The Faithful and the Fallen: Ruin Part 64

'Try to reason with them. Peace is what we need, with Lykos in control. If that is not possible.' He shrugged. 'A decisive victory, show them the strength of your shield wall.'

'All warbands in Tenebral have been learning the shield wall. It would be a bloodbath, and a waste of men.'

'Aye, but your father and Krelis they are not progressive. I doubt they would fight with it, and even if they did, you have faced giants, draigs, warbands numbering thousands. You are battle-hardened, veterans of a score of battles. You will not lose.'

'How can I fight my kin?' Veradis asked the waves now.

'Whoever leads this rebellion must be put down. Fidele, Peritus, your father or brother, without sentiment. Whoever they are, they must be cowed, that is all. Taught that opposing Nathair is pointless. You can teach that lesson. Fidele you bring to me, the rest, deal with at your discretion. Bring them to me, execute them, exile them, do as you will,' Calidus had said.

'Deal with them at your discretion,' Veradis murmured.

The port of Ripa was empty and silent. Veradis' fifteen ships docked and his men disembarked, near a thousand men in iron helms and coats of mail, black cuira.s.ses polished, silver eagles gleaming upon their chests. They were dressed in the modifications Veradis had implemented over the last two years: iron-banded boots instead of sandals, breeches of charcoal wool instead of leather kilts, longer, oval shields instead of round ones. They all wore two swords at their hips short and long, and held spears in their hands, lighter and longer than the traditional hunting spears.

Lykos was waiting to greet him, a few hundred Vin Thalun about him, looking more like a rabble than a warband beside Veradis' disciplined ranks.

They look dangerous enough, though. Especially him. Veradis was looking at a warrior beside Lykos, of average height, lean and scarred, but his eyes were cold and hard, grey and bleak like a stormy sea. They stared flatly back at him. Dead eyes.

'Well met,' Lykos said, grinning at Veradis. They greeted one another with the warrior grip. Things had not gone well for Lykos in Tenebral, and not so long ago Veradis might have taken a little pleasure in that, probably because of his own deep-rooted prejudices against the Vin Thalun, but since Veradis' failure to catch or kill Corban he felt mostly empathy for Lykos rather than anything else.

'Nathair sends his greetings,' Veradis said, 'and he sends you this.' Veradis reached inside his cloak and pulled out two scrolls, checked the seals on them, gave one to Lykos and put the other back in his cloak.

Lykos took it and slipped it into his belt.

'Not going to open it?' Veradis raised an eyebrow.

'Later,' Lykos said, linking his arm with Veradis'. 'Right now we need to go and join a battle.'

'What?'

'Your timing is excellent, my old friend,' Lykos said, his breath smelling of wine, 'but any tarrying here and we'll miss the fun.'

Old friend?

'Three warbands are arrayed on the fields beyond Ripa, all of them eyeing each other with bad intentions.'

'With all haste then,' Veradis said and he led his warband through the streets of Ripa.

Veradis stood and surveyed the field. He was standing to the southwest, at the foot of the slope that Ripa was built upon. To his left, filling the meadows right up to the eaves of the forest Sarva, were the Vin Thalun, numbering well over three thousand men, at a glance. Upon the slope to the east stood the warband of Ripa, fewer men but appearing more formidable, all wearing the black and silver of Tenebral, though without Nathair's eagle.

And to the north another warband, again men of Tenebral, the banner of Marcellin of Baran rippling above their formed lines. From this distance it was hard to reckon their numbers, but easily in the thousands.

Lykos wasn't joking; he is fortunate I have arrived.

'Lykos, I need a horse,' Veradis said, 'saddled and ready.' The Vin Thalun frowned but barked at a warrior and sent him off running.

'Caesus, you know what to do.' Veradis' young captain nodded to him and marched off with two dozen eagle-guard in tow.

It was not long before a white mare was presented to him, dancing with energy. Veradis adjusted the harness for himself and swung into the saddle, patting the mare's neck. He reached out and an eagle-guard handed him a banner.

He cantered first up the hill towards his father's warband, holding the banner high. It was white linen, the black branch and red berries of a rowan stark upon it, symbol of truce. As he drew closer he began to see faces he recognized these were by and large men whom he'd grown up around for the first eighteen years of his life.

A murmur spread along their ranks, rippling ahead of him as he rode along their front line, nodding to those he knew. When he reached the centre of the line he reined in before a man a head taller than any other gathered upon the slope. His brother Krelis.

They just stared at each other, silence settling about them, between them.

