‘Jerolin has been good for you, little hawk,’ said Alben. He had called Veradis that as far back as he could remember. Alben had been his sword-master, as he had been for all of Lamar’s children, training him from when he was only as high as the warrior’s belt. Veradis sipped at his cup, looking at the fortress walls.
‘You left an untested warrior, you have returned a leader; that is clear to see.’
Veradis snorted. ‘It is Nathair who is the leader. We would follow him anywhere. He is a great man.’
‘Aye, I’m sure that’s true, but that doesn’t change what else I see. And Nathair’s words, just now…’
‘Aye.’
‘You bring honour on us Veradis, on Ripa. I am proud of you.’
Veradis snorted again. ‘What of my father? He did not seem so proud.’
‘Look around, your father is lord of all you can see. He has many cares.’
‘Aye, right enough, but he is still my father.’ Veradis shook his head. ‘I should not expect so much, then I would not be so disappointed.’
‘You know how you remind him of your mother,‘ Alben said. ‘Out of all your brothers, you are the most like her.’
‘And I killed her,’ Veradis whispered. ‘That is why he cannot bear to look at me.’
Alben tutted. ‘Lamar loved your mother. Fiercely. When you love that strongly, reminders can be painful. It does not mean he has no love for you.’
Veradis snorted.
‘I remember when you were a child, not much taller than my knee. You were always quiet, thoughtful.’
‘You’re confusing me with Ektor.’
Alben drank from his cup. ‘No. I think not. Do you recall when you followed Krelis on one of his secret forays into the forest. He didn’t even know you were there until he put his foot into a fox-hole and snapped his ankle.’
‘Some of it, but not too clearly, truth be told.’
‘Aye, well, that’s not surprising. You could not have seen more than five winters. Anyway, you stayed in the forest all night, refused to leave him to the dark in case the spirits of the giants came and took him away. At first light you came back to the fortress. Your father was mad with worry. He grabbed you, held you as if he would never let you go. When Krelis told him that you chose to stay the night in the forest, thinking you were protecting him, his eyes fair glowed with pride. I saw the same look when we were brought the news about you becoming Nathair’s first-sword.’
‘He does know, then?’
‘Aye. For some time.’
Veradis sighed, passing a hand across his face. ‘I do not know the man you are talking of, Alben. I have seen him look at Krelis the way you describe, often. But never me.’ He shrugged. ‘But you are getting old. Maybe your wits are deserting you.’
Quick as a snake, the old man cuffed him round the back of the head, then the two of them laughed.
‘Sometimes it is hardest to see what is right in front of us,’ Alben said quietly.
‘Some things have not changed. Still the riddles.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EVNIS
Evnis wept as the last stone was placed on Fain’s cairn.
The book had helped, for a while; the earth power restoring some of Fain’s strength for a time. Her smile had warmed him, kept the hatred at bay. But only for a while. Then her strength had failed, until she was only a shell of what she had been.
And now she was gone.
His son Vonn stood beside him, tall, keeping his grief within. Does he look to me for comfort, for guidance? Right now, I do not care. I have too much grief of my own.
A ring of his warriors stood about him, spears held high, with all from his hold, to sing the last lament. But even here his thoughts returned again and again to his book: just the merest hint that he had mastered so far was like a drug, calling, consuming. With an effort, he wrenched his will back to the cairn in front of him. To Fain. His hatred flared bright, and now there was another to add to his list.
King Brenin.
Vengeance, a voice whispered in his head.
I shall destroy him, he promised the voice.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CORBAN
Corban rested a hand over his eyes, shielding them from the sun as he gazed back towards the river Tarin, where he knew his da was standing before the gathered hunters of Dun Carreg.
Corban was about half a league from where the hunt was gathering, other boys near him arranged in a long, stretched-out line, facing the forest. All of them had entered the Rowan Field but were not of an age to attempt their warrior trials.
