The thought of her made him sad. Once great Queen of the Benothi, but fallen so far, her fear binding her, disabling her.
She should have fought for our lands, used the cauldron. She should have bargained with Asroth and ensured the survival of our clan. Instead she had done nothing, claiming the Benothi’s sole purpose now was to keep the cauldron from being used, thinking to avoid another war.
But war is coming, no matter what she does to evade it.
Ever since he had met with Asroth, in Rhin’s cell deep within the walls of Dun Vaner, he had felt like a blind man gifted with sight, as if scales had fallen from his eyes. The way forward is so clear, but Nemain refuses to see it.
He had tried to reason with her, to advocate a more active, aggressive policy, but she had refused to see sense. He still clung to the hope that she would change her stance before it was too late, but until then he would pay her lip service and continue to work with Rhin towards their greater purpose. At least he had managed to sway others within the Benothi, and he hoped more would side with him, before the end.
He was glad Nemain had sent him on this mission, scouting into Domhain to learn Eremon’s plans. He had counted on it, even, for it kept him within Nemain’s good graces whilst allowing him to further Rhin’s plans. The journey south had told him that Eremon was paying little attention to the events in the east, to Rhin’s attacks on Narvon and Ardan. No warriors were mustering, no crops were being stored. Eremon sat idly by and sank deeper into his dotage. Rhin would be pleased. She will be here soon. Rhin. He felt a smile twitch his features at the thought of seeing her. His captor, his saviour. They had a bond he could not deny, complex and deep, its waters murky. But our goal is clear, and I will see it through or die in the trying; we are united in that. Soon the Black Sun will appear, will come for the cauldron. And I will help him claim it.
The next part in that task would be to grab Eremon’s attention and direct it north. Uthas would slaughter and burn on his way home, make such a noise as Domhain had never heard. He would lead Domhain’s strength in warriors north, fix Eremon’s attention on Benoth, then when Rhin had finished with Narvon and Ardan and finally came west she would find Domhain open and unprepared.
He rolled up his cloak and laid his head upon it. Looking at Dun Taras had stirred a melancholy within him as deep as bones. He searched for sleep to erase the ache. Besides, Fech would not be back today.
Uthas woke with a start. Salach was sitting with his back to the cold rock, running a whetstone along his axe-blade.
‘You were dreaming,’ his shieldman said.
Uthas touched his brow, his fingers coming away damp with sweat.
‘How long have I slept?’
‘A day. They are amazed at you,’ Salach said, glancing at the other giants in the cave. Some were standing, restless, others huddled in conversation.
‘How can you sleep now?’ Fray asked him. ‘When we are here, amongst our enemy, in the heart of our homeland.’
‘I’ve been here before,’ Uthas said, ‘and besides, when you have lived as long as I, sitting in a cave, no matter where it is, is not very exciting.’
Salach chuckled.
‘How long have you lived?’ Eisa asked then.
‘I forget. It has been a long time. I was a bairn, not yet grown my whiskers when the Scourging changed our world.’ He tugged at the white hair on his face, bound with thin strips of leather.
‘It is true, then. You drank from the cup.’ Kai this time.
‘I did,’ Uthas said. Since the slaying of Skald, the first king, immortality had been stripped from giants and men. But then the cup had been forged from the starstone. The cup was one of the Seven Treasures, and drinking from it gave health and long life. Not immortality, but close enough.
‘How long will the cup sustain you?’ Struan asked. They had all gathered about Uthas now, regarding him with a new emotion in their eyes. Awe.
‘I do not know,’ Uthas shrugged. ‘Nemain drank from it before I, and she is still here.’ Though she squanders her time, choosing to sit on the cauldron like some skeletal chicken.
The Benothi giants had emerged from the War of Treasures the clear victors, possessing three of the Seven Treasures. The cauldron, Nemain’s necklace and the cup. Two had been lost now, which went some way to explaining Nemain’s obsessive protection of the cauldron. The necklace had been hidden in Dun Carreg as the walls had been breached and overrun, the giants holding the stronghold had been slaughtered to the last warrior. The cup had been lost in Domhain. Somewhere out there.