Wrath (The Faithful and the Fallen Book 4)

  They passed through the forest in silence, dark thoughts spiralling in Maquin’s mind like crows before a battle.

  Wolven, draigs, bears, bats, all manner of unpleasant ways to be eaten. Forn is a predator. And if Fidele makes it to Nathair, what will he do with her?

  He fought the urge to run through the forest, calmed himself a fraction by telling himself he needed to allow Teca to work.

  And then she stopped, staring at the ground in front of her.

  Maquin, tense as a drawn bowstring, stepped around her.

  First, he saw the flies, clouds of them, buzzing in dense swarms, like smoke over fire. Then the smell: blood, faeces, thick in the air, cloying. Bodies were strewn about a small area of the forest. Behind him Spyr cursed and rushed forwards, crouching beside the first figure.

  ‘Clem,’ he whispered, looking back up at Maquin with guilty eyes.

  Maquin stalked amongst the dead, a quick glance showing him four, five dead men of Ripa in their black and silver. Then another figure, clothed in leather vest and breeches. Maquin’s blood turned to ice as he bent, saw the iron rings in the man’s beard.

  ‘Vin Thalun,’ he hissed.

  Maquin stood and moved on, saw another body lying face-down in the undergrowth. Spyr turned him as Teca hissed in horror. The man’s face had been half-eaten – the upper lip and cheek chewed down to the bone, one eyeball hanging out of its socket – though it was still recognizable as Agost.

  ‘Over here,’ Teca said, beckoning him. ‘They left this way.’ She pointed into the forest. East.

  This time Maquin did run, the tracks easy to follow.

  Not going to Drassil. Even in his state of focused fury he found that strange.

  Where else would they go? And why?

  They came to Jael’s road, the tracks leading them to the river, and eventually to a muddy bank. Into the water.

  ‘Boats, more than one,’ Teca said, fingertips tracing the deep grooves in the mud.

  Fidele is a prisoner of the Vin Thalun, and they’ve put her in a boat and rowed away. Lykos must be behind this.

  He fell to his knees in the mud, face a rictus of rage, snarling and spitting like a trap-caught beast.

  ‘We should go back. We need more eyes,’ Teca said.

  ‘You go,’ Maquin said, knowing the sense of it, but unable to walk away from here, the thought of moving further away from Fidele a physical pain in his chest. ‘I’ll stay, begin the search along the bank.’

  ‘I’ll stay, too,’ Spyr said, ‘and help . . .’ he trailed off. Guilt gnawed at him – that was clear.

  And grief. He’s lost sword-brothers today. Men he was close to.

  Teca stood still a moment, looking at him.

  Most likely gauging if I can be trusted. If I’m in my right mind.

  He forced himself to turn away from the river, to look Teca in the eye.

  ‘Fidele is all that matters. Me being maddened beyond all thought will not help her, so I will control that beast,’ he said, his voice as cold as winter rain. ‘And I swear, by Elyon above and Asroth below, I will find her. And if she is hurt . . .’ He ground his teeth, made a sound in his throat beyond words, fingers closing around a knife hilt, pulling it out and cutting across his palm. He held it out, a white-knuckled fist, blood dripping into the river.

  ‘There will be blood.’

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  CAMLIN

  Camlin coughed, pain ripping through his chest, and he opened his eyes to a bright, glaring light, like staring into the sun.

  I’m dead.

  He coughed again, felt his lungs burning, throat raw. He tasted salt. Pain in his back, and his shoulder.

  No, not dead. There’s pain. Don’t think you feel this kind of pain when you’re dead. Don’t suppose you feel anything at all.

  A freckled face with red hair and a too-large helmet filled his vision, blotting out the glare.

  Meg.

  ‘He’s waking up.’

  Meg bent down and hugged him.

  He opened his mouth to talk but only a dry rasp came out, his throat feeling as if it’d been scraped out with a tanner’s knife. So he tried to sit up instead. That was more painful; the movement waking up a host of injuries that he tried to ignore, a groan slipping out of his throat.

  He was in their rowing-boat, waves slapping against the hull. Craf was perched upon the prow like a scruffy figurehead, while Vonn and Brogan sat at a bench, pulling on oars as if their lives depended on it.

  ‘You’re dead,’ Camlin managed to croak at Brogan.