Their task was to flush or beat the game into the path of those come to hunt. Drifting in the wind he heard the single blast of a horn, then a distant roar. His heart leaped–the hunt had begun. With a jerk he jumped forwards, seeing the beaters’ line lurch towards the forest. They reached the first trees and started banging their wooden rods together. The noise was immense. Distantly Corban heard an answering echo, the beaters on the other side of the hunters, then he was amongst the trees, the boys on either side of him flickering in and out of view.
Walk slowly, keep beating. It was easier said than done, but nevertheless, slowly, step by step, he made his way deeper into the Baglun, beating his rods together as much as possible. In a short time the line of beaters became separated by trees and undergrowth.
Some time later his belly rumbled. How long had he been walking and beating now? One thing he had learned about the forest was that time passed very quickly once you were inside it. He looked around, searching for somewhere to sit and eat. He heard the clacking of sticks, somewhere off to his right.
‘Farrell,’ he called out to a boy who had been nearest as he’d entered the Baglun, not wanting to eat on his own.
‘Aye,’ came the response, closer than he expected.
‘Over here.’ He moved in the direction of the voice. Soon they found each other.
‘Hungry?’ asked Corban.
‘Starved,’ said Farrell, the son of Anwarth, whom many called coward. Farrell was tall, broad and thick limbed, a shock of spiky brown hair framing a handsome, though sullen face. Corban had seen him in the Rowan Field, wielding a practice sword like a hammer.
He sat on a flat, moss-covered stone, Corban with his back to a thick-trunked tree.
‘Bored yet?’ asked Farrell through a mouthful of bread and cheese.
‘No. I like being in the Baglun. But how long till we turn back?’ Corban asked.
‘Oh, we’ll hear the horns. Why don’t we walk together? Line’s broken anyhow, and one of us could beat while the other uses both hands to make a path. Less blood for the thorns.’
‘Makes sense,’ said Corban with a grin, and they set off soon after. Corban took the lead, Farrell behind him. He saw deer tracks in soft earth near a stream, and further on the marks of something larger, but he could not tell what. Wolf maybe. He looked around, suddenly wary.
Deeper than I’ve ever been before, even when I got lost, Corban thought. Still, he was not alone this time; Farrell had done this before, and soon he switched with him. They came to a small stream cutting across their path. They jumped across, then Farrell pulled to a sudden stop and Corban ploughed into his back.
‘What’s wrong…’ Corban began, then a low, deep growl silenced him.
Farrell took a step backwards, turned and bolted into the thicket, heedless of the thorns. ‘Come on!’ he yelled at Corban, grabbing his shirt and pulling. Corban staggered back and became tangled in the thorns as Farrell lost his grip. Then Farrell was splashing through a stream, leaving Corban snared, staring at what Farrell was running from.
Wolven. Half a dozen at least were in the glade before him, snarling at him, baring dagger-long teeth. Each was easily as big as a pony. One of them growled.
Terror, mind-numbing, icy-cold terror, flooded him. He opened his mouth to scream, to call for help, but nothing came out. In the distance a horn called. Hounds bayed in answer, closer.
&nb
sp; Behind him he heard movement, felt a presence. Farrell had come back.
‘You should have kept running,’ Corban whispered.
‘What–you stand while I run? Don’t think so. I’ll not be called coward.’
‘Better than dying.’
‘Not to me.’
Before them was a small clearing, bordered heavily with thorn bushes and densely packed trees. In the centre of the glade reared the wide trunk of an ancient tree, in and about which were the wolven. Most were pacing, agitated by the sounds of the hunt, ears flat to their skulls, twitching. One was still. All were staring at him with their copper eyes. Then Corban saw movement on the ground.
Cubs.
On the forest litter, gathered together between two widespread roots, squirmed a handful of cubs. Above them stood their mother, her belly still loose, coat dull grey and striped bone white, teeth dripping saliva as she snarled at him. He looked into her copper eyes and remembered–although then she had been covered with thick black mud, and her belly had been swollen, heavy with pup. She was the wolven he had dragged from the bog. She took in a deep, long sniff, holding his scent.
Another wolven, huge and black, snarled and took a step towards Corban. Muscles bunched as it prepared to spring, but the shewolven snapped at it, a short, staccato bark.
