Talus and the Frozen King (22 page)

'What happened next?' Bran could still hear Talus, very faintly. In the bard's story, the king was battling his own monster, which was bigger than the world.

'The other hunter ran away. There was just me, alone, hiding in the sled. Me and the bear.'

'What did you do?'

'I waited. The bear licked the ice clean of blood. Then it started sniffing. It prowled around the sleds, swinging its head from side to side with its nose just above the ice. It must have caught my scent, because suddenly it stopped and stared right at the sled I was hiding in. There was a gap in the covers. It saw me. I know it did. So I waited. I just waited. The bear came towards me. It was old.

I could see it in its eyes. It was limping. The blood of my father's men dripped from its teeth. Halfway to the sled it sank to its knees. It coughed. Blood came out of its mouth. It stood up and shuddered.

It was like an earthquake. I could feel it through the ice. Then ... then it fell over and died.' This wasn't what Bran had expected. In Talus's tales the final confrontation usually gave the audience a sense that what happened in the world had some meaning. Alayin's story was just ...

'Sad and real,' he said aloud. She gave him a quizzical look. 'Your story. It's sad and real.'

If she agreed she didn't show it. 'I took the hunters' knives and skinned the bear. It was still warm. Deep inside, it was hot, like a fire. I could still hear the life in it, slowly draining into the ice. It was a big animal, and it took a long, long time for all of it to die.'

'It was a monster,' said Bran.

'It was an animal.' She sighed. 'That's all there is really. I dragged the skin back to the sled, dragged the sled back to the boat, rowed the boat back to Sleeth. My father sent men to search for the missing hunter. They never found him. He must have frozen to death. Maybe he fell through a hole in the ice.'

Alayin's eyes returned from whatever distance it was they'd found. The tanned skin of her cheeks was flushed scarlet. The raised scars looked almost white against it, white like the ivory fur in which she was wrapped. The skin of the giant bear that was her trophy of that terrible day.

She nodded towards the boulder. 'Your friend's story is coming to an end too.'

And so it was. Having told how the valiant king had slain the monster by singing out its name and bringing the huge but fragile cave of ice crashing down on top of it, Talus brought his tale to a rousing conclusion by describing the great feast that was thrown upon the triumphant king's return.

'There are many monsters in this world,' the bard concluded. 'Set against every there is a man. Some of these men stand in the light, and we choose to call them kings. Others stand in the shadows, unseen, and they have no names because they are not known. But they are kings nonetheless.'

Talk of slain monsters and celebratory feasts had warmed the villagers through. But this odd little epilogue had them shifting uneasily. Bran smiled. It was so like Talus to add something enigmatic to the end of even the simplest story. Something to chew on.

Without warning, Alayin clutched him. Bran glanced at Tharn, to see if he'd noticed the sudden movement. But the eyes of the new king were fixed on the bard.

'What's wrong?' said Bran.

'You do believe me?' said Alayin. 'I need someone to believe me, Bran.'

He considered her earlier lies. There was no reason to trust anything she said. 'I believe you,' he said. To his surprise, he did.

Talus stepped back. Tharn stepped forward. Like the rest of the crowd, he looked uncertain about the way Talus's tale had ended. Gradually his frown deepened. The crowd began to murmur.

Then Bran realised Tharn was looking past them at some kind of commotion on the other side of the arena.

The new king jumped down from his platform. The crowd parted before him. Tharn strode down the alley thus formed. Another man forced his way through the sea of bodies towards him.

Bran grabbed Alayin with his good hand, in case she decided to run. But she didn't move.

The newcomer was Fethan. By the time he reached Tharn he was struggling to stay upright.

Tharn grabbed his elbows, supporting him. Fethan's face was contorted with grief. His hands and all the fur on his left side were dripping with blood. Farrum's weapon of black glass was gone from his belt.

'You must come,' Fethan said. His voice gargled. 'Farrum ... the pit ... Tharn, my king. I shouldn't have ...'

Tharn shook him. 'Tell me what's happened!'

Fethan wrenched himself free. He started to stagger back the way he'd come. 'Come, my brother, my king,' he called. 'Come now!'

With an anguished cry, Tharn followed his brother out of the arena.

