The Long War 02 - The Dark Blood (58 page)

‘Kill them,’ spluttered Kalag, clutching his neck in pain.

More keening, louder and angrier, and Alahan cried out, turning to look towards the northern ice fields of Summer Wolf. He blinked rapidly, trying to shut out the pain in his side and focus on the shimmering figures that were emerging from the snowy glare. The battle-brothers of Ursa had backed off and no words of Father Grey Claw or Kalag could make them move.

A loud, hollow bell sounded from Tiergarten.

‘Ice Men... from the north,’ screamed a man of Ursa.

Dotted across the northern landscape, a dozen distinctive shapes loped forward. Alahan smiled, barely able to move, but he could make out the lumbering figure of Timon the Butcher across the plain.

The enormous trolls moved slowly, keening loudly at every step. None of them appeared to notice the army of men at first. Kalag’s battle-brothers were silent and still now, all too aware that they had nowhere to run, nor any chance of repelling so many Ice Men of Rowanoco. The keening echoed around the plain, bouncing off rocks and walls. Some men began to run towards the Fjorlan Sea; others ran towards Tiergarten. But most were rooted to the spot with fear as the trolls spied a huge meal and ran forward.

They were gigantic, well over fifteen feet tall, and each beast’s shoulders were as wide as the city gates of Tiergarten. They were dusty white in colour and a few had distinctive grey or black stripes in their dense fur. Their claws were bared and scythe-like, extending in front of their muscular bodies and reaching out as they charged. Once again, Alahan thought their appearance would be comical, if they weren’t so dangerous.

‘Stay still,’ barked Crowe, hunkering close to the ground and pulling the dying thain close to him.

Timon, who stood at the front of the charging trolls, let out a deafening roar and sprinted forward with his strange allies.

Then the two forces clashed. Trolls barrelled into five men at a time, biting off chunks of flesh. There was little physical resistance from the line of warriors as the monsters simply batted fully armoured men aside. Within seconds, the army had degenerated into a chaotic mass of men, screaming with fear and trying to get clear of the charging Ice Men. Alahan began to laugh weakly.

If they had had any chance of halting the charge, it disappeared as soon as Father Grey Claw was picked up like a child’s toy and had his legs bitten off by a hungry troll. Other men tried to raise glaives or axes and found that the Ice Men cared nothing for wounds as they feasted on panicked men. Each troll was a match for a hundred warriors, and the small pockets of men that tried to fight back were quickly overwhelmed. Their weapons could barely penetrate the hide of the trolls, and even their heavy, two-handed axes barely caused them to flinch. A few of the trolls decided to use dead bodies as weapons and clubbed men to death with their fellows. Other beasts simply stationed themselves on the ice and grabbed at any man that came close enough, biting off heads and limbs, then waiting for the next man.

Timon the Butcher reached Alahan. ‘Friend Alahan, you are hurt,’ said the berserker.

‘I can heal him,’ replied Crowe, looking around the plain in amazement, just as shocked as Alahan that the plan had worked. ‘Are we safe here?’

Timon nodded enthusiastically, stroking the dying thain’s head. ‘They won’t attack my friends... let’s go back to the city.’

Alahan fell into Timon’s embrace and locked eyes with Kalag Ursa once more. The lordling of Jarvik was sitting up now, still clutching at his throat. His deep green eyes were bloodshot and showed fear. Alahan maintained eye-contact as a troll bent down and scooped up Rulag’s son. The treacherous man of Ursa didn’t cry out as the Ice Man bit him in two. It casually threw away his legs and waist, then crushed his head in its enormous jaws, leaving a red smear on the snowy ground.

‘We should leave now,’ said Timon, ‘before the Ice Men run out of things to eat.’

* * *

Alahan didn’t remember leaving the plains of Summer Wolf or being carried back to Tiergarten. He had a vague recollection of feeling unusually cold as he was held in Timon’s arms, and a disturbing view of his own blood flowing over his twisted and split armour.

