Malice: The Faithful and the Fallen Series Book 1

  Veradis considered a moment, then walked away.

  ‘Make for the gateway in the cliff face,’ Alcyon called after him, ‘we shall meet you there.’

  Then Veradis was taking his place next to Bos, jogging down the slope, splashing through the stream and skirting the wall to an entry point where it had crumbled to nothing. He led the men across a scattered pile of moss and lichen-covered rubble, then they were within the walls of Haldis.

  Things were very different down here: the noise of battle ebbing and flowing from every direction, sometimes deafening, then eerily silent. The great mounds that filled the field obscured much of the view. Veradis lifted his shield and felt Bos’ thud into his, the shield wall going up about him. He drew his short sword, and as one the warband of five hundred warriors began to make its way into the burial ground of the Hunen.

  At first there was little resistance, then they came upon two score or so giants, savagely hacking at warriors still half-buried in the earth, frantically trying to free themselves. The first giants fell almost silently as the shield wall smashed into them, dozens of short stabbing swords snaking out. But a bellow from a dying Hunen alerted others. Suddenly blows were slamming into Veradis’ shield and he almost buckled at the knees. Further off, more giants were gathering. Seeing the threat to their flank, they were pulling out of the main conflict and grouping to meet Veradis’ shield wall. Even as he watched, they let out a great howl and began loping towards Veradis’ warband, scores of them, axes and war-hammers held high.

  Then giants crashed into the shield wall, hammering and beating against the wood and iron of their shields. The man to Veradis’ right went down, a hammer blow breaking his arm and then his skull. Bos staggered beside him but held, others in the front row were dragged forwards by axes embedded in their shields, then hacked to pieces by the frenzied giants.

  The line trembled, on the verge of breaking.

  ‘Hold!’ Veradis yelled, not knowing if anyone heard him, the din of battle almost deafening. He stabbed forwards, grunted as his shield arm numbed from the blows rained upon it, losing all sense of time, only the next moment, the next burning breath or lunge having any kind of meaning. Then, suddenly, the pressure on his shield was gone. He looked over its rim, saw that none of their attackers was still standing, though by the sound of it, battle still raged further away, amongst the mounds.

  Bos was still there, blood sheeting one side of his face from a cut to his ear. The big man grinned at him, and Veradis felt himself smile in return as a measure of strength returned to his limbs.

  Steadily the shield wall moved deeper and deeper into Haldis. Slowly and inexorably the Hunen were either cut down or pushed back, and the ground grew thick with the fallen. They came to a dense ring of warriors, bristling with sword and spear, being assaulted by a score of giants. The Hunen were dispatched quickly as the shield wall closed on them from behind. Braster was at the centre of the ring, pale faced and semi-conscious, wounded by a hammer blow that had crushed his shoulder. His battlechief Lothar stood over him. A litter was organized to take the wounded King back to the slope beyond the wall, then Veradis continued his journey through the mounds.

  The sounds of battle grew again as they approached the cliff face and saw what seemed to be hundreds of the Hunen battling ferociously before the black gateway. Romar was amongst the Gadrai and Kastell was standing back to back with Maquin.

  ‘Wall!’ Veradis yelled, lifting his shield, locking it with those either side of him, and slowly, pace by pace, they forged their way into the battle. They kept pushing, shoving, grunting, stabbing, until they were almost at the black gateway where the last giants had been herded. Suddenly those left alive disengaged, turned and fled into the darkness behind them.

  There was a moment’s silence, then ragged cheers broke from the surviving warriors.

  ‘Well met,’ Veradis grinned, gripping Maquin’s arm.

  ‘I like your timing,’ the old warrior said, grinning in return, then Kastell was there, smiling as well, though he grimaced at Veradis’ face, splinters of wood still sticking from it where an axe had almost split his shield.

  ‘With me,’ called Romar, striding towards the arched doorway. He stepped through, took a burning torch from an iron sconce on the wall and walked into the darkness. Vandil followed, warriors flocking to him. Maquin sighed, nodded to Veradis and then followed his King.

  ‘You coming?’ Kastell asked Veradis as he followed the old warrior, a huge, bald-headed man that could have been Bos’ father falling in beside him.