First to follow them, leaping off the boulder with his robe flapping wide, was Talus.

'Come on,' said Bran. He set off in pursuit of the bard, pulling Alayin with him. 'And don't try to run away.'

'I won't,' said Alayin. 'I have to see this through. After all, it's all my fault.'

They caught up with Talus in the meandering ravine that wound its way through the cliffs to the totem pit. Tharn and Fethan were somewhere ahead, hidden by the fog pouring over the sides of the ravine. The air was cold and thick with salt.

'Talus,' said Bran. 'Wait for us.'

'I have made a mistake,' said the bard.

'What do you mean?' said Bran. He could barely speak for the wheezing of his lungs. How did Talus manage to sound so calm?

'I believed the totem pit was secure. I was wrong.'

'But we don't know what's happened.'

'I think we do, Bran. I thought it was safe to leave the brothers guarding Farrum. I was wrong about that too. Now there is blood on my hands.'

Bran wanted to reassure his friend, to tell him everything was going to be all right. But how could he convince the bard of something he didn't believe himself?

When they reached the totem pit, Alayin's shriek of horror was enough to confirm Bran's worst fears. As if what he saw wasn't all the proof he needed.

It was a slaughter. Two of Farrum's men lay sprawled at the pit's edge. From the contorted angle of their bodies it was obvious their necks were broken. Beside them, moaning, lay Mishina.

Further away, dim in the wind-torn fog, were two more bodies, one lying on the other.

Tharn stumbled through the chaos, his hands raised to his head.

Bran rushed first to Mishina. He might not care for the shaman, but the man's groans proved he at least was alive. His blue and black mask was twisted with pain. His hands clutched his ribs.

'What happened?' said Bran.

'I am not badly hurt,' Mishina growled. 'See to the others.'

Bran ran on to the two bodies heaped together. The uppermost of them was Sigathon. A bonespike protruded from his neck. His chest was drenched with blood. On his face was the same dull expression Bran had observed every time he'd encountered the boy. He was quite dead.

Bran rolled Sigathon's body aside, expecting to uncover another corpse. Instead he found himself staring straight into Arak's wild green eyes. The boy's pupils were black and huge.

'They tried to kill me too!' Arak wailed, and burst into tears.

Bran checked Arak quickly for injuries. He seemed unhurt. He lifted the lad to his feet.

Before Bran could say anything, Tharn was at his side.

'What happened?' The new king grabbed his youngest brother by the shoulders and gave him a vigorous shake. Arak's head snapped back and forth. Bran didn't care for the blankness in Tharn's eyes. If Sigathon truly was the king-killer Bran suspected him to be, then his crimes were paid for. There was no need for Tharn to take it out on Arak.

Fethan joined them, and Talus and Alayin. A few men from the village clumped in the mist behind them. All Bran could see of the villagers was angry faces and bunched fists. The majority of people had stayed behind in the arena. Creyak, it seemed, had had its fill of disaster.

'What happened?' Tharn repeated. His whole body seemed clenched, not least his fingers, which were digging deep into Arak's thin upper arms.

'Fethan and Cabarrath left us,' said Arak. He twitched in his brother's grip. This wasn't his usual fidgeting: the boy wanted to be off and running. Bran didn't blame him. 'They said they wouldn't be long.'

'Is this true?' said Tharn.

'What if it is?' said Fethan. He squared his body, defiant. For all the blood on him, he appeared to be uninjured.

'They went to gather brush for a fire,' said Arak, still squirming.

'A fire?' said Tharn. 'You were guarding our most dangerous enemies and you wanted to keep warm?'

'The fire was not for us,' said Fethan. 'It was for them. Cabarrath and I decided to be rid of Farrum and his men, once and for all. We left Arak and Sigathon with Mishina. We thought they were safe. We went to gather the summer brushwood from behind the cairn. We were going to throw it into the pit and set it on fire. We wanted to watch Farrum burn.'

Bran listened with mounting horror. Farrum might have deserved punishment but he didn't deserve to die. Were they all killers, all these brothers, all these sons of the king?

Tharn released Arak. 'You are a fool, Fethan!' He punched his brother in the middle of his chest: once, twice, three times. Fethan accepted the blows without flinching. 'How did they get out of the pit?'

