Malice

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

VERADIS

‘We are close,’ Calidus said over his shoulder, guiding his mount forwards. Alcyon strode in his customary place, alongside the Vin Thalun.

‘How close?’ Veradis called out, Nathair riding silent beside him.

‘It is difficult to say, with certainty,’ Calidus said. ‘Telassar has not remained hidden throughout the ages just because of these mountains.’

Veradis looked about him. They were picking their way along a narrow path beside a chattering stream, peaks rearing all about them.

‘What do you mean?’ Veradis said, cupping a hand to his mouth to make himself heard.

‘There is a glamour upon this place. Earth power has been used to keep the fortress of the Jehar hidden. That is how I know we are close. I can feel the glamour.’

‘If that is so, how will we ever find it?’ Veradis called.

Calidus reined in, turned in his saddle, white teeth glinting in what passed for a smile. ‘Need I remind you? Alcyon and I are versed in the earth power too.’

‘I remember well enough. I’ll not be doubting you on that score again.’ Veradis glanced at Nathair. The Prince’s face was grim. A dark mood had fallen on Nathair with the passing of each night since they had left Rahim’s fortress.

Calidus clicked his horse on again, and they continued on down the narrow track.

At least it is cooler, thought Veradis. The heat of this land had been starting to wear on him, but he had felt his spirits lift ever since they had entered this range of mountains, two nights past now, the temperature dropping as they climbed.

He looked over his shoulder, saw the stream disappear down a narrow gully, and frowned. He did not like travelling with so few men about Nathair. Mountains were a breeding ground for brigands, and the narrow paths they had taken through them were ready-made for ambush. Calidus and Alcyon counted for something, but even they could not stop an arrow in its tracks.

After the battle with the giants, Nathair had led his warband back to Rahim’s fortress, where they had been greeted with shock and celebration. Three nights of feasting had passed, Rahim heaping praise and gifts on Nathair and his men. Then they had set out west, Nathair saying he wished to return to Tenebral with the good news of their victory. One day’s ride from the walls of the fortress, though, and Nathair had placed Rauca in charge of the warband, charging him with their safe passage back to the coast and the meeting place with Lykos and his fleet. Rauca had been flushed with pride.

‘We are to Telassar,’ Nathair had said to Veradis.

No matter how hard Veradis had protested, the Prince refused to take any men with them, other than Calidus and Alcyon.

‘I will not appear at their walls with a warband at my back. I mean to win them, not estrange them,’ Nathair had said.

So here they were, wandering Elyon knew where in the middle of a strange country, deep within an unknown range of mountains, which apparently had some kind of sorcery cast over them, following a giant and a pirate spymaster.

Veradis studied Alcyon, who was sitting on the far side of the campfire, orange flames making shadows dance and flicker across his angular face, merging with the tattoos that spiralled both his arms.

I owe him my life, he thought, not altogether comfortable with the idea. Still, it was better to be alive and indebted to a giant than to be dead. He took a large gulp from a skin of wine. He could still see the giant towering over him, still remember the sickening sensation in his stomach as he had waited for the giant’s axe to fall, then seeing its head rolling in the dust before him.

‘I have not thanked you,’ he said over the flames.

Alcyon looked up, his eyes small pinpricks as the firelight flickered over his face.

‘For what?’ the giant rumbled.

‘Saving my life. On the ridge.’

Alcyon grunted. ‘It was a battle. We do what we have to do.’

‘Aye. Nevertheless, you have my thanks.’

Alcyon shrugged, grunted again.

Calidus chuckled, a high, thin sound, like air sucked through a hollow reed. ‘My giant is unaccustomed to such praise.’

‘My giant?’ said Nathair. He sat slightly apart, hands clasped around knees drawn up tight to his chest.

‘Alcyon is. . indebted to me, shall we say,’ the Vin Thalun said.

‘Have you ever ridden a draig?’ Nathair asked the giant.

‘Nay,’ said Alcyon. ‘I am of the Kurgan. It was not our way.’

‘They were quite impressive, would you not say?’

‘Aye,’ muttered the giant, ‘but you slew them, regardless of how impressive they appeared.’