  ‘Not yet,’ Veradis said, ‘I must wait here.’

  ‘Scared of the dark?’ Kastell grinned. He drew his sword and passed through the archway, what was left of the Gadrai about him. Within moments they were all swallowed by the darkness.

  Veradis turned and scanned his warband. Many had fallen, and only about half of his original strength remained. He felt a sudden, fierce pride in them, knowing beyond any doubt that this battle would have been lost without them. They set up a defensive circle around the arch, but didn’t wait long before Alcyon strode out from the cairns, his great broadsword red with blood, Calidus and the Jehar behind him.

  ‘How goes it?’ said the giant.

  ‘Well, I think,’ Veradis said. ‘Most of this area is cleared, though it was hard fought. This place is a maze.’

  ‘Romar?’ Calidus asked, scanning the clearing.

  ‘In there,’ Veradis said, looking at the gaping doorway into the cliff side.

  Calidus arched an eyebrow. ‘Who with?’

  ‘The remaining Gadrai–a hundred or so swords–maybe another hundred of Isiltir’s warriors.’ Veradis shrugged. ‘The rest must be scattered amongst the mounds. If they still live.’

  ‘All the rats gathered in the same trap…’ Calidus muttered to himself.

  ‘What?’ Veradis asked.

  ‘We must go, quickly,’ Calidus said to Alcyon and Akar as he headed for the entrance. ‘Romar will need our aid.’

  ‘Do you need me?’ Veradis called after the counsellor.

  ‘You? No, Veradis, there is work to be done that you are not suited for. Guard this gateway, rest if you can. You have earned it.’ With that the Vin Thalun disappeared into the darkness, Alcyon and the Jehar close behind.

  Veradis thought of Maquin and Kastell, and his stomach lurched. He took a few paces towards the gateway, then stopped. Leave the politicking to Calidus, he remembered Nathair commanding. You warned them, said an internal voice. ‘I did,’ he muttered to himself and turned away from the cliff face.

  Calidus is Ben-Elim, he thought. He will do what is right.

  They were alive and had helped win the day. Yet somehow, despite his orders and his firm words to himself, he suddenly felt ashamed to be standing there waiting.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

  CORBAN

  Corban stepped out into the Rowan Field. The sun was still low in a cloudless sky as he gathered himself for what lay ahead.

  ‘A good day for it,’ Thannon rumbled beside him, and squeezed his shoulder.

  ‘Aye,’ Corban said, and felt a queasiness in his stomach.

  Halion was leaning against a weapons rack and smiled, raising a hand when he saw Corban.

  ‘I’ll wait here,’ Thannon said, ‘watch Storm for you.’

  Halion gripped Corban’s forearm in the traditional manner. ‘The Rowan Field welcomes you, Corban ben Thannon,’ the warrior said formally.

  ‘The Field honours me,’ Corban gave the expected reply, and tried not to glance away from Halion as warriors began to fill the Field.

  ‘I have something, for you.’ Halion pulled a spear from the weapons rack. ‘I think its weight should suit you.’

  Corban took the spear in two hands, and held it horizontally. Its haft was carved from pale ash, with dark veins swirling through it and an iron butt capping its end as a balancing weight. The blade end was leaf-shaped, one long, sinuous curve from tip to hilt, unlike the wedge-shaped bl
ades he was used to. Testing its weight, he lifted the spear to shoulder height, and found the balancing point almost immediately. It suddenly felt weightless.

  Halion grunted approvingly.

  ‘My thanks,’ Corban said.

  ‘It flies true. I thought it would serve you better than these battered things,’ Halion said, glancing at the spears in the rack. ‘It has served me well.’

  ‘Is this a custom, where you are from?’ Corban asked, frowning, suddenly realizing he had no gift in return.

  ‘A custom? No, lad. I just have enjoyed teaching you. And this will be our last day. It is good to mark times such as this with a gift.’

  Corban smiled. ‘Again, my thanks.’

  ‘Come, find a target, get used to it a little before we begin.’

