the final Asset. The Horde had no such objective with their own White Warrior killed, so tonight their sole goal was to stop the Titans in their tracks and deny them the Asset.
The irons held at last and the elite climbers heaved up the ropes. Calder waited behind a tree trunk, straining her eyes to look for enemy movement. She knew Asmund’s Storm archers would by now be taking up positions around the Castle esplanade outside the main gate, providing a covering shield for any full-frontal approach by the Titans. The Wolves too would be leaving the Valhalla Gate, followed by Hammer. All of them coming to this spot to ascend. It was a dangerous bottleneck.
The climbers were up and securing rope ladders. These came tumbling down and the rest of the Ravens started to ascend. Calder followed Freyja up the rungs. She was still not thinking clearly, but she knew with absolute conviction that she must stay close to Freyja tonight. She felt the strength of the other woman and trusted to it.
They reached the roof of the gift shop and fanned out, crouching and staring across the dark interior complex of the Castle as it snaked away above them. The Wolves were below and beginning to climb. It was vital that they caught the scent of the Titan White Warrior and took her down before she could retrieve the Asset. They came fast up the ladders, ran past the scouts and dropped into the courtyard below. She looked for Halvar, but it was too dark to make out individuals. Next came groups of accompanying Vigiles with cameras and Calder knew there would already be Pantheon cameras fixed at all the key points within the Castle.
At a signal from Freyja, the Ravens followed the Wolves over the edge. Calder found herself lining up with them at the bottom of a steep roadway, hemmed by walls, which ran up to a tower with a raised portcullis. In ancient days, this would have been a formidable second line of defence. Anxious murmurs passed down the lines. With the high battlements either side and the steep gradient ahead, this was no place to be caught.
‘Let’s go!’ Freyja hissed and the Ravens ran up the road, followed by the ranks of Wolves. Calder looked back once and saw Hammer Shieldmen flooding across the roof of the gift shop. The Horde was in. Where were the Titans?
The first six Ravens reached the tower and raced under the arch, arrows notched and bow arms searching for the slightest sign of movement. They signalled for the rest to advance. The roadway began to widen onto Argyle Battery and there – a hundred yards ahead – loomed the cart shed coffee shop and Mill’s Mount Battery where the One o’clock Gun would be found. Her mind was suddenly filled with an image of Tyler grinning as he finally understood the clue. It seemed impossible that he wasn’t here tonight, running with them to claim the Asset.
To their left was a long flight of steps that ascended through the wall to the higher levels of the Castle complex. These would provide ideal viewpoints to cover movements around Mill’s Mount, so Freyja signalled her scouts and they began to climb. Below them, the Wolves continued tracking up the roadway towards the cart sheds and the Hammer Shieldmen could be heard coming behind.
Calder followed Freyja, always keeping her shadow in sight, and the other Ravens were around her. They reached the top and it opened into a courtyard in front of the primary Castle buildings, the Royal Palace itself and the War Memorial. They were as high as they could go and Calder turned to see the expanse of Edinburgh winking below her. She could see the lights of New Town, Stockbridge, Comely Bank. Somewhere out there was her empty little house, trespassed upon and defiled. Further beyond were the darker patches of the Botanic Gardens and Inverleith Park. In the distance were the strident lights of the docks and then Fife. The scene was beguiling on this dank, cold night.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden whirlwind of noise from below. A baying of Wolves. The Ravens rushed to deploy, but even as they did, arrows came lancing out of the sky from the top of the Royal Palace and struck the walls around them.
‘Cover!’ Freyja yelled. But there was none. Calder ran southward along the battlements, the yawning expanse of the courtyard beside her. Arrows clattered against the wall around her. She hoisted her shield and ran blindly. She felt a mighty blow and an arrow tip broke through the shield and sat peeking at her just inches from her face. She reached a place where the wall bent, pushed herself into the angle and curled under her shield.
She expected more hits, but there was a pause. She imagined Titan archers waiting for her to move, their bows already drawn back, but the seconds dragged into minutes and still no one fired. She forced herself to look out. The courtyard was empty and she could see no movement on the Castle buildings. Away to the north she could hear the sounds of battle, but around her it had become peaceful.
