The Faithful and the Fallen: Ruin Part 56

ULFILAS.

The feast-hall of Dun-Kellen rang out with the clack of wooden swords. Ulfilas sat at a long table beside King Jael, who was leaning forward in his chair, head propped upon a fist. They were watching a pair of men swinging hard blows at one another. They were good: fast, strong, both veterans and evenly matched.

'Are they better than you?' Jael asked him.

Ulfilas shrugged. 'Maybe. They are skilled, no doubt. Sword-crossing in practice is different from a real fight, though.' In the sword-crossing ring not only do you have to win, but you have to make it look good. You can't bite a nose off, or twist someone's stones. In a real fight, though, all that counts is walking away alive.

It had been Maquin who had told him that, s.h.i.+eldman to Kastell, Jael's cousin. He'd liked both of them, Maquin a little more than Kastell. They'd both been good men to share a cup of ale with. That hadn't stopped him from standing by and doing nothing as Jael had put a sword through Kastell's belly, though. Or made him feel bad about it.

We all choose the life we lead. We all know it'll likely end in blood. Don't see so many grey-haired warriors as you do smiths or tanners or fishermen.

'Aye, that's true. Perhaps I should take away their wooden toys and let them fight with iron.'

'You'd end up with dead s.h.i.+eldmen, my King, and in these days good s.h.i.+eldmen that are sworn to you are better alive than dead.'

'Huh,' Jael grudgingly agreed. 'I need a first-sword. Are you not tempted to enter?'

Ulfilas shrugged again. 'If you wish me to, my King. I am happy as your s.h.i.+eldman and captain of your honour guard.'

'That would not change, if you were to win this little tournament,' Jael said. 'You'd just be busier.' He flashed a grin. 'But I need the best sword in Isiltir at my side. I have enemies, and they will try to bring me down.'

'Most of your enemies are dead, my lord.' Ulfilas glanced out of the open doors of the feast-hall. Late summer's heat was lingering. He could just make out the iron spikes that decorated the courtyard, a series of heads in various degrees of decomposition adorning them.

'I wish that were so,' Jael said. 'My enemies fill the shadows, biding their time.' He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezed his eyes closed. 'I dream of them,' he said quietly. He shook his head. 'Enemies are like rats, Jael: leave them alone too long and they will breed and multiply. Enemies don't need culling, they need exterminating, to the last bairn of their bloodlines.'

A philosophy you have committed yourself to wholeheartedly.

'Which is why I need the best sword in Isiltir at my side, not hired by my enemies and coming for me. So, if you are the best sword in the realm, I would like to know.'

'Then I shall enter your tournament, my King.'

Jael nodded, eyes fixed on the two men duelling in front of him. One was retreating before an onslaught of looping blows. The one retreating stumbled; his opponent, sensing victory, stepped in quickly.

Too soon, Ulfilas thought.

The warrior who had stumbled dropped to one knee, straightened his arm and drove the wooden sword beneath the raised weapon of his opponent letting the man run onto his blade.

Even the most skilled can be defeated by a well-timed ruse.

'Hah, nicely done,' Jael cried out, clapping.

Beyond the open doors hooves clattered on the flagstones of the courtyard. A few moments later Ulfilas and Jael were approached by a messenger from King Nathair.

The rider appeared travel stained and weary, the eagle of Tenebral upon his leather cuira.s.s dusty and faded. He presented Jael with a scroll and stood quietly by as Jael opened it and read.

'We will have to finish my tournament in Mikil,' Jael said. 'Tell your King I shall be honoured to host the meeting there. A moon from this day.'

The messenger nodded.

'Tell me, to whom else has this request gone out?'

'Gundul of Carnutan and Lothar of Helveth, my lord.'

'Very good. You are welcome to eat and drink with us, stay and rest.'

'My orders are to return to King Nathair with your response, my lord, but some food and a fresh horse would be welcomed.'

'Of course,' Jael said with a wave of his hand and watched as the man was led away.

'Mikil?' Ulfilas asked.

'It appears that our high king wishes to hold a council of war with his allies. He has asked that we meet him at Mikil.'

'High king,' Ulfilas grumbled. 'There has been no high king in the Banished Lands since Sokar and the fleet of Exiles set foot upon these sh.o.r.es.'

'I must go,' Jael snapped.

Ulfilas frowned. What hold does Nathair have over him?

'High king is a tradition more than a reality, true,' Jael said, calmer. 'But Nathair is an ally. Without him I doubt that Isiltir would be mine, or in fact that I'd still be breathing. Or you, for that matter. It was a close thing, that day on the bridge. Nearly ended with our heads out there, not Gerda's and her cronies.'

Ulfilas remembered. They had been hard pressed, close to breaking, and then he had seen the black s.h.i.+ps on the river.

'Aye. But still. We need him no longer. Best he keep his nose out of Isiltir's affairs.'

Jael laughed. 'Hah, you are a true patriot, Ulfilas. But I will not make more enemies when there are already so many of them to choose from. No, we will go to Mikil, and see what our high king has to say.'

A hand touched Ulfilas' shoulder and he jumped, half-standing from his chair and reaching for his sword.

