But they can be avenged.
Five days out from Dun Carreg, well before highsun, Veradis heard horns blowing further ahead. Word slowly filtered back down the column that Rhin’s forces had been sighted. It was half a day before Veradis’ warband saw them.
Owain’s forces had drawn up on the slopes of a gentle hill, spilling in a disorderly crush either side of the giantsway. All seemed to be chaos, with horns blowing, men shouting, oxen bellowing as they were led from the giantsway, pulling wains to a makeshift camp on the hill’s crown. To the north-west marshland stretched to the sea, shimmering in the summer sun. Rhin’s warband was spread on a plain below them, tents in the distance; a mass of men on foot dominated the centre, whilst mounted warriors were loosely grouped on both flanks. Veradis stood and stared at them a while, the sounds around him fading as he focused.
‘How many?’ Bos said beside him.
‘Six, six and a half thousand men.’
‘And us?’
‘Between us and the Jehar Nathair has three thousand swords. Owain commands at least nine thousand warriors.’
‘She will lose, then.’
Veradis looked at his friend, shielding his eyes from the sun. ‘Time will be the judge of that, but I have heard that she is cunning. I think she may have more planned than what we can see.’
‘Best keep our wits about us, then,’ said Bos.
‘Aye. And our swords sharp.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
UTHAS
Uthas crawled through the long grass and wildflowers, up an incline. He stopped when he reached the top, gazing in silence.
Dun Taras stood in the distance, its smooth walls reflecting the morning sun. It had been one of the giants’ great fortresses once, alongside Dun Carreg and Dun Vaner, before the hordes of men had come to Benoth. Now Eremon sat upon its throne, ruling all he could see from its high tower. Uthas felt his blood stir, yearning for a lost time. He blinked tears, saw a memory superimposed on the landscape, of his kin gathered on green meadows, celebrating the Birth Moon. Bairns playing in the river, diving and plunging after salmon, the men gathering in contests of strength, throwing tree trunks or the hammer. He walked amongst them, laughing, smiling . . .
The vision faded, shifting into something else: columns of the Benothi marching through empty fields, the landscape behind them black and charred, the walls of Dun Taras fading in the distance. They had walked away from Dun Taras, fled before the tide of mankind.
It will be ours again. A new order is coming. And I will do what needs to be done to make it so.
He glanced over his shoulder, saw Eisa and Struan crawling up the slope, the others standing still, almost invisible amongst the rocks and trees far below. Eisa and Struan settled either side of him.
After gazing for a long while on Dun Taras, Struan whispered, ‘What now?’
Uthas rolled onto his back and searched the sky. It was cloudy, the air humid, heavy. Rain was coming. Amongst the clouds a black dot moved. Uthas beckoned and the dot spiralled lower until Fech landed beside him.
‘We can go no closer,’ Uthas said. ‘Can you fly to Dun Taras, seek out Eremon, listen to his plans.’
‘Fech is good at listening and seeing,’ the bird said and flew away, winging towards Dun Taras.
Was that a threat? Uthas thought. What will he tell Nemain when we return to Murias? He watched Fech fade and disappear, then he made his way down the slope to his companions. A hundred and fifty leagues they had travelled since they had left Murias in the cold north. Over a moon had passed since they had raised a cairn over Aric’s body and placed the heads of their enemies about it. That will give Rath cause to fear us again, or whoever else discovers it. Too long we have been timid, fearful. They moved silently through the boulders and stunted trees that blanketed this rolling land of hill and vale. In time they came to a stream and followed it deeper into woodland until they eventually came to a great boulder, part of a cliff face that rose before them. Uthas found the cave entrance and passed through the glamour that had hidden it for over a hundred years. Fray struck a light with his flint and soon they had a small fire burning. Then they settled in for the wait. Fech would know where to come.
Eisa passed him a skin, more brot. He pulled a face but took it and drank some. It had kept them alive, fuelled their journey south, into the heartland of their enemy. Twice they had come close to being discovered, but Fech had given them good warning both times, and Uthas had been more interested in speed than battle. He had already blooded his followers, bound them closer to him through that act. They were more his than Nemain’s now.
Nemain.