CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

UTHAS

Uthas strode across the stone bridge that spanned the precipice between Dun Carreg and the mainland, the breeze tearing at his cloak. He looked back, saw Rhin mounted on a warhorse, Salach striding beside her, and behind them what was left of Rhin’s beleaguered warband. Most of their baggage wains had been destroyed, which at least meant that they travelled faster. The might of the Benothi—what is left of us—strode behind the warband, fifty giants, clad in mail and leather.

To the north-west the sea sparkled and glittered beneath the setting sun, and to the north-east, Uthas could see the dust cloud that marked Rhin’s messengers as they galloped along the giantsway, taking word to her battlechief Geraint to muster the warband of the west.

The time is upon us. The God-War is reaching its end, moving towards its last great battle, which will decide the fate of this land, and all who dwell within it.

And we have the cup. And perhaps the necklace.

He could not stop the smile that spread across his face.

He turned and strode through the arch of Stonegate, into the courtyard of Dun Carreg. Ahead of him he saw Rafe and his lone hound, the huntsman’s head bowed and sullen. Even from here Uthas could see the long scratches on Rafe’s face, scabbed and red where he had been clawed. A bandage was wrapped around one shoulder, a red stain on it.

An arrow wound, deep into the muscle of his shoulder, yet it seems to be causing him little bother—another sign that he has drunk from the cup.

Uthas lengthened his stride to catch up with Rafe. Behind him hooves rang on stone, Rhin cantering up beside him.

“Take us to Evnis’ tower,” she said to Rafe, who gave a surly nod and marched ahead.

He sulks because he lost a hound last night. I lost Eisa.

Uthas, Rhin and Salach marched through the streets of Dun Carreg, Rhin’s honour guard of twenty warriors following behind. No people lined the streets to greet Rhin, though Uthas noticed that there were many warriors stationed throughout the fortress.

Then Rafe was at a set of gates that creaked on rusted hinges as he pushed them open. They all passed through into a small courtyard, beyond it an abandoned squat tower, wide-based, no more than six or seven storeys high. Uthas saw a row of kennels along one side of the tower, Rafe’s hound running over to sniff in them, but they were as empty as the tower. Further on, the outer wall rose above Evnis’ tower, dwarfing it. Uthas spied a stairwell climbing to the wall’s battlements, the sound of sea and surf rising up from the sheer cliffs beyond.

“Here we are,” Rafe said, gesturing to the steps that led up to the tower’s wide doors.

“Evnis’ chamber,” Rhin said, dismounting.

Cobwebs grew thick across the doorway, stretching and tearing as Rafe shouldered through them. They entered a wide entrance hall, ahead of them a spiral stairwell that Rafe led them up, leaving footprints in the dust-covered steps. At the top there was a landing, a single door into a shadowed chamber, sparsely furnished: a bed, a table, one chair, some tapestries hanging across one wall.

“This is, was, Evnis’ chamber,” Rafe said with a shrug.

“Find it,” Rhin told them.

Uthas and Salach began to search the room, Salach dragging the furniture away from the walls, Uthas running his fingertips across cold stone. He found the hidden door behind the tapestry, a depression and crack that looked like a fault in the stone. Uthas pushed into it, and then there was a breath of stale air and a click, the outline of a door appearing. Rhin clapped and laughed as Uthas pulled the door open. Inside was a small room, another table and chair, a wall sconce. On the table was a casket, big enough to hold a large book. Uthas opened it, feeling the throbbing pulse of power that emanated from it before he’d peered inside.

There was no book.

But there was a necklace.

Uthas sat at a table in a chamber of the great-keep. Rhin was with him, and Salach, and Rafe, who stood at an unshuttered window, staring out into the night.

Beside a jug of wine and drinking cups Rhin’s dread devices were set on the table. The iron bowl crackled with fire, the wooden frame had the flayed skin already hung and stretched upon it.

And there were two other items upon the table, side by side. Uthas’ eyes were drawn to them. The necklace: a dark stone the size of an egg wrapped in silver wire, bound and set within a silver chain. And a cup, larger than the other two on the table, carved from black stone, dull, unremarkable.

The starstone cup.