'Didn't expect to see you here,' Krelis said in the end.

'We need to talk,' Veradis said. 'Bring Father, down there.' He nodded into the centre of the field, where a white tent was being erected by Caesus and two dozen eagle-guard.

'This has gone past talking,' Krelis said.

'If we don't talk lives will be lost for no good reason.'

Behind the tent being raised Veradis' eagle-guard were marching in shield-wall formation. For a moment Veradis just sat and admired them, pride washing over him. The crash of their shields as they turned and stood behind the tent echoed about the field.

Krelis watched too.

'It's a trap I don't trust that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Lykos.'

'Trust me. It is a rowan-meet. My men will guard all who set foot there.'

He looked at Krelis again, noticing lines around his eyes and across his forehead that had not been there the last time Veradis had seen him.

'You've changed,' Krelis said to him.

Veradis smiled. Krelis had always made him smile.

'You've changed too, big brother. You look old.'

'Cheeky pup.' Krelis grinned.

Veradis kicked his horse into motion. 'Down there, bring Father, and anyone else who you think should have a say.'

He rode away from the warband, towards the north of the plain, where Marcellin was camped.

More than four thousand, Veradis thought as he approached Marcellin, closer to five.

Marcellin hailed from Baran, a fortress carved out of, and into, the Agullas Mountains. He was a big, gruff man of somewhere between fifty and sixty summers, and he had a pair of bushy eyebrows that dominated his craggy face.

Bos came from Baran, grew up there, I remember. He felt a stab of sadness at the memory of his friend. Good friends were hard to find.

'Who are you?' Marcellin asked him as he reined in before him.

'Veradis ben Lamar, first-sword and general of King Nathair, and I speak with his voice.'

'Oh, do you now?' Marcellin asked, eyebrows bunching as he stared up at Veradis.

'I do, my lord.'

'Well, don't think to try and persuade me against kicking that a.r.s.e Lykos out of my country. He is a disease, and I mean to cut him out. There's nothing you can say to sway me.'

'I am not going to try,' Veradis said. He reached inside his cloak and suddenly Marcellin's shieldmen were pointing a lot of sharp iron his way.

'I am no a.s.sa.s.sin,' Veradis said, trying to keep the anger from his voice, and not entirely sure he was successful.

'Go slowly, then,' Marcellin said. 'My lads are fond of this old man.'

Veradis pulled out a rolled scroll, sealed with red wax.

'From Nathair,' Veradis said.

Marcellin took it, frowning bad-temperedly at it.

'Read it, and if it is to your liking, join me for a rowan-meet with Lamar and Lykos in that tent.' Without waiting for an answer, he rode away.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX.

CYWEN.

Cywen wrapped bandages around Gar's chest; it had started to bruise already but he didn't so much as wince as she pulled the cloth straps tightly to bind his ribs. He sat upon a bench in the feast-hall of Gramm's hold, eyes downcast. Once she'd tied off the bandage she squeezed his hand and he looked at her, eyes red-rimmed and hollow.

I remember that pain, can feel it still, though it is buried deeper now than it was. Da, Mam, Heb, Tukul how many more people we care about will we lose before this is over? She wished she could do something to ease his pain.

'You've some cracked ribs,' she said. 'The bandages will give some support, help them heal, but the fact is anything you do is going to hurt, and that includes breathing.' He nodded and she helped him back into his coat of dark mail. 'Take this with you,' she said, offering him a vial.

'What is it?'

'Poppy milk, it will dull the pain.'

'I do not want it dulled. I deserve it,' he muttered. He picked up his scabbarded sword and walked away.

The feast-hall had been turned into an impromptu hospice, and bodies were everywhere, filling long tables, the metallic tang of blood thick in the air. Cywen had stayed on the ship during the battle, ordered by Corban to help in the organization of unloading the provisions they'd need from ship to sh.o.r.e. She'd been annoyed at first but had seen the sense of it. She was not Corban with a blade, or Gar, or even Farrell for that matter. And the ships needed unloading by someone with more than half a brain, so she'd set to it, with Brina snapping orders at her and Cywen delegating the heavy lifting to Laith and a dozen other giantlings who had also been forbidden by Balur and Ethlinn to join in the fight.

Added to the giantlings there were over two score of the villagers who had joined them during the journey through Narvon, as well as a few score oarsmen who had rowed the last sprint to the hold and had been too exhausted to move, let alone fight, so Cywen and Brina had quite the workforce at their disposal. All eight ships were close to unloaded when Cywen heard a great rumbling and ran to the raised deck at the back of the ship to get a view of what was happening. The hold on the top of the hill was wreathed in smoke, but the din of battle had faded, only the occasional muted rumble. Now, though, that rumble grew, a cloud of dust rising beyond the hold and swirling eastwards. Brina and Laith had come to stand beside her, then other giantlings.

