With that he was moving forwards, striding through the wake of Nathair’s passing. The giants had lost their height advantage with all of the Jehar fighting from the backs of their horses; the chamber was so huge that it easily accommodated them all.
Alcyon swung at a giant that had one hand wrapped in a horse’s bridle, the other pulling a hammer back ready to crush the animal’s skull. Alcyon’s axe sheared through the giant’s arm, the backswing chopping into his back. The giant collapsed in an eruption of blood, then Alcyon was stepping over him, past a dead horse, its rider crushed beneath it, looking for his next opponent.
Two giants stumbled close to them, grappling one another. Cywen yanked on Shield’s reins and the horse reared, lashing out with his hooves. The giants were knocked off their feet, rolling amongst the fallen.
They were close to Nathair now. Cywen saw him swinging his sword at a white-haired giant wielding a war-hammer. A handful of the Benothi stood about him, guarding the entrance to a corridor.
The giant blocked Nathair’s sword blow, swung his hammer at Nathair, but the King of Tenebral swayed back in his saddle, the hammer whistling past. The draig reared then and swatted at the giant, sending him and the few gathered about him hurtling through the air like so many twigs. Cywen saw the white-haired giant crash into a wall and slide down it, dead or unconscious.
Then Uthas was there, standing beside Nathair, yelling something over the din of battle.
Nathair gave a great shout as he pointed his sword at the corridor. Uthas strode into it, another giant at his shoulder, carrying an axe. Nathair’s draig powered after them, hundreds of the Jehar following in its wake.
Calidus looked back and saw Alcyon.
‘Stay close,’ he ordered, then rode into the corridor.
Alcyon glanced at Cywen, checked the knot of the rope that bound her to him and then strode into the corridor. Battle still raged in the hall behind them, though the way ahead sounded to be clear, only the sound of hooves on stone echoing back along the passageway.
It felt like a long time that they sped into the bowels of Murias, sporadically the corridors opening out into high-vaulted chambers. Intermittently the sound of battle rang out, as Nathair and his guard encountered another group of the fortress’ defenders. These clashes were always savage but short, Nathair, his draig and the Jehar an inexorable wave pushing forwards. Alcyon increased his speed, Cywen kicking Shield to keep pace, and they gained on Nathair. Then they turned a corner and were before an arched doorway. The entire host rippled to a halt.
‘We are here,’ Uthas said. ‘The cauldron lies in there.’
A silence fell over them, just the deep rumble of the draig’s breathing filling the corridor.
Nathair lifted his reins, about to urge the draig on.
‘Wait,’ Uthas said. ‘It is not undefended.’
‘I will slay a nation of giants to get to the cauldron,’ he snarled.
‘There are more than giants in there.’
‘I have come too far. Nothing will keep me from my destiny now.’ Nathair snapped a command to his draig and the beast scuttled forwards. It reared up, slamming both of its clawed front feet into the doors. They crashed open, tearing from their hinges and toppling into the chamber beyond.
Without a backward look Nathair entered the chamber.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND ELEVEN
MAQUIN
Maquin stared across the space of the arena at Orgull. His old Gadrai sword-brother walked straight-backed, though slowly, and favouring one leg.
How is it possible? Maquin thought. He should be dead, or crippled. His mind raced back to when he’d seen him last in Lykos’ chamber – Orgull hanging from the wall, chained, beaten, broken, his face a bloody ruin. How has he recovered so much? It is not possible. He took an involuntary step forwards.
The guards about Orgull fell away. Emad appeared from behind him carrying Orgull’s giant axe, the one he had taken from the tomb beneath Haldis.
Orgull should not be able to lift it, let alone wield it.
Orgull took the axe, holding it two-handed across his chest, and paced forward.
The volume of the crowd rose. Close by, Maquin heard cage bars rattling; he looked and saw a line of pit-fighters in a viewing cage. Javed amongst them. He looked back to Orgull.
They were only a dozen paces apart when they both stopped. Close up, Orgull was not as recovered as Maquin had thought. The left side of his face was a mass of puckered skin, burned and raw. One eye was gone, just a fold of wax-like flesh covering the place where it should have been. Teeth were missing, his body was scarred. He was standing straight, gripping his axe, but Maquin could see that took considerable effort. Sweat beaded Orgull’s face, and his limbs were trembling.
Even his voice was different, hissing through missing teeth and cracked lips. Almost nothing was left of the man from the time-before.
‘It’s good to see you, brother,’ Orgull said.
‘Orgull, what is this madness?’