Valour

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWO

UTHAS

Uthas strode through the dark corridors and cavernous chambers of Murias, shadow-filled places with flickering blue torchlight and the constant drip of water. Salach and Eisa walked at his heels. They passed a fire-pit with giants gathered about it. One called to him and he paused, raising his hand in greeting. It was Balur One-Eye, his white hair gleaming and his tale of thorns covering both of his arms in a dark spiral.

How many lives has he snuffed out?

‘Ethlinn said you would return soon,’ the ancient warrior said.

‘She was right,’ Uthas said. What else has she said of me? Dreamed of me?

Balor looked at Salach and Eisa. ‘I remember more of you leaving.’

‘Aye. It has not been a smooth journey.’

‘I have earned my first thorns, One-Eye,’ Eisa said, lifting her arm to show Balur.

I must watch her. They worship Balur, as if he were some god.

‘Good,’ Balur said. ‘The first of many.’

‘That is my wish,’ Eisa replied.

‘Ethlinn, how is she?’ Uthas asked.

‘She dreams more now than she wakes.’ Balur rubbed his good eye.

He worries over her like a first-time mother. She is his weakness.

‘She says that battle is close; that the Black Sun comes for the cauldron.’

‘Best keep your axe sharp, then,’ Uthas said as he walked away.

‘I always do,’ Balur called after him.

Uthas made his way deeper into the stronghold’s belly, passing more of his kin gathered in huddles about fires. Occasionally he would catch an eye, give a nod of greeting. There were enough amongst them who had committed to him, would stand with him when the time came. Not a majority, but enough. Eventually he paused at an arched doorway. Two warriors stood before it. They nodded and allowed him to pass; Salach and Eisa waited there.

The chamber was enormous, even by giant standards, the vaulted ceiling cloaked in darkness. Torches radiating their cold blue fire lined the walls, and numerous wyrms slithered around the floor, passing from light to shadow.

The cauldron stood at the centre of the chamber, a fat bloated deity of pitted iron. A light-sucking entity that, to Uthas, looked almost as if it was breathing, a shimmering about its edges, a blurring of its hard lines.

Before it stood Morc, keeper of the wyrms, his beloved reptiles surrounding him, last and most deadly guardians of the cauldron.

Morc had raised this brood of wyrms, once they had hatched, only two years or so ago. He had fed them, cared for them, and they seemed to have some measure of affection for him, as they slithered about him, great milky grey creatures of muscle and teeth. One even reared up, its head as large as Morc’s upper torso, and rubbed its scaly jaw across his chest. He patted its head.

‘Didn’t know you were back,’ Morc said. ‘Welcome home.’

Home. ‘Thank you,’ Uthas said. He’d always liked Morc. He was not the brightest of his kin, but there was a sincerity to him that was endearing.

‘Do you need to be in here?’ Morc asked. ‘Only, it’s feeding time.’ He nodded to a wain sitting in the chamber, upon it a huge cage full of hogs. At least a score of them, fat hairy things with tiny eyes. They were squealing, eyeing suspiciously the wyrms that were coiling around the wain.

‘No. I’m just. .’ What? Why am I drawn to this thing?

‘Well, it’s still here,’ Morc said, looking over his shoulder at the cauldron.

‘So I see. I’ll be going then. It’s good to see you, Morc.’

‘Going — yes, good idea. It’s going to get messy in here.’

Uthas stood on a balcony high in one of the towers of Murias, gazing out over the land of Benoth. A featureless moorland rolled into the distance, here and there lumps of dark granite poking through the earth.

Nathair is out there. And Calidus. He shivered. How many nights before you reach these walls? Eight? Ten?

‘Are you rested?’ a voice asked from behind him.

He turned to see Nemain, Queen of the Benothi, once wife to Skald, the first king, and the first slain, first casualty in the War of Treasures. Over two thousand years had passed, yet she still wore the grief of it in her eyes, the twist of her mouth, the set of her shoulders. Dark hair framed a face of sharp angles and deep shadows. All giants were pale, but her skin appeared paper thin, almost translucent. The weight of years hangs heavy upon her. Despite that, strength radiated from her still, tempered with the weariness in her grey eyes. It was more than just the physical contours of her musculature. She is formidable yet.

At the sound of her voice ravens burst to life from their roosts in the cliff face about the balcony, a swirling, raucous host. For a moment they flew so densely about her that she was hidden from sight, covered by a diaphanous, black-winged cloak, then they cleared and spread apart, some returning to their nests, others floating on the updraughts. Nemain smiled at them.

She actually likes them. He remembered throwing his knife at Fech, putting it through the bird’s body. It had been satisfying.

‘You have had a hard journey,’ Nemain said as she walked closer. Sreng, her shield-maiden was a shadow behind her.

‘Aye. Five of the kin slain.’

‘The south is a dangerous place now.’

‘That it is.’

‘And what news?’

‘There is much,’ Uthas said. ‘Most of it confirming what we suspected, or had heard whispered. Rhin is spreading across the west, already Ardan and Narvon have fallen to her. She was invading Domhain as I began my journey home. Eremon did not march with his warband to meet her, but Rath rides at the warband’s head — he is Eremon’s battlechief once more.’

‘Perhaps they will all kill each other. Even if only Rath were to fall, some good at least would come from this.’

‘Aye. We can hope.’

‘Yes, we can. And what of the Black Sun — Ethlinn’s dreaming, she says he is coming. Have you seen anything? Divined any sign?’

He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

She moved closer to him then, gazing into his eyes, so close that their bodies almost touched. She lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. He returned her gaze for as long as he could bear, then he glanced away.

What does she see? The desires of my heart?

‘You saw the walls of Dun Taras. I can see the memory of it weighing heavy upon you.’

‘I did. It has been so long, but I remembered. .’ His words faltered.

‘Memory is a double-edged sword, Uthas. It can keep you strong through dark times, but it can also cripple you, keep you locked in a moment that no longer exists.’ The focus of her eyes shifted, glazing as she remembered events from long ago.

You speak so true, my Queen. Your memories are shackles about you, stopping you from using the Treasures, snaring you in a web of fear. Not I. I will do what must be done.

She dropped her hand from his face and stepped away.

‘Recover your strength and we shall talk again soon. Ethlinn says the time of testing is almost upon us. We must be ready.’

It is already upon us.

‘Aye, we must.’

She left him then, her shield-maiden Sreng following. Soon after the door had closed behind them a figure stepped from a shadowed alcove. Salach.

‘Does she suspect?’ the giant asked.

Uthas drew in a shuddering breath. ‘No. I don’t think so.’ He shrugged. ‘The die is cast now. There is no going back.’