Malice

CHAPTER FORTY

KASTELL

Kastell lay back in the grass, fingers laced behind his head, eyes closed. He took a deep breath, drawing in the fresh scent of grass mingled with white meadowsweet and moist, rich earth.

It was good, being back here. Peaceful.

He had begun to feel claustrophobic since his return to Mikil, hemmed in by crowds of people and stone walls. Blowing out a long breath, he felt the tension easing from his body. Things were supposed to be different now: he had slain a giant, crossed mountains, traversed realms, seen far-off Jerolin, fought alongside the Sirak, been included by his uncle in important plans, made friends.

But now that he had returned, things seemed to be slipping back to how they had always been — people whispering about him behind their hands, sniggering and pointing, warriors he had befriended on the road avoiding him. And since the battle by the stream and Maquin’s discovery of the bag of gold, he had felt a tension building, a shadow following him, like crows hovering behind a warband.

He had seen little of Jael, did not trust him now, knew that he was plotting against him.

Grass tickled his ear, and he opened his eyes, leaned forward. He was sitting on the slope of a small dell with a cairn standing at its base, grass and wildflowers growing in gaps in the stones. The bones of his mam and da were in there, cold, damp. He sighed. It had been a long time since he had been here.

‘What should I do, Da?’ he whispered.

Distant sounds of the fortress drifted down to him, carried by a strong, swirling breeze. But one sound was getting closer, a rider coming this way. Kastell scrambled up, reaching for his sword as a horseman crested the ridge of the dell. But it was only Maquin.

‘I’ve been looking for you,’ Maquin said as he slipped from his saddle. ‘Thought I’d find you here. Jael is up to his tricks — I overheard talk today, over a jug of ale. Said you were behind the axe being stolen, that you were trading it with the Hunen, but the deal went wrong. Apparently the Hunen tried to kill us, but we escaped.’

‘What? But, that’s not true. .’

‘I know. I was there, remember.’

‘Who was saying these things?’

‘The man I heard was Ulfilas. One of Jael’s men, of course.’ He rubbed his knuckles and winced. ‘He’ll think twice before he says it again, though. But I’m sure he’s not the only man Jael has put to spreading these rumours. Have you thought any more on joining the Gadrai?’

Kastell frowned. ‘Aye. Just about every moment that I’m awake.’

‘What’s stopping you? I’ve seen how you’ve been treated since our return. And always by Jael’s lads.’ He hawked, spat.

A large part of him did just want to leave, to move on, to recapture the freedom that he had felt whilst on the road. But there was something keeping him in Mikil. He took a deep breath and decided just to come out with it.

‘Do you remember on the journey back from Jerolin, when King Romar had me ride with him a while?’

‘Aye, lad.’

‘Well, he spoke of next year. Of taking men from Isiltir to join with Braster of Helveth, to attack the Hunen, root them out of Forn Forest. Romar said he wanted me to, to. .’ He paused. Why was this so difficult to say? He sucked in a deep breath. ‘He wanted me to be involved in the campaign, to lead some of the men of Isiltir. Along with Jael.’

Maquin just looked at him, silent, and waited.

‘My uncle has never asked anything of me before. He took me in after Da. . He took me in, provided for me, never asked for anything in return. I would not let him down in this.’

Maquin nodded slowly. ‘I see,’ he said, then frowned. ‘But, lad, he thinks that you and Jael are reconciled, that your bad blood is behind you.’

‘Aye, he does.’

They stood there in silence for long moments, staring at each other.

‘Kastell,’ Maquin said. ‘I am your shieldman, not your da, so I cannot tell you what to do, but I also count myself as your friend, so I’ll give you my thoughts. You can do with them what you will.’

Kastell grunted.

‘I understand you wanting to please your uncle, not let him down. But this thing between you and Jael — it is no childhood prank or grudge any more. I remember the stream, lad.’ He raised a hand to the thin scar on his forehead, tracing it gently with one finger. ‘I fought with you, saw men die over this feud between you. .’

‘It is not my feud,’ snapped Kastell. ‘I have done nothing wrong.’

