John Gwynne - Malice

Nathair had not spoken since leaving the dell. ‘I have negotiated a peace,’ he said suddenly, startling Veradis.

Rauca frowned at the Prince.

‘I know it will be a shock for most, but its impact will be significant, I think.’

‘Shock. Many will struggle, Nathair.’ Veradis had grown up along the coast, and although the Vin Thalun had been quiet for over a decade, their reputation remained. And recently the raiding had begun again.

‘Nevertheless, it is for the greater good,’ Nathair said.

‘But how can you trust them?’ Rauca muttered.

‘I don’t. But they did prove their point,’ the Prince said. ‘They could have slain me, if they wished. They clearly want me to trust them. Why, we shall find out. And a great deal of what they said is true — an alliance would be useful. There is much that could be accomplished with their aid. I will use them as they seek to use me.’

‘Just be careful,’ Veradis said, glancing at Rauca.

‘Of course,’ Nathair grinned. ‘Friends close and enemies closer, eh.’

‘Did he tell you his name?’ Veradis asked.

‘Aye. Calidus,’ Nathair said quietly, almost a whisper. ‘It is not to be mentioned. Apparently he and my father had some kind of disagreement, many years ago. I would not have my father reject all I have achieved because of a name.’ He looked at Rauca and Veradis. ‘I will have your oaths on this.’

‘Of course,’ Rauca said. Veradis nodded.

Nathair smiled suddenly, nodding to himself. ‘As I said, it is for the greater good.’

The black walls of Jerolin glinted in the bright sun as Veradis crested a low rise, saw the fortress and lake before him, on the horizon the Agullas Mountains a serrated line separating land from sky.

The journey back had been uneventful, the warband making good time, and all were relieved to escape the heat of the south. It was still hot here, in the north of Tenebral, but it was tempered by a breeze that blew down from the mountains.

Fisher-boats and larger merchant rigs bobbed on the lake as the warband rode past the palisaded walls of the village by the lake and up a slope to the fortress. The eagle-banner of Tenebral snapped in the wind, and with a clatter on stone they were through the wide-arched gates and dismounting at the stables.

All was chaos, stablehands and warriors and horses crushed together. Veradis saw Valyn trying to bring some semblance of order to the situation, his voice raised over a cacophony of sounds. Then King Aquilus and Queen Fidele were there, flanked by warriors, and the stables noticeably calmed.

Fidele ran to Nathair and hugged him tight, the Prince looking stiff in her embrace, eyes searching for his father. Aquilus stood further back and greeted his son more soberly. The King called Orcus, and the four of them left, heading towards the feast-hall and tower beyond.

A good while later Veradis followed Rauca and Bos into the feast-hall. Bos slammed a jug of wine on the table. He poured three cups and drained his in one motion.

‘I can see how you got so big,’ Rauca said, looking at Bos’ overflowing trencher. Bos shrugged and continued eating.

Veradis tucked in to his food, sitting back when he was finished and pushing his empty plate away. He sipped on his cup of wine and looked around the half-empty hall.

‘Is that Peritus?’ he asked quietly, looking at a group of warriors on the far side of the hall. Sitting in their centre was a slim-built older man, of average height, his close-cropped hair and single warrior braid not hiding his thinning hair.

‘Aye,’ Bos grunted.

‘I thought so,’ Veradis said. He had seen Aquilus’ battlechief once before, but that had been at least eight summers gone, and he had only been ten years old at the time. Peritus had led a warband to his home town and helped his father deal with a band of lawless men that had taken root in Tenebral’s greatest forest.

‘He arrived this morning,’ Rauca said, ‘not long before us. With only half the warband he set out with.’

‘What happened?’ Veradis asked.

‘Giants. They’ve been raiding south of the mountains. Local barons prodded at Marcellin; he prodded Aquilus; Aquilus sent Peritus.’

‘Only half came back? I didn’t know there were enough of the giant clan left to do that,’ Veradis said, thinking of Balara, the ruined fortress that sat crumbling near his home. Tenebral was full of reminders of the giants, but the giant clan had been broken, scattered generations before; or so he had thought.

‘Don’t need to be too many of them to do a lot of damage,’ Bos said. ‘My da served under Marcellin before he took up the eagle here, said you need at least four handy warriors to be sure of taking one giant down.’

‘Not if your name’s Veradis,’ Rauca said. ‘He’ll take them on one on one.’ The warrior grinned and cracked his cup of wine into Veradis’, spilling red liquid on the table. Veradis scowled.

Just then a small group of warriors entered the hall, Armatus, the weapons-master, at their head. He saw Peritus and strode over to the battlechief. They embraced, thumping each other on the back.

‘They grew up in the same village,’ Rauca said. ‘Came to Jerolin together to join the warband, back when Aquilus was the Prince.’

Soft footsteps sounded behind them and stopped next to Veradis. He looked around, saw Fidele standing above him. The Queen’s face was pale, highlighting her red-painted lips; touches of silver showed in her jet hair.

The three warriors made to rise but she held a hand out and rested it on Veradis’ shoulder.

‘I heard what you did for my son.’

Veradis felt he should say something and opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

‘I wanted to thank you,’ Fidele continued. ‘He needs good men around him. Men like you.’

‘Thank you,’ Veradis mumbled, feeling heat in his face.

Fidele smiled, squeezed his shoulder and walked away.

‘Brave you might be,’ Rauca said, ‘but eloquent you certainly are not.’

Bos chuckled and Veradis blushed redder.

The next ten-night passed quickly for Veradis, life falling into a routine, most of his time spent in training with Nathair’s fledgling warband. The Prince was rarely with them, though. Upon his return Nathair had outlined their journey and the meeting with Lykos’ counsellor to Aquilus, detailing the treaty proposed by the Vin Thalun. Aquilus had not been as enthusiastic as Nathair had hoped, though, taking days to deliberate over the proposal. So when Veradis had last seen Nathair the Prince had been tense and short tempered.

The warband, though small, continued to grow: any that came to the fortress hoping to serve as a warrior for the King of Tenebral being offered the choice of joining Nathair’s band instead. On the eighth morning since their return from the south, Veradis was in the weapons court, sweating heavily after sparing with Bos, his knuckles red and stinging from a glancing blow. He had won the bout, though, and was quickly getting a reputation amongst Jerolin’s warriors. On more than one occasion he had noticed weapons-master Armatus watching him approvingly.

As he sat watching others train, letting the sun dry his sweat, footsteps sounded behind him. He turned and saw Nathair striding towards him, grinning broadly.

‘It is done, Father has agreed,’ the Prince said, clapping Veradis’ shoulder.

‘That is good,’ Veradis said, though years of mistrust where the Vin Thalun were concerned dampened his enthusiasm.

‘Our prisoner Deinon will take the answer to Lykos.’

‘Aquilus not separating his head from his shoulders, then?’ Veradis said.

‘Of course not. That would not be the best way to begin a new alliance,’ Nathair grinned.