Drem crested a hill and saw the traders’ town of Dalgarth on the plain below. The sun was sinking into the west and Dalgarth looked eerily still, no columns of smoke or hum of noise emanating from it, like the first time he had seen the town. Now it was a desiccated husk, sucked dry of all life. When Dalgarth had first fallen silent they thought it had been hit by a plague, but now they knew better.
It was a plague, in a way. Ulf and his Revenants, infecting all those that they feasted upon, turning them into the same blood-hungry creatures.
He rode on, part of a line of scouts preceding their main warband. Keld was closest to him, twenty or so paces to his left. Crows wheeled in the sky above and wolven-hounds loped ahead of them.
As they made their way down the slope Drem’s horse whickered, head raised, and took a snorting breath.
“Almost there,” Drem said, patting the neck of his roan mare, Rosie. She had carried him all the way north, into battle and then to the starstone mine, and now they were making their way home. She knew they were close to home.
Dun Seren. Home. Strange that I have so quickly come to think of it as that.
He saw it in the distance, beyond a wide sweeping river. A dark tower upon a hill, surrounded by clustered buildings and tiered walls. Columns of black smoke rose from the fortress. Heralds of the coming war from the forges of blacksmiths. Almost immediately after the battle with Fritha, Byrne had sent a contingent of warriors back to Dun Seren: all of their skilled smiths. Kill, Byrne’s captain, had led them.
The ground levelled into a rocky plain that led to Dalgarth and Dun Seren beyond. Drem heard the thump and scrape of bear-claws as Queen Ethlinn and her giants crested the peak of the ridge behind him, and then the warband of the Order was spilling down the slope.
They rode in silence past Dalgarth, choosing to skirt the town rather than ride through it. They passed a copse of trees, twisted and wind-blasted, though green with summer’s leaves. Something moved in Drem’s peripheral vision and his eyes snapped around, searching. One hand went to the sword at his hip.
It was the white bear.
You are remarkably silent and stealthy for a creature almost the size of a barn, Drem thought with a smile.
The white bear had joined them at the battle, perhaps responding to Hammer’s bellowing call when she was injured. Whatever the reason, the white bear had saved Drem’s life and helped to turn the battle against Fritha’s creatures, her winged draig, the Ferals and her snake-woman. Drem shuddered at the memory of her. He still had fading bruises across his ribs from where her coils had squeezed him and he remembered her breath on his face, her voice in his ear, sibilant and reptilian.
After the battle Drem had found her tracks, leading south-east, away from the conflict. There had been blood in them.
Did she find some place to die, or is she still out there?
He didn’t like the thought of that.
Drem watched the white bear as it made its way through the group of trees, following them.
What will you do now? Will you cross the bridge and join us? Or will you part ways with us again, the bridge and Dun Seren too much for your wild heart to cope with? I know how you feel… but I’m getting better with people and walls. Maybe you would too if you gave us a chance…
Drem’s hand drifted to his neck, the thought of the fortress raising his anxiety. With two fingers he searched for his pulse, the rhythmic beat calming him.
Soon Rosie was cantering over the stone bridge that arched the river before Dun Seren. He looked back over his shoulder, saw the column of their warband crossing the bridge and stretching back beyond. He could just make out the shadow of the white bear, sitting off to the west amongst a stand of trees, watching. And then he was turning a bend and riding up to the walls and open gates of Dun Seren. He passed through the gates and into a huge courtyard. A small crowd was waiting to greet them in the shadow of the Order’s founder, the statue of Corban and his wolven, Storm.
I wonder what he was like.
The statue looked serious, but there were laughter lines carved at Corban’s eyes, and something about the set of his mouth that spoke of kindness.
It is a strange thing, to think my bloodline goes back to that man, and his sister.
Kill, Byrne’s captain, was standing beneath the statue. She was tall and dark-skinned, her black hair tied back into one thick warrior braid. She nodded a greeting to Keld, who was first to ride through the gates at the head of fifty of Dun Seren’s huntsmen.
Drem followed close behind Keld. They rode around to the right, making room for Ethlinn and her giants.
Stablehands rushed to take Drem’s reins as he dismounted. Young lads and lasses, too young to fight. The fortress had been almost stripped bare of warriors, only a skeleton garrison left to protect those too old or too young to go. Drem thanked the young lad trying to take his reins, but told him firmly that he would see to his own mount.
“She has looked after me, so it’s only fair that I should look after her now,” he said. That was what his da had taught him, all their years living a solitary life in the wild. The stable-lad nodded and moved on to the next rider.