‘Aye, lad, aye,’ Maquin said, holding up a hand. ‘I know — other than kicking Jael in the knackers in front of the finest warriors the Banished Lands have to offer, that is. But that aside, whether you are in it willingly or no, you’ll still be the one that has your blood spilt, sooner or later. You and Jael are close to being Romar’s heirs. One of you will be lord here, and I know you have never wanted any part of that, never sought it. But Jael is a different creature; he thirsts for it, and in his eyes you are a rival. You are living in the den of your enemy, and he is only going to grow more powerful.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘This is not going to end well, lad.’

Kastell grimaced. ‘I do not want to run away.’

Maquin shrugged. ‘You would not be running away; you would be joining the Gadrai. Every warrior’s dream.’

‘You think I should go, then?’

‘Aye, lad. But not you: we.’

Kastell shook his head. ‘I cannot take you from your home. Romar spoke to me of you, as well, Maquin. He told me you are a “leader of men”. He has plans for you, also. Great plans. I would not see you throw it all away to hold my hand, to protect me.’

Maquin raised a hand to his chin, rubbing his close-cropped beard. ‘You insult me,’ he said quietly. ‘I have been your shieldman since before you could walk, swore an oath to your da, on our blood. And you tell me to abandon you, to walk away.’ He grimaced, his eyes suddenly wet, and brushed angrily at them. ‘You are like a son to me, and I fear for you. Let me make one thing clear.’ He pointed a finger at Kastell. ‘The only thing that will part me from you is death.’ He stood there in silence a long moment, then dropped his hand and looked away. ‘Besides,’ he said, ‘the Gadrai has been a dream for me too, you know.’ He looked over his shoulder, back towards Mikil, though it was hidden from view. ‘This place seems different, since we returned. Smaller.’

‘I’d agree with you there.’

‘It’s about time for a change.’ He closed his eyes a moment, the lines in his face deepening. ‘My Reika crossed the bridge half a score years ago now. We had no children. I have no ties here, no reason to stay. This would be good for me, too. Better’n growing old and stiff inside those cold walls.’ He waved a hand over his shoulder.

‘I don’t know, Maquin,’ Kastell sighed. ‘You make it sound so simple. I’ll think on it some more.’ He looked at the ground. ‘I’ve had a mind to go and see Jael. Talk to him about this. See if it can be settled calmly.’

Maquin snorted. ‘Stranger things have happened. But have a care. Keep your wits about you, and a leash on your temper. He’s crafty.’ He sucked in a deep breath, eyes drawn briefly to the cairn. ‘Well, I’m for heading back, lad. Coming?’

Kastell nodded. ‘I think I will.’

Kastell paced through Mikil’s streets, long shadows cast by the sinking sun.

After returning to the fortress, he and Maquin had swiped a skin of mead from the feast-hall and sat on the outer wall. It had been good just to look at the sinking sun and drink, to talk and even laugh a little with Maquin, for a while forgetting the dark shadow that seemed to hang over most of his waking moments. Too soon, though, the feeling had returned and Kastell had excused himself, returning to his cold cell in the complex that Romar had given him as his hold. Only Maquin and a serving lady filled the cold rooms, whereas Jael had filled his complex with servants and followers. Kastell sat there long into the evening, thinking on Maquin’s words in the dell.

The old warrior was right, it was time to do something, right or wrong, instead of just waiting for the hammer to drop.

He passed through a tall, wide archway into the weapons court.

It was almost empty, a few men sparring, others clustered in small groups, watching. The weapons racks stood full with wooden swords and spears. Kastell paused a moment, then saw the man he was searching for.

Jael stood with a small group of men, three or four, all watching two warriors sparring. Kastell breathed deep, straightened his back and strode towards them.

Jael heard him approaching, and his hand moved nearer his sword hilt.

‘Jael,’ said Kastell as he reached them.

Jael just stared, his companions turning now. One of them was Ulfilas, the warrior that had fought with him by the stream, also the one Maquin had heard spreading rumours. He nodded to the tall man, who grunted, eyes flitting to Jael.

