The Faithful and the Fallen: Ruin Part 69

Lykos and his men rushed in, some jabbing Raina with spears. They knew, whatever Lykos said to the giants, that he would personally flay anyone who caused either of the giants' deaths, so they were hesitant. While Raina was distracted with jabbing spear-points, Lykos sped in behind the furious Tain, who was still smashing what was left of a splintered chair-leg into the pulped head of his warrior. Lykos slashed Tain across the back of the leg and kicked him behind the knee for good measure, dropping the giantling to the ground. Lykos grabbed a handful of Tain's hair and yanked his head back, resting his sword against the throbbing vein in Tain's neck.

'Hold,' bellowed Lykos.

Raina froze instantly, then dropped her chain. Immediately the Vin Thalun were on them, tying their wrists with rope.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor and warriors walked in, a dozen, then a score, warriors of Tenebral in gleaming cuira.s.ses with bright eagles on their chests. At their head strode the old man, Alben.

'Step away,' he said, eyes searching out Lykos. There was something about his stare that made Lykos wary.

'They are my prisoners,' Lykos said.

'They are prisoners of war, agreed,' Alben said. 'But not yours. Veradis ben Lamar holds the highest rank here, and these are his men. He has ordered these prisoners taken into his personal custody.'

'What? That is ridiculous,' Lykos said.

'Here are the orders, and his seal,' Alben said, waving a scroll at Lykos.

'Pfah,' Lykos grunted, waving an arm. 'Papers. We are all on the same side here. What does it matter whose custody they are under?'

'Exactly,' Alben said. 'So you will not mind if they are in Veradis' custody, rather than yours.' It was not framed as a question.

'They are mine,' Lykos snarled, feeling his temper fray. He was not used to dealing with so many disagreeable people all in the same day. He made to push past Alben, his Vin Thalun pulling the giants behind them. Alben stepped in his way.

Lykos put a hand to his sword hilt. Alben rested his hand gently on his. The hiss of swords being slowly pulled from sheathes sounded as the eagle-guard wrapped fingers around hilts.

Outnumbered. And I hate to say it, but those eagle-guard are Veradis' veterans. In close quarters like this . . .

With a twist of his lips he pulled his hand away from his sword and barked a command at his men. They dropped the ropes.

'And what does Veradis plan to do with them?'

'Take them to Mikil with him.'

Lykos raised an eyebrow at that. 'May I?' he asked, gesturing at the open door and Alben stepped out of his way.

Lykos marched away, a seed of worry taking root in his gut. Mikil. Calidus will not look favourably upon that, and I will most likely get the blame. Ach, what a day. Still, it could have been worse. I need a good bottle of wine, and then I have an old friend to become reacquainted with . . .

CHAPTER SIXTY.

ULFILAS.

Ulfilas walked with a limp through Mikil's keep, one arm bandaged and in a sling. He wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to use a sword with his old skill again. Yet he was thankful to be alive.

Though perhaps not for much longer.

He was about to see Jael, his first audience with the King since he'd been sent on his fateful mission in search of Haelan, the fugitive King of Isiltir.

A moon had pa.s.sed since he'd led the attack on Gramm's hold, since he'd ridden out against a warband of warriors charging uphill with long, curved swords. If he'd known they were the most skilful warriors the Banished Lands had ever seen he'd have organized a retreat before they'd arrived and left Gramm's hold to them.

At least, the one that I fought was. And judging by the fact that I'm the only survivor of over three hundred men, I'm guessing that the others weren't half bad with a blade, either.

Dag the huntsman walked beside him, neither one saying a word to the other. Silently they climbed a staircase and entered a long corridor, at its end shieldmen in red cloaks and black breastplates standing guard before a door. Sounds of combat drifted out, grunts and thuds, the clack of practice blades.

Ulfilas and Dag were ushered in and stood before Jael, King of Isiltir.

He was not alone.

The room was large, before Jael's chair a s.p.a.ce was cleared, in which two men fought. Ulfilas recognized one the shieldman he'd seen win the bout in Dun Kellen, named Lafrid. The other he didn't know, but even at a glance Ulfilas could tell that he was good. Careful, never overextending, patient. As Ulfilas watched, his eyes drawn for a moment, he saw Lafrid make a feint, much like the one he'd used in Dun Kellen, but the other man just stepped back and smiled.

