John Gwynne - Malice

They were standing close to the rear of the hall, Halion and his small band of survivors curled protectively around Edana. So far, the renewed battle had not touched them.

‘We must get Edana out of here,’ Halion said, overhearing their words, looking at Gar curiously, as if seeing him for the first time.

‘Aye,’ Corban said. ‘But how?’

‘There is no path through that,’ Halion pointed out, nodding at the battle in the hall, and looked back at the doorway leading into the keep.

‘And no path beyond,’ Marrock said. ‘Most of the fortress between here and Stonegate is the same. And Owain holds the gate and bridge.’

All realized what that meant. There was only one known route in or out of Dun Carreg.

‘I know a way,’ Corban blurted, suddenly remembering the tunnels beneath the fortress.

‘You are sure?’ Halion asked.

‘Aye. A secret way.’

‘I say let us go and see,’ said Marrock, ‘not stand here debating its likelihood.’

Halion nodded and galvanized them into action. He gave orders to his remaining fighters, hurried over to the door at the back of the hall, and led the small party through.

Gwenith hesitated at the doorway, looking back at Thannon. Then her expression changed. ‘Cywen.’

Corban tried to think of the last time he had seen his sister. Where was she?

‘We must find Cywen,’ his mam said.

Gar put a hand on her arm. ‘We must get Ban to safety, and hope that we find Cywen along the way. If we don’t, I will come back and find her, once Ban is safe. I promise you.’

‘But. .’

‘She is brave, resourceful. If any can survive through this, it is her.’ Gar held her gaze. ‘We cannot risk Ban — the sacrifice has already been so great. .’

Gwenith stared at him. ‘You will come back for her?’

‘On my oath, as soon as Ban is away from here.’

She nodded curtly.

Dath suddenly broke away, running back into the hall where his da knelt in mourning. Corban paused a moment, then followed, with Gar and Farrell close behind.

They caught up with Dath as he reached his da, still bent over the lifeless form of Bethan, cradled in Vonn’s arms.

‘Come, Da, quick,’ Dath gasped. ‘We must leave.’

Mordwyr looked up at him. Gently Dath slipped his arms around his da and tried to lift him. Corban went to help, passing his hammer to Farrell.

‘Leave me here,’ Mordwyr muttered as they hoisted him up, ‘I have nothing left to live for.’

‘Live for me, Da,’ Dath pleaded, ‘or if not, live to avenge Bethan.’

Vonn looked up at that and grimaced.

Mordwyr allowed Dath and Corban to steer him back to the doorway, Vonn following wordlessly. Halion and the others were waiting for them in the dark corridor beyond. Corban and Gar were last to step through the door, Storm squeezing past him. He looked back, into the hall.

‘Da,’ he whispered. Gar bowed his head.

Corban was about to turn away when a movement caught his eye. Nathair and Sumur were dragging Brenin’s corpse to the side. The two men were staring straight at Corban. Corban was caught for a moment, staring back at Nathair. Gar jerked him back and slammed the door shut, dragging a long bench over to wedge against it. ‘Time to mourn when we’re off this rock,’ he said.

Corban nodded, and together they ran down the hallway, Storm loping along behind.

KASTELL

Kastell paced down a wide, spiralled pathway, the others near him in the dark, as it wound around a black open space. He took a few shuffling paces closer to the pathway’s rim, looked over its edge and saw, far below, the glimmer of blue-tinged light.

The company walked in silence, the only sound the tramping of feet, the creak of leather. There was a heaviness in the air, a musty, old smell, which grew stronger as they walked deeper. Kastell began to feel anxious. Would there be more giants down here? Somehow the battle in the tunnel had felt final; there had been an extra ferocity to the Hunen, as if it were their last stand. But the Hunen were unpredictable. His thoughts returned to the battle amongst the mounds, the creeping mist and ground that had turned to bog. He shivered, recalling warriors sinking to a cold, suffocating death.

Then the ground levelled and he took in the sight ahead.

Warriors were spread before them, giants, kneeling in two great lines. Kastell quickly hefted his sword, then felt foolish.

They were dead. Long dead, the cadaverous warriors held upright by stiff coats of leather and chainmail, gripping axes or war-hammers that were planted into the ground, the butt-end of shafts sunk into small holes dug into the stone. Tall posts with bowls of blue flame interspersed the twinned rows of dead warriors.

Slowly the party moved along the wide road, spreading out. Kastell saw something at the far end, marked by blue flame. He looked suspiciously at the Hunen on either side, half expecting this to be some new form of glamour. Perhaps the skeletal warriors would burst into life and attack them. His skin prickled, feeling as if they were staring at him; but there were only black, sightless holes in their papery faces where once their eyes had been. Wisps of braided hair and moustaches framed gaunt, angular skulls wrapped in taut skin, preserved for Kastell knew not how long.

As he drew closer to the cavernous room’s end he saw Romar ahead. And Kastell finally saw what was placed there.

Upon a wide dais sat a stone chair, a throne, and seated in it was the body of a giant. He wore a coat of iron, made of small plates shaped like leaves, each individually stitched into the leather beneath it. Eerie blue flames flickered on the dull iron, the horsehair-plumed helmet upon its head and upon its greaved boots.

Bony hands gripped the long shaft of an axe, double bladed, with the metal looking different somehow from the iron everywhere else in the hall. It was dark, seeming to suck the torchlight into it rather than reflecting it like the other weapons in the chamber. What was more, Kastell had seen this axe before — in a hall in Mikil, guarded like treasure.

‘My axe,’ Romar breathed.

Alcyon and Calidus swept past Kastell with a score of the Jehar. He looked behind him, and more of the black-clad warriors were spreading about the hall amongst the remnants of the Gadrai and the men of Isiltir.

Alcyon and Calidus approached the dais. Calidus halted and Alcyon stepped up. He gripped the axe, then extracted it tenderly from the cadaver’s skeletal grip. He lifted it before him, a look of awe and rapture upon his face.

‘Hold,’ a voice called out, harsh in the almost reverent silence. ‘That is my axe.’

Alcyon stared at Isiltir’s King, with his small, black eyes. ‘It is Dagda’s axe,’ he said, his low voice almost whispering, though his words carried throughout the hall.

‘Dagda? Who is, was he?’

‘One of the seven forefathers, wielder of the starstone axe,’ Alcyon breathed, as if reciting some ancient rote of law. ‘This axe is one of the seven Treasures.’

‘I know it,’ Romar said. ‘And it is mine. Give it to me.’

‘This belongs to Nathair,’ said Calidus. ‘I claim it, as our only spoils in this, as our reward for aid given. You would not even have reached Haldis, let alone conquered it, without our intervention.’

‘What?’ Romar exclaimed. ‘I think not. You have come here uninvited, joined yourself to our cause when you were not wanted, not needed, and now you seek to take for your own the greatest spoil of this war.’ Romar stepped towards the axe, his challenge clear.

‘I claim this axe as trophy for Nathair, King of Tenebral, our Bright Star, the Seren Disglair,’ Calidus intoned. Kastell frowned, not understanding Calidus’ last words, at the same time seeing their effect on the dark warriors about him, as they readied themselves, somehow.