Ethlinn, Balur and a few hundred giants and bears were filling the courtyard now, Byrne riding in behind with her honour guard, as well as Utul, Shar and Cullen. Drem nodded to his friend.
Byrne rode towards the statue of Corban, slipping from her mount and striding forwards to greet Kill. They took each other’s arms in the warrior grip, then Byrne turned.
“We’ve travelled far, and fought hard,” she called out. “Rest and eat, you’ve earned it.” And then she was striding towards the keep, deep in conversation with Kill. Ethlinn and Balur followed her.
“Come on, then,” Drem said, as he patted Rosie’s neck. “Let’s see if we can find you some oats and a good brush.”
Drem walked towards the bridge, a spear in one hand, a sack slung across his back. He stepped into the torchlight and raised a hand to the guards, two men and a woman. He strode across the bridge, his long legs taking him quickly to the far side, where he stopped a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Behind him the fortress stood like a deeper shadow, torches glinting through shuttered windows and upon walls. He turned his back on it and strode west, along the riverbank, pulling his cloak tighter about him.
Trees loomed and he paused, looking up. Stars punctuated the night sky. Drem had a sense of something, the skin on his neck prickling. A flicker up above, stars winked out and then back, quick as a blink.
He hefted his spear, searching the sky for some clue.
Kadoshim or their half-breeds? Would they come so close to Dun Seren? Scouting?
Drem stood there for a long time, hunting the sky, but there was no sign of anything.
Perhaps it was a bird. An owl or a heron?
He drew in a deep breath, feeling his lungs expand with cold air, as if shrugging off a heavy cloak. Drem felt comfortable in the silent landscape. Far more comfortable than he felt within the walls of Dun Seren, with people and stone crowding all around. He had sat many a night in the wild, only his da for company.
He walked a few dozen more paces under the trees until he entered a clearing, and then he stopped, setting his bag on the ground. Leaves scratched and rustled in the breeze, the creak of branches, beyond that the gurgle of the river.
“Where are you?” Drem muttered as he searched the gloom, but he saw nothing but trees and crow-black shadows. He rummaged in his bag and took out a big clay pot, grunted as he unstoppered it, then wafted it around, the scent warm and sweet.
“Come on,” Drem called, and set the pot on the ground.
He sat and waited.
It was not long before there was a vibration in the ground, and then the cracking of foliage as something large made its way closer. A deeper darkness formed, growing larger, and then the white bear was lumbering into the glade. It towered over him, its muzzle twitching as it snuffled. Drem held up the pot, took a ladle from a cloak pocket and scooped out a spoonful of honey.
The bear snorted its pleasure and took a big lick of the spoon, its rough tongue rasping across the back of Drem’s hand.
“I thought you’d be hanging around,” Drem said. “You’ve got too used to your honey.”
And us.
Drem had fed the white bear every night after camp had been set. He’d elicited curses from the healers when he had stolen pots of honey from their tent, but Byrne had waved their complaints away.
“He saved enough of us,” she had said. “The least we can do is share something of what we have with him.”
Drem ladled out more honey, the bear sat down, slurping, the lips and fur of his muzzle sticky and dripping. When the honey was all gone, it scratched at the pot with long claws, one of them missing from his front paw. Drem put a hand to the claw hanging about his neck.
“It’s a strange world,” Drem said, “that you and I should start off with you trying to eat me, and now I am the one feeding you.”
He bent down, stoppered the pot and wiped it on the ground before stuffing it back in his bag. Slinging it over his shoulder, he gave the bear a pat on a huge shoulder. He was not sure when he had started doing that, or when the bear had made it clear he would tolerate being touched, but now it felt quite natural.
“I’ll bring some more tomorrow,” Drem said, and walked away.
The bear lowed mournfully behind him.
“It’s all gone,” Drem said, and carried on walking. A dozen heartbeats later and the ground was rumbling. Drem didn’t look back and carried on walking. The bear followed. It paused when Drem began crossing the bridge, but only for a few moments. Drem heard its claws scratching on stone.
The outer guards stared as they walked past. They had not seen the white bear, but tales had spread of his part in the battle. His huge head swayed from side to side as he assessed them with his small dark eyes.
Together they followed a wide road that skirted wharves and barns and then passed beneath the sweeping walls of Dun Seren.
Guards saw Drem and the bear approaching and the gates swung open. Drem slowed down, falling back to walk almost alongside of the bear.
When they reached the gates, the white bear stopped and regarded the walls suspiciously. Drem stopped, too, looking up at the looming fortress.
