Many of his five hundred had fallen in the battle amongst the cairns, but those left stood proudly. They knew they had turned this battle, somehow pulled victory from defeat with their shield wall.
Braster and Romar’s warbands had been decimated, laid low by giants’ magic and giants’ iron. Braster himself had fallen amongst the cairns, carried wounded and unconscious from the field. Romar, King of Isiltir, had led a force in chase of the routed Hunen through the black gates. Despite Calidus seeing him as a thorn in their flesh, opposing Nathair and his servants at almost every turn, Veradis didn’t envy Romar the close-quarters battle he would encounter in the dark tunnels.
Especially as Calidus had hinted that it was time to take drastic measures against the recalcitrant King. That was Calidus’ business. Nathair had made it clear to Veradis that he had no authority over Calidus, that the man could do as he wished. And Calidus had the Jehar to enforce those wishes.
Whatever happens, happens, he thought. Romar meant little to him, but Veradis did have friends in there, inside those tunnels. Kastell and Maquin. They were part of the Gadrai, Romar’s elite warriors. He would not like to see them come to harm. But he had warned them, or tried to. What else could he have done?
Even as Veradis looked into the tunnels, noise filtered out of the darkness – the clash of iron, faint screams.
Bos tapped him and nodded towards the mounds. One of the scouts had returned.
‘I’ve found something,’ the scout breathed, chest heaving.
‘What?’
‘A doorway, hidden. I heard voices, and something else. It was strange.’
Veradis gathered a dozen men, left Bos in charge of the rest, then marched after the scout. He led them on a path through the cairns. All was eerily silent.
The barrows ended, replaced by clustered stone buildings, empty and shadow filled. Their progress slowed as Veradis and his men checked there were no giants lurking in the darkness.
‘There,’ the scout said, pointing at the cliff face.
Vine grew thick across the rock. Veradis stared but could see nothing out of place.
‘No, there,’ the scout urged, walking forwards. He stopped before the escarpment and scraped the soil at his feet with a boot, revealing a handle. It was attached to a trapdoor.
Veradis knelt, putting his ear to the ground. At first he heard nothing, but then, distinctly, he heard a muffled cry, like a child.
He pointed to the handle, whispered orders until two warriors were gripping it, the rest gathered about the trapdoor, weapons drawn.
‘Now,’ Veradis ordered, and the door was heaved open.
Wide stone steps led down, sunlight shafting into the hole, revealing faces staring back up at them. Many faces. Giant faces, though something immediately struck Veradis as strange. Different.
Before he had a chance to do anything, there was a roar and a figure hurtled up the steps, swinging a war-hammer. Voices cried out from behind the giant. Veradis leaped to the side, the hammer missing him, smashing into another warrior. Bones crunched, the man crumpled, the giant surging onwards, sending other men flying.
Veradis and his men circled their foe, who snarled curses at them, turning defiantly. Veradis darted forwards, stabbed, retreated. The giant roared and spun around, only for Veradis’ warriors to move in, all stabbing. The giant bellowed his rage, charged the circle, smashed one warrior to the ground. Swords slashed. The giant stumbled on a few steps, collapsed, blood staining the grass.
Veradis stood still a moment, breathing hard, then strode forward and nudged the fallen body with his boot. He would not be getting back up.
‘Come out,’ Veradis spoke into the trapdoor. The only answer was silence. He peered in, saw shadowed figures beyond the sun’s reach. ‘I’m not fool enough to come down there. If you stay, you will all burn,’ he said, louder. Still no answer. He shrugged and turned away.
‘They are only bairns,’ a voice grated from the darkness. ‘We will come up. Please, do not kill them.’
Giant bairns. What a day this is. ‘Come up. If it is as you say we will not shed the first blood.’ Veradis stepped back, holding a warning hand up to his men.
A figure emerged from the hole in the ground, a giant, tall and broad. A female, no drooping moustache, though she was as muscled as any male. Black strips of leather crisscrossed her breasts and she held a war-hammer loosely in her hands. Her dark eyes darted from Veradis to the giant lying face down on the grass. Grief swept her face.