She dropped her hand from his face and stepped away.
‘Recover your strength and we shall talk again soon. Ethlinn says the time of testing is almost upon us. We must be ready.’
It is already upon us.
‘Aye, we must.’
She left him then, her shield-maiden Sreng following. Soon after the door had closed behind them a figure stepped from a shadowed alcove. Salach.
‘Does she suspect?’ the giant asked.
Uthas drew in a shuddering breath. ‘No. I don’t think so.’ He shrugged. ‘The die is cast now. There is no going back.’
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND THREE
TUKUL
Tukul felt the blow ripple through his arms, from wrist to shoulders, then dissolve into his chest and back. He spun on his heel, surging around his opponent, using the momentum for a backswing that would kill if it connected with flesh.
It didn’t; the blow was deflected, the power leaking from it as Tukul was momentarily forced off balance.
‘Well done,’ Tukul said, and patted Gar on the shoulder. My son.
Gar all but glowed at his father’s praise.
‘That’s enough for an old man,’ Tukul said, unbinding the cloth and lambswool from his blade, used both to protect it during sparring and to mute the noise. He smiled to himself.
I am happy, he realized. The journey northwards had been one of quiet camaraderie, spent in the company of his son, his sword-kin about him, and the Seren Disglair riding at their head. I am reunited with my son. My beloved son, who has surpassed all of the hopes and dreams I have nurtured about him for so many years. He is capable, measured, strong, compassionate. Different from us other Jehar who have been hidden away from the world. More open, a mixture of proud and humble.
And I am in the company of the Seren Disglair, finally doing, after all these years of waiting. Setting about the serious business of defeating the Black Sun. He smiled at the clouds above him. It is good to be alive.
They were in a dip in the land, a meagre shelter from the wind that seemed to blow permanently across this barren moorland. All about them sparring partners separated, moving into the tasks of breaking camp. Gar’s eyes flickered between two people, Tukul following his son’s gaze.
Corban and Gwenith. And you love them both. That was easy to understand, having lived seventeen years around them, Corban the centre of his world. But Gwenith. . Tukul frowned at that. The Seren Disglair’s mother. Tukul had waited for the Seren Disglair all his life; in his mind he was more than human, and so his mother was special too. But to see them, human, flesh and blood. It felt strange. And Gar is somewhere between elder brother and father to Corban. And I have seen how his eyes follow Gwenith. . He shrugged, a fatalism that he had long ago embraced. It is as it is.
Brina the old healer was hovering close as the sparring ended, a book cradled in one arm. She beckoned to Corban and the young man followed her. What does she want with him? His inquisitive nature won out and he followed them, checking on his horse which was paddocked nearby.
He went through the ritual of inspecting hooves, checking for stones, testing the buckles and tightness of the harness. All was ready; they were just waiting for Coralen to return. She’d left with the first sight of the sun, scouting ahead as she had each day since they’d passed into Benoth, the giant realm. She had taken the wolven with her, and Tukul had sent Enkara as an added surety.
He heard Brina and Corban talking, then Corban speak words in the first-tongue. There was a long pause, Corban standing perfectly still, braced, then his shoulders slumped.
Meical appeared and sat upon a boulder close to Corban.
‘You are learning the earth power,’ Meical said.
‘Aye. Brina has been teaching me.’
‘And how does it go?’ Meical asked.
Corban shrugged. ‘I just tried to summon mist. Nothing happened.’
‘With the earth power there is no trying, only doing. Faith is the key.’
‘Aye, well, I’m sure that’s easy for you to say, seeing as you’ve a personal acquaintance with the All-Father. Me, it’s proving to be a bit more difficult.’
Meical laughed, something that Tukul rarely heard. ‘That’s fair enough, I suppose.’
‘I’ve been thinking, about this Seren Disglair business,’ Corban said, turning to regard Meical.
‘Aye. Go on.’
This sounds like progress.
Tukul had spent much of his time observing Corban since their meeting at Dun Vaner. There was much to like, a respectful, inquisitive lad beneath the solemn layers that experience and tragedy had accumulated. And strength, not just physical. Back at Dun Vaner he had stood up to Meical, refused to go to Drassil in favour of seeking his sister. As much as that was troublesome, not sticking to the plan, Tukul liked Corban for it. It took courage to stand up to one of the Ben-Elim. One thing that Tukul had noticed, though, was that when the questions came from Corban, which they frequently did once he’d started talking, he never asked about who he was, or about Elyon and Asroth. All of his questions were to do with kings and queens, politics, the strategies of war. All good questions, to my mind. But there was always an underlying avoidance of all things spiritual. This was the first time Tukul had heard him broach the subject.
‘Last time, when Asroth crossed the boundaries between the Otherworld and here, Elyon intervened. He stopped Asroth. Yes?’ Corban asked.
‘Aye. The Scourging. Much was destroyed.’
‘Yes, but Asroth was defeated. Will Elyon not just do that again? It seems to me the obvious thing to do, and would avoid all the war and slaughter that is certainly coming.’
‘That would be the best and surest way to defeat Asroth,’ Meical said, his expression becoming sad. ‘But Elyon is absent. Gone. After the Scourging his grief was immense, indescribable. He took himself into mourning, to a place of solitude that we cannot find. So he is not here to intervene. That is why he is sometimes called the absent god. It has been my prayer for uncounted years that he return to us.’
‘Oh.’ Corban became silent, clearly pondering that information. ‘I have heard you call me the Seren Disglair, but what does that mean. What am I supposed to do?’
‘There was a prophecy written down by Halvor, a giant from the time soon after the Scourging, when the world was broken and battered, healing. The prophecy speaks of Asroth and his Kadoshim returning, of the Seven Treasures coming to light again and of two champions, avatars of Elyon and Asroth. The Bright Star and the Black Sun. The Banished Lands will be divided between these two, so the prophecy says, and they shall go to war.’ Meical shrugged. ‘It should not be so hard to believe, any more. War is already spreading through the land.’
‘That it is,’ Corban said quietly.
He does not look happy about that thought.
Hooves drummed, Coralen and Enkara riding over a crest in the surrounding moorland, Storm loping silently beside them. They reined in hard before Corban and Meical.
‘Someone is out there,’ Coralen said, gesturing behind her.
‘Who?’ Meical asked.
‘I don’t know, but Storm did not like the smell of them. There is woodland further along the road to Murias. They were taking care not to be seen.’
‘Did they see you?’ Tukul asked.
‘I don’t think so,’ Coralen said. ‘Storm scented them first, so we dismounted and crept closer.’
‘We took great care,’ Enkara added.
‘How many?’ Corban asked.
‘I saw at least a dozen moving in the trees, but there could be more.’ She shrugged.