Malice

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

VERADIS

Veradis shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, sweat trickling down his spine. He passed a hand across his face, flicking the dampness from his fingers. His horse whickered and he leaned forward, patted her neck.

‘Damn heat,’ he muttered.

‘Aye,’ grunted Nathair, one hand shading his eyes as he looked into the distance.

They were scouting ahead of the warband, sheltered in a dip two-thirds of the way up a steep grassy slope, looking over a wide, dark river: the Rhetta, he recalled Calidus telling him. He glanced quickly at the Vin Thalun, who sat a horse a few paces behind, the giant Alcyon standing silently beside him.

‘So, where do they cross?’ Nathair said quietly.

Veradis shrugged and winced absently as his coat of mail chaffed his shoulders. ‘Rahim said there is only one natural ford, a league or so north of here.’

‘Aye, but that is guarded, so they must cross elsewhere.’

Veradis squinted, his gaze following the sluggish course of the river, in the distance glimpsing the faint outline of a tower, the smudge of buildings around it. Rahim’s bastion — built to fight the Shekam’s raids, although little good it had done. ‘They are giants. Maybe they use sorcery,’ he said.

Nathair said nothing.

The river looked black from here, like congealing blood in an open wound. The land on their side of the river was green, lush, dotted with trees and flecked with bright flowers. A small village, single-storey buildings carved from white stone, clustered around a dirt track that led away west. There was no movement anywhere, the village empty and abandoned because of the Shekam’s savage raids. And on the far side of the river the land was marsh. Veradis took a deep breath and pulled a face. There was a sickly sweet scent in the air, as of food left out too long in the sun.

‘To slay these giants, we must find them,’ he said, as much to break the silence as anything else.

Nathair gave him a sour look. ‘The obvious I am well aware of. But how to find them. We could stretch our warband the length of the river, but then we would be spread too thin for combat.’

‘My lord,’ said Calidus, and Veradis felt a stab of annoyance. There was something about the Vin Thalun’s insinuating voice that was beginning to grate on his nerves. He looked at the old man, studying him a while. His frame was lean, but muscle stood firm and knotted on his arms, his back straight, a strength in him that belied his silver hair. His eyes glistened in the glare of the sun. Veradis squinted, looking closer. What an unusual colour, he thought. They were amber, like a wolf’s.

‘Aye,’ muttered Nathair, still gazing into the distance.

‘We can help you, in the locating of any Shekam that cross the Rhetta.’

‘How?’

‘You remember we discussed the use of our particular skill?’

‘Speak plainly, man. Do you mean the earth power?’

‘Aye.’ Calidus’ mouth twitched at the edges. Annoyance?

‘Then, yes, I remember very well.’

‘Alcyon and I shall stand vigil. We will know when the Shekam cross the river.’

Nathair looked at him. ‘You can do this? You are sure? I would not wish to camp out, roasting my warband in this heat, only to have you fail me.’

‘We will not fail you.’

Nathair was silent a long moment. ‘Good. Then we shall wait upon your word.’

More waiting. It had been almost twice a ten-night since they had set foot on the shores of Tarbesh now. Midsummer’s Day had come and gone, and the Meadow’s Moon passed into the Draig’s Moon.

They had spent a handful of days at Rahim’s fortress, where the King of Tarbesh had held a feast in their honour. Then the warband had marched again, heading ever east. It had been clear almost immediately that Nathair’s presence here was considered more token than genuine remedy to the giant problem, although Rahim had sent some two hundred men from his own warband as escort, under the command of his battlechief. Nathair pulled on his stallion’s reins and cantered back up the slope with Veradis following. On cresting the ridge they saw their warband spread across a gentle valley with Rahim’s camp alongside, hide tents and cook-fires dotting the grassland.

Dawn was not far away. Veradis shivered. Strange how the days in this land were so hot, and the nights so cold. He blinked hard, eyes stinging from tiredness. Leather creaked behind him and a horse whickered gently. Glancing over his shoulder, he glimpsed figures close to him — just — as solid, impenetrable shadows in the darkness. Some four hundred warriors were spread behind him, he knew, but he could only see a handful.

They had ridden hard for what must have been half of the night. Earlier he had seen the giant Alcyon march into Nathair’s tent, Calidus cradled in his arms, and had rushed after them.