Corban’s eyes remained locked with the wolven standing over the cubs. Then the trees opposite exploded as hounds, men and horses poured into the clearing. Corban saw Evnis, tall on his horse, a heavy spear in his hand. Behind him rode his son. Next came Helfach the huntsman, his hounds about him. Warriors followed them: ten, fifteen–more pouring in all the time.
There was a single moment of stillness, then the wolven threw themselves at the intruders, meeting Helfach’s hounds with a snarling collision of flesh and bone.
There was blood everywhere. Corban saw a hound thrown through the air to crash against a tree, the sound of bones snapping as it slid lifelessly down the trunk. A wolven wrestled a horse to the ground, jaws clamped around its throat. Spears punctured the beast’s side, the rider screaming as his horse collapsed on him, its eyes bulging white. Elsewhere a wolven stood over a warrior’s body, canines dripping red, the man’s face and throat a red ruin. Hounds circled another of the great beasts, snapping at its hindquarters. One jumped in, squat and grey, clamping its jaws around the wolven’s throat. Razor-sharp claws opened the hound’s belly, spilling its guts. Other hounds leaped in and the wolven sank to the ground, snapping, twisting, biting, taking life even as its own bled into the forest floor. A man screamed, a wolven biting into his arm and shoulder, blood spurting as he fell, the wolven on top of him, shaking his body like a rag doll. Helfach leaped upon its back, a long hunting knife rising and falling.
Then, suddenly, it was over, the sound of a man groaning, a dog whining, everyone taking deep, ragged breaths. Evnis slid from his horse and ran to the fallen rider, still pinned beneath his dead horse. It was Vonn.
‘No,’ mumbled Evnis as he cradled his son’s head in his lap, the face pale, eyes closed. ‘I will not lose another. Come, help me.’ Men around him lurched into life to drag Vonn’s body from beneath the horse’s carcass, his leg broken.
‘There’s another,’ cried a man, and all heads turned to look where he was pointing. In between two thick roots of a tree, crouched amongst the leaves of the forest, was the last wolven. She crouched over her cubs, almost blending with the foliage around her. With a snarl, Evnis flew back into his saddle, taking up his spear, and threw his horse towards the beast. She growled and stood, then bunched her legs and sprang at the onrushing horse and rider. Her growl suddenly became a whine as Evnis’ spear pierced her, pinning her to the ground. She spasmed and then lay still. Evnis continued his charge, guiding his horse towards the huddle of cubs, trampling them, fur and blood flying around his horse’s hooves, squeals and yelps cut sickeningly short. He reached the far end of the clearing and turned his horse.
Then others were entering the clearing: Corban saw Pendathran, Marrock, many others. Amongst the matted fur that had been the wolven cubs a flicker of movement drew his eye. Before he even realized what he was doing, Corban’s feet were moving. He staggered over to the base of the tree. One cub still lived, nuzzling feebly at the body of one of the other dead pups. Instinctively Corban swept it up, cradling it like a newborn child.
Then he looked around.
All eyes were upon him. Eventually his gaze fell on Evnis, who was staring at him, his eyes narrowed.
‘Put it down, boy,’ he said quietly, though all in the glade heard him.
Corban said nothing.
‘Put the cub DOWN!’ shouted Evnis.
‘No,’ Corban heard himself say.
Evnis breathed deeply, closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Put the cub on the ground and move away, or so help me, by Elyon above and Asroth below, I shall ride you down as well.’
Corban saw movement out of the corner of his eye. A man had taken a step towards him. Gar.
Evnis clenched his reins.
‘HOLD!’ shouted a loud voice. ‘Hold, Evnis.’ It was Pendathran. ‘But these beasts may have taken my son from me. That cub must die.’
Pendathran frowned at Corban. ‘He speaks true, boy. Let it live and it will grow, maybe take more lives amongst our people. Besides, its mother is dead. It is going to die anyway. Put the cub down, lad.’
Corban hugged the cub closer to him and shook his head.
‘Do as you’re told,’ Pendathran snapped.
Corban looked frantically around the glade, but no one spoke or came to his aid. Gar watched him, his face an unreadable mask, but made no move to help. Pendathran clicked his horse forward.
