‘If they are Nathair’s enemies it does not matter what shape they take; man or giant, I will slay them if I can.’
‘Well said,’ called Calidus, riding his horse back down the line from Nathair. He pulled in beside Veradis and spoke more quietly. ‘Be on your guard, and keep a particular eye on Owain’s rearguard. The King of Narvon is unpredictable at present and likely to behave impulsively.’
Veradis looked over his shoulder. Beyond his own warriors more of Owain’s men brought up the rear, at least half a thousand mounted men.
‘I will.’
Calidus spurred his horse back to Nathair. Has he really uncovered the identity of Asroth’s Black Sun? Veradis had always expected it to be some king or man of power, but from what he had been told, this boy — Corban — was a blacksmith’s son, no one of consequence. Maybe Calidus is right. It is a cunning way to grow in secret, a deception from the very beginning, which would be fitting as Asroth’s champion. Calidus knows best, and he has guided us well so far. I hope the boy is the Black Sun, for then I will stand a chance of meeting him, and his companion, this Gar. I will see Rauca avenged.
Nathair had told him how Rauca had died — defending Nathair from this Corban’s father, and that afterwards Gar had attacked silently, taken Rauca by surprise. Rauca had deserved better. But time could not be reversed, and nor could the dead be brought back to life.
But they can be avenged.
Five days out from Dun Carreg, well before highsun, Veradis heard horns blowing further ahead. Word slowly filtered back down the column that Rhin’s forces had been sighted. It was half a day before Veradis’ warband saw them.
Owain’s forces had drawn up on the slopes of a gentle hill, spilling in a disorderly crush either side of the giantsway. All seemed to be chaos, with horns blowing, men shouting, oxen bellowing as they were led from the giantsway, pulling wains to a makeshift camp on the hill’s crown. To the north-west marshland stretched to the sea, shimmering in the summer sun. Rhin’s warband was spread on a plain below them, tents in the distance; a mass of men on foot dominated the centre, whilst mounted warriors were loosely grouped on both flanks. Veradis stood and stared at them a while, the sounds around him fading as he focused.
‘How many?’ Bos said beside him.
‘Six, six and a half thousand men.’
‘And us?’
‘Between us and the Jehar Nathair has three thousand swords. Owain commands at least nine thousand warriors.’
‘She will lose, then.’
Veradis looked at his friend, shielding his eyes from the sun. ‘Time will be the judge of that, but I have heard that she is cunning. I think she may have more planned than what we can see.’
‘Best keep our wits about us, then,’ said Bos.
‘Aye. And our swords sharp.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
UTHAS
Uthas crawled through the long grass and wildflowers, up an incline. He stopped when he reached the top, gazing in silence.
Dun Taras stood in the distance, its smooth walls reflecting the morning sun. It had been one of the giants’ great fortresses once, alongside Dun Carreg and Dun Vaner, before the hordes of men had come to Benoth. Now Eremon sat upon its throne, ruling all he could see from its high tower. Uthas felt his blood stir, yearning for a lost time. He blinked tears, saw a memory superimposed on the landscape, of his kin gathered on green meadows, celebrating the Birth Moon. Bairns playing in the river, diving and plunging after salmon, the men gathering in contests of strength, throwing tree trunks or the hammer. He walked amongst them, laughing, smiling. .
The vision faded, shifting into something else: columns of the Benothi marching through empty fields, the landscape behind them black and charred, the walls of Dun Taras fading in the distance. They had walked away from Dun Taras, fled before the tide of mankind.
It will be ours again. A new order is coming. And I will do what needs to be done to make it so.
He glanced over his shoulder, saw Eisa and Struan crawling up the slope, the others standing still, almost invisible amongst the rocks and trees far below. Eisa and Struan settled either side of him.
After gazing for a long while on Dun Taras, Struan whispered, ‘What now?’
Uthas rolled onto his back and searched the sky. It was cloudy, the air humid, heavy. Rain was coming. Amongst the clouds a black dot moved. Uthas beckoned and the dot spiralled lower until Fech landed beside him.
‘We can go no closer,’ Uthas said. ‘Can you fly to Dun Taras, seek out Eremon, listen to his plans.’
‘Fech is good at listening and seeing,’ the bird said and flew away, winging towards Dun Taras.
Was that a threat? Uthas thought. What will he tell Nemain when we return to Murias? He watched Fech fade and disappear, then he made his way down the slope to his companions. A hundred and fifty leagues they had travelled since they had left Murias in the cold north. Over a moon had passed since they had raised a cairn over Aric’s body and placed the heads of their enemies about it. That will give Rath cause to fear us again, or whoever else discovers it. Too long we have been timid, fearful. They moved silently through the boulders and stunted trees that blanketed this rolling land of hill and vale. In time they came to a stream and followed it deeper into woodland until they eventually came to a great boulder, part of a cliff face that rose before them. Uthas found the cave entrance and passed through the glamour that had hidden it for over a hundred years. Fray struck a light with his flint and soon they had a small fire burning. Then they settled in for the wait. Fech would know where to come.
Eisa passed him a skin, more brot. He pulled a face but took it and drank some. It had kept them alive, fuelled their journey south, into the heartland of their enemy. Twice they had come close to being discovered, but Fech had given them good warning both times, and Uthas had been more interested in speed than battle. He had already blooded his followers, bound them closer to him through that act. They were more his than Nemain’s now.
Nemain.
The thought of her made him sad. Once great Queen of the Benothi, but fallen so far, her fear binding her, disabling her.
She should have fought for our lands, used the cauldron. She should have bargained with Asroth and ensured the survival of our clan. Instead she had done nothing, claiming the Benothi’s sole purpose now was to keep the cauldron from being used, thinking to avoid another war.
But war is coming, no matter what she does to evade it.
Ever since he had met with Asroth, in Rhin’s cell deep within the walls of Dun Vaner, he had felt like a blind man gifted with sight, as if scales had fallen from his eyes. The way forward is so clear, but Nemain refuses to see it.
He had tried to reason with her, to advocate a more active, aggressive policy, but she had refused to see sense. He still clung to the hope that she would change her stance before it was too late, but until then he would pay her lip service and continue to work with Rhin towards their greater purpose. At least he had managed to sway others within the Benothi, and he hoped more would side with him, before the end.
He was glad Nemain had sent him on this mission, scouting into Domhain to learn Eremon’s plans. He had counted on it, even, for it kept him within Nemain’s good graces whilst allowing him to further Rhin’s plans. The journey south had told him that Eremon was paying little attention to the events in the east, to Rhin’s attacks on Narvon and Ardan. No warriors were mustering, no crops were being stored. Eremon sat idly by and sank deeper into his dotage. Rhin would be pleased. She will be here soon. Rhin. He felt a smile twitch his features at the thought of seeing her. His captor, his saviour. They had a bond he could not deny, complex and deep, its waters murky. But our goal is clear, and I will see it through or die in the trying; we are united in that. Soon the Black Sun will appear, will come for the cauldron. And I will help him claim it.