  Corban approved, as missing the target before countless warriors was not how he hoped to begin his warrior trial. They strode towards the straw targets and found an open space. Conall marched across the Field towards them before they could make further progress. He was scowling when he reached them, his usually handsome face flushed with anger. ‘I had your message,’ he said, ‘or summons.’

  ‘I just needed to see you, Con,’ Halion said.

  ‘What for? More orders?’

  Halion frowned now. ‘Aye, that’s right.’

  Conall folded his arms, and waited.

  ‘You’ll be guarding Edana as usual, but she’s been given leave from the keep, so be vigilant.’

  ‘I am a warrior, Hal, not a nursemaid.’

  Halion sighed. ‘It is a position of honour,’ he said slowly, Corban thought perhaps not for the first time. ‘And you need to rebuild Brenin’s favour.’

  ‘Favour. Honour,’ Conall spluttered, ‘to nursemaid a child. Why do you treat me so?’

  ‘I am trying to help you, Con,’ Halion said sharply.

  ‘This is my last day of it,’ Conall retorted as he turned away. ‘Evnis has offered me a place in his hold. I shall stand under your shadow no longer.’

  Halion made to speak, but Conall was gone before he could get the words out.

  ‘Ach,’ Halion spat, the anger on his face shifting into sadness. He looked at Corban. ‘All my life, it seems, I’ve been trying to help him.’

  ‘He’s ungrateful,’ Corban said impulsively.

  ‘No, Ban, he just does not see it as help. Pride blinds him. Maybe it is I that have been wrong.’ He shook his head. ‘Anyway, you have other things more pressing than my brother’s temper. Cast that spear, lad.’

  So Corban did. His first throw was a little high, but he soon had the measure of Halion’s gift and marvelled at the difference it made.

  The Field was busy now, and he spotted many familiar faces, bar one. Then Gar too entered the Field, riding Shield, the stallion’s brown and white coat glistening with sweat.

  ‘Good, then,’ Halion said. ‘We can begin.’

  The warrior measured out forty paces from a straw target and marked the spot with his boot-heel. ‘Begin your spear trial, Corban ben Thannon,’ he said loudly. Then, more quietly, ‘Don’t rush it because you have an audience. Wait till you find the place.’

  Corban nodded, his mouth suddenly dry.

  Setting his feet, he hefted the spear, lifted it to his shoulder and sighted the target. He concentrated on the sounds around him, focusing on the target as he’d been taught, the sounds fading until all that was left was his heartbeat, the weight of the spear and the target before him.

  Then he threw.

  The spear arced through the air, landing with a thunk about a handspan above the target’s centre.

  ‘One,’ Halion called out.

  Six more times Corban went through this process, allowing himself a smile towards Thannon and his other watchers only after his last throw. Next, Halion approached to present him with a practice sword.

  ‘I’ll test your forms first, Corban,’ Halion said. ‘No different from what we usually do.’

  ‘Aye,’ Corban said, feeling better, now, more at ease. He rolled his shoulders and swung the practice blade in some sweeping arcs to loosen the muscles in his back and arm.

  Halion set his feet, raised his sword, and Corban attacked. He came at Halion with a high double-handed grip, methodically moving through the forms Halion had taught him, using footwork and sword angles to strike first at the quick-kill areas, throat, heart, groin, then the slow-kill points, then the places that would maim or disable but were not of themselves fatal. He tried to keep all Gar had taught him separate, but parts of the sword dance would creep into his attacks, usually making his movements more fluid. One strike would flow into another, reducing the response time of his foe.

  This was not at all like the Darkwood, where death had hovered close, but where instinct had overcome his fear. Here he was enjoying himself. He felt himself smiling, a kind of fierce joy taking hold of him as he struck at Halion faster and faster, making the new first-sword of Ardan work hard. Halion moved with a grace all of his own, though, and although he was hard-pressed the warrior’s guard was not broken.

  There was a momentary lull as Corban realized he had passed through all of the forms. Halion stepped back a pace, raised his hand and grinned at Corban. ‘That was well done,’ he said, then marched over to a weapons rack, returning with a battered shield for Corban.

