Uthas smiled to himself, though the darkness hid it from the others. As I hoped. Raised on tales of war and glory, but having played no part in those tales themselves, they wanted to make their own stories. Killing will bind them tighter to me. Blood offers many qualities.
He could almost see the bloodlust come upon them, the desire to ink the first thorn of their sgeul into their flesh. He glanced at the thorns and vine tattooed upon his own arm, most from the war with the Exiles. That was no small thing, to take a life. To see existence snuffed out before your eyes. It had humbled him the first time, sending another’s spirit across the bridge of swords. It also gave him pride, whenever he glanced at it, and much honour amongst his Benothi kin. Among those who had been birthed after the wars, anyway. There were those in the clan who had survived the Sundering and the Scourging. Their sgeuls were a sight to behold.
‘We should attack, teach them who this land belongs to,’ Eisa said, her fingers stroking the bone hilt of her knife as she spoke. Her eyes searched out Uthas, pleading. Others grunted agreement.
‘I command here,’ Uthas said. ‘And we are here to discover, not to slay.’
‘Why can we not do both?’ Kai asked.
‘If we did, we would discover first, and slay on the return journey,’ Uthas said. ‘That is wisdom. But Nemain has bid us to be swift and secret, to leave no sign of our passing. To gather information. We will not kill tonight.’ He said the last sentence louder, looking straight at Nemain’s raven. If you would report something to Nemain, report that.
There was some muted grumbling, but Salach snapped a curse at them and rested his hand on his axe hilt, and the complaints faded.
‘We will take a closer look,’ Uthas said, ‘and see what there is to see.’
‘And if it is Rath?’ Fray said, the challenge still sitting behind his eyes.
‘If it is Rath we will kill him,’ Uthas said. ‘I know Nemain would forgive us that.’
Rath had been Eremon’s battlechief. Decades ago a warband of the Benothi had raided into Domhain and razed Rath’s hold to the ground. He had not been there, but his wife and bairns had been. Ever since then the warrior had hated the Benothi. Rath had gathered about himself a band of warriors and together they had mercilessly tracked and hunted any Benothi giants that dared enter Domhain’s borders.
‘Fech, lead us,’ Uthas said, and turned, using his spear as a staff, following the raven’s shadow.
Soon they saw the light, a fire’s orange glow, and Uthas caught the scent of meat cooking. He held his spear up and the warriors behind him fanned out, spreading like a cloak tugged by the wind. Slowly he moved forwards.
Fech had been right – they were warriors. A handful were grouped around a guttering fire, huddled against the wind. Two more stood guard a little further out; one to the east, one looking north, into Benoth. This one was the only danger, though it was unlikely he would see anything on this moonless night. Aric was closest to the northerly guard, crouched low to the heather, moving like a slow mist. The guard saw nothing.
I must change that.
Uthas dug his fingers into the ground, felt the moist earth flow about him, under his fingernails, then he began to whisper, hardly more than a breath on his lips. He knew that Salach would hear him; that was fine, he trusted Salach with his life. But no one else would hear. Fech was nowhere to be seen. A slight tremor ran through the earth about Uthas’ hand, rippling away towards Aric.
Uthas heard the sound, a popping, as a patch of ground burst close to Aric, sounding much like a wet branch breaking. Uthas could not tell who was more surprised: Aric or the guard. Certainly the guard heard it.
‘Who’s there?’ the warrior called, half drawing his sword, taking a step towards the sound. The men around the fire stirred, one of them standing. Aric froze for a heartbeat, then exploded forward, swinging his hammer as he did. It smashed into the guard’s chest, sending him hurtling through the air. He rolled and fell still.
There was a moment’s silence, then the men about the fire were rushing Aric. Giants burst from the darkness about them. Blood sprayed black in the starlight.
Salach made to join the battle but Uthas put a restraining hand on his shoulder.
‘Let them earn their thorns.’
The fight was almost done, anyway, the men surprised and outmatched by Uthas’ company. Even as Uthas watched, Fray sent a man’s head spinning through the night. It fell into the fire, sending up an explosion of sparks.
Uthas strode over, surveying the battleground. Fray was looking around, axe held across his chest, looking for someone else to kill. The battle-madness slowly faded from his eyes. Eisa was bloodied, a hand clasped over her shoulder, blood welling black between her fingers. She grinned at Uthas.
Aric was down. He still lived, but he was clutching his gut, trying to staunch the blood that was pulsing from a deep wound.
Not good, Uthas thought. Gut wounds are never good.