Valour

CHAPTER SEVEN

LYKOS

Lykos’ eyes snapped open, his breath ragged. For a moment he did not know where he was; his hands clutched at the arms of the chair he was sleeping in. He blinked, trying to scatter the lingering shadow of a dream — yellow eyes, staring through him — and looked about. The creak and swell of his ship’s cabin brought him back. He poured himself a cup of wine with shaky hands, spilling some, and drank deep.

He walked unsteadily to the cabin window. A shaft of sunlight cut through the gloom. The black walls of Jerolin filled his view, rising over the lake where his ship was anchored. Fidele had offered him rooms inside those black walls but, being lord of the Vin Thalun, he would rather sleep on a ship’s deck, more home to him than any town or building. Besides, he didn’t trust these people, knew that his privileged position in Tenebral was purely because Nathair made it so.

He drank more wine, slung his scabbarded sword and belt over his shoulder, opened the door and strode through, with his shieldman Deinon silently falling in behind him. Together they climbed onto the deck, the bright sunshine making Lykos squint. He nodded to some of his crew, most of them men who had served with him for many years, fought for him, and his father before him.

‘Is my boat ready?’ he asked.

‘Aye, chief,’ Deinon said, his voice raspy, distinct. Losing half of your nose in the pits did that.

‘Good,’ Lykos said and strode to the gunwale. He swung over and climbed agilely down a rope ladder, dropping into a rowing-boat large enough for a dozen men. Thaan, Deinon’s brother, was waiting for him.

His two shieldmen manned the oars and started pulling steadily for the shore. They skirted the trading and fishing port on the lake shore, instead heading straight for Jerolin. The boat grounded on a strip of silt and reeds, Lykos jumped into the shallows and splashed the rest of the way to dry land. He stopped there and paused to admire the ships lined along the shore. Twelve shallow-draughted war-galleys, all sleek lines and stinking of tar. They had been the first finished, at the end of the Crow’s Moon last year, just before winter had set in. All winter they had sat in their thick-painted coats of moss and tar, and now they were ready for open water. New building had begun with spring, and already five skeletons stood further along the shoreline, the first oak strakes lining ribs of spruce.

Nathair wanted a Vin Thalun fleet and that was what he was going to get.

He raised a hand in greeting to old Alazon, his master shipwright, sitting on a half-built keel with a mallet in his fist and nails in his mouth. Reluctantly, Lykos began striding towards the fortress, resisting the urge to go and inspect the shipyard, speak with his men. There were things that needed doing, and meeting with Fidele was high on that list. He had begun this walk sixteen years ago, the night he had first met with Calidus and sealed his future, so he would not falter now.

The three men reached the road that led to Jerolin’s gates. The meadow about them was wider than it used to be; trees from the nearby forest had been harvested for the shipbuilding. Men were gathered on the plain, hundreds of them, warriors training in Nathair’s shield wall. It looked a fearsome thing, on land, but Lykos sneered as he passed. Little use on a ship’s deck, he thought, knowing even as he did so that he was being illogical. The Banished Lands will not be conquered on the ocean. Beyond Tenebral’s warriors was a cluster of tents, before which at least two thousand of the Jehar were at their training, this sword dance that Lykos had watched with a sense of dread. Here were warriors that would take some beating. Good thing that they fought on the same side. For now.

He looked back at the war-galleys on the lake shore, at the warriors in the meadow, men of Tenebral and the Jehar of Telassar. This was a land mustering for war, and he was at the heart of it, had been preparing for it for nearly two decades.

He swept through the fortress’ gates uncontested and passed quickly through the streets of Jerolin, people moving out of his way. A man stood at the stableblock, arms folded across his chest, scowling at them. A man with a grudge, if ever I saw one, Lykos thought, making a mental note of the man’s features. Wouldn’t do for the hard work of a lifetime to be done away with by a knife in the ribs.

The doors to the keep were open and he strode in, continuing through the feast-hall, and climbed the spiral tower that led to the royal chambers. Here half a dozen eagle-guard stood in their black-polished breastplates and silver helms — Tenebral’s elite. The royal guard had been increased since Aquilus’ assassination.

Fidele was seated behind a wide desk, dark hair framing her pale, beautiful face. Lykos did not allow himself the luxury of staring at her loveliness, close to perfection in his opinion, even if there were creases around her eyes and her lips, a streak of silver in her otherwise jet hair. Never allow another to know they have any kind of hold over you, his father had told him. Wise words.