‘I claim King’s Justice,’ Corban blurted, looking defiantly between Pendathran and Evnis.
Pendathran pulled his horse up, scowling. ‘You have the right, but you are only delaying the inevitable. And angering me into the bargain.’ He pinned Corban with a glowering look. ‘Are you sure?’
Corban nodded.
‘So be it,’ Pendathran growled and turned his horse away. Evnis rode back to his son, staring at Corban all the way. The wolven cub whimpered and nuzzled its nose into the crook of Corban’s arm.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
KASTELL
It took Kastell almost a moon to reach the borders of Tenebral, even though King Romar set a fast pace and the roads were good. Slowly the oak and chestnut woodlands of Tenebral were giving way to pine and fir as they climbed higher into the mountains that marked Helveth’s border. Eventually they left the trees behind completely, cantering through lush meadows. Snow-capped peaks reared above them as the warriors rode into a narrow valley. They clattered across an ancient, time-worn bridge spanning a great chasm, a rent in the earth’s fabric. A reminder of the Scourging, Maquin muttered to him as they crossed, when Elyon’s wrath near destroyed the world. Kastell peered over the bridge, saw sheer rock disappear into darkness. How deep it was he could not tell. Not long after, they made camp for the night.
The following day, as they rode through deep valleys and around dark lakes of Helveth’s southern border, King Romar called Kastell to ride with him. ‘Do you believe in fate, lad, destiny, the will of Elyon… call it what you will?’ Romar asked him.
‘I don’t know,’ said Kastell. ‘I suppose so.’
‘Good,’ Romar grunted. ‘I do. The gods, Elyon, Asroth, the coming of the Dark Sun. I could not explain it to you, but in my heart, when Aquilus spoke of these things at the council. I knew it to be true. I felt it.’
Kastell grunted, not quite sure what to say. He had felt something, too, but he could not explain it. Did not understand it, even.
‘And I believe you were meant to be here, nephew. It was no accident that I found you moments from death by giants as I travelled to the council. No accident.’ He looked at Kastell and smiled, creasing his broad, lined face.
‘I am glad your feud with Jael is at an end. I saw it when you were young, but was loath
to intervene.’ He frowned, shaking his head. ‘I was worried. So I was glad for you when you left home with Maquin. But now you are back with us, and your feud is at an end. Fate. Maybe Elyon is taking a hand, even now.’ He smiled at his nephew again. ‘I am proud of you. Not even seen your eighteenth nameday and you are a giantkiller. Your father would have been proud.’
Kastell winced. He did not feel proud, or brave. Mostly when he thought about the giants all he remembered was terror.
‘There are many here named giantkiller now,’ was all he said.
‘That is true, lad–myself among them. Although I must confess, when I crested that ridge and saw the Hunen running at you, my guts turned to water for a moment. But we rode them down, true. But, ’tis also true that it’s easier to be brave when you’ve got four score hard men riding at your shoulder.’ He laughed loudly and Kastell could not help smiling at that. He was inclined to agree.
Romar examined his nephew. ‘You have changed, lad. Grown. What I said to you back at Aquilus’ stronghold is true. I have plans for you. I have been talking with Braster, King of Helveth. We have agreed to strike out against the Hunen. To break the giants’ strength once and for all.’
‘Why now, Uncle?’
‘All this talk at the council, it rings true with me. The giants have been a curse since the dawn of time. Elyon should have finished them at the Scourging. To end the Hunen will be a good start. I would leave my kingdom safer for my son. Hael is only eight summers, but a king must look ahead. And, besides, they have my axe, and I want it back.’
‘When will you act?’
Romar shrugged. ‘Soon. Not this year, but maybe next spring, summer. I have a mind to involve Aquilus in this. He proposed that we give each other aid, after all. If we are to venture into Forn Forest and give battle to the Hunen on their own ground, the more warriors the better, eh?’
‘Into Forn Forest?’
‘Aye, lad. I hardly think the Hunen will agree to march out and fight us on an open plain. We will have to go and root them out.’