“I know how you feel,” Drem said, resting his hand on the bear’s neck. “When I first came here it felt as if someone’s hands were about my throat, everything was so closed in, and there were so many people. You and I are creatures of wood and sky, we love the open spaces. But it’s not that bad, it just takes a bit of getting used to. It’s worth it, for a warm bed, hot food and good friends.”
The white bear looked from Drem to the open gates. Drem set off again, and after a moment’s hesitation the bear followed. Their steps echoed through the gate tunnel and then they were in the courtyard. Drem didn’t hesitate and led the way through the city until they came to a large building, more like a stone complex, a paved courtyard edged with what looked to be large stables. Drem approached one of them and a bear’s head appeared over a stable’s half-gate.
It was Hammer.
She rumbled a greeting to the white bear, who approached her, growled and then rubbed his muzzle against hers, their teeth clacking together.
Drem unbolted the door and opened it. The stable was huge, large enough for three bears. The white bear took a deep snorting breath and then lumbered in, Hammer rumbling and growling in welcome.
Drem stood in the doorway and watched as the white bear scratched at the straw-covered floor, sniffed at a barrel of apples and turned in a circle. Then it looked up at Drem.
Drem returned the bear’s gaze, the two of them frozen for long moments, then the white bear snorted and stuck his head into the apple barrel. There was a lot of crunching.
“You’re welcome,” Drem said. He bolted the stable door and walked away. He was smiling.
Drem’s door rattled; someone was pounding on it with a fist.
“What?” he groaned, rolling out of bed and stumbling to the door.
Cullen was there in his training leathers.
“Your white bear’s smashed a stable door to kindling and I’m not quite sure where the beast is.”
Drem tugged on clothes, grabbed a tunic and ran out of the door.
Dawn was seeping into the sky in pinks and orange, Drem’s breath misting as he ran into the bears’ stable enclosure. The door he had bolted last night was splintered and spread over a wide area; Hammer and the white bear were nowhere to be seen.
“Oh dear,” Drem muttered.
“Aye,” Cullen breathed, skidding to a halt as he caught up with Drem. “Oh dear, it is.”
The courtyard was empty, though bears were sticking their heads over stable doors and peering into the courtyard.
“Over here,” a voice called. Keld appeared at the far end of the courtyard, Fen and Ralla at his heels. Drem hurried over.
Keld was leaning on a post-and-rail fence, looking into a huge paddock. Drem blew out a sigh of relief. In the shadowed grey of first light he could see the white bear was in there, with Hammer. Both of them were standing in a stream, scooping at fish.
“I guess he doesn’t like feeling shut in,” Drem said.
“Aye,” Keld said, eyeing the shattered stable door. “You can say that again. Some of us just don’t like bars.”
“I suppose that’s fair enough,” Drem said.
“Say that once you’ve cleared up his mess,” Cullen said, grinning and patting Drem’s back.
“Come on, we’ll help you clean up before Ethlinn’s giants start arriving,” Keld said, and looked up at the brightening sky. “Any moment now.”
“Stooping falcon,” Byrne called out, and fifteen hundred swords were drawn and raised into the air.
Drem was in the weapons-field, standing with most of the warband of the Order, going through the sword dance. Byrne stood at their head, Kill one side of her, Utul the other. Unless the Order of the Bright Star were actually fighting, it seemed that missing the sword dance as their morning ritual was unthinkable.
“Lightning strike,” Byrne cried, and every sword slashed diagonally downwards.
Drem had come straight to the weapons-field from the bears’ enclosure. Keld and Cullen had helped him clear the debris, though he wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do about repairing the smashed door before sunset.
Maybe the white bear will be happier in the paddock.
Giants had arrived while Drem and his friends were cleaning up, Alcyon first amongst them with his twin axes crossed upon his back, dragging a wain full of fruit and berries. His son, Tain the crow master, was with him. They were deep in conversation.
“It is time, long overdue,” Alcyon was saying. “Please, Tain, send one of your crows to find her.”
“They are not my crows,” Tain said, “and they are needed. They do an important job.”
“I know that. Have a conversation with Craf, then. He will not begrudge this.”
Tain was silent.
“Tain, your mother should be here. Should have been here a long time ago.”
“I do not think she will come,” Tain said.
Alcyon stopped, gripping Tain by the shoulder.
“There is only one way to know that. Please, send her the message.”
Tain nodded. “I will talk to Craf about it, and Byrne.”
Alcyon grunted and they carried on into the courtyard. He raised an eyebrow when he saw the smashed door and looked at Drem.
“Takes a while for a bear to settle in, sometimes,” was all he said.