The dust cloud had veered north, down the hill, then Cywen had seen what looked to be animals, running, small from this distance, but still clearly bigger than horses, three or four of them, with figures riding upon their backs.

'Are they auroch?' Cywen mused.

'They are the war-bears of the Jotun,' Laith said beside her, something in her voice hovering somewhere between awe and loathing.

Then Cywen saw what the bears were running from: a ma.s.s of horses, Jehar, and giants. Amazingly the gap between the bears and those chasing them widened. The bears ran with surprising speed once their momentum was up, straight to the river and without a pause leaping in, sinking beneath the surface for a moment before reappearing and swimming steadily to the far bank. Cywen watched them cross the river and climb out upon the far side, bears shaking themselves dry. A giant had dismounted and walked back to the river's edge, stood there staring across at his pursuers, who had reached the riverbank now and stood ranged along it, Cywen seeing the silver of Balur One-Eye's hair. The giant across the river had raised his arm, holding an axe or war-hammer Cywen could not tell from this distance and shouted. No one gave a response and the giant turned, climbed onto a bear's back and the three bears had shambled away.

After that, word had come down to them that the battle was over and Brina and Cywen were needed at the hold.

And here she was still. She watched Gar walk from the feast-hall, the bright light of highsun beaming through the open doors about him. There were many working on the injured: Cywen and Brina, Ethlinn and Laith, as well as healers from the hold itself, chief of them a woman named Hild, the wife of Gramm's son, Wulf.

The far end of the hall was being filled with the dead, Jehar, Benothi giants, men of the hold laid out upon tables. Cywen looked back at Tukul's corpse, wrapped in his cloak now and lying alongside Gramm's body.

So many dead. She felt a hot flush of rage, aimed mostly at Calidus and Nathair. All of this goes back to them, eventually. Calidus most of all, by whatever webs he has woven and pulled the threads; he is the author of this ill.

She turned and walked for the doors, suddenly feeling suffocated by the cloying stink of blood.

Fresh air, I need fresh air.

She walked out onto a balcony before wide steps; Buddai uncurled from the spot he'd been lying in, tail thumping on wood. Cywen made her way to one of the columns bracing the overhanging roof and leaned against it, taking long, deep breaths. There was a cold wind blowing through the hold, but right now it was refreshing, setting her skin tingling and easing the taint of death that was thick in the feast-hall. She looked at the bloodstains on her hands, under her fingernails, saw stains on the column she was leaning upon, pooled about her feet.

Blood, everywhere.

She forced herself to look away and saw that she was not the only one who had been busy.

The courtyard was clear of the dead, instead filled with a score of wains and a herd of horses, all being laden with goods barrels, chests, clothing, weapons tied in bundles harvested from the dead, no doubt. At the edges of the courtyard long stable-blocks rang with life, familiar sounds of saddling up, horses neighing, harness jangling that reminded her with sudden and sharp clarity of Dun Carreg, so much so that it almost took her breath away. Closer she saw Corban at the bottom of the steps. He was standing with Meical and Balur, in conversation with Wulf, now lord of this hold. Gar stood behind Corban, his eyes fixed grimly on the carca.s.s of a great bear that had been dragged aside. Corban saw Cywen and beckoned to her.

'The wounded, Cywen,' Corban asked her when she reached them. 'Can they travel?'

Brina should be asked this question. Where is she?

'Most,' Cywen said. 'There are a few who could not sit on a horse, probably for at least a moon.'

'How about a wain?'

Cywen looked at the wains in the yard. 'Aye, that should be fine. St.i.tches will need to be kept an eye on, fevers and so on, but I'd say there's none amongst the living unfit to travel.'

'Good,' Wulf said with pa.s.sion. 'I would be gone from this place.'

'Agreed,' Meical said. 'We need to leave. Word will spread of what has happened here, and we need to be long gone before Jael sends a larger warband, or Ildaer braves the river with the full strength of his clan.'

Balur grunted at that.

'There are so many of us, so much to bring . . .' Hild said.

'There is plenty of room in Dra.s.sil,' Meical said. 'But we must travel light we will most likely be hunted. We must make it to Forn with all haste.'

'The horses,' Wulf said. 'My da spent a lifetime breeding them, I cannot just abandon them.'