Drem swayed in his saddle, moving with the rhythm of Friend’s gait. It was unlike a horse’s movement, more a rolling, lumbering, permanent swaying, like being at sea, rather than the precise movement of a horse, and his body used different muscles to keep him sitting in his saddle. After his first day of riding upon the white bear, Drem’s legs and lower back had ached more than he could ever remember. The next morning he had hardly been able to move from his cot, his muscles were so stiff and painful. Now, though, after over a moon of travelling, it felt as natural to him as walking. He leaned forwards and patted the bear’s thick-muscled neck through a coat of mail, and received a rumble in response.
Drem was riding down a hard-packed forest path, more like a road. To his left the forest was cut back thirty or forty paces, and to his right the river Rhenus flowed, wide and dark. Branches curled over the path, a lattice of canopy above him, though it thinned over the river, allowing beams of sunlight to intrude on this twilight world. Drem marvelled at the forest, the trees so much bigger than anything he had ever seen before. He’d thought the forests of the Desolation were impressive, but this…
“Put your eyes back in your head,” Keld said, riding a horse beside him, “they’re only trees, and there’s a lot more where they came from. It’s what they’re hiding that we need to be looking for.”
“Aye,” said Drem, taking his eyes from the canopy above to search the gloom that pressed about them. He saw loping shadows flitting amongst the trees: Fen and Ralla and other wolven-hounds that were part of their scouting party.
“There it is,” Keld said, pointing ahead. A bridge appeared, crossing the river into a dark-stoned fortress, walls thick with ivy surrounding a squat keep. “Brikan, garrison of the Order.”
They were riding at the head of a score of warriors, all huntsmen and women of the Order, sent ahead by Byrne to lead the garrison of Brikan out of Forn and join the warband in their march southwards, to Ripa.
“Brikan, Brikan.” Rab flapped down from above, setting other crows in the trees to squawking.
“We know,” Keld said to the crow, “but thank you, anyway.”
“Welcome,” Rab croaked, as he spiralled above their heads.
Drem saw figures upon the wall. A horn call rang through the forest.
“Shouldn’t be here long,” Keld called out to all in the scouting party. “Rest your mounts, a bite to eat and drink. Reng, soon as you’ve done that, round up a crew and scout out a perimeter. Don’t want any surprises.”
“Aye, chief,” Reng said, a slender warrior, lean-muscled. Drem had sparred with Reng many times in Dun Seren and been surprised by his wiry strength. He had expected him to be fast, which he was, but the strength in his lean frame seemed to exceed the man’s weight.
They reached the bridge that crossed the river and led directly into the fortress. Hooves clattered on stone, Friend’s claws scratching gouges. Warriors of the Order lined the gatehouse wall. Keld raised a hand to them, and the gates swung open. Drem rode into a wide courtyard, feeling a hundred pairs of eyes upon him and the white bear. The courtyard was edged with a moss-covered stone wall, a score of buildings around the sides. Stables, forge, grain stores, water barrels, a haybarn. Drem saw a handful of wains fully loaded, auroch harnessed and ready, and a few score horses tethered to rails; they were all saddled and ready to ride. In front of Drem a set of wide steps led up to the keep, a squat building wrapped in vine. Warriors lined the walls, others were in the courtyard and on the keep’s steps. Drem counted over a hundred.
A man strode down the steps of the keep, grey hair tied back except for his warrior braid, a beard grey and dark as storm clouds, his eyebrows jutting from his brow. He was dressed for war in a coat of mail, a surcoat of the Order worn over it, black wool with the bright star upon his chest. He was of average height, with a lightness to his step that spoke to Drem of ability and speed, despite his age. Sword, knife and axe all hung from his weapons-belt.
“Well met,” he called out to Keld, as the scouting party spilt into Brikan’s courtyard, wolven-hounds loping amongst them, all wrapped in coats of mail.
“Well met, Halden,” Keld called back to him. He dismounted, a stablehand taking his reins, Fen and Ralla falling in either side of him as he strode to Halden. They took each other’s arms in the warrior grip.
