CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

VERADIS

“Open the gates!” Veradis yelled as he ran towards the gates of Drassil, his hundred men in loose formation behind him, their shields up in a ragged wall. The sounds of a great tumult swept down from the northern edge of the fortress. As he glanced that way, Veradis saw a flaming branch spin high up over the battlements and fall inside the wall. Screams erupted.

When Alcyon said they’d make a distraction, I did not expect this.

He looked at the gates as he approached them. They loomed before him, still closed. Shadows framed by torchlight peered over the battlements above them.

Behind him battle-cries echoed from the forest and figures burst from the treeline: Balur and a dozen Benothi, all charging at him, brandishing hammer and axe, bellowing blood-curdling threats.

Remember—they must seem to be our enemies and we’re scared of them.

Instinctively he picked up his pace, yelling again for the gates to open, praying that they would.

Closer, two hundred paces, still the gates remained closed.

Open, damn you, open! Veradis yelled in his head.

With a creak, a sliver of light appeared down the centre of the gates and they opened, just in time for Veradis and his disguised men to pour through them, maintaining their formation, the gates slamming shut behind them. A dozen heartbeats later and there was a series of concussive thuds as Balur and his kin reached the gates.

The courtyard was lit by fires and braziers, heaving with warriors, eagle-guard, Vin Thalun, and Veradis thought he glimpsed a few Kadoshim prowling amongst them. Horses whinnied and screamed from stables lined around the courtyard. Smoke billowed through the courtyard, a sign of the chaos caused by Alcyon at the north wall.

They think it’s a full-on assault. Have we kicked the hornets’ nest too hard? Will we ever get out of this pandemonium?

Amidst the smoke he saw something else, a mass of figures, standing in formation, he thought, then the smoke cleared a little and he realized what he was seeing. Men and women staked upon spears, looks of absolute terror and agony fixed in rigid lines upon their faces. The stench of decomposition wafted over Veradis, blending with the smoke.

He fought his first urge, which was to vomit, and his second, which was to draw his sword and start stabbing his enemy, those all around him who had committed or at the very least allowed this atrocity.

Faces appeared in front of him and he sucked in a deep breath, with difficulty subduing the urge for indiscriminate slaughter that was bubbling up within him. He had his helm tied tight, hair blackened with bark juice and grime smeared across his face, but still his heart was pounding in his throat as he saw dozens of faces that he recognized, men from the eagle-guard, though thankfully none of them was from his Draig’s Teeth.

“I bring word for Calidus from King Nathair,” Veradis gasped to the first man who approached him. “Where is he?”

“The north wall, I think,” the warrior said, a young man, all nervous energy, glancing beyond Veradis to the way the gates were shaking as Balur hurled things against them.

Veradis glanced at Ilta the Jehar, dressed in the silver and black of Tenebral, long black hair bound and hidden beneath an iron helm. She stepped out of formation and strode ahead of him, Veradis and his hundred following.

“This has to be quick,” Veradis said to Ilta as he caught up with her, “else we’re never getting out of here.”

She nodded, leading them through empty stone streets, towers and walls rearing high about them, the shifting movement of branches far above sending shadow and light dancing in ever-changing patterns.

I marvelled at Jerolin, the first time I saw it. Built by giants, but this…

The sound of shouting, raised voices, reached Veradis.

“Almost there,” Ilta said, falling back to him. “There’s a courtyard at the end of this street, the building at its far end is the hospice.”

“Marching formation,” he called. His men straightened their lines, Ilta merging with them, all of them slowing, looking more like eagle-guard. The darkness helped.

They swept into the courtyard, the building looming tall at its far end, before it a host of people. Veradis saw mostly Vin Thalun, fifty, sixty of them—it was hard to tell in the flickering light. They surrounded a huddle of people crushed close together, all on their knees. And before them, tied to a post, a fire licking at her feet, catching in her cloak, a young woman he recognized, screaming, her head lashing wildly.

Cywen.

“Stop this!” he yelled, striding forwards, drawing his short sword and banging it against his shield, his men behind him following suit. Heads turned, Vin Thalun and captives alike.

“Stop,” he shouted, pushing through the first row of Vin Thalun. He made it so far, then a warrior stood before him, feet spread, barring his way.

“Cut her free,” Veradis ordered, trying to push around the man.

“The witch burns,” the Vin Thalun snarled.

“I said, cut her free. Calidus wants all the prisoners, now,” Veradis barked, trying to get around the Vin Thalun, but the man moved to block him again.

“You can take the others, but she stays till she’s cooked,” the Vin Thalun growled.

The plan had been to tell any guards present that Calidus had sent for the prisoners, and Veradis was going to initiate a violence-free hand-over, escorting the prisoners out of the courtyard and on to freedom. No fuss, no fighting, no noise. The thought occurred to him that if he backed down now, he could take every other prisoner out of here without a drop of spilt blood. All he had to do was sacrifice Cywen.

He punched the Vin Thalun in the face with the boss of his shield, saw him stumble backwards, nose smashed, spitting teeth. Veradis followed him and hit him again, sent him crashing to the ground.

Another Vin Thalun came at him but Ilta charged forwards, her sword rising and falling, slipping past the Vin Thalun’s fumbled block to slice into his skull. He collapsed and she ripped her blade free, stood there glaring at her enemy, challenging them.

“TRUTH AND COURAGE!” she bellowed.

A frozen moment of shock, and then the Vin Thalun were leaping at them, howling. Veradis’ shield and sword sung, trailing bloody arcs as he carved a way through to Cywen, where he saw prisoners struggling to free her. Behind him he was aware that the prisoners were joining the fray, leaping at their Vin Thalun guards. The flames flared, sent him reeling, and another Vin Thalun was swinging a sword at him. Veradis kicked the man in the chest, sent him hurtling into the flames. They flared brighter as the warrior screamed, Veradis leaping at the stake in the fire’s heart. Lifting his shield high, he crashed into it, his momentum carrying him on, out the other side of the flames, rolling. He came to a halt on the flagstones, looked down.

At a burned and blackened spear shaft.

Where is she? Has she collapsed in the flames? Did I miss her?

He jumped to his feet, scanned the fire, could see no shape within it but prepared himself to leap back in.

“Well met, Veradis,” he heard a familiar voice say behind him.

Cywen.