‘The Shekam have crossed the river, over a score of leagues to the north,’ the giant announced. They were headed south-west, so the warband could intercept them if it moved quickly. Calidus was exhausted from his scrying; some sorcerous effort, no doubt. Veradis felt the hairs on his neck stand on end at the thought of it, but still, here they were now, moments away from confronting the Shekam. If Alcyon and Calidus could be trusted.

A huge shadow loomed out of the darkness.

‘It is time,’ the giant rumbled.

Veradis dismounted, handed his reins to the warrior beside him, then turned and followed the hulking shape of the giant.

They climbed a steep ridge and Alcyon dropped to his belly, crawling the last few paces to the crest. Veradis followed suit, grunting as sharp stones dug into his arms and knees. He drew alongside Alcyon and peered over the ridge, not that it did much good. Although an edge of grey was seeping into the air around him, the sky above turning a deep purple, the valley below was still cloaked in darkness.

‘Where?’ Veradis whispered.

‘From the east. Patience, little man.’

More waiting. He wished the battle would just begin — the waiting was worse. He wiped sweaty palms on the coarse grass beneath him, looking across the vale to the vague outline of the opposite ridge, where he knew Nathair and his four hundred men were hidden.

The darkness was thinning in the valley now, dispersing between solid clumps that slowly became recognizable: large boulders littered the slopes and valley floor, the odd stunted, twisted tree. He could hear the gentle trickle of water in the distance, where, he guessed, the village that the Shekam were bent on raiding was situated.

Not this time. He smiled humourlessly.

‘They will come from there,’ Alcyon rumbled, pointing. Veradis looked at the giant’s arm. At the wrist, flowing from beneath a leather band, a dark tattoo swirled up it, circling great knots of muscle and sinew. Curved thorns were etched into the skin, the tattoo resembling a vine creeping up Alcyon’s arm. It disappeared at his elbow, covered by a half-sleeve of chainmail.

‘Why do you have that?’ Veradis asked, without thinking. The giant looked at his arm and grunted.

‘That is my Sgeul; my Telling, in your tongue.’ His voice was cold, flat.

‘Telling?’

‘Aye. The lives I have taken.’

Veradis swallowed. ‘You mean, each thorn. .’

The giant grunted again.

With an act of will Veradis stopped himself staring at the giant’s arm, from trying to count the thorns, and gazed back into the valley. He could see a thick wall of mist in the distance, in the direction that Alcyon had pointed. Veradis blinked. It was moving towards them, expanding, rushing like the tide up the valley’s floor.

‘They are come,’ Alcyon whispered.

Veradis felt a faint tremble in the earth beneath him, then the muted sound of — drums? Surely not. The mist was immediately below him now, spreading on towards the village, like broiling storm clouds driven by a gale.

‘That mist. .’ he mumbled.

‘Do not fear, little man. Be ready,’ Alcyon said. He began whispering, so low that Veradis could pick out no words, just a constant droning. He looked over his shoulder, saw his warriors, faces pale, anxious, all looking at him. In the valley the mist slowed as if hitting a barrier, churning sluggishly, then stopped. The drumming sound he had heard was closer now, a little louder, but still muted. It came from within the mist.

The sun had risen, spreading across the horizon, a molten half-circle joined to the land. The mist below began to bubble and seethe, like boiling water, then it thinned, evaporating into the air, revealing huge shapes within. Alcyon dug his fingers into the ground, clenching handfuls of dirt. Wisps of smoke or steam curled up from his hands. He had not stopped whispering. As the mist thinned, his voice rose sharply, then abruptly fell silent. He slumped to the ground, face pale, glistening with sweat.

‘Strike now, Prince’s man,’ he grunted. ‘I will join you soon.’

Veradis stumbled back to his horse and leaped into the saddle. Raising an arm, he dug his heels into his mount’s ribs, broke for the ridge, four hundred mounted warriors following him.

His breath caught in his chest as he crested the rise. He had heard old men tell tales of draigs and seen drawings of them, but never viewed one in the flesh. The tales were no exaggeration.

The beasts were huge, reminiscent of the lizards that he had seen sunning themselves on walls at Rahim’s fortress, but a thousand times larger. Their bellies were low to the ground, four bowed legs holding them up, splayed feet with curved claws like the swords of Rahim’s warband. Long, wide tails flicked behind them, but it was to their heads that Veradis’ gaze was drawn. Broad, flat skulls, long, square-tipped jaws full of razored teeth, the eyes small, dull, black. On their backs rode giants, dwarfed by the great beasts.

The valley floor seethed with them, like a nest of snakes, almost impossible to count. Alcyon had said at least three score had crossed the river. Surely there were more here.