Nathair laughed, the first time that Veradis could remember since Rahim’s fortress. ‘But we were a thousand strong, with Rahim’s warriors, against only four score of them.’

‘True enough,’ agreed Alcyon.

‘And it only took a handful of them to kill five score of my men,’ Veradis added, remembering the devastation the draigs had caused as they had rampaged through his shield wall, scattering all in their path like so much kindling.

‘I would like one,’ Nathair said.

‘What?’ spluttered Veradis. Alcyon and Calidus said nothing, but they both suddenly appeared animated, eyes focused on the Prince.

‘Do you think it possible, for me to ride one?’

There was a long silence, broken only by the popping of twigs in the fire.

‘Yes,’ Calidus said eventually. ‘Giants are bigger, obviously, but a saddle could be fashioned to accommodate a smaller frame. Also, the ones that we fought, they would have been old, fully grown. Draigs grow quickly at first; they are adolescents in little more than a year. One would be big enough then for you to ride it, and although they continue to grow, from then on the process is much slower. Those that you saw, large enough for a giant to ride, would have been ten years old, maybe more.’

Nathair nodded thoughtfully. ‘And how would I get one? I would imagine they are hard to catch. How are they trained?’

The edges of a smile touched Calidus’ lips. ‘If they are walking, then it is already too late,’ he said. ‘You must have them in the egg, be there when they hatch, let them have your scent as you give them their first taste of meat. They are fiercely loyal. Only one person will they ever suffer to ride them, and that is the person who feeds them, rears them.’

‘So. Where would I find a draig’s egg?’

‘The swampland you saw, on Tarbesh’s border,’ growled Alcyon.

Veradis wrinkled his nose, remembering the swamp beyond the river Rhetta.

‘There are other places, throughout the Banished Lands: Forn Forest, parts of Benoth, the Kavala Mountains,’ said Calidus.

Alcyon rose, walked to Nathair and kneeled before him. ‘You have my oath, Prince of Tenebral. I will find one for you.’

Nathair laughed loudly. ‘Alcyon, my thanks would be beyond measure. Can you imagine riding a draig into Jerolin?’ he said, slapping Veradis’ leg.

‘If it would squeeze through the gates,’ Veradis muttered.

‘Alcyon,’ Nathair continued, ‘you would be a friend indeed if you would do such a thing for me.’

The giant nodded curtly, his gaze flickering to Calidus. He resumed his place by the fire.

Silence fell over them for a while. The fire guttered low as they passed the skin of wine around.

‘I believe we will see Telassar on the morrow,’ Calidus said, startling Veradis.

‘Are you sure?’ asked Nathair.

‘There has been a shift in the glamour. Its presence is beginning to fade.’

‘Uh,’ grunted Nathair, his mood darkening. ‘Calidus, do you know anything of this fortress of Telassar, of the Jehar? Now that I find myself here, I feel suddenly apprehensive, as if I carry a great weight.’ Nathair avoided the Vin Thalun’s eyes as he spoke, gazing instead at the embers of the fire.

‘Yes, I know something of Telassar, and its people. Mostly tales and rumours, but I have found much truth wrapped up within such stories before.

‘The Jehar are of the Old Blood. A people that dwelt here before Elyon’s Scourging — they survived both fire and water when the giant clans and the race of men were decimated. I say survived, but maybe they were spared — I know not,’ he shrugged. ‘All that is told of them is that they are fanatical. They live to serve Elyon, and they are reputed to be warriors without equal, trained from when they can stand.’ He smiled, teeth and eyes reflecting red in the glow of the dying fire. ‘I know not how much truth is in these tales. But some, at least.’

‘How do you know so much?’ Veradis asked.

Calidus shrugged. ‘I am Lykos’ eyes, his ears. The Vin Thalun’s network of information-gatherers. .’

‘Spies, you mean,’ said Veradis.

‘Aye, spies. They are everywhere. Remember, the Vin Thalun are sailors; the whole of the Banished Lands coast is open to them. And also, before I served Lykos, I travelled much. There is little that I do not know or cannot discover, if I set my will to it.’

