John Gwynne - Malice

‘I know that,’ Aguila shrugged. ‘It’s not an insult. More an observation. Something’s different, that’s all.’

‘You’re not wrong,’ Maquin said. ‘Strange things have been happening, in and around Mikil.’

‘What things?’ Aguila asked.

The giant-stone, marking Isiltir’s border. We had word in Mikil that it was bleeding .’

‘I have heard whispers of such things,’ Aguila said. ‘There’s a circle of giant-stones in Helveth, south of Halstat. Same thing is said to have happened.’

‘And there’s more — worse as far as Romar is concerned. The starstone axe has been stolen.’

‘Ah. That’d do it,’ Aguila nodded.

The starstone axe was a relic straight out of legend, from a time before the Exiles had set foot in the Banished Lands, from before Elyon’s Scourging, even. Legend told of a star falling from the sky, when giants and men lived in peace and harmony. Kastell did not believe there had ever been a time like that. According to the tales, Treasures had been forged from the starstone, seven Treasures — cauldron, torc, necklace, spear, dagger, axe and cup. Wars had been fought over them, culminating in Elyon’s wrath being stirred and dished out: the Scourging. The axe at Mikil was said to be one of those Treasures, and people travelled from far and wide to visit it, believing it had magical qualities, that somehow it could bridge the gap between this world of flesh and the Otherworld, where the gods Elyon and Asroth dwelt.

Kastell did not know anything about that, doubted all of it. But what he did know was that the axe had made Mikil rich, that the constant trail of pilgrims visiting the relic brought with them a steady stream of silver and gold. Romar knew this too, and so his rage had been great indeed when the axe had been stolen. All the more reason for Kastell to get out of Mikil for a while. Between Jael’s taunting and Romar’s rages it had not been a pleasant place to be.

‘When did this happen?’ Aguila asked.

‘A ten-night gone,’ Maquin said.

‘Who took it? The Hunen, it must be,’ the mercenary muttered.

‘The Hunen,’ said Kastell. ‘They want it, sure enough, and they are the only giant clan within a hundred leagues. But I think they would be noticed walking into Mikil — anyone that stands fifteen handspans tall would be.’ He took another drink from the skin, the warmth feeling almost pleasant this time.

‘Aye, but still. They are Elementals — maybe they used a glamour,’ Aguila said.

‘Maybe,’ agreed Maquin, reaching for the skin in Kastell’s hand.

‘They are sly and fierce, the Hunen,’ Aguila said.

‘I know it,’ muttered Kastell.

‘You’ve had dealings with them, then?’ Aguila asked.

‘The Hunen slew his kin, the man I was oathsworn to,’ Maquin said darkly.

Kastell closed his eyes, remembering the hulking shapes striding through the broken gates of his hold, swinging their great-hammers and war-axes, outlined by flames. He shuddered. He had been six years old. He wished Aguila would stop talking about it. Silently he took the skin back from Maquin and drank some more.

‘Did they ransom you?’ Aguila asked.

‘The Hunen do not take prisoners,’ Kastell said. ‘Maquin saved me, carried me away.’

‘The Hunen are raiders, murderers, nothing more,’ Maquin growled.

Kastell wiggled his fingers, making the sign against evil.

Aguila saw the movement and smiled. ‘You need not worry about giants now, lad. We are forty blades strong, and besides I’d wager you know how to use that sword of yours. Elyon above knows it’s sharp enough.’ He glanced at the whetstone, and winked at Maquin.

‘Are you mocking me?’ Kastell asked, feeling his temper stir. ‘Been talking to Jael, have you?’ he growled. He felt blood rushing to his face and his hand moved to hover over his sword hilt. Aguila’s easy smile vanished, his expression hardening.

‘Have a care,’ the warrior said as he rose. ‘Romar’s kin or no, it won’t protect you always.’

Kastell glared at Aguila’s back as he walked away.

‘See how I am mocked,’ Kastell muttered, ‘because Jael does, all others think me fair game, think I can be scorned.’ He ground his teeth.

Maquin took a long deep breath. ‘Sometimes, Kas, you see enemies where there are none.’ Maquin shook his head. ‘Aguila meant nothing by it. Surely you understand that?’

Kastell snorted.

‘I did not want to have this conversation with you,’ Maquin said, ‘have stopped myself many times, hoping you would see it for yourself. When you passed your trials and Long Night, became a man, I thought it would end.’ He shook his head. ‘It is about time you heard some truths, I think. Jael has not turned all against you, even if he tries to. You are not considered by all as a figure to be scorned. But many do think you haughty, arrogant. Too proud to mix with the rest of us. There is much good in you, Kas, but take care lest it is buried beneath a cairn of self-pity. Your da would be disappointed, to hear you speak so.’ With that he rose and walked away, leaving Kastell sitting wide-eyed in the grass.

He sat alone the rest of the night, listening to the quiet talk and murmured songs that rose from the other travellers. As most of the camp descended into sleep, Maquin told Kastell he was on the next watch. Silently he walked out of the ring of wains and took himself to the rim of the camp. Self-pity , he thought, scowling in the dark, wavering between anger and shame.

He pulled his cloak tighter, a chill wind blowing through the mountains, the moonlight fleeting as clouds scudded across the sky. He was still shocked at Maquin’s words to him and spent his watch mulling over them. Grudgingly he reached the conclusion that Maquin was right, leaving him embarrassed, angry, mostly at himself for behaving the way he had, but also at others: Maquin, Aguila, many, faceless others for misunderstanding him. He had acted like a child, a sulky, spoilt child. Alongside those feelings, though, was a faint glimmer of hope. The thought that most of the fortress was not in league with Jael, in a pact to goad and bait him, was a good one. He made a decision then, in the dead of night. In the morning , he told himself. When his watch candle guttered and went out, he lit a new one from the dying embers of the fire, then woke the next warrior whose turn it was to stand guard. Soon after he was asleep.

The sky was grey with the approaching dawn when Kastell opened his eyes. He rose quickly and went about the morning’s duties, saddling his horse, helping to harness the draught horses to wains, load his pack. When all was done and most were breaking their fast, Kastell saw Aguila walk alone to his horse, a big dun animal. Kastell trotted to catch the warrior and tapped him on the arm.

‘I–I am sorry, for my words to you, yestereve.’ There was a slight tremor in his voice. ‘I misunderstood your meaning.’

Aguila looked at him, then his easy smile returned. ‘It is forgotten, lad,’ he said. Kastell nodded and then, not knowing what else to do, turned and walked away, a smile starting on his own face. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Maquin watching him.

CORBAN

Heb raised his hands into the air, his frame outlined by the fading sun.

‘Fionn ap Torin, Marrock ben Rhagor,’ he cried in a loud voice that did not seem to match his spindly frame. ‘Your day is done. You have been bound, hand and heart, and lived the day as one. Now is your time of Choosing. Will you bind yourselves forever, or shall the cord be cut?’

Marrock and Fionn looked at each other and raised their bound hands into the air. ‘We will be bound, one to the other, and live this life as one.’