John Gwynne - Malice

‘Nathair,’ Romar stuttered. ‘The Seren what? He is but a pup, a kingslayer, and he shall reap no gain from this, earn no coin from our spilt blood. Now,’ he said, turning his gaze upon Alcyon, ‘give that to me.’

‘No,’ Alcyon growled.

Romar placed a foot upon the dais, but Calidus stepped in front of him.

‘Get out of my way,’ Romar said, attempting to shoulder Calidus aside. But the thin man pulled the King round to face him.

Romar tugged against Calidus’ grip. ‘Let go of me,’ he grunted, reaching for his sword hilt, his honour guard moving forwards.

Romar looked up just in time to see Alcyon swinging the axe, before it slammed it into his shoulder, cleaving the King from collarbone to ribcage.

There was a moment of absolute silence, then men were running at Calidus and Alcyon, the Jehar moving to protect them. Out of nowhere, battle was now raging all about Kastell, as fierce as when they had faced the Hunen above.

Kastell hefted his sword and shield, and moved instinctively to Maquin, covering his friend’s wounded side as they stared, shocked by the ferocity of the fighting about them.

Even as Kastell watched he saw his Gadrai sword-brothers cut down, their opponents faster and more graceful than any swordsmen he had ever seen, all rivalling Vandil. Orgull battled nearby, slamming one of the Jehar to the ground by sheer brute strength, but another replaced him, easily trading blows with the bald warrior, halting his forward progress towards Romar’s body.

Then a warrior was coming for him, a woman, Kastell realized, her sword held high. Kastell blocked her blow, but the woman used her momentum to sweep around him and swing her sword in a blow that would have hamstrung him if Maquin had not lunged forwards, turning her blade. She rounded on the wounded warrior, instantly seeing his weakness. Kastell blocked her lunge at Maquin, and then she was coming at him again, a flurry of strikes aimed at his head and throat. He fell with a crash onto his back, the Jehar’s sword whistling where his throat had been. Instead of following instinct and rolling away, he rolled towards her, crashing into her legs. She fell and was almost on her feet when his shield smashed into her shoulder, knocking her back down, and Maquin’s sword suddenly chopped into her neck. She jerked once and then was still.

Kastell lay there a moment, grateful, and slightly surprised still to be alive.

He hauled himself up to find battle still raging all about, broken down mostly into little knots of individuals now. Vandil was a blur, his two swords swirling and sparking against a Jehar’s long, curved blade. He spun and struck, one of his swords burying itself in his antagonist’s chest.

The blade stuck for a moment. Vandil tugged hard, and suddenly Alcyon was there. The giant struck. Vandil saw the blow coming and swung his free sword to turn the axe, but the blow had too much power behind it and smashed into his chest, sending him flying backwards in a spray of blood and bone. The Gadrai leader slid across the flagstoned floor, came to a halt with one arm twisted underneath him. He did not move.

‘Come on,’ Maquin shouted, and together Kastell and Maquin ran across the chamber to their fallen leader.

There was a crash behind them, and Kastell saw Maquin set upon by another Jehar. Then Orgull was there, the bald man ramming his blade’s tip into Maquin’s attacker’s back. All three of them tumbled into one of the giant cadavers, disappearing in a cloud of bones.

He was about to leap after them when a figure stepped in front of him. Jael, sword in hand, and his cousin was smiling.

‘Out of my way,’ Kastell growled.

‘We need to talk,’ Jael said.

‘ What ?’ Kastell said, confused. Talk? Here, now? He pushed past Jael, then saw him move.

He managed to block Jael’s lunge, just, but fell away with a deep gash in his arm.

‘What are you doing?’ he hissed, looking from his bleeding arm to his cousin.

‘Claiming my throne,’ Jael said, stabbing again at Kastell.

Their swords clashed, Jael pushing forwards. Kastell blocked a blow, lunged at Jael’s chest, saw his sword turned as Jael spun inside his guard and cracked an elbow into his chin.

Kastell staggered back a step, tasted blood, then felt a blow to his gut, as though he’d been punched. He looked down to see a sword buried deep in his stomach.

Suddenly his legs were weak, and he felt unbearably tired. Cold.

Jael ripped the sword free, laughing. ‘I owed you that,’ he said.

Kastell tried to answer, but his voice wouldn’t work. He felt himself falling, vision blurred, then he felt cold earth on his cheek. The last thing he saw was Jael’s boots.

CORBAN

The corridors were dark and silent, the faint noise of battle only occasionally filtering through open doorways. Corban and Gar soon caught up with the rest of the company, numbering around a score now. In near silence they ran, twisting and turning until Halion finally led them into a room.

It was Brenin’s chamber, Corban realized, dominated by a huge, carved bed. Halion marched out onto a balcony and began helping people climb over and drop the short distance to the empty street below. Marrock and Camlin automatically went first, scouting out the street and then signalling for others to follow.

Corban was at the back of the party, and helped his mam climb over the balcony. Gar, Farrell and Halion were all that were left.

Suddenly a thought struck him. ‘Storm will not jump,’ he said. ‘Not over the balcony’s ledge, into something she cannot see.’

‘Step back,’ Farrell grunted. He yelled, ‘Move away!’ to those below and swung Thannon’s hammer, smashing a large portion of the balcony’s rail down into the street.

Farrell grinned and shrugged sheepishly.

Quickly the last of them climbed down, Corban having to urge Storm to follow.

‘Good,’ said Halion, organizing the small group. ‘Now, as quick as we can to the pool.’

They were a ragged, unsteady mass as they headed off, Marrock leading, Corban and Storm bringing up the rear, with Gar one side of him and Farrell the other. Camlin came last of all, constantly glancing behind.

Every now and then they would hear the clash of arms, but nothing came near enough to see. They were in the rear quarter of the fortress, most of the fighting still raging between Stonegate and the keep.

Corban saw a black flicker behind and above as he glanced over his shoulder, the orange glow of flames from burning buildings illuminating the sky above the fortress. He saw it again, and heard the flap of wings, then saw Craf swoop low over Brina ahead. Somehow he felt relieved that the mangy old crow at least was still with them. So many had died.

He winced as he ran, his shield rubbing on his wounded shoulder. But he could still move his arm and lift it, which was a blessing, though not without pain. Then with no warning, warriors were pouring into their path from a side street — a score, maybe more, all in the red of Narvon. They had not seen Corban’s small band, until Marrock ploughed into them. Then Halion and the warriors with him carved a path straight through the middle of the surprised enemy, Farrell roaring and swinging Thannon’s hammer as if he had been born to it. Storm leaped snarling onto a terror-stricken man, her jaws clamping around his throat and face, claws slashing at his belly. Camlin ran silently into the skirmish, sword snaking out left and right.

With a flash of pain Corban drew his own blade, and with Gar guarding Corban’s wounded side, they joined the fray. Within moments it was over, the last man of Narvon standing pounced on by Storm, who made short work of him.