The bout went on.

Beside Jael, seated in high-backed chairs, were three other men, and standing behind them the bulk of a giant.

Not more giants.

This one was dark-haired, face impa.s.sive, a war-hammer slung across his back. Of the three men seated, Ulfilas recognized the first King Nathair, though he had been a prince the last time Ulfilas saw him, at the council of Aquilus. The years had worn heavy on him, nothing of the enthusiastic boy left about him. Now he was lean, still handsome with unruly curly hair, but there was a gauntness to his features, a hollowness about the eyes that spoke of a deep weariness.

Being king will do that to a man.

Next to him sat an old man, silver hair and a neatly trimmed beard on a sharp-lined face, cl.u.s.ters of laughter lines at his eyes. Despite his years he looked full of life, with bright eyes and a certain tireless energy about him. And then Ulfilas saw the third man. He almost took a step back, his fingers twitching in the sling for his sword hilt it was a warrior similar to the ones he'd just fought at Gramm's hold. Clad in black linen and dark mail, the hilt of a curved sword slung above his shoulder.

How can that be?

Perhaps the warrior felt Ulfilas' eyes upon him, for he looked away from the bout and stared full at Ulfilas. Again he felt the urge to step back, to recoil. The man's eyes were black, no pupil, no iris, just a black well. Ulfilas' fingers moved to form the ward against evil.

The man looked him up and down, slowly, then returned his attention to the duel before them.

It came to an end suddenly, the patient man enduring a blistering combination of blows from Lafrid, the last strike too powerful, unbalancing Lafrid for a moment. The other man's weapon darted out, struck Lafrid hard on the wrist, then it was at his throat.

'You're dead,' the patient man said.

Lafrid blinked, it had happened so fast, then nodded grudgingly and gripped an offered arm. 'Well done,' he muttered.

Jael clapped, Nathair and the old man following suit. The dark-clothed warrior didn't.

'Well, it seems I have found my first-sword. Unless you have come to test your blade,' Jael said, looking at Ulfilas.

'I am afraid not, my King,' Ulfilas said, looking down at his bandaged arm. The cut to his bicep had been the worst injury, slicing deeply through muscle.

'I see you have a tale to tell. Well, let's hear it.'

Ulfilas stepped forward, Dag following him.

'I attacked Gramm's hold, my lord, as planned. Ildaer and some of the Jotun joined us, and it was all going well, more than well: the gates were down and Gramm's warriors broken, fleeing. We were hunting for the child when two warbands were seen approaching one on a small fleet of ships.'

Nathair and Calidus sat up straighter at that.

'The other a warband of riders, approaching from the south. I rode out to face the riders we outnumbered them heavily.' He glanced at the black-clad warrior. 'They were like him. Clad in black war gear, no shields, curved swords worn upon their backs.'

'Tukul,' the black-clad warrior breathed, the word sounding like a curse.

'Tukul?' Jael said.

'My sword-brother. A betrayer.'

'We fought.' Ulfilas felt a flush of shame. 'They were better than us. The likes of which I've never seen before. I fell and later escaped when I saw the battle was lost.'

As he spoke of it Ulfilas remembered too vividly how he had been struck half a dozen times in as many heartbeats, somehow his reins slashed as well, and falling with a numbing crash to the ground. He'd lain on his back in the blood and dirt as the black-clad warrior had loomed over him, thinking his death was moments away. Then he'd seen the warrior choose to fight a bear and giant instead. He hadn't stayed around to watch the outcome.

'Dag found me a few leagues south he'd been tracking the men who took the children from Dun Kellen.' He dropped to one knee before Jael. 'I failed you, my King.'

'Yes, you did.' Jael sighed. 'But your honesty is refreshing, Ulfilas. Never any excuses from you. And did you make a mistake? I think not. Would anyone have had a different result in the same circ.u.mstances? Again, I think not. So I shall leave your head on your shoulders. This time.'

'I thank you for your mercy,' Ulfilas said, and he meant it.

'It seems our enemies have joined forces,' Nathair said. 'The Black Sun evaded me in Narvon, stole some of my ships, burned the rest. Now I know where he took them.'

The Black Sun?

