‘Best you try and look as if you’re a prisoner, then,’ Tukul said.
Meical clasped his hands behind his back, underneath his cloak, as if they were bound. Tukul and a few of his warriors moved around Meical, giving the appearance of guarding him. They rode up the road that led to Dun Vaner’s gates, identifiable only because the snow lay more flat and even across it.
‘Remember,’ Meical said as they drew closer. ‘The Seren Disglair is in there. He is a captive and will soon be killed. We cannot fail in this.’
Tukul felt a shiver at those words, knew that it was passing back through the column of his sword-kin.
This is it. The moment I’ve waited for. All-Father, I will not fail you.
The world was quiet and still, a beautiful white as far as he could see. Even the clouds up above him seemed to glow.
A perfect moment. He drew a deep breath, as he did before he began the sword dance, then he rode ahead of the column, looking up at the walls above the stronghold’s gates. Heads peered over.
‘Name your business,’ a voice called down to him.
‘I bring a gift from King Nathair – a spy found on the road north. He thought your Queen was better equipped to extract some truth from him.’ He turned and beckoned for Meical to be brought forward. Enkara led Meical’s horse, a few others riding close about him.
A silence lengthened. Tukul saw more heads peering over the battlements, heard muted words.
‘Open your gates,’ he yelled. ‘It is cold down here.’
There was still no answer.
‘Would you have me ride back to Nathair to tell him we crossed fifty leagues only to be turned away at his ally’s gates?’
There was another silence. Tukul felt his pulse beating faster, had to concentrate to control it as the huge gates creaked open.
He rode in calmly, nodding to the guards who stood by the gates.
Four of them. A courtyard lay beyond the gates. More warriors were milling about, performing various tasks – sweeping drifts of snow from the flagstones, piling it in deep banks with shovels, breaking ice in water buckets. A dozen. As Tukul rode deeper he glanced back, and up, scanning the battlements. Another eight, maybe ten. A great keep loomed straight ahead, doors of oak closed against the cold. Other buildings spread about the courtyard, a handful of doors. Shadows moved inside. Maybe barracks. More warriors, Tukul thought. There could be anywhere between one and two hundred inside.
They dismounted on the far side of the courtyard; doors opened to a huge stableblock from which issued a dozen stable boys. Tukul and his warriors were led into a feast-hall by two of the guards who had stood at the gates.
The feast-hall was almost empty; a score or so of men sat close to the firepit, breaking their fast, a few others scattered about the room.
‘Your men can eat and drink here,’ one of the guards said. ‘Word has been sent to Queen Rhin. Bring your prisoner and we’ll take you to the dungeons.’
‘Where is everyone?’ Tukul asked as they walked through the hall. At a nod, five of his warriors followed with Meical, the rest spreading through the feast-hall, pouring drinks, taking food.
‘Most are down south, fighting in Domhain.’
‘Of course,’ Tukul said. He drew his sword, heard his warriors do the same behind him, all about the hall.
The guards both reached for their blades. Tukul let them draw before he killed the first one.
Let him cross the bridge of swords with his sword in his hand.
The man tried to block, but even fifty-eight years and the freezing cold snow of Cambren could not slow Tukul that much. They did not even touch blades.
The other guard opened his mouth to yell, at the same time stepping away and raising his sword.
‘Don’t kill him,’ Meical snapped.
In a heartbeat Tukul’s sword-point was at the guard’s throat.
‘Your choice,’ Tukul said. ‘Make a noise: die now. Stay silent: live a little longer.’
The guard’s eyes darted about the room. Tukul didn’t need to look: he knew all of Rhin’s warriors in the room were dead.
The guard dropped his sword.
‘Take us to the dungeon,’ Meical said.
Tukul left a score of his Jehar in the feast-hall to guard against any newcomers, and the rest followed Tukul. As they left the hall Tukul looked back, saw the main doors open and a handful of guards walk in. His warriors fell on them, but some of the enemy stumbled back into the courtyard. Instants later he heard the blaring of horns.
‘Faster,’ he said to the guard leading the way.
‘How many warriors are here?’ Meical asked the guard. He didn’t answer, but then he felt Meical’s sword-point at his back.
‘Three, four hundred. Enough.’