‘Before you served Lykos. What did you do then?’

‘Ah, Prince’s man, that is a tale for another time.’

‘If you know so much,’ Nathair said, ‘perhaps you can tell me who Asroth’s avatar will be. The Black Sun.’

Calidus grimaced. ‘I wish I could. Asroth is cunning, first and foremost, the old tales say. It is a question I have long pondered.’ He shrugged. ‘We should look to any that oppose you, that oppose your father’s alliance. That would be the obvious starting point, though I think the Black Sun would not reveal himself at this point, not unless he could strike a decisive blow. But perhaps his servants. .’

‘Mandros,’ Nathair whispered. ‘He has opposed my father, mocked him, even. Do you think it could be him?’

‘Possibly,’ Calidus said. ‘At the very least he is likely in service to Asroth’s cause. He sows division amongst those your father would reach, belittles the truth of our cause.’

Nathair snapped a twig and threw it on the fire.

‘When you stand before the Jehar on the morrow,’ Calidus said, ‘remember what I am about to tell you. The writings of Halvor, the giant, mention certain criteria that the champions shall be known by. Kin-Slayer, Kin-Avenger, Giant-Friend, Draig-Rider. You are already friend to a giant,’ he gestured at Alcyon, ‘and you have just spoken of riding a draig.’ He chuckled. ‘You are the prophecy, Nathair, living and breathing.’

‘You know of the giant’s prophecy?’ Veradis said.

‘Of course I do,’ Calidus said, winking at him. ‘Wouldn’t be much of a spymaster if I didn’t, now, would I?’

Veradis snorted. ‘And the Jehar, they have heard it as well?’

‘Yes. Their ancestors have lived through the Scourging, remember, so they are aware of Halvor’s writings. If my sources are correct, they have disagreed, I understand, over the interpretation of the prophecy. It is vague, in parts.’

‘More like riddles,’ Veradis said.

‘Good for the brain,’ Calidus said, tapping his temple. ‘The Jehar, they have a name of their own for Elyon’s Bright Star. They call him the Seren Disglair. And remember one other thing. This you must say: the Ben-Elim, Elyon’s warrior-angels, they will stand behind the Bright Star.’

‘The Jehar know of the coming war, then?’ Nathair said quietly.

‘Yes, if the tales are to be believed. It is what they live for, have trained for. They yearn for it.’

Veradis looked at the faces around the campfire. Alcyon was gazing at the ground, face hidden in shadow. Calidus and Nathair were staring at each other, Nathair wide-eyed, Calidus calm but intense.

‘I know who you are, what you will become,’ the Vin Thalun whispered. ‘That is why I serve you.’ His voice trembled slightly.

Nathair nodded. ‘Come, then. We should sleep, and let us see what the morrow brings.’

‘We are here,’ said Calidus. The Vin Thalun was sitting his horse at the head of their small column. Veradis squinted and leaned in his saddle to look past Calidus, but all he could see was more of the valley they had been riding through since daybreak, mountains all around.

He frowned as they moved on again. Calidus had just disappeared. He blinked, then Alcyon vanished too. He stared hard, could just make out two shadowy figures. The air before him and Nathair shimmered, the dim outlines of Calidus and Alcyon appearing as if through a veil of water.

Nathair looked at him, shrugged, then kicked his horse on. Veradis followed quickly. His skin tingled as he passed through the shimmering barrier, then he too was through.

The mountains were gone, replaced by a lush green vale. A river flowed out of the mountains, twisting in great curves through the vale until it reached a body of water that filled the horizon, sparkling in the sun as if dusted with silver.

Tilled fields filled the valley, rolling up to the walls of a fortress, white stone gleaming. ‘Behold, Telassar,’ said Calidus with an elaborate sweep of his hand.

‘Where are we?’ Veradis murmured.

‘That,’ Calidus said, pointing to the body of water that filled the horizon, ‘is the Inland Sea. We are in the far north of Tarbesh, in the Hidden Vale, ancient and secret home of the Jehar.’ A smile of satisfaction flickered on the Vin Thalun’s face, but he said no more. Veradis glanced behind, could see no sign of the trail they had ridden in on, only sheer-faced cliffs climbing into clouds high above.