Uthas stared at it covetously, his eyes only drawn away by a sudden movement from Rhin as she opened a vial and sprinkled droplets of blood upon the flames, a hiss as they flared bright, and then Rhin’s voice, harsh and brittle.

“Thoghairm mé leat anois, Conall, slayer agus bhfeallaire ghaoil, tríd an flesh agus fola ar mo namhaid,” she said, repeating the phrase countless times until it filled Uthas’ mind, the skin and flames all he could see, the dark words all that he could hear.

Dark words indeed, slayer and betrayer of kin, slayer and betrayer of kin.

The skin on the frame rippled and stretched, features forming, an animated parody of life. A spluttering wheeze escaped the desiccated lips, sounding like the crackle of flames, the flicking of dusty parchment.

“By Asroth’s teeth, Rhin, but I’m not liking this,” a voice said, fear-laced.

“You don’t need to like it, Conall,” Rhin replied, haggard in the firelight, the deep lines on her face filled with shadow.

“Aye, well, it feels…strange. Like there’s a cold-fingered hand clutching my face.”

“Listen to me,” Rhin said, commanding. “Muster your warband. Not just an honour guard, or a few hundred swords. I mean the whole strength of Domhain, and I want you to lead it to Dun Carreg.”

“What! But—”

“Do it,” Rhin hissed, “and do it quickly, or there will be a new regent in Domhain.”

“Ach, no need for temper,” Conall said. “Of course I’ll do it, I’ll not forget who put me here. But it’s no easy task, is all I’m saying.”

“If it was easy, anyone could do it,” Rhin replied. “I need you here in one moon.”

“I’ll be there,” Conall said.

I do not think that is what he was going to say.

“Good. I knew I could count on you. Then I shall see you in one moon’s time. And, Conall,” Rhin said.

“Aye?”

“Sharpen your sword.”

Rhin sat back, breaking the connection, and lifted a cup, drinking deeply, her hand unsteady.

When she was calmed she took a sheaf of parchment, weighted its ends, dipped a quill in ink and began to scribe. Eventually she sat back, pinched some ground powder from a pot and sprinkled it over the ink and parchment. Then she beckoned to Rafe.

“This is to go to Morcant,” Rhin said. “I want him back here, not gallivanting around Ardan. Edana is of small matter in the lie of things, now. An inconvenience. You will take this to him, and bring him back to me.”

“Aye,” Rafe grunted.

Rhin shifted in her seat and scowled at him.

“My Queen,” Rafe added.

Rhin smiled coldly, running a finger down his face, a long nail tracing the arc of his wound where a talon had scored him from temple to chin.

“You have a lot of potential, my young huntsman,” she said. “Great things lie ahead of you, and I shall help you achieve them, as you shall help me.”

“Aye, my Queen,” he gulped.

“Off with you, then,” she said and Rafe hurried from the room.

Rhin put her sorcerous paraphernalia into her travelling chest, then the starstone necklace. She snapped the lock shut and turned the key. There was only the starstone cup left on the table, now, a jug beside it.

“Well, we have finally reached the moment,” Rhin said, looking at Uthas. “The one we have both longed for. Time to drink.”

“It is,” Uthas agreed, surprised at the tremor in his voice.

She poured wine into the cup, then took Uthas’ hand and led him to a door in the chamber, opened it to reveal a wide bed.

“We shall be incapacitated a while,” Rhin said, “so we shall remain here, under guard of your shieldman and mine. And when we awake…” She smiled languorously at Uthas as she led him into the bedchamber and shut the door.

She sat on the bed, lifted the cup to her lips and drank a long, deep draught. She smiled and passed him the cup; even as he lifted it to his mouth her eyes were widening, a gasp of pleasure escaping her parted lips, the wine upon them black as heart’s blood.

He remembered what it was like the first time, pleasure and pain, and steeled himself for what was to come.

He drank greedily, emptying the cup, felt the wine hit his belly, a warm glow radiating outwards, creeping into his veins, spreading, an expanding wave of pleasure magnified. Rhin sank back onto the bed, writhing, a beatific smile upon her face, her hands gripping the woollen bed sheets, twisting them. His body felt like liquid gold, warm, melting, and he was unable to keep himself upright, felt himself sinking onto the bed, groaned with pleasure, laughed for the joy of it.

Then Rhin began to scream.