Fidele was not alone. Another of the eagle-guard stood behind her. Orcus was wiry and as knotted as an old tree, dark eyes set in a face with a nose that had been broken more than once. Fidele gestured and he poured three cups of dark red wine, offering one to Lykos.

‘My thanks,’ the Vin Thalun murmured as he sipped the wine, resisting the urge to gulp it.

‘I have had no word from my son in some time. Have you heard from him?’ Fidele asked with measured calm, but Lykos could sense something else beneath the surface, something brittle.

‘Not since he reached Dun Carreg,’ Lykos said. Though I would hear long before you, with your outdated methods, he thought. Lykos tried to repress a shudder as his thoughts flickered towards his dreams, the alien presence in his mind, in his soul. ‘Calidus has an intricate network of messengers.’

‘I am sure,’ Fidele said, failing to hide a sour twist of her lips. ‘My husband and I had dealings with Calidus a long time ago. He proved. . wanting. And, besides, Calidus is somewhere in Forn Forest, fighting giants, while Nathair is in Ardan.’

‘Calidus is very well connected with both his information and his informers, my lady. I am sure that he is in close contact with Nathair, no matter where he is. If I receive any kind of word regarding your son I shall of course forward it on to you. Immediately.’

‘My thanks. And how goes the task my son has set you?’

‘The shipbuilding proceeds well. Twelve galleys are ready on your lake shore. The other shipyard on the coast does better still. Fifteen war-galleys, and seven deeper-draughted ships for transport. Progress could be even better, though, if the supply of wood was less sporadic.’

‘Surely there is enough wood here for your purposes.’

‘Oak and elm is in plenty here, and on the coast, you are right. But I need a supply of spruce and cedar as well. That is less readily found.’ He paused and sipped some more wine. ‘May I speak plainly?’

‘Of course.’

‘Your barons controlling that supply are not cooperating as well as they might. I speak specifically of Marcellin in the north and Lamar in the south.’

‘There is trouble in the north that may be affecting your supply lines,’ Fidele said. ‘The Kurgan giants are raiding from their mountain strongholds. I have sent Peritus to deal with it.’

‘That still would not explain the lack of cooperation in the south,’ Lykos said. ‘And, allow me to speak frankly — I believe Marcellin and Lamar are being obstructive because I am Vin Thalun.’

Fidele sat back, considering him coldly. ‘Yes, I believe you are right.’

Lykos raised an eyebrow. ‘We have signed a treaty, formed an alliance.’

‘Yes, we have. As we are speaking frankly, let me say this. The situation between our two peoples is new, and old ways of thinking are hard to change in a day, or a moon, or a season, or even a year.’

‘Our treaty was signed nearly two years ago, my lady,’ Lykos said.

‘Yes. But there were decades of enmity before that.’

‘Not under my reign,’ Lykos snapped, suddenly fierce, feeling his temper flare. ‘And the men that ruled then, well…’ He paused, tugging at an iron ring woven into his beard, a timeworn method of controlling his anger. ‘They have either bowed the knee or had their heads separated from their shoulders.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Fidele said with a dismissive wave of her hand, ‘there is a history between our peoples. Lamar particularly has been a bulwark for Tenebral against your past raids. He has seen much bloodshed and does not forgive so easily.’

‘True. Lamar I can understand. Marcellin, though. He rules in the Agullas, about as far as any man in Tenebral can get from the Tethys Sea. But he is close to Peritus, I believe. .’ Lykos left the rest unsaid. He knew that Peritus, Aquilus’ battlechief, was not a friend of the Vin Thalun, had even spoken openly against them, if only after Nathair had sailed west. It was good to let Fidele see that he was no fool, that he understood something of the politics and people of this land.

‘I will speak to them,’ Fidele said. ‘But I have heard things about your people, practices that hinder any understanding between us, and I believe Lamar and Marcellin will have heard the same reports that I have.’

Lykos sighed; he had a feeling he knew what was coming.

‘I speak of your fighting pits,’ Fidele said, her mouth twisting with disgust. ‘In your own land your customs are yours to do as you see fit, but here in Tenebral, forcing captives, slaves, to fight for your entertainment is unacceptable.’

The fighting pits were part of Vin Thalun tradition, had been part of the three islands for as long as Lykos knew. Men could end up there by many roads — taken on a raid, owing a blood debt, even from a very bad night with dice and a throw-board. There was only one road out, though, and that was to fight your way out, tooth and nail if you had to. With the end of war between the islands and Lykos proclaimed Lord of the Vin Thalun, if anything the pits had grown in their popularity. His people were not made for peace and if his crews were no longer fighting or raiding regularly, they needed something to prevent them turning on one another. The pits acted as both an entertainment and a distraction. He had tried to curtail the use of them while his men were abroad in Tenebral, understanding that the locals would probably object. But the rising tensions amongst his warriors had become a pain in the arse, so he had allowed the pits to happen. Discreetly, he thought.