‘Come, then,’ said Nathair, kicking his white stallion on. Quickly they fell in behind the Prince, winding their way towards the white walls of Telassar.

They were still far from the fortress when a horn-call rang out and they spotted a group cantering towards them.

Veradis studied the riders as they drew near. Their horses were tall, long legged, finer boned than those he and his companions were riding. They had an easy grace about them that made him think of his own mount as clumsy. The riders were all dark haired, clean shaven, long hair tied back at the nape, sword hilts rising above their backs. Veradis blinked, realizing some of them were women. When only a dozen paces separated them, they reined in, raising dust from the road.

One of the riders spoke. It was a language that Veradis had never heard before, harsh and guttural, but Calidus replied in the same tongue. The warrior frowned, then spoke again, this time in the Common Tongue.

‘Who are you? What is your business here?’ He spoke slowly, carefully.

‘I am the Seren Disglair,’ said Nathair, spreading his arms wide. ‘I would speak with your lord.’

The rider rocked back in his saddle. Murmurs spread through the riders at his back, followed by a stunned silence. Veradis saw shock, fear, disbelief, awe sweep their faces.

‘The Seren Disglair?’ said the rider that had first spoken, leaning forward in his saddle.

‘I have travelled far to find you. I must speak with your lord.’

The warrior turned to his companions and spoke with them in his guttural tongue, then the leading warrior gave an order, and one of their number sped back towards the fortress.

‘I am Akar,’ the warrior that had greeted them said. ‘Please, come. I shall escort you to Sumur, Lord of Telassar.’

As they approached the fortress, Veradis saw men, women and children working the fields. All stopped to watch, and soon the group passed through wide gates into a huge open courtyard. To one side row upon row of men and women were standing, all moving in a kind of synchronized pattern, almost like a dance. They held long, wooden practice swords, slightly curved, shaped like the one strapped to Akar’s back.

To the other side, people were sparring, the familiar clack-clack sounding oddly reassuring in this unfamiliar place.

Veradis felt himself straightening in his saddle, felt eyes burning into him as word of Nathair’s claim spread through the crowds.

Their escort led them through twisting streets lined with huge trees, drooping, wide-leaved branches giving shade, and single-storeyed buildings, all carved out of the same bone-white rock. Faces appeared at doors and windows, most glances first drawn to Alcyon, striding behind Calidus. Veradis smiled to himself. No chance of a subtle entrance with him around.

They dismounted quickly amidst a growing crowd, leaving their horses to a churning mass of stable boys, all eager to take their mounts.

‘This way,’ said Akar, waving a hand. He led them through an arched gateway into a garden, leaving the crowds behind. Stone pillars broke up the verdant surroundings and everywhere there was clinging vine, dark orchids, purple iris and other brighter flowers that Veradis did not recognize.

‘How do you know their tongue?’ Veradis whispered to Calidus as they strode down a wide path that dissected the garden. ‘It sounded like some form of giantish.’

Calidus glanced at him, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

‘That language was the Common Tongue, before the Scourging. It was shared by giants and men alike. Your kin the Exiles changed many things when they returned here from the Isle of Summer.’

Veradis grunted.

A high-domed building lay ahead, a warrior opening its dark polished doors for them.

They stepped into a high-vaulted room; a gentle breeze blew through many windows. A tall man stood in its centre, waiting, his jet-black hair bound at the nape like the other warriors Veradis had seen. A loose-fitting shirt of black linen ill concealed a broad frame. This man was clearly a warrior. Dark eyes gazed out intently from under a protruding brow, resting briefly on each of them. Veradis felt a weightlessness in his stomach, a slight tingle of fear. Although he seemed unsettled, there was something feral about this man.

Akar spoke quickly in their harsh tongue. The man answered, staring again at Nathair. ‘Welcome.’ He touched a hand to his forehead. ‘I am Sumur, Lord of Telassar.’

‘Well met,’ said Nathair, stepping forward, smiling broadly. ‘I have travelled long and far to find you.’

