The Beauty of Destruction (15 page)

‘No!’ Churchman cried as he landed next to Scab and then kicked him so hard that it sent Scab bouncing down the corridor.

The Monk switched off the coherent energy field and bullets dropped to the ground. She hugged Talia and the pair of them collapsed to the ground. The Monk kept her sister’s head turned away from Elodie’s body.

‘You simple-minded fool!’ Churchman continued berating Scab as the bounty killer tried to climb to his feet on broken limbs. ‘We could have learned something!’

‘No, really it was me,’ Vic insisted.

The Monk took off Talia’s visor. Vic wasn’t terribly surprised to see that the girl was sobbing again.

‘I’m so sorry,’ the Monk told her sister.

Scab had somehow managed to stand. His leg didn’t look right and there was a red stain across the front of his trousers. The E-javelin extended from his left hand.

‘You keep playing with that and I am going to take it away from you,’ Churchman boomed, and then he pointed at Scab’s groin. ‘And I think you may want to have someone look at that.’

Vic was trying to make up his mind whose side he was going to join in on when this kicked off.

‘I had you shat out of a giant alien!’ Talia suddenly howled at her sister and then sobbed into her shoulder. Everyone turned to stare at Talia and Beth, even Scab and Churchman.

‘Yes, yes you did,’ Beth said, hugging her sister, a smile spreading across her face.

Amplified laughter boomed from Churchman’s exoskeleton. Vic’s mandibles clattered together in mirth, though he suspected that all the insanity had finally broken Talia. Scab seemed wrong-footed by the levity.

‘I think we’ve got other things to worry about,’ Vic told his partner, and then to Churchman: ‘What was she trying to do? You would have just picked her up outside.’

‘She matter-hacked me, got me to use the telescopic array to transmit something.’

‘What?’ Scab growled.

‘I don’t think it matters,’ Churchman said. ‘Just that she transmitted. The only time Elodie paid attention to anything I said in the briefing was when I mentioned that the telescopic arrays have to be bridge-capable to observe Real Space from Red Space.’

It took a moment for the ramifications of this to hit home. Elodie had been taking Talia outside because she was expecting to be met there, because the transmission had given the position of the Cathedral away. Vic looked over at Scab and then screamed: ‘Noooooo!’

They heard a sound not unlike a horn or a trumpet being blown, only deeper, warped, a million times louder, and undercut with screaming, though that may have been his imagination. Vic effectively went deaf as his damaged audio filters tried to shut down and protect what was left of his hearing. It sounded like the end of the universe, even if the universe in question was comparatively small and red.

Vic at least understood the glow from above before his multifaceted eyes went black to protect them from the glare. It was the firing of an impossible amount of energy weapons.

‘What … ?’ he managed over the ’face link.

‘That’s the first of the Elite,’ Churchman answered.

‘The first?’ Vic asked, too shocked to be terrified yet. He wasn’t sure he wanted his sight to return.

‘Transmit the location of the Cathedral to the Monarchist systems,’ Churchman ordered on an open ’face.

‘What?’ the Monk demanded.

‘It’s over, Beth. The Consortium knows where we live. All that’s left is mutually assured destruction.’

10

Ancient Britain

Britha was irritated. The irritation was getting close to anger. She understood why warriors behaved as they did. She understood the need for establishing leadership and position. She even understood that it could be wasteful. She had lost people she had liked, if not friends, to challenges resulting from drunken exchanges of words. She knew, but did not approve of, some warriors who encouraged such challenges, made it difficult for their victims to refuse, but only picked people they knew they could beat. It added to their reputation. Where possible she had engineered their downfall. She understood that, in theory, it made for stronger warriors as the weak were killed. She just wished that warriors had some common sense. Did they have to do this sort of thing when the warband was facing a dangerous enemy from the Underworld, aided by giants? For the most part Britha was happy to leave warriors to their own idiocy, except when it interfered with her world.

