CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

CYWEN

“DEATH TO OUR ENEMIES,” Cywen yelled, her mind and heart full of memories: of Ronan in the Darkwood, his blood running through her fingers, of her mam, dying in her arms, of the dead and wounded at Gramm’s hold, of the daily screams of the impaled in Drassil.

It must come to an end, and the only way is death. Death to Calidus, death to the Kadoshim, death to Lykos and Nathair.

Slowly the cries died down, the crowd falling quiet, a hush settling over the forest. Cywen looked up at Corban, saw the emotion running though him.

She felt an arm wrap around her shoulders and saw Brina’s wizened face looking at her.

“Welcome back, my apprentice,” Brina said, gazing at her with concerned eyes. “I’m glad you’re here, because I’ve had so much to do; I could do with some help, someone to do my bidding.”

Cywen laughed at that, though there was a cracked, manic edge to it. “I never thought I’d be glad of the day I got to do chores for you,” she said.

“Well, then, all I can say is that you’re going to be very glad, indeed,” Brina said with a twitch of lips. “First, though, I think you could do with a cup of tea and some honey.”

A commotion rose up from the edge of camp, someone was running through the trees and tents, up the hill. A woman, dressed in leather and furs, holding a bow in one hand. Cywen recognized her as one of the first that had joined them in Narvon, fleeing villages that were being devastated by the Kadoshim as they marched south from Murias.

Teca. Her name is Teca.

Teca ran up the hill, pushing her way through the crowd, then saw Corban, her troubled expression giving way to shock, and then to a flash of joy.

“You’re back,” she said, a smile upon her face now.

“Aye. Well met, Teca,” Corban called down to her. “What’s wrong?”

“Fidele,” Teca said, her smile vanishing, “she’s been taken.”

Uproar broke out then, hundreds of voices calling out at once.

“QUIET,” Balur boomed, and a new silence fell.

“What can you tell us, Teca?” Brina asked grimly.

“Fidele left in the night, with Veradis’ rescue party. From what I understand, her intention was to go to Nathair, hoping to reason with him, to turn him from his dark path.”

Grunts and murmurs rippled around the camp.

“But not far from here she was set upon, her shieldmen slain, and she was taken. Vin Thalun were amongst the dead. The strangest thing, though, is that their tracks led to the river, not back to Drassil. Maquin is searching along the riverbank now, but we need more hands and eyes.”

A hammer-blow of realization struck in Cywen’s head.

Lykos!

Alben was coming forwards now, calling out orders, organizing a group to go with Teca and widen the search.

“I know where she is,” Cywen called out, striding forwards, repeat-ing herself over the clamouring. Alben saw her.

“Where?” he asked her.

“Lykos has her, and he is bound for Arcona.”

Alben stared at her, horror-struck.

“Lykos,” he whispered. Then, to Teca, “Take a score of men. Fetch Maquin back here.”

Brina stepped forwards. “A meeting of captains, I think,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Follow me.”

Soon Cywen was in a small clearing, sitting upon a tree stump with those whom Brina deemed should be in attendance. Storm was pacing the shadows. She seemed…bigger; more ferocious.

Not a bad thing, in days such as these.

Cywen looked about the circle, at this gathering of captains: Jehar, giants, warriors and ex-slaves.

What a strange and diverse group we are.

Brina passed Cywen a small bowl of tea.

“Tell us what you know,” Alben asked her.

“Wait,” Brina said, holding a hand up to Alben. “Wait for Maquin. He will be here soon, and Cywen will only have to repeat herself.”

“Maquin?” Corban asked.

“Fidele’s shieldman, and her lover,” Brina said. Cywen raised an eyebrow at that, and Krelis coughed into his hand. Veradis blushed.

Brina will always say the truth as it is. Or as she sees it.

“He’s one of the few men in this rabble I like,” Brina said. “Straight-talking. Single-minded. Some might call him rude.”

A male version of you, then, Brina.

“And he is a killer. Not a man that can kill, like the rest of you. Look in his eyes.”

“She’s not wrong,” Javed muttered. “He is the greatest pit-fighter that ever lived. And that means he’s better than me.” He wiggled a hand in the air and grinned. “On his best day.”

“Fidele is his life,” Brina said. “So I suspect that you will not see him at his best.”

There was the sound of tramping feet, then Teca led a number of men into the circle. Amongst them stalked a man whom Cywen recognized from Brina’s description. There was a stark elegance to his movements, his eyes scanning constantly for threats. He was not overly tall or muscular, but still he radiated strength, a power controlled in his every move. He was not young, his hair was iron-grey with streaks of black in, his face a lattice of scars, most of one ear missing.

No doubt that’s Maquin, then. He looks like one of those granite crags that poke from the sea, off of Dun Carreg’s cliffs, weathered and battered, but unbroken.