He shrugged, not wanting to commit to an outright lie that could later incriminate him. ‘I’ll look into these rumours.’

‘We both know that they are not rumours,’ Fidele snapped, leaning forward in her chair. ‘You attended one of these events only a ten-night gone. This barbaric custom will not happen within the boundaries of Tenebral. I expect you to put an end to it.’

‘I thought Nathair ruled here,’ he said before he could check himself.

‘Nathair is not here, and I rule in his place,’ Fidele said.

‘Of course,’ Lykos muttered, pouring himself another cup of wine. For now. ‘I will make sure the pits stay on the Islands.’

Fidele inclined her head. ‘And I will see that your supply of wood is unhindered.’

‘How did it go, chief?’ Deinon asked him.

Lykos scowled at his shieldman. They were out on the meadow road, walking back to the lake shore. It was hard enough taking orders from Nathair, someone young enough to be his son, though he knew he had no choice with that, at least for now. But Nathair’s mother, a woman. . no matter how much he enjoyed looking at her. .

‘She knows about the pits,’ he muttered.

‘Is that a problem?’ Thaan asked.

‘Course it’s a problem. These landwalkers are soft. She wants the pits closed.’

‘The lads won’t like it.’

‘No, they won’t.’ And neither would I. ‘Which is why the pits’ll stay open. Just have to be a bit clever about it, that’s all. Not so close to Jerolin, not so regular; just for a while.’

‘Good,’ Deinon said, the air whistling through his ruined nose as he talked. ‘Didn’t think you’d let a woman tell you what’s what, no matter how fine she is to look at.’

‘Watch your tongue,’ Lykos said, giving Deinon a sour look. There was a lot more to this than he had originally imagined. Conquering the Islands had been so much easier than this politicking — bloodier, aye, but simpler, at least. He glanced up, saw the day was well past highsun.

‘You all right, chief?’ Thaan asked him.

Soon it would be night again. Why did each day pass so quickly, each night last so long? He felt a knot of fear twist in his gut at the thought of the nightmares he knew would come, and that made his anger return. How could he tell his shieldman that he was afraid of the dark?

He spent the rest of the day at the shipyard, first inspecting the finished galleys, then losing himself in the rhythm of manual work on the new ships. As the sun set, sinking behind distant mountains, he took a turn beside Deinon at an oar, pulling for his ship anchored on the lake. The ache in his back muscles was almost pleasant.

‘How long are we here, chief?’ Deinon asked.

‘Another week, maybe. Make sure Alazon has all the materials he needs, then it’s back to the coast to check on the other shipyard.’

‘Have mercy,’ Thaan muttered behind them.

Mercy’s for fools, thought Lykos, almost hearing his dead father whisper the words in his ear. ‘This easy life not to your taste?’ he asked.

‘I’d rather be cracking heads and betting on the pits than this,’ Thaan grumbled.

‘Not much I can do about the pits, for now,’ Lykos said. ‘But the head cracking. .’ Something Fidele had said during their meeting had been bothering him all day, that’s why he had spent the day with a mallet in his hand — it helped him think. They reached their ship, tied off the rowing boat and clambered up the ladder onto the deck. Most of the crew had been sleeping ashore, with strict orders not to spend time in Jerolin’s inns. A few hands were still about though — there was always work that needed doing. Lykos looked about, studying each face. Then he saw who he was looking for.

‘One of you fetch Jace, bring him down to my cabin,’ he said with a nod, then turned and walked below decks without a look back.

It was not long before there was a knock at his cabin door and Deinon entered, Jace behind him. Thaan stayed in the hall and closed the door.

‘Have a drink,’ Lykos said, thrusting a cup of wine at Jace.

Jace took it, his smile all teeth and gums, and drank, though only a little. He had not been aboard long, only a ten-night, having earned his place at the oars at the last pit-fight Lykos had attended. Lykos liked him, liked his style — a focused, contained fury when he fought. He was lean, yet well-muscled. Scars latticed his arms and shoulders. Probably only eighteen years old, maybe nineteen. He looked older, but that was usual for any that made it out of the pits.

‘I wanted to share a drink with you, welcome you aboard. I do it with all the new lads.’