There was a part of him that was ready to die, that would even welcome it – a part of him that was tired of trying to live up to his father, and failing. But old Father Brindon Crowe and the shade of Magnus had other ideas for him. He was shocked back into consciousness by the heavy-handed healing skills of the old priest, and found himself lying on a long trestle table in the great hall of Summer Wolf. Timon stood nearby, as did the chain-master, Tricken Ice Fang, and their looks were both incredulous and happy.

‘You’re alive, friend Alahan,’ exclaimed Timon, smiling grotesquely and slapping Brindon Crowe on the shoulder with gusto.

‘Easy, lad, you’re stronger than you think,’ grumbled the priest, rubbing his shoulder and looking incredibly weary. ‘If you want to hit someone, hit Alahan.’

‘I’d rather he didn’t,’ said the young man, sitting up and feeling sore all over. ‘Did we win?’

Tricken and Crowe exchanged glances and a thin smile passed between them.

‘I’m not sure I’d say we
won
as such... but Tiergarten is no longer threatened,’ Tricken replied. ‘Last I saw of those bastards from Ursa – well, the ones that didn’t get eaten – they were running towards the sea.’

It was generally known that water was the one thing the Ice Men of Rowanoco did not consume.

‘And the trolls?’ he asked, causing both the men of Tiergarten to look at Timon the Butcher.

‘I, er, I marked the city gates as my territory. They won’t cross the threshold,’ said Timon, looking embarrassed.

‘He pissed at the gates,’ translated Tricken, finding the situation extremely funny.

Alahan tried to laugh, but ended up coughing instead and grabbed at his side in pain. The wound was healing, but Brindon Crowe had not been especially gentle and the young thain could still feel where the throwing-axe had embedded itself in his side.

‘So, all we have to worry about is an angry father who might want to know who tore his son in half.’ Alahan imagined that Rulag Ursa would find out about Kalag’s defeat in a matter of weeks. What he would do with that information was, for the present at least, a mystery.

‘Halla is still alive, Alahan,’ said Old Father Crowe. ‘We’re not alone. She’s a long way east, but she’s a tough bitch and we can count on her.’

‘And Wulfrick is with her,’ added the man of Fredericksand, smiling as he mentioned the huge axe-master. ‘They have men and they have even more reason than us for hating Rulag.’

CHAPTER 10

The auditorium was quiet and had been so for almost an hour. Around the edges of the massive tree stood several hundred Fell Walkers, looking up at the assembled Vithar shamans and exchanging puzzled glances at the presence of so many men.

Like all Dokkalfar settlements, the Fell Walk was built below the forest, using the bases of great trees as the foundations for their homes while the leaf litter above disguised the presence of the forest-dwellers. The Walk was built in a natural depression in the ground. The ceiling, built by old craft from a tapestry of knotted brambles and wooden branches, was high above the actual forest floor.

Nanon was of the Heart and found the austerity and lack of humour of the Fell Walkers strange. Their settlement was a sombre place, where the song of the Dokkalfar was mournful and the people miserable. He accepted that they had ample reason to feel they had been given a hard lot in life, but really they needed to cheer up. They behaved like an oppressed population, feeling sorry for themselves and refusing to accept that men had a place in their woods. It was only on the insistence of Nanon that Rham Jas, Utha and the others had been allowed to remain in the first place.

Vithar Xaris, more confident now that he was back amongst his own people, had called for an hour of meditation, and the Dokkalfar who sat around the auditorium all had their heads bowed in silent contemplation. Nanon did not know many of these forest-dwellers and found himself more comfortable sitting next to the men.

Rham Jas Rami Dark Blood was more respectful of the Fell Walkers and their peculiarities than the other men. Utha the Shadow had, on more than one occasion, been told to shut up. Also, he had had to be physically restrained from attacking the Kirin assassin as soon as he’d seen him. The others, Dalian Thief Taker, Kale Glenwood and Randall of Darkwald, had been too overwhelmed to say much at all. They confined themselves to sitting and staring with wide-eyed wonder at the spectacle of the Fell Walk.