‘Jael. I would speak with you.’

Jael snorted. ‘What is this? Some ruse?’ he said, much louder than necessary. ‘All know that you bear me ill will, resent me.’

‘What?’ said Kastell, frowning. He felt a muscle twitching in his jaw. ‘I would speak with you, alone,’ he repeated.

‘Very well,’ said Jael, smiling graciously. ‘Walk with me.’ He strolled leisurely away, not looking to see if Kastell followed.

‘We must talk,’ Kastell said softly, walking quickly to catch up with his cousin.

‘Must?’ said Jael.

‘Aye. Must,’ said Kastell. ‘This rift between us. I would put it behind us.’

‘Rift? I know not of what you speak.’

Kastell felt his fist clench involuntarily. This is going to be harder than I thought. With a slow breath he unclenched his fingers.

‘Come, Jael. Let us not play games. I know that you mean me harm, that you hired those men, by the stream, in Helveth.’

Jael’s head swung around, studying Kastell with heavy-lidded eyes. ‘You have no proof,’ he eventually said.

‘I have a bag of Isiltir gold with Romar’s crest on it,’ Kastell retorted.

‘Pfah. That means nothing.’

‘If that is so, then it would do no harm for me to share my information with Romar.’

‘Do as you wish. I care not.’

They walked in silence a short distance, then Kastell stopped. Jael turned, hands clasped behind his back, that maddening false smile still fixed on his face.

Briefly, out of the corner of his eye, Kastell saw Ulfilas and the men with him. They were watching him closely.

‘I know not why you dislike me so,’ Kastell said. ‘If I have wronged you, I am sorry.’

‘Sorry. Wronged me,’ hissed Jael, still somehow managing to maintain his smile. ‘Aye, you have wronged me. And it is too late for sorry. Too late by far.’

‘What is it that you think I have done?’ Kastell said, frowning.

‘You shamed me, Kastell,’ Jael said quietly. ‘Before the greatest warriors in all of the Banished Lands; before kings, before the champions of kings and before the sons of kings. Surely you do not think I would let that just pass?’

‘But, this grudge against me. It did not begin in Jerolin.’

‘True, true,’ said Jael, waving a hand. ‘But then I was merely repaying you for your father’s transgressions. Now, well, it is an entirely different matter, and a far more serious one. You shamed me before Nathair, the future King of Tenebral. He saw what you did to me, and I cannot let him perceive me as weak.’

‘My father’s transgressions? What do you mean?’ Kastell growled, feeling his temper rise. This was moving far too quickly. But his da had been mentioned.

Jael frowned, looking at him intently, then laughed. ‘You really don’t know? Well, I do not think that now is the time to talk on that subject.’

Kastell breathed deep. Things were going off track. But his da. What did Jael mean? He blinked hard, shook his head, with an effort recalled the things he had wanted to say. ‘Romar has plans,’ he said. ‘For next year, fighting the Hunen. Those plans involve both of us. For the sake of Isiltir, we must lay our grudges aside.’

Jael clapped gently, slowly. ‘For the sake of Isiltir,’ he chuckled. ‘Isiltir does not need you. My uncle does not need you. He just pities you.’

A rage burned inside Kastell now, flushing his neck and face. He felt his fists bunch. A distant voice in his head whispered that Jael was goading, provoking him, and with an effort of will he forced himself to breathe deeply, to smile, even though it came out more like a grimace.

‘You are a useless, ugly, slow-witted idiot, Kastell,’ Jael continued, smiling broadly now, ‘just like your da.’

Kastell took an involuntary step forward, realized what he was doing, forced himself to stand still. ‘No, Jael,’ he growled. ‘I am no longer a bairn that you can play like a puppet. Pull this string and he will do this, pull that string and he will do that. No more.’ He wiped sweat from his face.

Anger clouded Jael’s eyes, contorted his mouth, just for a moment, then the smile was back.

‘I see. Well, when the puppet does not respond to the master’s will, then the puppet’s strings are cut and it is thrown on the fire.’ Jael took a pace forward and leaned close to Kastell. ‘Make no mistake,’ he whispered, ‘I am the master here. And, I promise you, one day soon, your strings will be cut, and you will burn.’ He paused, sniffed. ‘And, I fear, those close to you will be burned by the same flames.’

