John Gwynne - Malice

Gar.

In his own bluff way the stablemaster had been like a second father to him. Helping him, teaching him, rescuing him in the Baglun, following him into the Darkwood. Protecting him, with his own life, if need be. Without realizing it his course changed, and he found himself making for the stables.

He hadn’t seen Gar since the arrival of the Tenebral party. One moment he was with them in the courtyard, then he had vanished. Corban remembered again how he’d felt when he saw the newcomers’ leader — Nathair, Tenebral’s King. Somehow this Nathair had seemed familiar, a memory tugging at the edges of his awareness. He had felt sick, suddenly, and thought he’d seen a dark shadow marring Nathair’s face. Just the memory of it chilled him.

He looked up and saw the stables before him, a light flickering high up in an unshuttered window — Gar’s stable loft chamber. He’d lived there as long as Corban could remember, saying that if there was any trouble with the horses he needed to be nearby.

The stables were empty now, and Corban stepped through, the familiar smells of horse and hay greeting him. He climbed the hayloft stairway that also led to Gar’s chamber. Storm followed him, silently as a wraith, as he made his way past stacks of tied hay. He paused before reaching Gar’s half-open door.

Gar was sitting on his cot in the flickering torchlight, giving all his attention to a long, gently curved blade. The stablemaster worked oil into the blade with a cloth, then skilfully rasped a whetstone down its edge.

Corban stared. He didn’t even know Gar possessed a sword, let alone one such as this. Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairwell, and without thinking, he slipped into the hayloft shadows with Storm.

A figure appeared and Corban’s eyes widened to see his mam.

She rapped on Gar’s door and strode through without waiting for a response.

‘I got your message,’ he heard his mam’s voice, clear through the thin partition walls. ‘What’s wrong?’

Gar did not answer at first, and Corban heard only the rasp of his whetstone along the length of his blade. Suddenly even that stopped, the cot creaking as Gar stood.

‘We must go. Leave Dun Carreg,’ the stablemaster said.

‘What?’ his mam stuttered. ‘That’s not possible. Why?’

‘You saw who arrived, this day?’

‘Yes, but, it need change nothing.’

‘You do not understand, Gwenith. The man with Nathair, I know him.’

‘The man with. . But how? Who is he?’

‘His name is Sumur, and he is Jehar.’

‘Gar, I do not understand. How can that be?’

‘I do not know,’ Gar said.

‘Could you not speak to him, if you know him? Find out what this means? Maybe. .’

‘No,’ Gar snapped. ‘You remember what Meical said: speak to no one, not even if Aquilus’ kin rides through Stonegate. I have not spent sixteen years obeying to stop now, when we are so close. And, besides, something is wrong. Very wrong.’ Gar paused, the silence suddenly heavy. ‘Sumur did not see me, of that I am sure. But for how long? We cannot stay here. Corban cannot stay here. We must leave, I am certain.’

‘But where? This is too soon. We are not ready — Ban is not ready.’

Corban could hear Gar pacing. ‘Plans rarely run to course, Gwenith. As to where: Drassil, of course. Where else?’

Moments dragged by. ‘Very well. But not the morrow. He takes his warrior trial, sits his Long Night. Meical said he must do that, before. .’ her voice trailed off.

‘Aye, all right then,’ Gar agreed reluctantly. ‘The morrow we prepare. The day after, we leave.’

Footsteps sounded as his mam left, Corban hugging Storm tight until they had long since faded from hearing.

Not until he heard the rasp of Gar’s whetstone again did he dare move. He crept out from behind the hay-pile, holding his breath, then down the stairwell. Storm shadowed him into the darkness.

VERADIS

Veradis shifted his coat of mail on his shoulders and looked up, seeing a pale blue sky through leafless branches. It was early, a thin film of mist clinging to the ground, the forest litter slick with dew.

He made his way through groups of quiet warriors towards Alcyon, ringed by the leaders of this small alliance. They had met the previous evening to discuss their battle plan, but Braster had insisted they also gathered at dawn to go over matters.

The red-bearded King nodded to Veradis. ‘We all know what we are about this day, and we have only made it this far with the help of those with no obligation to be here.’ He looked from Veradis to Alcyon and nodded curtly to them. ‘Thanks are due.’

Romar looked away.

‘That’s it,’ Braster growled. ‘I’ll see you all this night, drink to our victory with you. Until then: truth and courage, and may Elyon’s hand be upon you.’

‘Truth and courage,’ Veradis repeated as the group split, heading for their various warbands, Veradis walking with Calidus and Alcyon. They were to form up behind the larger forces of Braster and Romar, the two kings commanding close to three thousand men between them. Veradis and his companions had a twofold task. First, to protect Alcyon and Calidus from any specific attacks. The giant and the Vin Thalun were the only means of counteracting the Hunen’s Elementals.

Secondly, and only if the first task was deemed no longer necessary, Veradis was to lead his warband to the flank and do what damage he could, leaving the Jehar to protect Calidus and Alcyon. Calidus had pointed out that the Jehar were more than adequate protection, but Romar had been adamant that Veradis was to remain a rearguard force.

‘Half a league and you will see Haldis, King’s man,’ Alcyon said, his teeth flashing fiercely.

‘These giants,’ Veradis said. ‘There will be many of them — many Elementals?’

‘Aye. But we will look after you, little warrior,’ the giant said, a smile twitching at his moustache.

‘That is not what I mean. How can only you and Calidus stand against so many Elementals?’

‘You have seen him,’ Alcyon said. ‘You know what he is. We giants have lived long, yes, had a long time to learn our craft. But he is older, much older.’ He shrugged. ‘He is powerful.’ Then the giant was gone, striding towards the black mass of the Jehar, his great broadsword slung over his back.

Veradis’ warband was loosely gathered before him, a line of fifty men, ten rows deep. Bos grinned at him and moved so that he could take his place in the front rank. Somewhere ahead a horn blew once, and the host moved forwards, swarming around the thinning trees.

They reached the crest of a ridge and looked down on tilled and cultivated land, the signs of organized crop-growing looking strangely out of place in the forest. Then Veradis sucked in his breath as he saw Haldis for the first time.

A crumbling, vine-covered wall lay ahead, many sections fallen to ruins, leaving gaping holes in the wall like an old hag’s teeth. Within there were huge cairns, hundreds of them, their stones thick with moss and yellow lichen. Then beyond this, a sheer cliff-face of dark granite rose up from the ground with a line of trees fringing its upper edge. Its entire face was covered in carvings: huge, snarling faces, warriors in combat, and all manner of creatures. Wolves, eagles, bears, draigs and snakes were represented, surrounded by swirling runes. At the escarpment’s base was a great arched gateway, taller and wider than a dozen giants and black as night. Veradis shivered.

But there was no sign of the Hunen. No movement anywhere.

There was a strident horn blast from behind him. Alcyon, head, shoulders and chest above the tallest men about him, waved an arm, signalling to stop here, and the warband slowly came to a halt on the upper level of the slope.