Nanon sat next to Utha and opposite Rham Jas, who had been kept away from the old-blood for his own safety. They were confined to a small section of the auditorium, guarded by serious-looking Tyr warriors. Both Utha and his squire continued to glare at the Kirin assassin, and Nanon understood that Rham Jas had killed a close friend of theirs in the recent past. The dark-blood didn’t seem to care, and had directed a series of maddening grins at the two men sitting opposite him.

The wind claw, Dalian Thief Taker, was taking things in his stride. Nanon had found that he liked the implacable man from Karesia and agreed with his insistence that Saara the Mistress of Pain should be their first priority. Whether the Vithar accepted it or not, having a devout servant of the Fire Giant on their side could not but help their cause. The Thief Taker himself was pragmatic enough to accept the strange situation in which he found himself as a part of the larger task he had been set by Jaa.

The one slight anomaly was Kale Glenwood. He was the only man present who was not directly involved and had found himself in the Fell more or less by accident. He was not a priest or an old-blood and had, as far as Nanon could tell, no faith at all. As the Dokkalfar meditated, the criminal sat awkwardly next to Rham Jas, trying not to make eye-contact with the forest-dwellers and keeping a hand on his longsword for comfort.

‘How long will this silence last?’ asked Utha.

‘As long as they think necessary... could be a few days,’ replied Nanon. ‘The Fell Walkers aren’t known for being quick to decide things.’

The old-blood nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve been on the receiving end of Xaris’s
we will endure
horse-shit a few times.’

Utha was growing impatient. Nanon surmised that it was only the calming presence of his squire that was stopping the albino cleric from shouting at the assembled Dokkalfar.

‘Just relax,’ said Randall. ‘At least no one is trying to kill us.’

‘Not yet,’ replied Nanon. ‘It’s only a matter of time before the hounds and those Dark Young reach the Fell Walk.’

‘So what the fuck are they waiting for?’ Utha said, louder than he’d intended, causing several of the Tyr to glare at him.

‘Problem?’ Utha barked at the nearby forest-dwellers.

‘You will be silent!’ replied Tyr Ecthel, the larger of the two Dokkalfar on guard. ‘You are not permitted to speak here.’

Utha looked as if he was about to object until Randall put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Just leave it,’ said the squire. ‘They don’t understand us any more than we understand them.’

‘You have wisdom beyond your years, Randall the squire,’ said Nanon, with a smile. ‘Whatever else happens, it’s your job to keep this man alive.’ He pointed to the old-blood.

It was clear, even to Nanon, that the bond between master and squire was a largely unspoken trust built on shared experiences. He valued the little people as much as he did the great, and he was too wise to assume that Randall would not have a role yet to play in the Long War.

Across the wooden auditorium, Rham Jas yawned loudly, causing several of the forest-dwellers to look at him.

‘And when can I kill that fucking Kirin?’ barked Utha.

Nanon tilted his head and made a few puzzled noises. ‘Do you know who... what he is?’

‘Other than an assassin, no,’ replied the albino cleric. ‘He killed my friend.’

‘He’s what we call a dark-blood. A man with certain... advantages.’ Nanon was not deliberately trying to be obtuse, but he was not sure how Utha would react to the knowledge that Rham Jas was infused with the power of the Dark Young. ‘He’s our only hope of killing the maleficent witches. If you choose to kill him, we’ll need to find another dark-blood.’

Nanon could sense great unease among all the men present, none more so than Utha the Shadow. The Dokkalfar couldn’t be relied on to put them at their ease, no matter how much they were needed.

‘I’m getting impatient,’ said Utha.

‘Yup, me too,’ replied Nanon cheerfully. ‘How about we play a game?’

‘A game?’ queried the old-blood, raising an eyebrow. ‘Like, Spot the Happy Dokkalfar?’

‘I was thinking more along the lines of word association... I say a word and you say the first word that comes into your head.’ Nanon grinned with childlike glee, certain that Utha found him utterly confusing.

‘You’re strange, my grey-skinned friend,’ replied the cleric.

‘You are not the first man to remark on that.’ Nanon turned to Randall and said, ‘How about you, Randall the squire, want to play a game?’