He took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes tight. Remember the plan. He heard Nathair’s last words echo in his mind. The ants, remember the ants. He pulled hard on his reins. His horse reared, neighed wildly, and he joined his own voice to it, screaming with all his might.

‘N ATHAIR!’

The call was taken up behind him as he thundered down the slope.

In the valley below, shouts of surprise rang out, then came strange-sounding horn blasts. Draigs roared, setting the very ground trembling as the giants and their mounts turned to meet their attackers.

Only a few hundred paces between them now, then a horn blew out behind Veradis, this time a call he recognized. He turned his horse to run parallel to the giants. A quick glance saw those behind do the same; somewhere there was a crash, a horse shrieked.

He reached for his spear, hoping all those behind him would be doing the same, found its smooth, worn shaft couched below his saddle. He cast it arcing into the air, followed by hundreds of others. They rose high, seemed to hang suspended a long moment, then plummeted to the valley floor. Many bounced from the thick-scaled hides of the draigs, or stuck quivering in leather-padded armour, but many more found their mark.

There was screaming such as he had never heard before. A great cloud of dust rose up from the valley floor, shapes rose and fell, giants tumbled from the backs of draigs, draigs crashed to the ground, some roaring in agony, others silent.

He dug his heels into his horse, urging her to climb the slope, racing away from the valley floor. Before he reached the crest of the ridge he leaped from his horse, slapped her hindquarters to make her run on, then turned, pulling his great round shield from his back, tugged his short sword from its scabbard, warriors all about him doing the same.

Dragging in a deep breath, trying to slow the pounding of his heart, he gazed into the valley.

Many draigs and giants were down. A few of the great lizards, riderless, were charging on down the valley towards the village, bellowing. Voices drifted up in the harsh, guttural tongue of giants. Draigs with riders scuttled forward, surprisingly fast for their bulk, forming a crude line that swept up the slope towards him — more than a score of them. Too many. Behind them he glimpsed giants on foot, taking great loping strides, pulling axes and great war-hammers from their backs. Tremors passed from the ground into his boots, up his legs.

‘SHIELD WALL!’ he screamed, taking a few steps forwards, trying to place himself at the front and centre of his men. All about him bodies pressed close, shields slamming together with dull thuds.

So far the plan had worked perfectly. Many giants had been felled, with no warriors of their own down. Nathair was right. Using ranged weapons and staying alive was much better than looking a giant in the eye and dying. Still plenty of chance for that, though, he thought.

Now was the time of telling.

The draigs seethed up the slope, bowed legs powering their huge bulk forwards, raking claws sending great sprays of gravel and dirt arcing into the air.

Three hundred paces between them and his wall of shields and men. He could feel, smell, the fear leaking from those around him, from himself. His guts churned and his legs felt weak, empty of all strength. Every instinct within him screamed to turn and run.

‘Now, Nathair, now,’ he muttered.

Two hundred paces. The ground was shaking, the oncoming draigs a great tidal wave approaching them. He could make out minute details: a chipped tooth in a draig’s gaping mouth, speckled green and brown scales on another’s neck, swirling tattoos on giants’ arms — their Telling, he thought. Where is Alcyon? Where is Nathair? He tried to swallow but his mouth was dry; he coughed instead.

One hundred paces. Horns blew, somewhere in the distance, a great roaring, like the sea whipped by a storm. It must have been loud for him to hear it over the charge of the onrushing draigs. Many of the great lizards faltered, slowed, the giants in their saddles turning. The noise behind them grew: weapons clashing on shields, the roar of warriors’ voices, frantic horn blasts. Veradis peered over his shield rim, glimpsed through the enemy Nathair’s warband streaming over the ridge on the far side of the valley.

You will be the anvil, I the hammer, Nathair had said to him. Giants struggled to turn their mounts, realizing the trap they were plunging into — to be ensnared in the shield wall and then charged by horsemen from the rear. Harsh voices called out, then many of the great lizards turned and thundered back down the slope to meet Nathair’s charge. A handful of draigs still powered up the hill, bent on the foe in front of them, giants on foot following behind.

Veradis grimaced. He had hoped more would turn. All, in fact. He sucked in a deep breath, braced his feet and waited for the storm to hit.

Draigs ploughed into the wall, sending a concussive explosion rippling through the massed men. Bodies, shields, blood, all flew through the air wherever draigs connected with the wall. Veradis felt terror threaten to overwhelm him. Nathair was wrong. The shield wall was not enough to turn the draigs.