It was Dag, Jael's huntsman, and rapidly becoming Jael's spy-master, as well. He was clearly good at creeping.

'Don't do that,' Ulfilas muttered.

'You must come,' Dag said to them both. 'It is urgent.'

'What is it?' Ulfilas asked.

'A messenger has come.'

'It is the season for them, it would seem,' Jael remarked. 'What messenger?'

'A giant. One of the Jotun. He has news.'

Jael stood without another word and followed Dag to the rear of the hall, Ulfilas following and gathering a dozen s.h.i.+eldmen along the way. He knew Jael's talk of enemies was more than just paranoia.

They wound down a wide spiral staircase into a twilight world of flickering torches and damp, dripping walls. Dag led them through the bowels of Dun Kellen. Ulfilas glanced down a side corridor, recognized it as the one that led to the cell where Gramm's grand-children were kept under guard.

Dag led them on until they stood before the thick iron-banded door that opened into the escape tunnel, the one that Haelan had fled through, leaving Maquin and Orgull to hold it. He remembered that sight, the two of them gore-spattered, a mound of the dead clogging the corridor. Dark stains still patched the cold stone.

Dag pulled a huge key from his belt and unlocked the door, opening it with a rusty creak. Jael and the others filed through, lighting torches from a burning sconce, only the echo of their feet and the sound of their breathing magnified in this ancient tunnel.

They walked a long time, the silence about them suffocating.

'How did you come by those scars?' Ulfilas asked Dag, more to break the oppressively monotonous silence than out of any real desire to know.

'Wife,' Dag grunted. 'She came off worse.'

Ulfilas couldn't imagine much worse than Dag's disfigured features.

'I wouldn't want to meet her in the dark, then.'

'Not much chance of that,' Dag said. 'I killed her.'

Ulfilas stopped asking questions after that. His mouth was dry and his belly rumbling by the time they came to a set of stone steps. Night had fallen when they emerged into a ruined room, crumbling stone all about them, apparently held together by a thick tapestry of cobwebs.

Dag led them through an archway and into woodland, the tree-tops swaying and rustling in a breeze, making shadows dance. Then something moved in the darkness, an impenetrable shadow, huge, like a tree come to life. It growled, and Ulfilas reached for his sword, stepping in front of Jael as the other warriors spread protectively around their King.

'Peace,' Jael said, resting a hand upon Ulfilas' arm, then Ulfilas realized what it was.

A bear, a giant sitting upon it in a high-backed saddle.

'Well met, Ildaer,' Jael said.

The giant swung a leg and slipped to the ground, his blond braided hair and thick moustache appearing like silver in the starlight. He gripped a long spear in one hand, a double-bladed axe was strapped to his saddle. Two other forms shambled out of the darkness more bear-riders, one of them female, her chin and lip hairless, appearing strangely fine-boned amidst all the lumps of muscle and bone. The three giants repulsed Ulfilas. He tried to keep his face impa.s.sive as he looked at them.

'We have found your runaway bairn,' Ildaer grated. He glowered down at Jael.

'Where?'

'What is this information worth to you?'

'All that I promised. Every Jotun artefact found within Isiltir.'

'That is not enough.'

Jael tensed at that. Ulfilas doubted that anyone else could tell, but he had known him so long. An inflection crept into his voice, a s.h.i.+ft in his posture.

'What else do you want?'

'Land. South of the river.'

Jael looked up at Ildaer, the giant taller than any man there.

'How much land?'

'Enough for three hundred of my kin, and our bears.'

'That's a lot of land.'

'Your Isiltir has a lot to spare.'

'Agreed,' Jael said. 'Though I will choose the land.'

'We must both agree,' Ildaer said.

Jael looked between the three giants, then slowly nodded.

'Where is Haelan?' he asked.

Ildaer looked over his shoulder, at the female giant.

'Ilska and her bear found him. He is at Gramm's hold.'

Jael stood silent a moment.

Gramm's! And we have his grandchildren. How did he not give the child up? He will regret that more than ever, now.

'You are sure?' Jael asked, his mouth a straight line.

He is angry now. If true then Gramm has played him for a fool. Gramm will not die quickly.

The giantess whispered something and her bear lumbered forwards. Ulfilas resisted the sudden urge to take an equal number of steps backwards.

'I saw him,' the giantess said. 'Creach smelt him.'

'Creach?'

She patted the thick neck of the bear she was sitting upon. It raised its head, making a deep rumbling sound. 'Creach,' she repeated.

Jael shook his head. 'Old fool,' he muttered. 'Gramm's time is over. Help me take the boy from him, and his hold is yours, if you want it.'

Ildaer made a strange noise, like two boulders grinding, his shoulders shaking. Ulfilas realized he was laughing. 'Agreed, little King.' He grunted something in giantish to the giants behind him and their laughter joined his. It was unsettling.

'Wait here one day for me. I will make arrangements.'

Ildaer grunted and Jael turned and walked away. Ulfilas took one last look at the giants and then followed his King.

They walked in silence back to the ruined building in the wood. As they pa.s.sed into the embrace of the crumbling stone Ulfilas voiced the question that had been on his mind since they'd left the giants.