“Why am I here,” he said to Alben, his words clipped short, as if he were having trouble breathing.

“Cywen thinks she has information about Fidele’s capture,” Alben said. “She is Corban’s sister, who has returned to us.” He gestured to Corban, and Maquin gave him an absent nod.

“Tell me,” Maquin said, turning his wolf gaze upon Cywen.

“Lykos has set out on a mission for Calidus,” she said. “Calidus is seeking to gather the Seven Treasures to himself. He needs them all to perform a ritual that will release Asroth and his Kadoshim, allow them to enter the Banished Lands and become flesh.”

“We know this,” Brina said.

“Well, he has discovered their whereabouts, or at the least, clues to their likely whereabouts.”

“How?” Javed interrupted.

“He found a hidden room, a forge, carved within the heart of the great tree in Drassil’s great hall. It is the room that the Treasures were forged in, and upon its walls is scribed a map by Halvor, the counsellor of Skald. On the map are the likely locations of the Treasures, or at least, where Halvor thought they were at the time of his scribing.”

Balur One-Eye shared a look with Ethlinn. “I heard rumours of such a place,” he said, “but I never knew.”

“The map placed the cauldron, necklace and cup in Benoth with Nemain,” Cywen recited them as Trigg had told her. “The spear at Drassil. The dagger with the Jotun in the Desolation and the torc in Arcona. We know about the axe.”

Alcyon hissed. “I dwelt in Arcona before Calidus took me as his prisoner,” the giant said, “and I never heard even a whisper of the Treasures.”

“Well, the map says it is on some island, called Kletfar? Something like that. It is in the centre of a great lake.”

“Kletva,” Alcyon whispered. “A place of shadow and death. None go there.”

“That’s it,” Cywen said. “Anyway, that is where Lykos is going. To get the starstone torc,” she finished.

“Why the river?” Maquin asked.

“It flows from Arcona,” Alcyon growled. “It is like a road carving through Forn for them.”

“How many swords went with him?” Maquin asked Cywen.

“I did not see them leave,” Cywen said, “but they had five boats—rowing-boats they built for the task.”

“How many oars did their boats have?” Javed asked.

Cywen considered. “Three on one side, three on the other. So six.”

Javed nodded. “Six-oared rowing-boats. Five of them. A hundred men and they’d be overloaded, so probably less. Eighty to ninety men is my guess.”

“Not a great warband, then,” Corban said.

“No. A raiding crew, designed to move fast and strike hard. Lykos’ ship-breakers, no doubt.” Javed glanced at Maquin, who nodded a curt agreement.

“My thanks,” Maquin said and turned to leave.

Alben grabbed his arm.

“You cannot go alone,” he said to Maquin. “You will fail.”

Corban stood up. “We need that torc,” he said. “Fidele must be rescued and Lykos stopped. So someone must go, and you’re right, Alben. They cannot go alone.” He strode to Maquin. “Maquin, are you fit to lead?” Corban asked him. “Brina said you speak the truth, even if it is harsh. Would you turn that truth upon yourself?”

Maquin regarded Corban, as if seeing him for the first time. “I am fit to lead,” he said grimly.

“You will have two tasks: rescue Fidele, and bring the starstone torc back to us.”

“Fidele will come before the torc, always,” Maquin said. He thought about it a few moments. “Fidele said we are all dead, in the end, if we do not defeat Calidus and the Kadoshim. So if the torc is vital to that, then, yes. I will bring the torc back, if it is in my power.”

“Then choose who you will take with you,” Corban said.

“I need hard men, men of endurance to hunt him down; men who can keep up with me,” Maquin said, looking around the ring of captains. “The Vin Thalun called me the Old Wolf,” he growled. “Now they will find out how true they spoke. We shall all be wolves, and Lykos will be our prey.”

“I’ll come with you, Old Wolf,” Javed said. “And I’d think a fair few of my Freedmen will be like-minded. A chance to kill Lykos and Vin Thalun—sounds like fun.”

“How many?” Maquin asked him.

“Fifty of us, if they all want to come.”

“Good. But not enough.”

Alcyon, Teca and Alben all stepped forwards.

Maquin nodded but looked at Alben.

“It’ll be a long run,” Maquin muttered, “and you’re recently injured.”

“I’m well enough, and if I can’t keep up, then just leave me behind,” Alben said. “I’ll pick some men from Ripa. Fidele is in their hearts and many will wish to come.”

“Good, then,” Corban said. “Without boats it’ll be a long, hard journey. You’d best make ready.”

Maquin didn’t need telling twice, he marched off.

“How are you feeling?” Brina asked Cywen.

“Better,” Cywen said.