  Corban saw that quite a crowd had gathered around him, faces recognizable as he glanced around: Evnis and Vonn, Helfach and Rafe. They were all staring, most with surprise on their faces, even Thannon and Dath. Corban frowned, not sure what had just happened. He caught Dath’s eye then, and saw something in his friend’s face–awe? Then he was slipping his left arm into the shield-straps and preparing for the second half of the sword trial.

  This time Halion did the attacking, testing Corban’s defensive skills, and Corban found himself more hard-pressed. Gar had never used a shield, so Halion had taught him all he knew here. Still, he did well, blocking the attacks, though many of them only just, and soon his left arm was numb as blow after blow shivered through it into flesh and bone. A few times he almost stepped into an attack of his own, the urge instinctive and close to overwhelming, wanting to use both sword and shield as a weapon; but he resisted, remembering this was a defensive test.

  In time, Halion stepped back. ‘We are done here,’ the warrior declared.

  Now Corban retrieved his spear and he saw Gar leading Shield out towards him.

  This is it, he thought. The running mount, and then his warrior trial was finished, only the Long Night left before he passed fully into manhood. He felt his breath catch. He had become lost in the trial, in the moments of spear, sword, shield, strike and block, but now the enormity of it settled upon him again.

  Focus, he told himself. Get this wrong and he could not say what would be worse: broken bones or the humiliation of it happening before the gathered strength of Ardan.

  He rubbed the sweat from his palms, and gripped the spear more tightly. Gar was watching him keenly, waiting for his signal. At his nod, the stablemaster clicked his tongue, and set Shield into a gentle trot. Gar kept pace for a few strides, then the stallion broke into a canter and headed for Corban.

  Corban hefted shield and spear and set his feet as the stallion approached, hooves sending tremors beneath Corban’s feet. He began to move, then Shield drew level and Corban increased his pace, feeling the timing of the canter as his own blood and muscle pumped to match the horse’s stride. Suddenly the rhythm was right and he angled in, reaching out with his shield-hand, grabbed a fistful of the stallion’s mane, and used the horse’s momentum to launch himself into the air.

  There was a heartbeat that felt like an eternity as his feet left the ground. He was completely weightless, airborne, his body arcing up, legs scissoring, then, with a satisfying thump he landed in the saddle. Shield didn’t even break stride.

  He sat there a moment, feeling Shield’s muscles bunch and expand beneath him, could hear only his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, the
n he was punching the air with shield and spear, the cold air whipping tears from his eyes. Distantly he heard noise, looked around to see people calling out to him, cheering, banging spears on shields. His eyes searched the crowd and found his da, who was grinning till he looked like his face would split. Corban raised a clenched fist to the blacksmith, and whooped with joy, then called to Storm.

  The wolven bounded away from Thannon to run alongside Shield, matching the stallion’s speed as Corban urged it into a gallop, turf spraying from its hooves. He held the reins easily, relaxing into Shield’s rhythm. His eyes searched the crowd for Gar. The stable-master inclined his head.

  Brenin marched onto the Field, accompanied by his retinue and the Tenebral guests. They stared as he galloped past, Storm loping beside him. Briefly he saw Nathair’s eyes fix in surprise on the wolven, before their eyes met. The world seemed to contract suddenly. The shadow was there again, a darkness that hovered about the King of Tenebral. Corban felt scared, suddenly, then he was past them and pulling on the reins to head back to Halion. He looked for Gar again but couldn’t see him; he refused to dwell on the words he had heard yestereve which came unbidden to his mind.

  He slipped from the saddle before Halion, glowing before his approving nod, then Thannon was beckoned forward, his bulk looming over both of them. He unwound a sword from a cloth wrapping, and offered it to his son. Corban sank to one knee to complete the ceremony.

  ‘Corban ben Thannon,’ Halion called. ‘You came to the Field a bairn, you leave it as a warrior, as a man. Rise,’ he said, his hand touching Corban’s elbow, ‘and take your sword.’

  Corban stood, took his gift and gasped as he looked closer. The pommel was dark iron, carved into the head of a snarling wolven. His eyes flickered to his da’s face, saw joy in the blacksmith’s eyes as well as tears.

  ‘Thank you,’ he whispered, the blade hissing as he drew it from the leather scabbard. He held up the sword, sunlight turning it momentarily into a white flame, just like in the tales.