'Well, we shall raise a warband and go pay them a visit,' Jael said. 'They will have Haelan with them now, no doubt.'

'They are not at Gramm's hold any longer,' Dag said. 'I found Ulfilas, but we didn't come straight back. Went and watched them for a while. They left later that day, near a thousand of them, by my reckoning, heading east. I put a few of my boys on their trail. We'll soon hear where they're going.'

'They're going to Dra.s.sil,' the old man said.

'What?' said Jael.

'You remember my father's council at Jerolin?' Nathair said to Jael. 'He spoke of the G.o.d-War, the polarization of sides between the Black Sun and the Bright Star. The prophecy that spoke of the Seven Treasures and Dra.s.sil.'

'I do,' Jael said.

'Well, that is what this is. It is happening now.' He looked hard at Ulfilas. 'Those who attacked you, one of them was the Black Sun, an upstart peasant named Corban, though he dares call himself the Bright Star.' His mouth twisted bitterly. 'The servants of Asroth are p.r.o.ne to lies and deception.' His eyes flickered to Calidus. 'This is why I am here, why a council of war must happen between our allies.' He pinched his nose, closed his eyes. 'Better to leave this conversation for the council. Are the others here?'

'Lothar arrived yesterday from Helveth, but there is no sign of Gundul yet.'

'Ach,' Nathair sighed. 'Well, we will wait, then. There is always the morrow. I need to sleep now. It has been a long road, but before I go and find my chambers, I have a gift for you.'

'That is most gracious of you,' Jael said.

'It is a little unusual, but I think that you will value it more highly than gold. Or even the head of this child pretender to your throne.'

'You have my interest piqued,' said Jael.

'Sumur. He is your gift. These are dark times and our enemies lurk in the shadows, waiting for any opportunity. A finer first-sword you shall never find.'

'These are dark times,' Jael agreed, 'and my enemies gather as we speak.' Though Jael was looking at Sumur with little joy. 'But, as you saw, my new first-sword is a very capable man. And the best in all of Isiltir.'

The old man spoke up now. 'No offence to your newly appointed first-sword, but Sumur is better.'

The newly appointed first-sword, Fram, snorted. He was looking at Sumur with interest, though, not anger, as some warriors would under the circ.u.mstances.

I like that about him. A calm head.

'Nathair fears for your safety,' the old man continued, 'and this seems to us to be the perfect solution.' He smiled genially, but there was more behind that smile. Daggers. An implied threat. Do not refuse me, it said.

Don't do it, thought Ulfilas. Do not take him. How can you trust an outsider not a man of Isiltir? No matter how good, how could you rely on his loyalty? But Ulfilas remembered a conversation with Jael, how he seemed consumed with the fear of a.s.sa.s.sination. He could be tempted, if this man is as good as they say, and if he is anything like the one I met, then he is.

'Are you sure he is better than Fram?' Jael asked.

'Perhaps a demonstration?' Calidus said.

'Yes. I would like that.'

Sumur rose and stepped into the cleared s.p.a.ce before them, shrugging off his scabbarded sword, laying it carefully on a table, then picking up the wooden practice sword that Lafrid had used.

Fram stepped into the makeshift ring.

'A friendly demonstration,' Calidus warned. 'No need for bloodshed or death. Or permanent injury.' As he said it he stared hard at Sumur, who returned the gaze with his flat, black eyes. He shrugged.

Fram and Sumur bowed to Jael, then turned to face each other.

Sumur just walked forwards, as if Fram were an open doorway that he intended to pa.s.s through. Fram shuffled his feet, sword raised, looked mildly confused.

He is a counter-striker, prefers to defend, and strike off of his opponent's blows.

Sumur's feet moved, a ripple through his body, starting at his ankles, and then he was striking two-handed at Fram, a blurred combination to head, throat, chest, groin and thigh. Ulfilas did not see which blow connected perhaps one, perhaps all, but a few heartbeats later Fram was lying groaning on the floor.

The problem with being a counter-striker is that you first have to block the strikes made against you.

Sumur stood over Fram, looked as if he hoped the warrior would get back up, then dropped the practice sword and calmly retrieved his scabbarded blade and slung it across his back.

'Impressive,' said Jael.

'He is,' Nathair said. 'And he is yours. I will sleep better knowing you are watched over by one such as Sumur.'