'It was the fog,' Arak blurted. 'We couldn't see the other side of the pit. They must have climbed on each others shoulders. When one got out he must have thrown down a rope so the others could come. When we saw what they were doing we tried to stop them but they were too quick. We were too late.'

'Cabarrath and I heard the commotion,' said Fethan. 'We ran back as quickly as we could.

We found ... this. Farrum struck me down and took back his weapon. Then he and his men escaped into the fog. Cabarrath gave chase. I ran to bring you.'

'Which way did they go?' said Tharn.

'Towards the beach.'

Without warning, Tharn struck Fethan again, this time on the side of the head. Fethan reeled back. His eyes rolled. Tharn advanced, pounded him again, and again. The third time, Fethan went down. His head hit one of the slabs of stone lining the edge of the pit and he fell limp. Nearby, Mishina was sitting up, shaking his head, gradually coming to his senses.

Tharn beckoned over six of the watching men. To the remainder he said, 'We are at war with Sleeth. Go to your homes. Bring your weapons. Ask the spirits to put strength in your arms and in your hearts. Meet me at the beach. I am your king, and I tell you to do this.'

The men split as instructed. Tharn lowered his head, a look of deep anguish on his half-hidden face. For an instant the king was gone and there was only the man, young and desperate. Then Tharn straightened up. He looked first one way, then the other.

'Now where has Arak gone?!' he bellowed.

An arm lifted from the cluster of men he'd picked out. 'There! Running!'

By the time they all looked, Arak was nothing more than a dissolving shadow.

'The boy wants revenge,' Tharn growled. 'He is brave, but he will only get himself killed.'

'Tharn,' said Talus. 'I must tell you ...'

'Away with your stories, bard! Arak is the son of a king. He will do what needs to be done.

Now we go to war for the death of our father, for the deaths of our brothers.'

He stormed past Talus, knocking him sideways. Bran caught the bard before he could fall.

'You do have a way with people,' he said. 'And don't tell me Tharn's making a big mistake, because you already said that.'

'Nevertheless,' said Talus, 'it is true. But who am I to judge him? I have --' a look of amazement rose on his face '-- I have also made a mistake, Bran.'

'There's a first time for everything. But, Talus, Sigathon's dead. That's an end to it. Isn't it?'

'No, Bran. But the end is close. Tharn has set all his fury on Sleeth. He believes Farrum is behind this but ... he does not know everything. But Tharn's anger blinds him to the whole truth.'

'If you know what that truth is, why don't you just come out with it?'

'Because when I tell Tharn what is really happening here, I fear his temper may drive him to become a killer himself. Did you not see what he did to Fethan? In Creyak, I fear truth and death go hand in hand.'

Bran watched the new king disappear with his men into the mist. 'Talus, he deserves to know. I know all about temper but you can't hide the truth, however hard it is. You told me that.'

'Indeed I did, Bran.' Talus flashed a skeletal grin. 'Now, quickly, there is no time to lose. If I have made a mistake, I have no choice but to correct it. I must find Tharn and lay before him everything I know.'

'I don't suppose you'd care to lay it before me first?' said Bran without much hope. 'There is no time! We are coming to the place where all the paths we have followed meet.

But there is one more path I must take.'

'I'll come with you.'

'No! You must stay. Watch over the shaman. Tend to Fethan when he wakes. Let no man disturb Sigathon's body. I will return!'

So saying, he sprang away into the fog.

While Alayin tended the shaman, Bran checked Fethan. The young man's breathing was shallow but steady, and his wounds were slight. Bran was confident he would come round soon.

'Mishina doesn't want my help,' said Alayin, coming over to where he was crouched. 'I can't say I blame him. Will you stop me if I run?'

Her fur hood had fallen back, revealing short blonde hair cropped close to her scalp. Her head was all bone and scar. Her expression was ferocious, like that of an animal on the hunt.

'Where will you run to?'

'After them.' She tossed her head in the direction Talus had gone. 'Like I said, this is all my fault. It's up to me to put things right.'

'Why do you say that? What have you done?'

'I can't tell you. Will you stop me?'

'Talus told me to stay here.'

'Then stay!'

'Wait!' But she was already sprinting into the fog.

What had she meant? What was it she planned to do?