‘What? What do you mean?’ said Kastell.

Jael smiled. ‘Work it out, halfwit. You only have one friend. Poor judgement can lead to an early grave, you know.’

He speaks of Maquin.

With a snarl, Kastell found himself lunging forwards. He grabbed Jael and heaved him backwards, throwing him into a stone wall. Jael grunted and then Kastell was on him again, hands around Jael’s throat. There was a roaring sound in his ears, his vision distorted so that he saw Jael as if through a mist, eyes bulging, ineffectually swatting at his arms, but nothing could move him. Distantly he heard shouting, felt a sharp pain in his back, hands pulling at him. Jael’s legs gave way, and his cousin began to sink slowly to the floor, Kastell still squeezing. Somewhere behind him a voice filtered through the red fog.

‘. . him go, you’ll kill him, fool, let him go, or die.’

He saw his hands open slowly, releasing Jael, who slumped to the ground, gasping, retching, sucking in deep, ragged breaths. Men rushed forwards, lifting Jael.

Stepping back, Kastell felt the pain in his back again and turned to see Ulfilas with a knife in his hand, the tip, about half a finger long, stained with blood.

What have I done?

Jael pushed his helpers away, standing unsteadily on his own. ‘You. .’ he rasped, pointing. ‘This is the end for you.’

Kastell grimaced, turned and stumbled away. Men shouted, reaching for him.

‘No,’ creaked Jael. ‘Let him go. My uncle will deal with him now.’

Kastell thumped on Maquin’s door, trying to control the panic that was bubbling inside him.

He’d checked Maquin’s favoured haunts but there was no sign of his friend.

Eventually he tried Maquin’s cell in his hold, although he knew it was still much earlier than his friend usually liked to retire. He banged on the door again, harder, and heard footsteps. The handle rattled and pulled open, Maquin’s frowning face staring out at him.

‘Asroth’s teeth, lad, what’s wrong with you?’

Kastell threw himself at the old warrior, hugging him tight. Maquin grunted, then Kastell suddenly released him and stepped back, looking at the floor.

‘You’re — alright, then.’

‘Aye, lad,’ said Maquin, his expression hovering between frown and smile. ‘Shouldn’t I be?’

‘I’ve been to see Jael.’

‘Ah. Good. How did it go?’

‘Not well,’ Kastell mumbled. He dragged in a deep breath, stood straighter, meeting Maquin’s eyes. ‘I’m for the Gadrai. If you still wanted to ride with me, I’d be happy.’

Maquin grinned and slapped Kastell’s shoulder. ‘Well done, lad.’ He peered into Kastell’s eyes. ‘No reconciliation with your cousin, then?’

‘No,’ grunted Kastell.

‘I didn’a hold much hope. Still, at least you tried, lad.’ He scratched his chin. ‘So, when do you wish to leave?’

‘Now.’

‘What? But, we’ve things to arrange. What about Romar? You should speak with your uncle, surely.’

‘I already have,’ said Kastell. His uncle had not been happy. Far from it. Kastell would have felt better if Romar had raged at him, but instead he had just looked at him, disappointment writ plainly on his features.

‘Why?’ Romar had asked. ‘Why would you leave, when you know my plans for you?’

Kastell had known that Jael would be pounding on Romar’s door soon, telling him of what Kastell had done in the weapons court, so he had tried to explain. It had come out confused, serving only to harden Romar’s attitude.

In the end his uncle had taken a quill to parchment, sealed it with hot wax, and stamped an imprint of his ring into it. ‘Give this to Vandil. He is lord of the Gadrai, or Orgull, his captain. No one else. Do you understand me, boy?’ Romar had said. Kastell just nodded. Romar had hugged him tight, crushing the air from his lungs, then opened the door and ushered him out.

Maquin frowned. ‘There’s more to this tale than you’re telling.’

‘Aye, there is. Come, I’ll tell you while you pack.’