Malice

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

KASTELL

Kastell blew on his cupped hands, breath misting. He rubbed them together and tugged on his gloves.

‘Mount up,’ he heard Orgull call behind him.

Without a word, the small band of warriors swung into their saddles, Maquin kicking out the last embers of their fire. Kastell looked out over the river, wide and black in the grey of dawn, the merchant barge they were riding guard to being just a darker shadow on its waters. His face tingled as a snowflake drifted lazily onto his cheek. He glanced up, the thin, pale expanse of light high above him a distant reminder of the world beyond the forest.

Orgull set a horn to his lips, blew once, then they waited in silence. Their captain was bald and thick-necked, freakishly strong. His warrior braid was bound into a short beard.

Oars appeared on the barge and dipped into the water, the vessel beginning to move sluggishly downstream. With a jingle of harness Orgull led the warriors on the shore away, keeping pace with the barge, a thin layer of frozen snow crunching under horses’ hooves. Maquin kicked his horse into a canter, catching up with Kastell.

‘It’s not all killing giants, drinking an’ singing songs of glory round a hearth, eh?’ he said, brushing frost from his grey-flecked beard.

‘Huh,’ agreed Kastell.

They were running guard to a merchant barge travelling down the Rhenus, heavily laden with salt and iron from the mines at Halstat. This was what the bulk of being a Gadrai warrior entailed, as the Rhenus was the main trade route between Helveth and Isiltir and for ten leagues or so it coiled its way into the south-western tip of Forn Forest. Anything travelling on the river was highly vulnerable during those tree-shadowed leagues.

Kastell rode along the east bank of the Rhenus, the dangerous side, with a score of Gadrai warriors about him. Each man there had slain at least one giant, most of them more. Half a score more warriors were on the barge, in case any attempted raid got past the riverbank patrol.

In his four moons in the forest Kastell had witnessed two giant attacks, each one turning his guts to water.

Twelve warriors had died in those attacks, and Kastell had slain two more giants, adding two notches on his sword’s scabbard to the one that marked the day he had slain his first. He glanced at Maquin, remembering that day. It seemed so long ago, now.

‘I’d rather this than fight the Hunen any day,’ he said to his friend.

‘Right you are, lad,’ Maquin grunted, eyeing the treeline to their right.

The other task that consumed most of a man’s time in the Gadrai was clearing the east bank of the Rhenus. They were riding on a wide path, thirty or so paces between the riverbank and the treeline painstakingly cleared of any new vegetation or saplings taking root. It was a monumental job, and teams of warriors worked at it all year round. It was backbreaking work, but it was better to be attacked in the open space by giants than in the thick of the forest, and giants were not the only danger. Wolven prowled, though they had mostly learned to stay the other side of the Gadrai’s boundaries. Also draigs, which went where they pleased; bats the size of Kastell’s shield, which would suck the blood from a man, and great armies of ants like the one he had seen in Tenebral, that could strip a man of all flesh in a matter of heartbeats. He tried not to think of the many other, faceless, terrors.

Kastell felt a prickling sensation in his neck and turned to see Maquin staring at him.

‘We’ve been here a while, now. You getting an itch in your toes yet? Or regret coming?’

‘What?’ stuttered Kastell. ‘No. On both counts.’ He smiled at his friend happily, a sensation that was becoming more frequent with each day he had been away from Mikil. ‘My only regret is that I did not listen to you sooner. It was the right thing to do.’

Maquin grinned broadly.

‘Besides, I like it here,’ he added, looking at the river on one side, huge looming trees on the other.

The Gadrai — the warriors that patrolled the river’s borders — had welcomed him, asking no questions of his past other than the details of his giantkilling. They felt just about as close as any kin he had ever known, at least since his mam and da had died. He belonged here, felt happy.

‘Good,’ grunted Maquin, nodding to himself. The old warrior reined his horse in, staring at the treeline. He cocked his head, listening.