“Boar’s tusk,” Byrne cried. Drem lunged forwards and up, like a gouging boar, and held the position. He was starting to sweat, now, steaming in the fresh morning air. He liked this time, when the world faded for a short while and all that existed was the burning in his muscles, the tip of his blade and the trembling in his fibres, the pleasure when he executed a manoeuvre and stance well. And deep in the back of his mind the knowledge that his parents had once been here, going through exactly the same routine. It was comforting, somehow.
And then before Drem knew it Byrne was sheathing her sword across her back and facing the gathered warriors.
“We are at war,” Byrne addressed them. “You have fought well, and we are all grieving for those we have lost.”
A ripple through the warriors around Drem, bowed heads as comrades were remembered.
“We shall never forget. But we shall avenge them,” Byrne shouted.
“Captains, with me,” she called out, and strode away. Utul and Kill followed her. Drem and Cullen made for the weapons racks.
“Drem, this way, lad,” Keld said to him.
Drem raised a quizzical brow.
“You’re coming with me, to Byrne’s council of war.” Keld gestured for him to follow.
“I don’t understand,” Drem said. Byrne had requested her captains, and Keld was captain of the Order’s huntsmen, but Drem was newly arrived, hadn’t even taken his weapons trial or sworn the oath yet.
“Didn’t I tell you? You’re my apprentice now.” Keld stopped. “Byrne approved my request last night. And that means you go everywhere I go, and I’m going to the council of war, so…” He shrugged.
“Ach, that’s not fair,” Cullen moaned. “I should be there, too.”
“Ha,” Keld said. “We all know what your input would be.”
“Oh, do we? And what would that be, then?” Cullen said.
“Attack. Attack now.”
Drem held back a smile.
Cullen shrugged. “Seems like the obvious thing to do,” he said sullenly.
“As it happens, Byrne asked me to bring you along, too.”
Cullen grinned, bright as the morning. “She’s realized I’m invaluable,” Cullen said to Drem.
“Ah, Cullen, good,” Byrne said, as they walked into a high-vaulted chamber where Byrne sat at the head of a table. “I’ve asked for you to be here because I want to keep my eye on you.”
Cullen opened his mouth to speak.
“Sit down, be silent, and perhaps you’ll learn something,” Byrne said with a frown.
She is still mad with him for jumping into the Feral pit at the starstone mine, Drem thought.
Queen Ethlinn and Balur One-Eye were there, along with Tain Crow Master and the old crow, Craf, perched on his shoulder. Utul and Kill sat either side of Byrne.
“So,” Byrne said, “we need to decide what to do? We know Gulla has sailed with many ships, his target likely Drassil, and we have had no word from the Ben-Elim. Has Drassil fallen? The silence makes that seem likely. So should we march on Drassil? Gather our full strength here before we move out? Or send out word to the other garrisons of the Order, and meet somewhere on route?”
“Gulla has to be stopped, we should move quickly,” Cullen said.
“But not blindly,” Drem said to his friend, frowning. “We’ve been led by the nose enough.”
“Aye,” Balur rumbled. “We need information.”
Byrne looked to Tain and Craf.
“Gulla bad man,” Craf squawked. “Craf like to peck his eyes out. Must be stopped. But Craf’s children in danger. Skies not safe.”
“I know,” Byrne said. “But we need to know. These are dark times, and your crows could save lives.”
“Yes, yes,” Craf muttered, wagging his head. “Craf heard it all before; Craf fly here, Craf fly there, tell us this, watch that. Craf do it for friends. For Corban, for Brina, for Camlin, even when Craf scared.” The crow’s claws dug into Tain’s shoulder, but the giant only stroked Craf’s ruffled feathers.
“You are brave, Craf, and so are your children,” Tain said.
Craf bobbed on Tain’s shoulder. “Craf’s children brave,” he murmured. “Flick was brave.”
Drem felt a twinge at that, because Flick had been the crow who had found Drem, Keld and Cullen in the Desolation, when they had been fleeing Fritha. Flick had disappeared, it was assumed he was dead.
“Flick was brave,” Tain said. “He fought for our cause. For friendship, and against the darkness of the Kadoshim.”
“Bad men,” Craf agreed. He rubbed his beak against Tain’s head. “And Tain my friend. Byrne my friend.” The crow looked at them all, hovering over Ethlinn and Balur. “Even old One-Eye a good friend.”
“Careful who you’re calling old, you old crow,” Balur grunted.
Craf squawked, the noise sounding like laughter. “My children will fly, be your eyes in the sky,” he said.
“Thank you, Craf,” Byrne said, dipping her head to the crow.
“Welcome,” Craf croaked.
Horn calls drifted in through an open window and they all stopped, Byrne rising to look out. Drem could see the pale blue beyond her.
There were winged figures in the sky.