  The bull-necked warrior was soaked to the skin, a huge mottled bruise spreading from the arch of his eyebrow down across one side of his face, all the way to his jawline.

  ‘That’s what I said,’ Vonn grunted.

  ‘Should be,’ Brogan agreed, the muscles of his prodigious back bunching and straining.

  ‘You all should be,’ said Meg with a frown. ‘I was waiting where we agreed. Then there were two great explosions of water either side of the boat. Thought some monstrous leviathan had come to eat me for supper. But it was just you and Vonn, falling out of the sky. Craf helped me find you both. Vonn was easier, as he was splashing about and choking. You were bobbing face-down. Thought you were dead. Vonn hauled you in and pounded on your chest a bit, then you started breathing, threw up, coughed yourself half to death, threw up again and passed out.’ She shrugged.

  ‘Then No-Neck fell out of the sky. Lucky he didn’t capsize us with the wave he caused.’

  ‘Huh,’ grunted Brogan.

  ‘Wasn’t easy getting him in the boat,’ she said.

  ‘Can say that again,’ Vonn managed to get out between oarstrokes.

  ‘Why aren’t you dead?’ Camlin asked Brogan.

  ‘Well, I was on the stairs, knocked everyone flying. I was the first back on my feet, trying to get a sword in my fist, then that giant appeared.’

  ‘The one you fought, with the axe?’ Camlin breathed.

  ‘No. The one that was our prisoner. The woman. She gave me this,’ Brogan said, shaking the side of his face that was one huge bruise at Camlin. ‘Punched me in the head, knocked me off my feet, back up onto the wall. Then she chased after me, picked me up . . .’

  ‘Can’t have been easy,’ Meg commented.

  ‘And then she threw me over the wall.’

  Camlin nodded.

  Was that to kill him or save him?

  Then Camlin remembered why Brogan had thrown himself at the enemy on the stairwell.

  ‘I’m sorry, lads,’ Camlin said. ‘I’ve made a right mess of things. Lorcan . . .’

  ‘Not your fault,’ Brogan said sadly. ‘There was no stopping Lorcan. You’d have had to tie him up.’

  I should have. Might have hurt his pride, but least he’d still be alive.

  ‘Poor Lorcan,’ Craf croaked from the prow. ‘Morcant bad man.’

  He is, thought Camlin. One that needs killing.

  ‘I hope I meet him again,’ Brogan snarled, his knuckles abruptly white on his oar.

  ‘Careful of him,’ Vonn said, ‘for all his mouth, he’s deadly with a blade.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Brogan said.

  ‘And we’re going back without the necklace, as well.’ Camlin shook his head.

  ‘What’s this, then?’ Meg said, pulling a length of silver and black stone from a pocket inside her cloak.

  ‘Craf catch it,’ the bird squawked. ‘Craf clever.’

  ‘Damn it but you are, Craf my lad,’ Camlin said.

  Hope that wipes the smile off of Rhin’s face.

  Camlin checked himself over. He was soaked to the skin, but by some miracle his new sword was still in its scabbard, and a few arrows left in his belt-quiver.

  ‘My bow?’ he asked them.

  Meg shook her head. ‘Burial at sea.’

  The Baglun was growing closer and larger. Camlin’s skin started to prickle as he realized how exposed they were.

  Need to get under some cove
r.

  They reached the ford that crossed the river and climbed out of the boat, starting to carry it across the shallow stretch of water, boots crunching on shingle, Craf launching into the air in an upwards spiral. Within moments he was squawking, circling back down to them.

  They all stopped in the middle of the ford, looking north to where Dun Carreg rose like an iron spike in the distance.

  ‘No, THERE!’ squawked Craf, swooping northwards, drawing their eyes beyond Dun Carreg. Camlin blinked, squinted, rubbed his eyes.

  ‘Asroth’s teeth,’ he whispered.

  The giantsway to the north of Dun Carreg, and all the land about it was filled with a crawling tide of men. Thousands of men, the iron of helms, mail, weapons sparkling in the rising sun, an ocean of flame. Rhin’s warband had come in all its strength.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  CORBAN

  Corban walked beside his sister. She was injured, walking with a limp, battered and bruised, though no broken bones, and besides her Buddai hobbled along, too, though he’d still managed a little frolic and caper with Storm.