Jace relaxed slightly, just a suggestion in the set of his shoulders, his feet.

‘Sit down,’ Lykos said, more order than request. Jace’s eyes flitted to the door and back. He sat, slowly, legs coiled beneath him. Still wary, then.

‘How’re you finding your new life?’ Lykos asked.

‘It’s good, chief. Better’n the pits, for sure.’

Deinon moved out of Jace’s view, stepping behind him.

‘Aye. Life with the Vin Thalun is not the easiest — some might say the hardest — but the rewards. .’ He grinned, emptied his own cup of wine and placed it carefully on a table beside Jace. ‘Stay alive long enough and who knows what you’ll earn — silver, your own war-galley, women. Lots of women. Isn’t that right, Deinon, even for someone as ugly as you, eh?’

‘True enough, chief,’ Deinon said with a wide grin.

Lykos stood before Jace, feeling his temper stir, flaring hot.

‘All I ask is loyalty.’

With no warning, Jace erupted from his chair, headbutting Lykos in the gut. Lykos had been expecting it, but still the lad caught him. Gods, but the pits make you fast, he thought, even as he doubled over, fighting to draw a breath.

Jace was trying to step away, reaching for a knife at his belt, when Deinon’s hand clutched his hair, yanked him backwards, the shieldman’s other fist crashing into the boy’s head, just above the ear. Jace staggered, though still managed to stay on his feet. Lykos headbutted him full in the face, felt cartilage break, crunching as blood spurted. Jace collapsed back into the chair, head lolling.

‘Loyalty,’ Lykos snarled, Jace’s blood dripping from his face. ‘I gave you a new life, but that wasn’t good enough for you. Had to run to Fidele. Why?’

‘I didn’t do nothing,’ Jace bubbled through his ruined face. ‘Don’t understand.’

‘Don’t lie to me,’ Lykos hissed. ‘Deinon.’

The shieldman grabbed one of Jace’s wrists and clamped his hand to the table. In a blur Lykos drew his knife and slammed it into Jace’s palm, pinning it to the wood beneath. Jace screamed, pain and terror mingled, eyes bulging.

‘Why?’ Lykos repeated, bending to stare into Jace’s eyes. ‘Speak the truth and the pain’ll end.’

Jace just stared at him.

‘All right then,’ Lykos said, ‘looks like you need a little more persuasion.’ With a sigh he drew another knife from his boot, this one small, thin and sharp. He held it hovering over Jace’s pinned hand and with a jerk cut one of the man’s fingers off.

Jace screamed, shaking his head wildly. Deinon held him clamped in place.

‘I can keep going like this all night,’ Lykos said. ‘There’s more than fingers I could be cutting.’

‘When I was taken,’ Jace whispered, ‘my family — mother, father, sister — all murdered, by you.’

‘How old were you, boy?’

‘F-fifteen.’

Lykos sighed, tutted. ‘Shame you didn’t learn your lesson.’

‘Wha. .?’ Jace said, his face contorted with pain.

‘That I control life and death for you.’ Lykos nodded to Deinon, who still had a fist twisted in Jace’s hair. He pulled the lad’s head back and cut his throat.

‘Take him out in the lake and sink him with something heavy,’ Lykos said, stepping away from the blood pooling at his feet. He poured himself a cup of wine.

‘Don’t you want to let his body be found, show Fidele what happens to squealers?’

‘No, wouldn’t put it past that bitch to put me on trial for murder,’ Lykos said.

Deinon chuckled, stooped and slung Jace’s corpse over his shoulder, heading for the door.

Lykos sat in his chair and started drinking. It was full night now; the exhilaration of the conflict with Jace drained away. He was feeling weary — no, exhausted. Sleep would follow soon. He gulped more wine down, afraid.

‘Father, who and what have I become?’ he muttered, cocking his head to hear an answer. When no response came he shrugged and continued drinking. Eventually he dozed off, still sitting in his chair.

He woke screaming, eyes bulging. Thaan poked his head through the door.

‘You all right, chief?’

‘Wha. .? I. Yes,’ Lykos mumbled, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. Making deals with a devil was sure to have a down side. He reached automatically for his jug of wine. Only a few dregs were left but he slurped them back. ‘Good news for you,’ he said. ‘There’s a change of plan. We need to round up the Jehar and take them to Ardan, and — even better for you — after that we’ll get to crack some heads. A lot of heads.’

‘Ardan?’ Thaan said.

‘Aye, Thaan. Ardan. We’ve been summoned.’