John Gwynne - Valour

At first she could not understand what was going on; images were swarming her in a fragmented rush. The chamber was vast, at its centre a stepped dais — a cauldron hulking upon it. It seemed to pulse, somehow, a black halo radiating from it. And all around were giants, horses, men, all clashing, with blood streaming in great crimson arcs. But there was more, something else, another presence in the room. Huge coils rippled around the floor, grey skinned like a corpse, but scaled. Then Cywen saw one rear up, a massive flat-snouted face, small eyes, a flickering tongue. Teeth — huge, long, curved.

Wyrms .

Even as Cywen stared with a mixture of fascination and revulsion, the serpent lunged forwards, its jaws simply engulfing a warrior’s head and shoulders, with a contraction of its coiled muscles tearing him from his saddle and slamming him to the ground. Then in great muscular ripples it started to swallow him. She felt her stomach lurch and vomited.

The wyrms were everywhere, quartering the floor with their undulating movements. She saw three of them attacking Nathair’s draig — one the draig had managed to pin down with a taloned claw and was biting great chunks out of the snake’s head and torso. Two others were striking at it, though, one’s teeth fastened at the top of the draig’s rear leg, the other twisting about a foreleg, great loops of its body swirling under the draig’s neck, trying to get purchase. Nathair was hacking at that one with his longsword, cutting red gouges into its flesh. Somehow it managed to loop its tail around the draig’s neck, and with one fluid move contracted, pulling the neck and foreleg sharply together. The draig roared and toppled over, Nathair’s arms flailing.

The serpent’s head reared up now, pulling back to strike, then Calidus was there, his sword slashing in great two-handed blows. The snake’s head flopped, almost severed, only a fragment of flesh connecting it to its body. With a crash it fell to the ground, its grip about the draig loosening. The draig scrambled back up, turning to grip the body of the wyrm still latched to its back leg. The draig’s jaws dragged it from the ground and Nathair chopped into it, Calidus joining him, and together in a flurry of blows they cut the wyrm in two. The draig moved on, the decapitated wyrm’s teeth still sunk into its hindquarters, its neck dragging on the ground, leaving a red trail.

Cywen watched transfixed. Then she was hurtling through the air as Alcyon barrelled forwards, ducking under a snake’s striking head. He managed to regain his balance, swinging his axe to chop into the snake’s skull. Its body rippled in a death spasm and it collapsed. Alcyon wrenched his axe free.

Cywen staggered to her feet, only to see a blur of movement; instinctively she ducked, a wyrm’s jaws snapping shut where her head had just been. Its body slithered forwards, colliding with her, hurling her through the air, only for the rope about her to pull tight and stop her flight dead. She dropped to the ground with a thud, felt the snake’s torso brush against her, one great coil looping about her, pinning her arms to her side. Then it squeezed. She heard her bones creaking, felt every last drop of air expelled from her lungs in one great rush as the beast heaved her upright. She saw its long curved fangs, smaller teeth rowed inside its mouth as its jaws opened wide. There was a wild neighing behind her and a horse’s hooves were lashing over her head, slamming into the snake’s head.

The snake shook its head, like a man in the pugil ring recovering from a heavy blow, then fixed its eyes on Shield, who was standing beside Cywen, nostrils flaring.

Get out, Shield, run; run away, as fast and far as you can . Black dots were floating in her vision. She saw the snake’s head pull back for another strike, this time angled at Shield; then its head exploded, an axe chopping into it. Blood, brains and bone splattered her, the coils about her collapsing heavily to the floor. She fell to her knees, dragging in heaving gulps of air, her throat burning like she was breathing in fire.

Alcyon lifted her up, frowning as he checked her over.

‘Can you speak?’ he asked her.

‘Cut this blasted rope,’ she croaked, her throat raw.

He grinned at her. ‘You’re fine.’ He patted her shoulder with a big hand, nearly knocking her over again. ‘You have a good horse there.’

The battle in the chamber was moving away, Nathair and the Jehar pushing steadily towards the dais where a handful of giants had gathered, intertwined with hissing serpents — a last stand. Cywen was shocked to see the giants and wyrms side by side; there was something about the way they were grouped together, bodies touching, weapons and teeth bristling outwards, as if they were allies, brothers-in-arms. What was so important about that cauldron that they were all willing to die protecting it?

With a roar that made the ground tremble the draig surged up the steps of the dais, sending one giant hurtling through the air, its claws raking a serpent’s torso while its jaws clamped on another giant. Nathair slashed either side at wyrm and giant. Calidus and Sumur rode behind him, swords swinging in bloody arcs, hundreds of Jehar following their lead. Giants and wyrms surged forwards to meet them, bodies slamming into horses and riders, axes and hammers swinging in this last great defence of their guarded treasure.

Uthas was there, Salach his shieldman close by, attacking the last protectors of the cauldron. A giant saw Uthas. An expression of utter rage swept its face and it threw itself at Uthas, both of them falling to the ground, rolling down the steps, the other giant wrapping fingers around Uthas’ throat.

They tumbled across the floor, grappling, then Salach was above them, his axe hovering. He hesitated in striking — the two giants were too closely locked — so he reversed his axe and struck down sharply; Uthas’ attacker went limp. Uthas climbed to his feet, Salach helping him, his victim lay motionless on the ground.

‘I am sorry, Morc,’ Cywen heard Uthas say.

She suddenly realized that silence had fallen on the chamber. The battle was over.

The Jehar moved amongst the fallen, here and there stilling the twitching of a wyrm’s tail or holding the hand of a wounded comrade or ending their pain with a sharp blade, speeding them on their journey across the bridge of swords. Nathair had dismounted from his draig and was now standing before the cauldron. It stood almost as tall as him, a squat, malignant presence. Nathair stared at it with a look of ecstasy upon his face. Calidus moved up beside him, reaching out a hand towards the cauldron. There was something hesitant in the gesture. As his fingertips touched the black metal a spasm passed through him. He stayed like that for a while, head bowed, hand pressed against the cauldron’s belly. Then he turned, a sudden energy filling him.

‘We will not delay. We will perform the ceremony now.’

‘Is that wise? We are not secure here,’ Nathair said.

‘The cauldron is a weapon. Let us use it. We can open a gateway to the Otherworld right now.’

‘Not alone. The other Treasures are needed for that to be possible,’ said Uthas.

‘We have the starstone axe,’ Calidus said, pointing at Alcyon. ‘The gateway will be narrow, but it will be enough.’

‘A gateway for the Ben-Elim?’ Nathair asked. He looked unsure, suddenly.

‘Yes, the Ben-Elim. With a host of angels at your back the Dark Sun will soon be crushed. Victory will be certain.’

Nathair stared at him; a silence lengthened, then he gave a curt nod.

‘Good. I need blood, from a heart that still beats.’ Calidus’ gaze swept the room.

Alcyon moved slightly, stepping in between Calidus and Cywen. She saw the giant’s hand reach to his belt and draw a knife from its sheath, cutting the rope that bound them together. For a moment their eyes locked.