Drem knocked on Byrne’s door.
“Enter,” Byrne called, and Drem opened the door and walked into Byrne’s sparsely furnished chamber. She stood by a tall window, the shutters thrown wide, night spilling into the room. Drem walked forwards a few paces, shuffled to a stop. He still felt ashamed that Byrne had fought for him against Kol, the Ben-Elim. Not that he would have stood a chance against the winged warrior—that had been blatantly obvious from the first few moments of the duel.
But it still felt wrong, that someone else had done his fighting for him.
Byrne turned, the cut on her cheek from Kol’s sword freshly stitched and scabbed. Another reminder of his shame.
“Thank you,” Byrne said.
“What for?” Drem frowned.
“For giving me the absolute joy of putting Kol on his arse.” She smiled, the stern high captain gone for a few moments. “I have wanted to do that for a very long time.”
Drem shook his head, remembering how he had been wracked with the fear of losing Byrne, of someone else close to him dying. “I thought he was going to kill you.”
“Kol? That bag of hot wind?” Byrne shook her head, saw Drem’s expression and walked to him.
“That duel has been a long time coming. It should have happened fifteen years ago. Olin begged me for the honour, but I forbade him. He said Neve would want it that way, that she would not want so much damage to come from her one moment of anger. But I feared you would be left an orphan. Olin was good, but not as good as me.” She said it matter-of-factly, no pride or arrogance in the statement. “If I had challenged Kol then, when he came for you all those years ago, then Olin would have been shamed. In hindsight, I wish I had still done it. Olin’s shame would have been better than losing you all these years, and Olin would not be dead.”
“He did what he felt he had to do, to protect me and the Order,” Drem said.
“Oh, I know that.” Byrne sighed. “The fault was mine. But all is so much simpler when you look back on it.” She poured two cups from a jug, gave one to Drem. Spiced mead. Drem enjoyed the honey in his throat and the warmth filling his belly.
“So, the Desolation,” Byrne said. “Keld has reported back to me on what happened. And Rab. He had a good view.”
Byrne looked Drem in the eye, held his gaze.
“You did well. Utul tells me he is in your debt. You saved his life.”
Drem just shrugged, not sure what to say.
“Moments like that, when you act when there is no room for thought, they show the truth of a person,” Byrne said.
Drem remained silent.
“But you left Dun Seren, volunteered to go back to the Desolation. Do you regret coming here?”
“No!” Drem said in a rush. “I, it is… I do find it hard here. So many people, and walls everywhere.” He shrugged. “I’ve lived in the Desolation for most of my life, in the company of one man, little else but trees, ice and sky for company.” He shrugged again.
Byrne nodded, thinking over his words.
“So, it is adjusting to this place, to us,” she said. “It is not that you wish you had not come, or that now you’ve seen us you wish to leave? Better a hard truth than a kind lie.”
Drem liked that, because that was exactly how he felt.
He drew in a deep breath, thinking hard on it, because Byrne’s honesty deserved it.
“I want to be here,” Drem said. “I have not been here long, but as strange as it seems, it feels like home. Not the walls and towers, but because of… you. And Keld and Cullen. They are good men, and dear to me.” He blew out a long breath, felt he’d come close to expressing how he felt.
Byrne gazed at him a while longer. Then nodded.
“Good,” she said. “Now that I have found you, I would not lose you again. I say that as your kin, but also as the high captain of this Order, because I see in you the makings of a fine warrior. We know that you can handle yourself in a fight. Keld and Cullen have told me in detail of the journey here from Kergard. And I’ve seen you put Cullen on his arse, which isn’t the easiest of things to do.” Byrne smiled fondly. “And Keld tells me you are as skilled as any of our huntsmen, more than most. Keld does not make high praise of anyone. Except Sig. So, I am hoping that you will stay, will join us, will take the Oath.”
“The Oath?” Drem asked.
“Aye. When those who have undergone the training have passed their warrior trials here, they take an oath and join the Order. Pledging their lives to our cause. To protect those who cannot protect themselves, to fight the Kadoshim or any other evil that threatens the people of the Banished Lands.”
Drem liked the sound of that. All his life he had lived with no direction or goal, other than to hunt and survive. It had not entered his mind, not seemed necessary at the time. His life had felt fulfilled, happy in the presence of his father. Now, though, so much had changed. He felt as if stones had been removed from his eyes and that he saw the world clearly for the first time.
And it was not a safe place.
Gulla, Ferals, Revenants. I cannot turn my back on the evil they do, will continue to do. Walking away is cowardice, allowing others to stand against it.
“I would like to take the Oath,” Drem said. He frowned. “Though I have already made one of my own.”
“And what oath is that?” Byrne said.
“To kill Asroth.”
Byrne blinked at that, then chuckled. “You are Neve and Olin’s blood, and no denying. They would be so proud of you,” Byrne said.
I hope so.
“I think the two oaths are linked, so there would be no conflict there for you,” Byrne said.
“That’s what I was thinking,” Drem said. He drew his seax, running a finger along the blade, smooth and pitted steel now, no sign of the runes Keld had revealed with his word of power.
“Do I need the Starstone Sword to kill Asroth, or will my seax do the job? My father forged this, and Keld showed me runes that he had carved into the blade.”
Byrne took the seax, turning it in her hand.
“It is heavy,” she remarked. Hefted it, testing its balance. “A fine blade, well weighted. But Asroth is encased in starstone metal. To cut that you would need a blade forged from starstone.” She handed it back to him. “You have Olin’s sword, too.”