The great lizards smashed through the wall, scattering men, trampling them into unrecognizable heaps of flesh and bone, giants seated on huge saddles, lashing about them with long-shafted hammer and axe, then the lizards were through the other side of the wall, their momentum carrying them across the ridge.

‘REGROUP,’ yelled Veradis, although he was not sure if anyone heard him above the screams of dying and injured warriors. The lizards were on the far side of the ridge, no doubt turning to wreak more death amongst his men, but he could do nothing about that. More pressing were the score or so of silent, grim-looking giants charging up the slope towards him.

‘SHIELD WALL!’ he screamed, and at least those about him heard, for he felt men draw close, then the giants were upon them.

Bodies slammed into the wall. The line wavered around Veradis, men grunting, setting their feet, leaning against the great pressure of giant flesh and bone. An axe slammed into the shield of the man next to Veradis, splintered wood spraying into their faces, then the warrior was gone, dragged forwards as the giant wrenched on his axe. Another warrior moved up and filled the gap.

A huge blow smashed into Veradis’ shield, numbing his arm and making his legs buckle. He glanced over the rim of his shield, saw small, fierce eyes set in a giant’s angular face towering above him, heaving a huge war-hammer over his head, readying it for another blow.

Veradis lifted his shield, blindly stabbed with his short sword under the iron rim, heard a howl, felt hot blood gush over his hand. The giant’s grip on his war-hammer loosened, the weapon dropping to the ground as fingers clutched frantically over its thigh, trying to staunch the jet of blood. With a thud the giant fell to his knees and Veradis stabbed again, his blade sinking into the giant’s throat. He pulled it out as his foe toppled backwards. He snarled wordlessly and hefted his shield. Another giant loomed before him, chopped at his shield with a great double-bladed axe. The blade stuck, Veradis gripping his shield with all his might, blinking at the axe blade’s edge, only a handspan from his eye. There was a pushing and shoving behind him now, men shouting. Panic stung him: was that a giant’s voice behind him? Were the draigs back? Then the giant in front of him heaved on his axe, pulling him stumbling forwards, out of the shield wall. He slipped in blood, fell to one knee, lifted his short sword in a vain attempt to block the axe-swing he knew would be coming. There was a chopping sound, a gurgle, and then a giant’s head rolled in the dirt before him.

‘Here, little man,’ a voice rumbled behind him. He twisted round, saw Alcyon standing above him, his great longsword in his hand, blood dripping from its blade.

‘The b-battle. .’ Veradis panted.

‘Is all but done,’ Alcyon said. ‘Look.’

Veradis passed a hand over his eyes, wiping blood and sweat away. Alcyon was right. The shield wall had held against the giants’ charge, over a score of the huge warriors dead along its length. Further away, the sounds of battle still raged. He walked to the ridge of the valley, Alcyon following.

The draigs that had burst through his shield wall to such devastating effect were fleeing, a dust cloud rising about them. Even as he watched, they were dwindling into the distance.

Turning, Veradis looked down to the valley’s floor. Some of the giants and draigs were retreating back down the valley; the few standing and fighting were beset by a flowing tide of warriors on horseback. Remember the ants, Nathair had said, and from here the draigs and horsemen looked strangely similar to the ants he had seen that day in the glade, swarming over the dog.

His eyes picked out one warrior, gripping Nathair’s standard. Rauca still lives, then. Good. Then he saw Nathair, unmistakable on his great white stallion, thrusting a spear into the mouth of a draig. The beast roared, reared backwards, crushing a handful of riders in its ruin. And as suddenly as it had started, the battle was over. He breathed a great sigh of relief. Nathair had been right — the surprise, the tactics, their own Elementals — all had combined to win the battle. But it had been so close, balancing on a knife’s edge. If the giants and draigs had turned, attacked his shield wall from the rear instead of fleeing. .

But they hadn’t. The battle was won, the victory theirs.

Veradis looked along the slope, saw warriors looking at him, others on their knees, tending comrades, weeping, groaning, the wounded calling out. Many more were strewn about the ridge, unnaturally still. He felt his whole body begin to tremble and looked down at his hands. He still gripped his short sword, blade, hilt and hand black with drying blood. Thrusting it into the air, he screamed a victory yell. Those about him looked, did the same, more and more joining, like ripples from a rock cast into water. The shouting changed, became a chanted name.

‘NATHAIR, NATHAIR, NATHAIR. .’