“Mind if my crew eat some of your food and drink some of your water?”
“Course not,” Halden said, gesturing towards the stables and water barrels. Drem saw that a long table had been laid out, food and drink upon it.
“We’ve packed all we can carry,” Halden said, “might as well try and eat the rest.”
Most of Keld’s crew dismounted and led their horses towards the stables and water.
“You look ready to ride,” Keld said, nodding to the saddled horses and loaded wains.
“Aye,” Halden said. “We had visitors, three nights gone. Winged visitors.”
“Meical, Riv and the others,” Keld said.
“Aye,” Halden said. “Strange times we are living in. Meical free of his skin of metal. A half-breed Ben-Elim flying the skies in broad daylight.”
“That’s Riv,” Drem said. “She swore the oath.”
Halden looked up at Drem upon Friend’s back.
“I’m glad to see it,” he said. “It’s about time, been too long in coming. And I’m guessing we can use all the help we can get.” He stepped back, staring at the white bear. “And this big lump is a pleasant surprise. I’ve seen keeps smaller than this bear.” His eyes drifted up to Drem. “Big as you are, you’re the smallest giant I’ve ever seen,” he said.
“Ha, he’s no giant,” Keld said. “You’re looking at Drem ben Olin. He’s Olin and Neve’s boy.”
“Well, I’ll be,” Halden said with a grin. “You’d best be getting your arse down here, then, so I can give you a proper welcome.”
Drem lifted one leg over Friend’s saddle and slid to the ground. It was a long way down, but he had mastered it now. Alcyon had adapted Friend’s saddle, added a set of leather hoops to the stirrups, a little like a ladder, but Drem only used them to climb up into the saddle. Getting down was much easier.
As falling is easier than climbing.
Hooves clattered on stone as Reng led a crew of five out of the courtyard, dipping his head to Keld and Halden as he went. A handful of wolven-hounds followed them, loping out of the gate and across the bridge.
Halden stood and looked Drem up and down.
“Well, you’re a big one.” He slapped Drem’s shoulder. “I can see Olin in you, and your mother. They were fine people. Friends.”
Drem just nodded. It still felt strange, that so many people at the Order had known his mam and da so well.
Better than me.
Halden looked up at the white bear. “Well, there’s a story there, I’m guessing. You’re the first man I’ve ever heard of to ride a giant bear.”
“There is a story,” Keld said, “a long one. Drem and this bear have saved each other’s lives, many times each now, from Kergard in the Desolation to Dun Seren. And likely will again, before this war is done.”
“So, it’s happening, then,” Halden said. Drem thought he saw hints of excitement and apprehension mingled on the man’s face, though he could not be sure. He’d never been a very good judge of what a man was thinking by the expressions he pulled. Olin had tried to give him lessons.
“Asroth awakened, the Kadoshim taking Drassil, the Ben-Elim routed. The last battle of the Long War, ending in our times.” Halden blew out a long breath, then smiled. “We’ve waited a long time for this, my friend,” he said to Keld.
“Aye. And we’d best be riding soon, if we don’t want to miss it,” Keld said. “Byrne and the rest are half a day’s ride west. Don’t want to let them have all the fun.”
“As you see, we are all ready. You and your crew refresh yourselves, and we’ll be off.”
Drem saw that Keld’s scouts were already at the table. Wolven-hounds were snarling over a trough of butchered scraps.
The bear swung its head, snuffling, raised his head, sniffed the air and then growled.
Drem was learning to tell the difference between the bear’s growls. Some were playful, or mournful, or friendly.
This one was none of those.
Wolven-hounds lifted their heads from their gnawing of bones, looked to the open gateway of the keep and also growled.
A horn blew upon the walls.
“Rider approaching,” a voice called.
The thud of hooves beyond Brikan’s walls, and Drem looked out through the open gateway, across the bridge and into the forest.
Reng appeared, riding hard, a wolven-hound bounding at his side. There was blood on the hound’s muzzle. Blood on Reng.
Behind them a mist boiled from the forest.