“I need to learn to use it. I feel more comfortable with this,” Drem said as he sheathed his seax.
“Olin’s blade will be rune-marked as well. Rare weapons.”
“Doesn’t every warrior of the Order have a rune-marked blade?” Drem asked.
“No.” Byrne shook her head. “Only those who have learned of the earth power. And there are not many that do that.”
“Why?”
Byrne studied Drem for long moments.
“I am usually a good judge of character,” she said, turning on her heel and walking away. “Come with me.”
Drem followed and they moved into an adjoining room. Byrne placed her hand against a stone wall and whispered something. There was a pulse of light, a glow leaving her fingertips and rippling through the stone, like veins, and then the outline of a door was visible. Byrne pulled it open and disappeared inside.
“Come on,” her voice echoed back out to him.
Drem stepped into a stairwell, flickering torches in sconces on the walls. Wide steps spiralled downwards.
“It is a great responsibility, the earth power,” Byrne said to him as he hurried to catch up with her. “I do not choose lightly who I will give that power to.”
Drem remembered Cullen complaining that he was not considered responsible enough yet to learn the earth power.
“You pick who learns, then?” Drem asked, gazing around him as they wound deeper and deeper.
“The high captain of the Order chooses, yes,” Byrne said. “Since Corban and Cywen, that has been the way, here.”
Drem nodded, thinking about that.
The staircase opened out onto a tunnel, wide and high, Byrne leading Drem on. It continued to slope downwards.
“What is this place?” Drem asked.
“A few things, but above all, a bolthole,” Byrne said. “There are a number of entrances throughout Dun Seren that lead here. Corban planned for it. I have read in our secret histories that there are tunnels like this in the fortress where Corban grew up, Dun Carreg, far to the west. Maybe it reminded him of home.” She looked and smiled at him. “It is a way of escape, if Dun Seren ever fell to attack. Eventually it leads to the river, though we will not go anywhere near as far.”
The tunnel spilt into a chamber, torches burning, sending shadows dancing. The ceiling was too high for the torchlight to penetrate.
In the middle of the chamber was a stone pedestal, a wide table and a dozen timber chairs. Byrne strode up to the pedestal and placed her hand on a thick, leather-bound book. She blew dust from it.
“This book was handed down to us from Brina, one of the two people the Order was dedicated to. It was written by giants, thousands of years ago.”
“What’s in it?” Drem asked, his voice echoing around the chamber.
“History, to begin with. And then, the earth magic. There is much knowledge in here, and power.” Byrne stroked it.
“Why do you keep it down here?” Drem asked, gazing around the shadow-wreathed chamber.
“Because it is dangerous, and precious, and this is the safest place in Dun Seren. Down here rock walls are not the only guardian of this book.”
Drem looked around again, staring into the shadows.
“You are quite safe, while you are with me,” Byrne said at Drem’s searching looks. “The earth power is just a tool,” she continued, “like a sword, or a plough. It can be used to save life, or to take it. Used for great good, or for great evil.”
“Why are you telling me this, showing me this place?” Drem asked.
“Because sometimes it is better to see a thing than to hear about it, Drem ben Olin, my sister’s son. And because I see in you the potential for greatness. You do not crave power, or renown. You shun violence, and yet you will do what you must, for your friends, or to protect the innocent. One day, I would hope to bring you down here and teach you from this book.”
Drem stared between Byrne and the book, the leather cracked with age, the parchments within yellowed. He thought of his mam and da, of Gulla and Fritha, Sig and Keld and Cullen. The memory of Hildith falling into his arms in the Desolation just a few days ago, and how he had comforted her, telling her she was safe now.
But is she? Will she ever be? Not that she is defenceless, the tough old goat, but what is happening in this world, it is wrong, an injustice, and I am being offered a chance to help. To make a difference, or if not a difference, at least the chance to stand against it.
“Drem, will you stay with me, learn the art of Kill and Cure, and stand with us against the darkness?”
“I will,” Drem breathed, not a moment’s hesitation.
Byrne looked into his eyes and nodded.
“Then pledge it to me. Not the Oath. That is for another time, for your sword-brothers and sisters to hear, for you to declare to the world. But pledge to me, now, as kin, that you will stand with me, and fight the darkness until your last breath.”
“I swear it,” Drem whispered.
Byrne drew a knife from her belt and sliced it across her forearm. Blood welled. She offered the knife to Drem.
“Then seal it in blood,” she said.
He took the knife, looked at the bloodied blade, then pulled the sleeve of his woollen tunic up and cut a red line along his arm.
He offered his arm to Byrne and she grasped it in the warrior grip, blood on their forearms mingling.
When it was done, Byrne stepped away.
“We should go,” she said and returned to the tunnel that led back to her chamber.
Drem looked at his arm, a sense of weight upon him. He knew deep in his bones that he had committed to something for life, and it felt… good. He rolled down his sleeve, blood seeping into the linen, and followed Byrne. As he strode across the chamber he felt something above him, a turbulence in the air. He stopped and stared up, searching the shadows, but could see nothing, no sign of movement.
“What is it?” Byrne called back to him.
“I thought I felt something?” Drem said.
“There are strange draughts down here,” Byrne said, “from vents in the rock, or seeping up from the river.”
Drem grunted and walked on. As he did so something floated down from above, landing just in front of his feet.
A feather.
He knelt and picked it up.
It was a dark brown, speckled with white.
Not a crow, then, and besides, it is far too big.
He looked up again.
An eagle, or hawk? One of the guardians that Byrne spoke of?
He tucked the feather in his belt and hurried after Byrne.