Malice (48 page)

Veradis felt himself straightening in his saddle, felt eyes burning into him as word of Nathair’s claim spread through the crowds.

Their escort led them through twisting streets lined with huge trees, drooping, wide-leaved branches giving shade, and single-storeyed buildings, all carved out of the same bone-white rock. Faces appeared at doors and windows, most glances first drawn to Alcyon, striding behind Calidus. Veradis smiled to himself.
No chance of a subtle entrance with him around
.

They dismounted quickly amidst a growing crowd, leaving their horses to a churning mass of stable boys, all eager to take their mounts.

‘This way,’ said Akar, waving a hand. He led them through an arched gateway into a garden, leaving the crowds behind. Stone pillars broke up the verdant surroundings and everywhere there was clinging vine, dark orchids, purple iris and other brighter flowers that Veradis did not recognize.

‘How do you know their tongue?’ Veradis whispered to Calidus as they strode down a wide path that dissected the garden. ‘It sounded like some form of giantish.’

Calidus glanced at him, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

‘That language was the Common Tongue, before the Scourging. It was shared by giants and men alike. Your kin the Exiles changed many things when they returned here from the Isle of Summer.’

Veradis grunted.

A high-domed building lay ahead, a warrior opening its dark polished doors for them.

They stepped into a high-vaulted room; a gentle breeze blew through many windows. A tall man stood in its centre, waiting, his jet-black hair bound at the nape like the other warriors Veradis had seen. A loose-fitting shirt of black linen ill concealed a broad frame. This man was clearly a warrior. Dark eyes gazed out intently from under a protruding brow, resting briefly on each of them. Veradis felt a weightlessness in his stomach, a slight tingle of fear. Although he seemed unsettled, there was something feral about this man.

Akar spoke quickly in their harsh tongue. The man answered, staring again at Nathair. ‘Welcome.’ He touched a hand to his forehead. ‘I am Sumur, Lord of Telassar.’

‘Well met,’ said Nathair, stepping forward, smiling broadly. ‘I have travelled long and far to find you.’

Sumur’s eyes swept across them, pausing briefly on Alcyon.

‘We are unused to guests here. How did you find this place, and why are you here?’

Nathair smiled. ‘Surely our escort has told you.’

A silence settled, Sumur regarding each one of them in turn.

‘I have been told of your claim.’ Sumur nodded slowly. ‘But you have not answered the question I asked of you: how did you find this place?’ There was an edge to his voice now.

‘Elyon guided us,’ Nathair said.

Sumur snorted. ‘A little more detail, please.’

‘I am Nathair ben Aquilus, Prince of Tenebral. I found this place,’ Nathair said with a sweep of his hand, ‘because I am the Seren Disglair, and so was
meant
to find it.’

‘So you say.’ Sumur clapped his hands, gesturing to the cushions behind him. ‘Please, sit. Some food and drink for our weary travellers. I would not have it said that the Seren Disglair walked into my home and was treated discourteously.’ He smiled thinly.

Men and women suddenly appeared. They brought scented water and cloths to wash their guests’ hands, then bowls of figs and peaches, plums and olives, warm flatbreads and jars of wine. They were all dressed similarly to Sumur and Akar, though none had a sword strapped to his back. All of them stared at Nathair.

Veradis ate a little, sipping at a cup of red wine, eyes fixed on Sumur.
He is nervous
, he thought,
and rightly so. The champion of a god has just walked into his house
. He shifted his weight on the cushion he was sat in, feeling awkward and uncomfortable, vulnerable. After a while he gave up wriggling and stood up.

Alcyon tried to eat from a bowl of figs, but his thick fingers could not pick anything up. In the end he lifted the whole bowl and tipped its contents into his mouth.

When they were done, the small tables were cleared, fresh wine brought.

‘Let us cut to the heart of the matter,’ Nathair said once the last attendant had left the room. ‘I have appeared, making great claims. You are wondering if I speak the truth.’

Sumur smiled. ‘Just so,’ he nodded.

‘Then let me seek to persuade you.’ Nathair stood, began to pace about the room. ‘I am
here
. Why would I come here, if not at Elyon’s bidding? I have found this place. The Hidden Vale, which has remained secret for countless generations. How would that be possible, unless Elyon has brought me here?’

‘There are ways, though they are difficult,’ Sumur said. ‘You are not the first to find us.’

Nathair raised an eyebrow at that. ‘Halvor has written of these days, of me. You only have to look and see to recognize that.’

‘The prophecy has been wrongly interpreted before,’ Akar said. ‘Sword brothers have left here, convinced by another’s words. They were wrong. We must be sure.’

Nathair frowned. ‘The giant-stones have wept blood, white wyrms roam the land, the Treasures are stirring.’

Veradis heard something, not quite a voice, but
something
, so faint. He looked at Calidus, saw the man’s lips moving, forming silent words, his hands taught, knuckles white. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead. Suddenly Nathair seemed to
grow
, somehow, his presence, his voice appearing to fill the room, booming.

‘I am the Bright Star,’ Nathair declared. ‘Elyon comes to me in my dreams, has told me this is so. Look at my companions –
Giant-Friend
, they call me.’ He gestured to Alcyon. ‘I am the Seren Disglair, chosen avatar of Elyon. All who resist Asroth shall gather behind me, even the Ben-Elim, the warrior-angels.’

He fell silent, breathing heavily, fists clenched, eyes burning.

‘Enough of this,’ Calidus said. The old man stood, looking taller to Veradis, his back straighter, shoulders broader. ‘The Seren Disglair does not
negotiate
. He
is
. And his followers will know him. As I do.’ Suddenly Calidus
changed
. It was as if he had been wreathed in mist, for now his travel-stained clothes were replaced by a coat of gleaming mail, his eyes blazed amber, and
things
were growing from his back,
wings
, Veradis realized, great wings of white feather. They extended across the room, flexed, the wind of them staggering Veradis, spilling the jug of wine.

‘The Ben-Elim,’ whispered Akar.

Sumur stood open-mouthed, staring, then dropped to one knee before Nathair. ‘I am yours, my lord. The swords of the Jehar are yours.’

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.’