‘What is it?’ Kastell whispered, scanning the shadows within the first trees. He saw nothing.

‘Not sure,’ Maquin grunted. ‘Thought I heard something.’ He shrugged and kicked his horse on.

A faint splash pulled Kastell’s head round. Movement caught his eye, in the river. Something swirled in the murk, ripples spreading in a wide V. He squinted. Whatever it was, it was heading for the barge. Fast.

The other warriors had seen it. Orgull blew on his horn, figures on the barge staring out.

The thing in the water was big, Kastell realized as it pulled alongside the barge, almost matching its length. A warrior threw a spear, but it missed, swallowed by the river. Oars crunched and splintered as whatever it was beneath the surface ploughed into them. Shouts rang out, the barge slewing in the river’s current. Then something reared out of the water, white scales glistening, higher than the barge’s rail. It resembled a snake’s head, but massive. It shot forwards, grabbed a man in its jaws, and dragged him screaming over the rail, his cries cut short as he disappeared beneath the surface.

‘What was that?’ Kastell hissed.

‘A wyrm,’ Maquin said, pulling his spear from its couch.

The waters shifted again, towards the rear of the boat, a grey-white snake surging out of the river, slamming onto the barge’s deck. Its body bunched, seethed out of the water to coil onto the timber deck, then it slithered forwards. Kastell could see figures before it, yelling, brandishing weapons. His sword-brothers. One charged forwards, hacking at the menace with his sword. The snake’s head darted out, lifted the man into the air, began to swallow him. Kastell felt his stomach lurch.

Then another beast was at the front, bursting up in a fountain of black water, making the barge list as it slithered onboard.

‘Elyon help them,’ Maquin whispered. At the head of their column Orgull was yelling something, then a cry went up behind them, from the trees. Kastell twisted to see giants lumber out of the shadows. Some hurled spears. A horse went down in a spray of blood, its rider tumbling into the river.

‘At them,’ Orgull bellowed, kicking his horse at the giants, his longsword sweeping from the scabbard on his back. Kastell dragged his horse in a half-circle, drew his sword and followed. He heard Maquin swearing.

He glanced down the line, saw other warriors following Orgull’s lead. The giants came roaring out of the shadows, axes and hammers raised high. Kastell only had moments, but that was all he needed to see that they were outnumbered. This battle was lost already, his sword-brothers dead. It was just a matter of how they died, how many foes they took with them. A giant was charging straight at him, a male, dark moustache drooping, spittle flying from its mouth as it screamed a battlecry.

His horse slammed into the giant, Kastell at eye-level with it. Both of them staggered. Kastell swung his sword and felt it scrape along chainmail. The giant grabbed his horse’s mane and yanked it, making the animal scream, then hefted a war-hammer. Kastell swung his sword again, but it only dented the giant’s helm. His arm went numb from wrist to elbow from the blow. Then a spear was sprouting from the giant’s throat, blood gushing dark. It tried to breathe, choked and sank to the ground. Maquin yelled something in his ear.

Kastell ignored him. He was now at the rear of the column, so with a grunt he spurred his horse into the heart of the battle. Somewhere ahead he heard Orgull’s voice, saw him standing in his saddle, swinging his longsword in a great looping stroke. There was a jet of blood, a giant’s head spinning through the air, then the big man was gone, obscured from view.

His horse slipped on something, a dead horse’s entrails. He dragged on the reins, managed to keep them both upright. Before him a giant swung his hammer, smashing a man from his saddle, bones crunching as his foot caught in a stirrup. Kastell hacked at the giant, managed to find the spot on the neck between chainmail and helm. Blood spurted again, the giant turning, hitting out with a fist and catching Kastell’s horse full in the mouth. It neighed and reared, hooves lashing out to send the giant crashing backwards.

Maquin spurred his horse, appearing in front of him to grab Kastell’s reins. ‘It is no use,’ Maquin yelled over the din, ‘there are too many. Best to warn Vandil and the others at Brikan.’