She pulled herself up and looked for the other Ravens. They were gone. They must have run in the other direction at Freyja’s command. A panic rose in her because she had lost the one person she had sworn to stay beside. She shouldered her bow and unsheathed her sword, then returned the way she had come, heading towards the sounds of the conflict. She ran past the top of the steps and then saw a vast gun looming out of the darkness in front of a small, squat building. She realised it was the famous Mons Meg cannon and the building must be St Margaret’s Chapel. Legend said it was the oldest structure in Edinburgh.
She rounded the cannon and gaped over the battlements. Below, the Titan Heavy Infantry had swarmed down from the opposite side of the Castle and the rival Palatinates were fighting a second great battle in just seven nights. To have entered the Castle from the other side, the Titans must have climbed the highest and steepest part of the cliff. Lined across the roadway in front of them was Hammer Regiment, shoulder to shoulder, shields locked. Their line curved around Mill’s Mount and anchored against the cart sheds, preventing any access to the One o’clock Gun. The Hoplite Infantry had smashed into Hammer’s centre and Calder could see the rival lines ebbing and flowing as warriors pushed and kicked and stabbed. Behind them the Wolves were gathered on Mill’s Mount watching for any sign of the White Warrior’s party. She strained to see Freyja and the Ravens, but there were too many troops and the night was so dark.
She pushed back from the wall, suddenly afraid to be so alone on this high vantage point. She must return to the steps and they would take her down behind Valhalla lines. She skirted the giant cannon once more and ran back to the steps. Without looking ahead, she began to descend, peering through her helmet at her feet to ensure she kept her footing on the slippery stone. As such, she didn’t notice the figures climbing towards her until she was almost upon them. At the last second she sensed their presence and looked up to see two Hammer Shieldmen. They were smaller and thinner than most of the brawny Hammers, and they carried spears, their swords sheathed. They stopped and looked at her through their helmets, but they didn’t speak and she was seized by an instinctive dread. Her blonde ponytail was curved over her shoulder and one of them nodded knowingly.
‘Hail, Thegn Calder. We’ve been seeking you.’
She would know that high-pitched whine anywhere. She gripped her sword and pointed the blade towards him. ‘Take another step and I’ll gut you.’
‘Come and try it, beautiful.’
Courage failed her. The exhaustion of the last two days was too much. There was a wild crescendo of shouts from the battle and Ulf glanced in that direction. In the same second, she turned and ran for her life. She took the steps two at a time and flew onto the upper courtyard once more. She raced headlong to the great gun and along the battlements, where the battle was laid out before her again, hundreds of fighters oblivious to the cold murder planned above.
With a despairing cry she realised the battlements abutted the chapel and wouldn’t allow her to pass. She ran to the chapel door and yanked at it, but it wouldn’t budge. She turned and threw herself back around the cannon in one last effort to break out onto the wider courtyard, but her pursuers were already closing her escape. Hopelessly she ground to a halt and retreated until her back was pressed against the barrel of the gun. They spread themselves and approached with spears levelled.
Perhaps she had known this was to be her fate tonight. Perhaps this was why she had fled from her flat and washed up back in Valhalla. Perhaps the gods had decreed that she should make her final stand at the highest and most ancient point in the city, faced by the men who had hunted her so mercilessly in the forests of the Highlands.
Erland edged towards her and aimed his spear at her breast. ‘Drop your blade and your shield, or I’ll fucking skewer you right now.’
‘You’ll have to come and get them, little boy.’ She braced herself into a fighting stance behind her shield.
They began to edge around her, breaking apart so that she could only defend herself from one of them at a time. Her eyes flicked between them and gauged distances. Then she flew at Erland, smacking his spear aside and aiming a lunge towards his midriff. She thought she had him, but at the last moment he brought his shield across and her blade smacked into the hardened leather just above the Hammer symbol. She righted herself and was about to launch a follow through, when white-hot pain exploded beneath her extended right sword arm. Ulf had aimed his spear at the one place where she wore no armour, no mail and no protection other than her leather jerkin, and the iron point of his spear broke through to flesh and rib and shoulder-blade.