Sumur’s eyes swept across them, pausing briefly on Alcyon.

‘We are unused to guests here. How did you find this place, and why are you here?’

Nathair smiled. ‘Surely our escort has told you.’

A silence settled, Sumur regarding each one of them in turn.

‘I have been told of your claim.’ Sumur nodded slowly. ‘But you have not answered the question I asked of you: how did you find this place?’ There was an edge to his voice now.

‘Elyon guided us,’ Nathair said.

Sumur snorted. ‘A little more detail, please.’

‘I am Nathair ben Aquilus, Prince of Tenebral. I found this place,’ Nathair said with a sweep of his hand, ‘because I am the Seren Disglair, and so was meant to find it.’

‘So you say.’ Sumur clapped his hands, gesturing to the cushions behind him. ‘Please, sit. Some food and drink for our weary travellers. I would not have it said that the Seren Disglair walked into my home and was treated discourteously.’ He smiled thinly.

Men and women suddenly appeared. They brought scented water and cloths to wash their guests’ hands, then bowls of figs and peaches, plums and olives, warm flatbreads and jars of wine. They were all dressed similarly to Sumur and Akar, though none had a sword strapped to his back. All of them stared at Nathair.

Veradis ate a little, sipping at a cup of red wine, eyes fixed on Sumur. He is nervous, he thought, and rightly so. The champion of a god has just walked into his house. He shifted his weight on the cushion he was sat in, feeling awkward and uncomfortable, vulnerable. After a while he gave up wriggling and stood up.

Alcyon tried to eat from a bowl of figs, but his thick fingers could not pick anything up. In the end he lifted the whole bowl and tipped its contents into his mouth.

When they were done, the small tables were cleared, fresh wine brought.

‘Let us cut to the heart of the matter,’ Nathair said once the last attendant had left the room. ‘I have appeared, making great claims. You are wondering if I speak the truth.’

Sumur smiled. ‘Just so,’ he nodded.

‘Then let me seek to persuade you.’ Nathair stood, began to pace about the room. ‘I am here. Why would I come here, if not at Elyon’s bidding? I have found this place. The Hidden Vale, which has remained secret for countless generations. How would that be possible, unless Elyon has brought me here?’

‘There are ways, though they are difficult,’ Sumur said. ‘You are not the first to find us.’

Nathair raised an eyebrow at that. ‘Halvor has written of these days, of me. You only have to look and see to recognize that.’

‘The prophecy has been wrongly interpreted before,’ Akar said. ‘Sword brothers have left here, convinced by another’s words. They were wrong. We must be sure.’

Nathair frowned. ‘The giant-stones have wept blood, white wyrms roam the land, the Treasures are stirring.’

Veradis heard something, not quite a voice, but something, so faint. He looked at Calidus, saw the man’s lips moving, forming silent words, his hands taught, knuckles white. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead. Suddenly Nathair seemed to grow, somehow, his presence, his voice appearing to fill the room, booming.

‘I am the Bright Star,’ Nathair declared. ‘Elyon comes to me in my dreams, has told me this is so. Look at my companions — Giant-Friend, they call me.’ He gestured to Alcyon. ‘I am the Seren Disglair, chosen avatar of Elyon. All who resist Asroth shall gather behind me, even the Ben-Elim, the warrior-angels.’

He fell silent, breathing heavily, fists clenched, eyes burning.

‘Enough of this,’ Calidus said. The old man stood, looking taller to Veradis, his back straighter, shoulders broader. ‘The Seren Disglair does not negotiate. He is. And his followers will know him. As I do.’ Suddenly Calidus changed. It was as if he had been wreathed in mist, for now his travel-stained clothes were replaced by a coat of gleaming mail, his eyes blazed amber, and things were growing from his back, wings, Veradis realized, great wings of white feather. They extended across the room, flexed, the wind of them staggering Veradis, spilling the jug of wine.

‘The Ben-Elim,’ whispered Akar.

Sumur stood open-mouthed, staring, then dropped to one knee before Nathair. ‘I am yours, my lord. The swords of the Jehar are yours.’