Valour (37 page)

Fidele sipped from a cup of wine. She was in Lamar’s chambers at the top of his tower in Ripa. There was a wide window dominating the wall opposite, giving an extensive
view of the bay, and her eyes kept being drawn to the sea, the hypnotic swell and roll of waves.

Others were sitting at the table with her: Lamar, Baron of Ripa, and his two sons, Krelis and Ektor. Two more disparate brothers she could not imagine: Krelis larger than life in every way,
physically almost a giant, but with a great warmth to him. She imagined that he could love and hate with equal passion. And Ektor, quiet, introverted, pale skinned, almost withered looking, yet
with a fierce intellect. Her thoughts drifted to Lamar’s third son, and first-sword to her own son, Nathair – the loyal Veradis.
He is somewhere in between these two: physical, a
warrior, like Krelis, but quiet, reserved, like Ektor
. She was glad Veradis served her son. His loyalty was beyond doubt, something solid to cling to in these turbulent times.

Peritus sat beside her, fingers drumming on the table, and Orcus her loyal shadow stood behind her.

‘So what will we do about the Vin Thalun?’ Peritus said.

Always it comes back to this, no matter where the conversation leads
.

‘I have told you. The men involved have been punished. There is little more to do now, except wait for Lykos to return. Then I shall speak with him.’

‘Like you spoke to him before?’

She felt a flare of anger but suppressed it. Peritus was struggling with so much change. Struggling with the death of Aquilus, with Vin Thalun wandering Tenebral, with Nathair’s new ways,
especially his new techniques of fighting. The shield wall was a particular thorn in Peritus’ flesh. But change had come to them, whether they liked it or not. It was swim or be drowned. She
looked hard at Peritus.
He looks like a drowning man
. Nevertheless, an insult was an insult. If Peritus had spoken to her so in private she would have overlooked it, for friendship’s
sake. But not in front of Lamar and his children.

‘If you dare speak to me in such a way again I will have you sent back to the ranks,’ she said, coldly. Peritus looked away, blushing, mumbling an apology.

‘The Vin Thalun have learned a lesson from you,’ Lamar said in his deep voice. ‘Learned that you are not to be disobeyed.’

‘Or learned to hide their disobedience better,’ Ektor added.

It is time to change the subject
. ‘How go your preparations for the coming war?’ Fidele asked.

‘Well enough,’ Lamar said. ‘My warband is ready, and I have gathered every able-bodied man to me.’

‘And your warband’s training? I am asking of Nathair’s new methods. He sent men to aid you in learning the shield wall.’

‘Aye, he did,’ Krelis said. ‘I’ll speak plainly, as I know no other way.’

‘Please do,’ Fidele said.

‘My men are learning it, but most of them don’t like it. The older ones especially. It goes against our ways, against generations of learning. It feels dishonourable.’

Fidele sighed. All over she had heard the same complaints. But it was Nathair’s order, and he was king. And, besides, by all accounts it was devastatingly effective.

‘It works,’ Fidele said. ‘Peritus saw the shield wall first-hand, led by Veradis. Tell them.’

Peritus sat up straighter. ‘Veradis led the van against Mandros in Carnutan. We were ambushed whilst fording a river. He and his warband formed the shield wall, knee-deep in the river, and
carved a way through two thousand men, almost to Mandros himself.’

Fidele watched their faces as Peritus spoke. Lamar tensed, a tightening around his eyes and lips.
Why? Is there some grievance between Lamar and Veradis? If so I have not heard of it
.
Krelis beamed with pride. Ektor showed nothing, whether through self-control or lack of interest, she could not tell.

‘And you followed with your warband, did you not?’ Fidele said.

‘I did.’

‘And how many men of yours died in the battle?’

‘Around five hundred.’

‘And from Veradis’ shield wall?’

‘Fewer than thirty.’

Lamar raised an eyebrow; Krelis blew out a long breath.

‘Peritus is a skilled warrior, wise in the art of war, in tactics and strategy,’ Fidele said.

‘I know it,’ Krelis murmured. He had spent over a year riding with Peritus and his warband, learning from the battlechief, much like Veradis had done with Nathair. Although Veradis
had stayed, while Krelis had returned home to Ripa and his father.

‘That is why he was my husband’s battlechief. I am not highlighting the difference in casualties during the campaign in Carnutan to shame him, because I know that he is truly great
at what he does, and the best that Tenebral has to offer. But my son is a strategist, with a craftsman’s heart. The fact is that a war to end all wars is coming. The God-War will claim many
lives, maybe even our own. My son’s logic is faultless – the shield wall stops our men from dying. And it kills the enemy with an efficiency that has not been seen before; is that not
right, Peritus?’

‘Just so,’ the battlechief said.

‘You will train your men in the shield wall, and after your first battle remind yourself of this conversation. And your warriors’ wives and mothers shall thank you, honour be
damned.’

‘Of course Krelis will do as you say,’ Lamar said, giving his son a stern look.

‘The God-War,’ Ektor said, animated all of a sudden. ‘Nathair and Veradis talked of it when they visited after Aquilus’ council. Nathair spoke of a book, a giant book and
a prophecy.’

‘Yes, the writings of Halvor.’

‘I would dearly love to see it.’

‘That’s impossible, I’m afraid. I do not have it.’

‘Why, where is it?’ Ektor looked devastated.

‘Meical had it. As far as I know, he has it still.’

‘I have heard that name before – Aquilus’ counsellor, yes?’ Lamar asked.

Fidele nodded.

‘And where is this Meical?’ Lamar said.

