Valour

CHAPTER TEN

TUKUL

Tukul blinked sweat from his eyes, gritted his teeth as he held his pose in the sword dance and focused on keeping the tip of his practice sword perfectly still. His thighs and shoulders were burning, trembling with the effort.

When did this start getting harder? he wondered. Fifty-eight summers is not so old. He concentrated on keeping his breathing even and smooth. Then, as if responding to some unheard bell, he relaxed. He rolled his shoulders and looked about at the others with whom he stood in rank — about three score men and women — all sheened with sweat. We are all older now, he grimaced, though not too old, I hope. ‘Soon,’ he whispered, both a promise and a prayer.

They were gathered in a courtyard built between the roots of a great tree that towered high above them, its branches arcing, blotting out the sun, its trunk wider that any keep he had ever seen.

Drassil.

The fabled city of Forn Forest, built by giants about and beneath the roots of the Great Tree: lost, hidden for countless generations until he had come here with his band of warriors. Five score they had numbered. They were fewer now, some taken by sickness, others by Forn’s predators. One they had parted with during their travels. And patiently they had waited.

Tukul swatted sweat from his nose. ‘Or maybe not so patiently,’ he muttered with a scowl.

People were beginning to spar now, the clack-clack of their practice blades growing about him. He looked for someone to try himself against, then heard running footsteps.

A figure burst into the courtyard — Enkara, black hair streaked with silver and tied at her nape, her sword hilt arching over one shoulder. She searched the courtyard, eyes fixing on him.

‘Someone comes,’ she called, a tremor in her voice.

Everyone froze.

Without a word, Tukul left the courtyard, stooping to collect his curved sword. Slinging its harness over his shoulder, he strode purposefully towards the outer wall.

They had been here over fourteen years, and in that time they had made Drassil habitable. More than that, they had made it defendable again, shearing vines from walls, repairing stonework, mapping the labyrinthine catacombs that burrowed for leagues beneath his feet. He grimaced as he passed a handful of cairns, eyes drawn to where his Daria was buried.

All those who had been in the courtyard followed silently behind him, Enkara half running to keep up with his long strides. He leaped up the steps on the outer wall two at a time, stood above the gateway and looked out into Forn.

A strip of land a hundred paces deep had been cleared beyond the wall, to keep the encroaching forest at bay. Into this clearing strode a figure, cloaked and hooded, a sword at its hip.

The figure stopped, pushed his hood back and looked up at the walls.

Tukul squinted, then smiled. ‘Open the gates,’ he cried as he made his way through the crowd gathered behind him and ran through the gates. He reached the figure, gripped his wrist and pulled him into an embrace.

‘It is good to see you, Meical,’ he whispered, looking up at the dark-haired man.

‘And you, old friend.’

Soon they stood inside the walls of Drassil, every last man and woman gathered about them.

‘You have worked hard here,’ Meical said, looking about. ‘Accomplished much.’

‘I should hope so.’ Tukul snorted. ‘We have had long enough.’ He stared at Meical, realizing that the man looked no different from the last time he had seen him — his hair still jet black, only the faintest of lines around his eyes. He still looked as if he had been through a war, though, and was marked by his battles. Wounded inside as much as out. Silver scars raked one side of Meical’s face.

‘Why are you here?’ Tukul asked.

‘I have grim tidings. Aquilus is dead.’

‘What? No.’ Aquilus was important, had a part to play. ‘What of the child?’ Tukul gasped.

‘He is a child no longer,’ Meical said, his scars creasing as he smiled. ‘He is well. Very well, the last I saw him.’

‘You have seen him? How long ago?’

‘Almost a year, now. I left him and came in search of you. This place is not the easiest to find.’

‘Hah,’ Tukul barked a laugh. ‘That I know. And. . my son? You have seen my son?’

‘Yes. He has grown into a fine man. He has served you well, brought you honour.’

Tukul grinned and blinked away tears.

‘There is more that I have come to tell,’ Meical said. He drew in a deep breath, blew it out slowly. ‘Things are changing, moving quicker, in different ways from how I ever imagined. There is war to the south, rumours of war in the west. Asroth is moving. I think there should be a change of plan.’

Tukul felt a fist clench in his gut, a sharp bolt of excitement after so many years of waiting, preparing.

‘Tell me, how many men would be enough to keep the spear safe?’

Tukul smiled.

‘Ten.’

Meical nodded to himself, as if coming to a silent decision. ‘Leave ten men here, then, but the rest of you — you should not stay. Instead of waiting for the Seren Disglair to come to you, you should go to him. He is in danger. He needs you.’

‘Go to him,’ Tukul repeated, feeling his blood surge in his veins. A grin spread across his face. ‘Hah, did you hear?’ he cried, turning a full circle to take in all those about him.

‘What think you, old friend?’ Meical said. ‘Do you agree?’

‘Agree? Yes, we agree,’ he shouted, as all around him his people drew their swords and brandished their curved blades at the sky with ululations. ‘Make ready,’ he cried, ‘for on the morrow we march to the Seren Disglair.’