There was a stark beauty to the white, hilly landscape. Fortunately the landscape didn’t look similar enough to her home to make her sick for it. The camp was a large village of skin shelters and churned up mud. A wall of frozen earth, wooden spikes, and a hastily dug trench that kept filling with snow, surrounded the camp. She stamped out of the camp past the rough-hewn log gate and onto a plain of snow, her black robes a contrast against all the white. She could just about make out the circle of people through the freezing mist. Every warrior and spear-carrier who was not currently guarding the camp, scouting, or foraging, was standing in a large circle in the field of snow.

‘Move!’ Britha snapped. There were some mutterings but people got out of her way. Once they would have leapt to obey her.

‘This girl! This serpent child of a weak people! This back-stabber who stood back from the fight when the spawn of Andraste attacked!’ There was more muttering from those gathered.

All of those who had stood with them at the
gwyllion
’s
fort in the woods knew the truth of the matter, but the newcomers, who now outnumbered the veterans, did not. Bladud’s paid bards had been hard at work. They were telling the Witch King’s version of events.

‘A known coward, who has only ever killed by deceit! She is a murderer, no warrior, and she has no right to hold the Red Chalice to be used for her gain, and the gain of her allies!’

Of course the chalice wasn’t the reason given for the challenge. That had been some invented slight. Tangwen had done all that she could to avoid challenges but she had been backed into a corner by Madawg. She’d had to respond to maintain her position in the eyes of the other warriors. A position she needed to maintain guardianship of the Red Chalice.

‘For shame!’ someone shouted from the crowd.

‘Who challenges me?’ Madawg demanded. The cadaverous, pockmarked member of the now mostly dead Corpse People tribe was engaging in the ritual insult, the first part of the challenge. He had limed his face and armour, he had spiked his receding hair, and he had black dye around his eyes to make him look more like one of the dead. On the one hand Britha felt he was trying too hard, on the other she couldn’t deny the impact of his appearance. She wasn’t surprised when the owner of the voice from the crowd didn’t step forwards, though she suspected it was more because they knew he had drunk of her blood. He was now one of the Isle of the Mighty’s invincible heroes. Invincible until they met the Lochlannach, the giants, Bress, or Crom Dhubh himself.

Britha came to stand by Calgacus. She didn’t think the northern
mormaer
was enjoying his time in the south but she felt comfortable among the Pecht. They were her people. The leader of the Cait seemed to have weathered the death of his
dryw
quite well. Britha didn’t think that he missed her. Few, if any, had liked Eurneid. Britha herself had suffered at the crone’s hands when she had been trained in the groves. She wouldn’t miss the old woman either and suspected it was one less source of trouble to add to this particular situation.

She could see Anharad standing next to Bladud. The Witch King wore no armour, no sword, and the hood of his robe was up. He had clearly chosen to look more
dryw
than warrior or
rhi
for this occasion. Guidgen was standing among the
gwyllion
, looking furious. Germelqart was trying to make his way through the Cait
cateran
, Calgacus’s warband, but was getting pushed around. Britha turned to look at Calgacus.

‘Cease that and let the foreigner through!’ Calgacus snapped. Grudgingly they let Germelqart pass.

‘Do people become more unpleasant the further north you go?’ the navigator muttered in Carthaginian.

‘Is he casting magics?’ Calgacus asked, more interested than afraid.

‘No, he’s just speaking another language,’ Britha explained.

The crowd were waiting for Tangwen’s response but she was saying nothing. She was wearing heavier armour than she would normally. She had a longspear and casting spears driven into the ground around her, and a shield that looked to be the same size as her was leaning against the longspear. Madawg wasn’t a large man compared to many warriors, but he seemed to tower over Tangwen. Size wouldn’t be the problem, however; he was sneaky, devious, and treacherous. Because of the ritualistic nature of the challenge she was being forced to fight with weapons she did not favour, though she had still eschewed a sword for the hatchet and dirk.