  ‘Ah, but it’s good to see you, Cy,’ he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close, kissing her head. ‘Now tell me how you escaped from Drassil.’

  He listened as she told him, puffing his cheeks out and shaking his head.

  My sister’s a hero out of the old tales. He told her so and she elbowed him in the ribs.

  ‘You’re the one that slew the draig!’ she said.

  ‘Aye, well, I had a lot of help there. And I think you softened it up for us.’ He looked at the wolven claws strapped to Cywen’s wrist, the crusted blood on the blades.

  ‘These are yours,’ she said.

  They were walking through Forn, Coralen taking them back to the glade where they’d last seen the camp. Coralen hoped that the new one would be close by, and that they’d be spotted by camp guards or a scouting party.

  Corban felt exhilarated to be back finally, at the same time a tension and anxiety was growing within him. The journey back from Gramm’s hold had been . . . pleasant, a time when he had been with his closest friends, every day. They had laughed a lot, talked constantly, or Dath had, and he had been with Coralen, of course.

  And that’s been very good. More than good. The best thing. His eyes drifted to her, a rare beam of sunlight was touching her red hair, making it look like a burning flame. He realized he was smiling, just from looking at her.

  But now they were back, and with that would come the revelation about Meical and the prophecy. He wasn’t looking forward to that.

  Corban and Cywen had caught up with what had happened to each other after their separation but Cywen paused when it came to describing what had happened to her fellow prisoners.

  ‘Calidus had a daily ritual,’ she said after a long pause. ‘He challenged you, called you out, thinking you were with the resistance in Forn. When you did not answer he killed a prisoner. He impaled them upon spears. I didn’t want to tell you, but once you’re back at the camp you’ll find out soon enough. Better to hear it now, from me.’

  Corban felt a mixture of rage and shame at that.

  More death, because of me. He felt muscles twitching in his jaw and cheek as he thought on it, and saw Cywen looking at him.

  ‘There’s a lot more to tell,’ Cywen said. ‘I have news, about Calidus. About the Seven Treasures, and about his plans.’

  Footsteps pattered behind them, Haelan running up. His white ratter was with him, as well as one of Storm’s cubs. Corban could not believe how they had grown, this one the size of an adult hound already, a dark brindle coat and face black as night giving her a formidable appearance, her amber eyes unsettling.

  ‘I wanted to say I’m sorry,’ Haelan said, looking up at Corban. There were tears on his cheeks.

  ‘You’ve done no wrong,’ Corban said. ‘I wanted to thank you for looking after Storm and Buddai’s cubs so well. They’re a fine-looking lot.’ They all looked over at Storm, who was beset by her cubs speeding around her, nipping at her, rolling around, bouncing about like spring-born lambs. Storm was swaying between noble indifference and puppy-like playfulness, throwing herself on her side, slapping them with her paws, putting their heads inside her prodigious jaws, then jumping back to her feet and proceeding as if they were not there.

  ‘You’re wrong,’ Haelan said. ‘I have done something wrong. Storm had six cubs. There’s only five now.’

  ‘What happened to the sixth one?’

  ‘The draig . . .’ Haelan said, then dipped his head, shoulders shaking. ‘The draig killed Fierce. He was standing over Swain, trying to protect him, the fool cub.’ Haelan sobbed a little, then turned away and looked behind them. Corban followed his gaze, saw the injured Swain in Laith’s arms, his leg bound as best they could. Hild and Farrell were striding beside her, Sif upon Farrell’s shoulders.

  ‘Sometimes courage is foolishness,’ Corban said, ‘but I’ll never scold someone for it. It wasn’t your fault, Haelan. You can’t stop something or someone being what they are. These cubs are Storm’s and Buddai’s; they’ve got courage and loyalty flowing through their veins. They’d die for you, kill for you, because they love you.’ Corban looked at Storm, a tear in his own eye. ‘She’s stood over me enough times, and I know I wouldn’t be here now if she hadn’t. And I’d do the same for her.’ He ruffled Haelan’s hair. ‘You’ve done a grand job with them, but this is a dark, cruel world, and terrible things beyond our control happen every day.’ He looked at the cub padding along beside Haelan, tall as the lad’s waist already. ‘This one seems to be your shadow.’

