John Gwynne - Malice

EVNIS

Evnis took the skin of mead from Helfach, his huntsman. He unstoppered it and drank, the taste of honey sweet, the alcohol warming his gut.

‘It’s good, eh?’ Helfach said.

‘Huh,’ grunted Evnis. He had more important things on his mind than the quality of the mead he was drinking. So many years had passed since he’d sworn his oath to Asroth and become accomplice to Rhin, Queen of Cambren. And now he had risen far, was counsellor to Brenin, King of all Ardan. That night in the Darkwood Forest seemed like another life. It had been terrifying, but intoxicating as well. He felt some of that now: fear and excitement mixed as the consequences of that oath were emerging from the past.

They were sitting in a dell on the southern fringe of the Baglun Forest, almost half a day’s ride from Dun Carreg. Further south a great herd of auroch trampled the moorland, the ground vibrating at their passing. A dust cloud hovered above the herd, marking them like some enormous predator.

‘Where is he?’ Evnis murmured.

Helfach looked up, shading his eyes. ‘You said highsun, so should be any time now.’

‘I hate waiting,’ Evnis growled. He wanted to get back to Fain, his wife. She was unwell, needed him. The worry of it chewed at him.

Helfach grinned. They sat in silence, passing the skin between them. Then Evnis’ horse lifted its head, ears twitching.

‘There,’ said Helfach, pointing.

A figure slipped between trees and made its way towards them.

‘Hood up,’ Evnis said, pulling his own to cover his face.

The figure drew closer and Evnis rose, strode towards the newcomer. He was tall, an unstrung bow in his hand, a face full of lines and creases. And cold eyes. Evnis thought he was younger than he looked.

‘This is for you.’ The man held out a leather cylinder.

Evnis pulled the parchment out, cracked the wax seal and read in silence. After long moments he grimaced, rolled the parchment and slipped it into his cloak.

‘Your mark is a hold to the north-east of the Baglun,’ he said, ‘on a hill just beyond the river. Stockaded wall.’

‘That sounds close to Dun Carreg.’

‘It is.’

The man grunted. ‘How many.’

‘A family of six.’

‘How many able to hold a blade?’

‘Two men, one boy that’s started in the Rowan Field. The rest are women and a bairn.’

‘I’ll not be killing women or bairns.’

Evnis squinted. ‘Has Braith picked the right man for this job?’

‘He’s not complained so far.’

Evnis shrugged. ‘Do it tonight. There’s a wedding feast at the fortress, so if you need corpses to make your point you will have to wait for them to return home. Make sure their hall burns bright.’

‘Aye,’ the man grunted and strode back into the trees.

‘We done here?’ Helfach asked.

Evnis pulled the parchment out from his cloak and read it again:

Greetings, faithful one. Braith is well placed, now, his position strong. Use his men well. Stir Brenin from his lair, as quickly as you can. The time approaches. On the matter that you contacted me, if your wife’s ailment is beyond the healers, you must use the earth power. Find the book. You know where it is. Find the door and you shall find the book. Uthas says it will help you, though nothing will save her except the cauldron. Take her to it if you can.

Remember the cause, remember your oath.

He hawked and spat, then lit a taper and burned the message.

‘We’d best get back,’ he said, swinging into his saddle. ‘If I do not make it to the handbinding Alona will curse me for a traitor and petition Brenin for my head on the block.’ Traitor. If only she knew the depth of my treason .

Helfach snorted. ‘Let the bitch try: you have Brenin’s ear.’

‘Aye, but so does she, and more. And she hates me, will always blame me for her brother Rhagor’s death.’ And rightly so, he thought .

In silence they rode their mounts out of the dell, through a thin scattering of trees and back onto the road for Dun Carreg. With the wind in his face, Evnis’ thoughts returned to the letter. ‘ The time approaches. . remember your oath .’ How could he forget? To make Rhin high queen, to bring about the God-War, and Asroth made flesh . He grimaced. Had it really been eighteen years since that night in the Darkwood? Sometimes it felt like a dream, sometimes he wished it had been a dream. Things had seemed much simpler then.

See it through , he told himself. No other choice now . His thoughts drifted to Fain, as they were always wont to do, given enough time. One thing for sure, I must find that book .

CORBAN

As Corban drew closer to the river the ground began to level out. To his right he saw the salmon weir.

He looked at the trees that dotted the far bank; they quickly became dense and thick, marking the boundary of the forest. The same tingle of excitement that he always felt whenever he was near the Baglun rippled through him.

He rode his pony across the ford, hooves splashing and cracking on stones, up the other bank and into the embrace of the forest.

The giantsway continued into the Baglun, its stones slick with moss. Latticed branches above cast the world in twilight. Somehow the shadows eased his mood, soothed him.

He allowed the pony to walk at its own pace, imagining himself a great huntsman like Marrock, tracking a band of lawless men come raiding from the Darkwood on the northern border. He had heard as much from his da. Thannon liked to talk as he worked, and had told many a tale of the Banished Lands, the continent upon which they lived. He had also spoken of their realm of Ardan, as it was now , of the growing distance between King Brenin and Owain, King of neighbouring Narvon, and the sudden increase of lawless men roaming the Darkwood that separated their realms. Thannon had told of a band of these men raiding into Ardan, burning crofters’ homesteads and robbing travellers along the way. He said they might even be heading for the Baglun.

Corban felt his stomach clench and his eyes grow wider as he looked about, imagining outlaws lurking behind bushes, ready to waylay him. But who would be fool enough to set up camp within sight of Brenin’s own fortress?

Nothing to fear .

The forest grew much closer here, thickets of thorn bushes dense between the trees. Just ahead, the giantsway spilled into an open glade, sunlight dappling the ground as the canopy above grew thinner. Corban trotted into the glade, bluebells carpeting the ground, rolling up to the oathstone.

It towered over the clearing: a single slab of dark rock scribed with runes in a language long forgotten, another remnant of the giants that had dwelt here once. The stone was still used for the solemnizing of some occasions, but it had not been visited officially since Brenin had taken up his father’s sword and become King of Ardan, over fifteen years ago. It felt old, solitary. Corban liked it here.

He dismounted and strode closer to the stone. It looked different: somehow wet , dark streaks staining the rock, trickling from the deep-carved runes. He reached out and touched the stone. Suddenly the glade darkened, clouds rolling across the sun, and he shivered. He pulled his hand away, his fingertips stained red. Was that blood ?

He realized his heart was pounding, the noise filling his ears. Then his vision blurred and he was falling.

Corban blinked into consciousness and looked around.

He was in the glade of the oathstone, leaning against the great slab, but something was different. Wrong. Everything was pale, as if all colour had been leached from the world. He looked up. Dark clouds boiled above him, bunching and flowing like an angry sea. And it was so quiet. Too quiet. No birdsong or insects, no sounds of the forest; just the hiss of wind amongst branches.