Maquin’s words made sense, but Kastell had had enough of running. From the Hunen, from Jael. .

Out of the crush before him a horse burst, big-boned and long-maned, carrying Orgull. ‘Ride!’ their captain shouted, digging his heels into his mount. Another warrior staggered from the ground and Orgull held out an arm, pulling him up into the saddle behind him as he sped past.

Maquin pulled on Kastell’s reins again, turning his horse, and together they sped away from the ambush, thundering along the track beside the river. Kastell glanced back to see a handful of giants climbing into some kind of boat. They were pushing out towards the barge, where the two wyrms lay coiled. No one else moved on the deck. On the track behind, the battle was done, giants checking all the men were dead. Some of them started into a loping run, following them.

‘Not again,’ he muttered and leaned low to his horse’s neck.

For a day and a night they kept moving, stopping only briefly. The giants kept coming, sometimes just a shadow behind, sometimes closer. Kastell counted at least five.

‘They’ll give up soon,’ Alaric said in Kastell’s ear, his breath making Kastell wince, ‘we’re getting too close to Brikan.’

‘Hope so,’ Kastell grunted. He was exhausted, and his legs and arse were aching worse than he’d imagined possible. Brikan was the Gadrai’s main base in Forn Forest, a broken, abandoned Hunen fortress. Kastell had never liked it, but seeing it now would bring him more joy than even news of Jael’s death.

‘Still over a day’s ride to Brikan,’ Orgull said, cantering beside them, ‘but I’m praying Vandil’s got a patrol out this way.’

‘Why’d they want that barge?’ Maquin asked Orgull.

The bald captain shrugged. ‘It was full of tin and iron. There’s been plenty more like that on the river before, but I’ve never seen the Hunen attack in such force. Must’ve been forty or fifty of them.’

‘Aye. And the wyrms.’

Orgull grimaced. ‘Been trying not to think about that.’

They rode on in silence, Kastell fighting to keep his eyes focused on the track ahead. In the distance a draig roared, making the forest shake, but it was a long way off. Suddenly Kastell heard a pounding behind them. He twisted in his saddle, saw the giants. They were opening their stride, gaining.

‘They know Brikan’s close, they’re running out of time,’ Orgull shouted. ‘Ride hard now and we’ll lose them.’ He blew on his horn, a ringing blast. Crows exploded from an ancient oak, squawking as they spiralled their way higher.

Kastell dug his heels into his horse. He could feel it trying for a burst of speed, but hardly anything happened. A shiver ran up its flank.

‘Come on,’ Maquin roared, keeping pace with him. Orgull was pulling away.

Then, suddenly, Kastell was flying through the air. He crashed to the ground and rolled in crusted snow, his shoulder exploding with pain. He staggered up, dragging his sword out of his scabbard.

His horse was trying to rise, whinnying in pain as a spear shaft poked from its flank. The giants were pounding towards them. Three of them, one female, Kastell realized, though only from its lack of moustache.

Maquin drove his horse across the track, between Kastell and the giants, and drew his sword. Further up the path Orgull bellowed again. Then the giants were upon them.

Maquin’s horse went down in an explosion of blood and bone, an axe blade in its skull. What happened to Maquin, Kastell did not know. He ducked under a hammer blow, hacked at a wrist and felt his blade turn on hard leather. The giant kneed him in the chest and sent him tumbling through the air. He skidded to a stop a handspan from the river, now swordless, and willed himself to rise.

Orgull came galloping back down the track and left his sword stuck in the chest of the giant bearing down on Kastell. It collapsed onto him, pinning him to the ground, where blood gushed into his nose and mouth. Kastell choked and felt panic flutter in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. He grunted, heaved, wriggled and managed to squirm out from under it, her, he realized. Then he climbed to his feet, spitting and retching.