  ‘That’s her name!’ Haelan said, a smile stretching across his face. ‘I named her for her colour – she looks like a shadow when she moves in the dark.’

  ‘Well, in her case the name definitely fits,’ Corban said.

  ‘There’s something else, as well,’ Haelan said. He reached into the pack strapped across his back, and with a grunt pulled out a shirt of mail.

  ‘It’s yours,’ Haelan said.

  ‘So it is,’ Corban said. ‘How did you get that? It was in my chamber, with my claws . . .’ He looked at Cywen.

  ‘A friend managed to bring them out,’ Haelan said, sniffing.

  ‘Well, I’m grateful for that, I can tell you,’ Corban said, taking the coat of mail and holding it up. ‘Farrell and Laith forged this for me, and I think I’ll be having great need of it, soon enough.’ He squeezed Haelan’s shoulder. ‘My thanks.’

  Ahead of them Gar and Coralen stopped, Coralen holding up a fist.

  ‘Here they come,’ Coralen said.

  Then the undergrowth around them was shaking, coming to life. Dark-clothed warriors with curved swords were emerging all around them. Corban recognized Akar, Gar’s one-time rival and now friend. The two Jehar embraced.

  Akar saw Corban and dropped to one knee, the other Jehar with him following suit.

  Corban sighed.

  I’d forgotten about that.

  Corban walked into the camp, straight and resolute. Word of his return had spread, and cheers were ringing through the forest. Many faces he recognized, smiling and greeting them, holding hands thrust at him, squeezing shoulders, sharing a few words. He met Wulf like that, who grinned to see him, but then was running past him, falling on his knees before his wife and bairns, scooping them into a weeping embrace. And Tahir, the young captain of Isiltir, who, upon seeing Haelan, fell to one knee and wept as Haelan threw himself into his arms. There were also a host of faces that Corban didn’t know, many men clothed in the black and silver of Tenebral. Despite Cywen warning him of their presence, his hand reached for his sword hilt when he saw them. There were also giant faces that he didn’t recognize, one with striking black hair, a spiked strip of it running down the centre of his head, the sides shaved to skin.

  Much has happened here in my absence.

  And then he saw Brina.

  She was standing upon a shallow rise, a small figur
e, pale-faced and worn. Corban broke into a run, and then he was sweeping her up into his arms, spinning around with her, squeezing her tight, tears running down his face.

  ‘All right, you oaf,’ Brina grunted, ‘enough. You’re going to crack my ribs.’

  Corban put her down, held her shoulders and looked her up and down. She was grinning, too, tears glistening upon her own cheeks. She looked older, the lines in her face deeper, a grey pallor to her skin that he did not like.

  He pulled her close again and kissed her cheek. Usually she would have swatted him away, but this time she let him, even kissed him back.

  ‘I see she found you, then,’ Brina said, nodding her head at Storm. ‘I thought she might.’

  ‘Coralen told me you healed her,’ Corban said, ‘that she was on the brink of death.’

  ‘Aye, well, she’s a tough girl,’ Brina said, affectionately scratching Storm’s chin as she padded over and nuzzled the old healer, almost knocking her over.

  ‘Thank you,’ Corban said.

  ‘You can make it up to me by helping me organize this rabble, kick that demonic horde out of Drassil and teach Calidus and Nathair what happens to people who make me angry,’ she said.

  ‘All right,’ he grinned.

  The others were joining them now, Gar and Coralen, Dath and Kulla first.

  ‘You’ve managed to keep Dath alive a little longer, then,’ Brina said to Kulla.

  ‘Yes,’ Kulla replied seriously. ‘Though he has done his best to test me on that.’ She shot Dath a dark look.

  ‘A bear hit me, Brina. It wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘I’m sure it was,’ Brina said, though she couldn’t quite remove the smile from her face.

  Hulking figures loomed behind Brina: Balur One-Eye and Ethlinn, with the giant with the fearsome hair standing behind her.

  ‘Ach, but you’re a sight for sore eyes,’ Balur said to Corban and they embraced, looking more like father and child.

  ‘It’s good to see you,’ Corban said, ‘and you too, Ethlinn, Queen of the Clans.’

  Ethlinn raised an eyebrow at that, but smiled at him.

  ‘I’ve been talking to the Jotun about you,’ Corban said.