‘And what of you, low man?’ Guidgen demanded. Britha sighed. Guidgen had been canny, but it seemed that his responsibilities and trying to combat Bladud’s machinations had worn him down. He was playing into the hands of Bladud and his allies. ‘You who thrust your kinsman into harm’s way in Oeth to save yourself?’

‘Forgive me, aren’t the
dryw
supposed to serve the people of Ynys Prydain and not their own petty ambitions?’ demanded Ysgawyn, the
rhi
of the Corpse People. There were muttered agreements from the Brigante and some of the newcomers.

‘I have been told what happened in Oeth.’ Ysgawyn stabbed a finger at Guidgen. ‘This one only cared about getting the chalice.’ He stabbed a finger towards Britha. ‘
This
one betrayed us to the Dark Man.’

Calgacus reached for his sword and started to step forwards.

‘He speaks the truth,’ Britha said quietly in the language of the Pecht. Calgacus stopped, frowning. ‘In that only.’

‘And the
foreigner
,’ Ysgawyn took some time to emphasise the word, pointing at Germelqart, ‘was already known to the Dark Man and probably in league with him all along!’

Germelqart frowned but said nothing. Britha was less than pleased when she noticed that the Carthaginian had a leather bag over his shoulder.

‘Is the chalice in that?’ she demanded.

‘Yes,’ Germelqart said.

Britha lapsed into silence. She supposed it was safer than leaving it somewhere, or even hiding it. She glanced up at the fort on the Mother Hill and then towards where she knew the gateway to Annwn was, but all she saw was mist. They did not have time for this. They needed to be working together to come up with a plan to deal with their enemies, not engaging in this nonsense.

‘You fight well with your tongue,’ Tangwen said. Her voice carried and silence fell across the audience. ‘But you insult all when you assume stupidity on their part. None here have forgotten you killing your brother to live. None here have forgotten the Dark Man’s cock in Ysgawyn’s mouth. I will not call him
rhi
because a
rhi
does not betray his people by making himself subject to another. I grow bored. Start fighting, or all will know you as a coward.’

Ysgawyn looked furious. Even Madawg, who often taunted to his advantage, looked angry. He turned and took a drink from a leather skin offered by Brys, the other surviving Corpse People warrior.

It was nice to see a smile on Guidgen’s face again. There were more than a few cheers from the circle as well.

‘I like the little girl,’ Calgacus said. ‘In fact I think I like the southron woman. I have seen her fight, she will kill this man.’

‘Madawg is cunning and has drunk of the magic of the chalice from my blood as well,’ Britha said.

‘You have learned some strange ways down here. Putting foreign magics in your body.’ Calgacus tutted. ‘I’d rather be sodomised by a boar.’

‘Aye, I’ve heard that said of the Cait,’ Britha said, smiling. A number of the Cait
cateran
were glaring at her. Calgacus turned to glare also but she ignored them all and watched the fight.

Madawg had pulled a casting spear from the earth and spun to give his throw more force. Tangwen had grabbed her longspear and shield and started running the moment his back was to her. Madawg released the spear. Tangwen’s huge shield looked ludicrous being carried by the small warrior but it covered most of her body. The casting spear hit high on the leather-covered oak, forcing her to duck behind it. For a moment she was blind. Madawg had his slender-bladed sword in his right hand, his small round shield strapped to his left arm, his left fist clenched.

‘Is she wed?’ Calgacus asked.

‘She’s too much woman for you,’ Britha said.

Calgacus considered this. ‘Aye, you’re probably right.’

Straight away Tangwen was in trouble. In truth it had gone wrong for her before the fight had started. Madawg had offered skilled and constant insult until she had been forced to challenge. That had meant he had been able to choose the manner of the challenge. Spear and shield initially, though his longspear lay embedded in the snow still, and his choice of shield had been misleading. Had Tangwen gone straight to her hatchet and dirk then presumably he would have used the longspear for its reach.