Corban began to pace about the circle, looking at his remaining captains. “We need to work out how we’re going to win this war,” he said. “But I’ve been away too long. So first, tell me, where do we stand now?”

They gave Corban a run-down of the warband’s numbers and the new arrivals. They spoke of their tactics, orders left by Gar, to harass and disrupt wherever they could, but to avoid open engagement.

“At first there were daily patrols that ventured forth from Drassil,” Akar said. “Vin Thalun, eagle-guard, even Kadoshim. They thought us beaten and routed and wanted to keep us running. That strategy didn’t work so well for them.”

Cywen remembered seeing the gates of Drassil opening, a ragged band of wounded Vin Thalun limping through it.

“So now they patrol no longer,” Akar said.

“Nothing?” Corban asked. “Not even scouting parties? No reconnaissance at all?”

“Nothing,” Akar said, a touch of pride in his voice. “Since Nathair left to join Lothar, the gates of Drassil have remained closed. Apart from when Veradis tricked his way inside. See! Another victory through guile.”

“Much to be said for guile,” Wulf said.

“I’m fond of a good ambush, myself,” Coralen said beside Corban, her hand brushing his just for a moment, a gentle caress.

Looks as if those two have sorted themselves out at last!

Krelis informed Corban of how they had eradicated the threat of Gundul’s warband from Isiltir, and told him of Lothar’s warband cutting its way closer to Drassil, building a road with the protection of Nathair and two thousand eagle-guard.

“We should try and stop them reaching Drassil,” Corban said. “As with Gundul, they will be weaker apart than together.”

“Aye,” Veradis said.

“So we must find a way for fifteen hundred to destroy six thousand, without losing many swords along the way.”

“That won’t be easy,” Veradis said. “Gundul was unprepared, taken totally by surprise. Also, Lothar is a different beast. I knew him when he was Braster’s battlechief. What I saw of him was capable and efficient. He fought well at the battle of Haldis. Not innovative, though. A traditional man.”

“What does that mean?” Krelis said.

“It means he’s like you,” Veradis said. “He doesn’t like change.”

“That’s true,” Krelis nodded. “I don’t.”

“But he has Nathair and two thousand eagle-guard,” Veradis said. “Their shield wall will be very hard to beat.”

“But beat them we must,” Corban said.

“We are working on some ideas,” Veradis said with a small smile.

“What about the earth power?” Corban asked. He looked from Brina to Ethlinn. “You giants are versed in it, are you not?”

“Things are not as they were,” Ethlinn said. “When the clans split, all were powerful in the earth power, but as the years passed, faith dwindled. I do not know what you understand of the power, but faith is…important.”

Cywen felt the weight of the book still inside her cloak.

There are different forms of the earth power, she thought. The way of faith, more powerful, but less reliable, or the other way—the way of blood and bone. But that has a price, and it is difficult, awkward. She glanced at Brina, saw that the healer was watching her like a hawk.

“Some remained scattered throughout the clans who were versed in the power,” Ethlinn continued. “Nemain and Uthas were two such in our clan. But for the most part the power withered amongst us and died out.”

“Each road feels as if it is blocked before it is even begun,” Corban said. “And what of Calidus and his Kadoshim? What is he up to now?”

“He has not ventured from Drassil since the day they took it,” Akar said.

“Nor will he,” Cywen said. “His every thought is of the Treasures—to protect the ones he has, and to gather the others to him.”

“So we are back to the Treasures again,” Corban observed.

“I’ve a feeling the Starstone Treasures will decide this war, one way or another,” Brina said to them all. “I have the beginnings of an idea, but it would be fraught with danger, the risks high. And it would only be possible if the Treasures were all together.”

Which is a danger in itself, if Calidus were involved.

“Three are accounted for in Drassil,” said Ethlinn. “And we have heard tonight about the others. The torc is in Arcona. The dagger with the Jotun in the Desolation. That still leaves the cup and necklace in Benoth.”

“Rhin has them,” Cywen said. “Or says she will have them, before too long.”

All in the circle looked at her.

“Rhin and Calidus communicate, somehow. By dark magic, I think.” She glanced at Brina. “Calidus has summoned Rhin here, ordered her to muster her warband and ride to Drassil with the other Treasures.”

“So Drassil is the heart of the web,” Veradis muttered.

“It is,” Ethlinn agreed.

“Only one Treasure would be left unaccounted for, if Cywen’s information is right,” Brina said, tapping a long finger on her chin. “The starstone dagger.”

“It is not unaccounted for,” Corban said, standing and reaching beneath his cloak. He pulled a scabbard around that was hooked to his belt, hidden on his back. He grasped the hilt of what looked like a short sword, similar to the one that Veradis wore at his hip. Corban drew it, held it up, and Cywen saw that its blade was coal-black.

“The starstone dagger,” Corban said.