Maquin and Orgull were standing together, two giants before them. Then the forest was filled with horn blasts, riders galloping down the track, and men were leaping out from the trees. One of them wielded two swords, moving in a blur. Vandil, Lord of the Gadrai. He slipped under the strike of a giant, struck twice in a heartbeat, the giant collapsing as his guts spilled onto his feet. The other giant lay still under the blows of Vandil’s men.

As quick as that it was over.

‘Where’s the rest of your men?’ Vandil asked.

Orgull grimaced.

‘What happened?’

‘Ambush. At least forty Hunen. The barge was attacked by wyrms.’

Men paused about him, taken aback by the mention of white serpents.

‘Chief, this one’s alive,’ a warrior called, nudging one of the fallen giants with his boot.

‘Bind him and bring him back to Brikan.’

Brikan was a squat grey tower ringed by a vine-choked, crumbling stone wall, a Hunen border post from a time when their kingdom spread north, south and east. It was on the far bank of the river, a wide stone bridge the only crossing within the boundaries of the forest.

The Gadrai were about four hundred swords strong, though at any given time fewer than half would be found at Brikan, the rest on patrol or escort duty.

Kastell rode alongside Maquin again, both on horses given up by their sword-brothers. Further ahead the giant was slung on a litter between two horses, its weight too great for a single horse to bear. As far as Kastell could tell, it was still unconscious.

Then they were over the bridge, Kastell nodding greeting to the bearskin-wrapped guards, and passed under the gate arch into a cobbled courtyard where men were gathering to stare. A giant had never been captured alive before. Vandil ordered for the unconscious captive to be bound to a training post in the courtyard.

‘Wake him,’ Vandil said, and a bucket of water was thrown into the giant’s face. It groaned, a cut on its temple crusted black. Kastell stared in fascination — he had never had the opportunity to study a giant properly before. Its skin was pale and grey, almost translucent in places, with dark veins visible. Thick, heavy brows jutted over small, dark eyes, its nose and cheeks all sharp angles. A black moustache drooped around thin, bloodless lips. Its eyes slowly focused and looked about. Muscles suddenly tensed as it tried its bonds, the tattoo of a vine and thorns about one forearm rippling, and for a moment Kastell thought the chains would burst. Then the giant went limp, muttering something incomprehensible.

‘What do you want with the barge?’ Vandil asked. He was not an imposing figure, of average height, slim, with thinning hair and a chunk missing from the top of his right ear. Orgull towered over him, but Kastell had seen the Gadrai’s leader in battle, seen him cut down two giants in the time it had taken him to draw his own sword. Never had he seen anyone move so fast.

‘Mise toil abair tusa faic,’ the giant mumbled.

‘In our tongue,’ Vandil said. ‘I know you can speak it.’

The giant just glowered at him.

Vandil looked to the blacksmith that had fixed the giant’s chain and took his hammer. ‘I’ll ask you once more,’ he said to the giant. ‘That barge was carrying tin and iron. What do you want with it?’

The giant scowled, gritted his teeth and spat.

Vandil swung the hammer, bones snapping in the giant’s ankle. It threw its head back and howled, veins and tendons standing rigid on its neck.

Vandil raised the hammer again and the giant thrashed on the post, snarling curses.

‘I’ll have an answer,’ Vandil said and swung the hammer again, this time onto the giant’s knee. There was a sickening crunch.

Kastell winced and squeezed his eyes shut. As much as the giants were the enemy, this was difficult to watch.

The giant screamed until he was hoarse, finally just glowering at Vandil, breathing in deep, juddering breaths.

Vandil raised the hammer again.

‘Muid ga an iarann go cearta airm, ar an cogadh,’ the giant spat.

‘In our tongue,’ Vandil said, still holding the hammer high.

‘We need the iron to forge weapons, for the war,’ the giant said in the Common Tongue, though falteringly, his voice gravelly and pitched low.

‘What war?’

‘An dia cogadh — the God-War.’