Madawg darted past the head of the longspear and swung out with his left arm, the small shield battering into the edge of Tangwen’s own, staggering her. His sword reached behind the shield and cut across the back of her leg. Britha grimaced as she heard Tangwen cry out. Tangwen dropped the spear and threw her shield blindly at Madawg. Madawg battered through the shield. Britha reckoned that the slight man was relishing not being the smallest, lightest fighter in a challenge for once. He slashed out at Tangwen as she flung herself back, grabbing at her hatchet and dirk now.

She was not sure what they had been thinking when they had allowed Madawg to drink of her blood. She was sure she had seen better warriors but few who mixed skill and sneakiness as effectively as Madawg did. At least Tangwen was armed with weapons she was more comfortable with now, and had closed with Madawg. She was, however, favouring her uninjured leg. Madawg went for the weak spot. Tangwen swept her injured leg back, steel scraped against steel as she used her dirk to guide Madawg’s sword away from her. Madawg changed the direction of thrust and his blade went through armour and opened a gash on her arm. There was another cry of pain from the serpent child. That was when Britha realised that he was playing with her. Tangwen was a hunter. Her people used guile and stealth when they conducted raids, or defended themselves. She was a capable warrior, of that Britha had no doubt, but in the challenges she had fought previously it had been the magics in her blood that had given her the advantage. Madawg had the same magics in his blood. It was clear that he was by far the better warrior.

Tangwen’s head snapped to one side as Madawg’s small shield hit her in the face. Blood flew from her mouth and splattered the white snow. Then Britha saw it. It had been well done, subtle. She was not sure that she would have caught it before she had drunk from the chalice. As Madawg’s hand had passed her face he had opened his fingers. A fine yellow powder, doubtless a creation of Bladud’s, had hit her in the face. Tangwen screamed, staggering back. Madawg kicked her in her wounded leg. Now he was just enjoying himself. Tangwen collapsed to the ground, obviously struggling to see, despite the healing nature of the magics that infused her body. Madawg thrust down at her. She crossed dirk and hatchet, desperately parrying the slender sword blade. Madawg stamped on her wounded leg. Tangwen howled in pain, sitting upright. The rim of the Corpse People warrior’s small shield hit her in the face, breaking her nose, and opening a gash in her head. Britha glanced over at Bladud. He was motionless, his features mostly hidden by the hood. Madawg brought the sword back, readying the killing blow. Britha closed her eyes, fingers tightening around the haft of the spear. More than anything she wanted to intervene and rush to her friend’s aid, but she knew she couldn’t. That would play into Bladud’s hands.

‘I yield!’ Tangwen screamed. Britha opened her eyes. Madawg was standing over Tangwen. He looked angry.

‘Try and die with some dignity,’ he spat.

‘She fought well enough,’ Britha said. She was addressing Bladud, not Madawg. There were muttered agreements from the assembled crowd.

‘She didn’t fight at all!’ Madawg snapped.

‘It’s clear that she is no warrior,’ Ysgawyn announced loudly. ‘Clearly what skill she has is derived from stolen magics, and she should not be considered a warrior, nor treated as one and granted their privileges.’

Now there were more than a few angry cries from the crowd, particularly from those she had helped lead to safety, or who had fought beside her.

‘She fought a challenge. She has yielded. How is that different from any other warrior?’ Guidgen demanded angrily.

‘She made the challenge after Madawg caught her masquerading above her station,’ Ysgawyn retorted.

‘That was not the reason given!’ Guidgen cried. Ysgawyn looked confused, though it was clearly an act.

‘Clearly it was a simple ruse, any real
dryw
would have the intelligence to see that.’

‘Watch your mouth, boy …’ Guidgen spat, pointing at the so-called
rhi
of the Corpse People. Many of the
gwyllion
had their hands on their weapons now.