She staggered backwards, pinned by his weapon. Her arm dropped limply and her sword clattered to the ground. She stared at his helmeted face and could see the smirk on his tight little lips. He extracted the spear roughly and she collapsed against the cannon. Her vision lurched and her knees shook, but somehow the cannon’s bulk kept her upright. She gaped at her assailants, words no longer forming in her throat. She could feel hot liquid spreading down her side and steaming in the night air.
‘Nothing personal, you understand,’ said Ulf. ‘Orders are orders.’
Erland stepped forward and tore off her helmet. He peered at her through the eyeholes of his own, then forced his off as well. She took in his sallow cheeks and spotty immature skin, and remembered how he used to strut in the vaults in the first days. Thrall VII. He was leering at her, his eyes slits of black lust.
‘I’ve always wanted to do this,’ he croaked, then stuck out a long tongue and licked her slowly from throat to forehead.
She shrivelled at his touch and with one final effort tried to kick him. His desire turned to anger and he slapped her across the side of the head, sending her staggering around the cannon into a heap in front of the chapel door. Her face was in a puddle, but she had no strength to move anymore.
‘Stop fucking about,’ Ulf scolded. ‘Just finish her and let’s get out of here.’
She sensed Erland standing over her and knew he was raising his spear to spit her. A vision of Amelia came to her and somewhere the real her – Lana Cameron – smiled a greeting to her daughter.
And then the gods changed their minds.
The door of the chapel opened and two figures emerged. One huge and furious, the other swift as lightning and dressed in white. There were cries above her, the clash of iron. Something heavy hit the ground next to her and rolled to the chapel wall. Hazily she saw it was Erland’s head.
Then hands were on her. Gentle ones. Turning her, cradling her head, wiping her hair from her face and she was looking up at a white helmet.
‘It’s okay, Calder. It’s okay now. I’m here. You’re safe. We have you.’
She tried to form a word. ‘Punnr…?’
‘Yes, it’s me. And Halvar. He brought me through the secret tunnel. We have an Asset to collect.’
‘But they said you died. They saw you hit with Titan arrows.’
‘No, they saw me hit by Freyja’s arrows, shorn of their iron tips. And they heard Halvar claim I was dead.’
Her vision was swimming. She tried to grip him so she would know he was no illusion. ‘I thought you were dead…’
‘It was my only option. There’s nothing in the rules that says the White Warrior can’t pretend to be dead. And if the foe fail to check, then that’s their problem.’
‘You bastard,’ she croaked weakly. It was raining again, spotting onto her cheeks. Somewhere the noise of battle raged, but up here in his arms it was incredibly peaceful.
He leaned into her. ‘Hush now. We’ll get you to safety and then you must g
et well. Get strong. Because I need you with me for what is to come.’
Author’s Note
Dear Reader
If you are here, then you have probably made it through the first months of The Pantheon with Tyler and Lana. You’ve toiled in the candlelit training cellars with them. You’ve travelled to the remote winter fastness of the Highlands and feasted alongside them in the Halls of Valhalla. You’ve run across the rooftops with Agape, wondered at the riddles with Oliver, then felt the shock of the arrow puncturing Punnr’s chest. Thank you! After so long with The Pantheon locked in my head, it is amazing to know that you have shared these adventures.
Now, of course, you are left at the highest point in Edinburgh Castle on a grim winter’s night as the shieldwalls of the Palatinates battle below and Calder lies wounded and broken in the arms of Punnr. Will she recover? How does he come to be there at the moment of her need? Will they escape and make it to the Blood Season? And what of Morgan? Does she wait for her brother somewhere deep within The Pantheon?
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Meanwhile, here is a snippet from the opening of The Blood Isles: Book Two of the Pantheon. I hope you enjoy.
C F Barrington
THE BLOOD ISLES
Prologue
Pantheon Year – Eighteen
Season – Blood
He would never forget her face.
Sheet white. Ferocious. Streaked with rainwater and blood, a wisp of black hair plastered across one cheek and lips curled back in a snarl.
The Wolf Mile Page 32