I have asked that question more times than you can imagine
. Fidele had liked Meical, even though there had been something frightening about him – an intensity thinly veiled.

‘He has not been seen since my husband was murdered,’ Fidele said.

‘What do you know of him?’ Lamar asked. ‘What realm is he from? Does he have kin that he could be tracked to?’

‘I do not know,’ Fidele said, feeling foolish before the words were out of her mouth. Meical had come to Tenebral a long time ago, before Nathair was born, and spent a long night in
council with Aquilus. When day had dawned, Aquilus had brought Meical to her, and that had been the first time she had heard the God-War mentioned. Meical had soon been declared Aquilus’
counsellor, and almost immediately had left – travelling to Forn in search of Drassil, the hidden fortress. Aquilus had trusted him utterly, and so had she.
But, who are you,
Meical?

‘Well, he must be found. I need to see that book,’ Ektor said.

‘Really, why?’ Fidele asked.

‘My son is a scholar,’ Lamar said. ‘The past is his passion. We have an extensive library here, at Ripa. Left by the giants.’

‘Aquilus spoke of it to me,’ Fidele said.

‘I need to see that book,’ Ektor repeated, almost to himself.

‘Why?’

He looked up then, held her gaze with bright, sharp eyes. ‘Because I think I know who, or what, Meical is.’

‘I see them,’ Coralen said, turning in her saddle and gesturing to Rath.

‘Where?’ asked Rath, squinting into the distance.

‘There,’ Coralen said, pointing. ‘Not on the giants’ road. To the south, moving into the foothills before the mountains.’

They were riding through grassland, skirting the giants’ road. Up ahead loomed the range of mountains that separated Domhain from Cambren, the giants’ road cutting a deep gully
through them.

‘Damn my old eyes,’ Rath said, then was silent a while. ‘I see them,’ he said finally. ‘Well done, Cora; you’re the best tracker I’ve known, and
I’ve known a few.’

Coralen snapped a glance at him, surprised. ‘You going soft in your old age?’ she said.

‘Maybe I am. How long till we catch them?’

‘Depends. One day, if things stay as they are.’

‘Good. My arse is sore – too much riding. I must be getting old – I’d rather be having a drink back in Dun Taras.’

Coralen snorted.

‘Still don’t like visiting your home?’

‘Dun Taras? That’s not my home. Here’s my home.’ She slapped her saddle. ‘Anywhere you are is my home.’

‘Now who’s going soft?’

Coralen smiled at that. Truth be told, she’d rather be just about anywhere than back in Dun Taras.

They had tracked the giants all the way from the border of Benoth, pausing briefly at Dun Taras for Rath to warn King Eremon that giants were loose in Domhain and – worse than that –
they had been within half a day’s travel from Dun Taras.

She didn’t like the fortress, it held too many bad memories, too many reminders, so she was much happier to be back in her saddle, even if it did mean a sore backside. Better that than all
the bubbling emotions that rose up every time she was in sight of Dun Taras. It made her think too much, made her head ache. And she always just ended up feeling angry, usually fighting
someone.

‘Let’s keep moving. Soon enough it’ll be time to spill some giant blood,’ Rath said, kicking his horse on.

That’ll do
, Coralen thought. They rode hard for a while, a score of warriors in a long column. It was cold and the clouds were low and bloated. As the sun was sinking, Coralen
caught glimpses of individual figures ahead, flitting through patches of woodland on the hills.

They’re heading for the pass
. I know exactly where they’re going. She grinned to herself, then looked up and saw a bird high above, circling them; it looked like a solitary
crow.

Baird rode up beside her. ‘Strange behaviour for a bird,’ the warrior said, staring up at it.

‘That’s what I was thinking.’ She reined in her horse and reached for her bow, pulling it from its case, laying it across her saddle. Then she opened a pouch on her belt and
pulled out a bowstring. Deftly she strung the bow and nocked an arrow.

‘Too late,’ Baird said as she raised the bow.

The bird was winging its way into the foothills, squawking, flying in a straight line now.

‘Think you scared it,’ Baird said with a grin, the scars on his face creasing. ‘Don’t look so disappointed; there’ll be plenty more killing soon enough.’

That there will
.

She unstrung her bow and led them into the foothills.

Uthas ran, his legs taking long, ground-eating strides. The old pain in his knee throbbed but he ignored it, concentrating on his breathing. He could hear Salach behind him,
the dull thud of his boots on turf, behind that the others: Fray, Struan, Kai and Eisa. Far above, Nemain’s raven Fech flew in a jagged line. Up ahead he could see mountains rearing behind
the pine-coated foothills they were running through.
And beyond them is Cambren, Rhin’s land. We will be safe there
.

He risked a glance behind, his pace slowing a little. There was no sign of pursuit at first, then he saw it, a thin line in the distance, moving, following them.

Rath
.

Fech had been right, back at Dun Taras. Rath had picked up their trail in the north and was tracking them south. Panic and anger had rippled through his group at Rath’s name, the
reputation of the man and his band of giant-killers overriding rational thought. Fray and Eisa had wanted to fight Rath, to march out and meet him and his warriors, but Uthas had known it would be
suicide. You did not fight Rath on his own ground, on his own terms. He had been too long and efficient at giant-killing. No, escape was the priority; fulfil the plans. So they had fled east,
towards Cambren. Rath had gained on them, somehow, and for the last five nights their pursuers had been almost constantly within sight. He looked forwards and fixed his eyes on the mountains. Five
leagues, at least.
We will make it. It will be close, but we will make it. And he will not dare to follow us into Cambren
.