“Unthank-silver, lord?”
“I’m not a lord,” said Bellamus to the horse-master. “Just a commoner, like you. It’s the alloy that Anakim make their swords from. Can’t say I know how it’s made but I hear that when two Unthank-weapons meet in combat, they shed white sparks like a blacksmith’s anvil. Maybe there’s a clue in that.”
If there was, it mystified the horse-master.
Bellamus took the helmet off and examined it once again. “Magnificent.” A metal crest ran from the front to the back of the crown, with a perilously sharp blade, shaped like the edge of an axe, on the front of the crest. Overlapping plates which would provide flexible protection for the owner’s neck ran down the back and an alloy visor and cheek-plates concluded the comprehensive defence. “A shame for the Jormunrekur to lose it; I’m not sure they could afford its replacement nowadays. We shall send it back to them.” He tossed it back to the horse-master and bade him reattach it to the corpse. He had intended to send the king Kynortas’s skull. But the king could have another present. He had a different use for this one.
Bellamus discovered a mighty sword still in Kynortas’s scabbard. It appeared to be made of the same metal as the helmet and so was light and strong, but it also glittered strangely in the grey light of the day. The edge was shining somehow. It was too long to be practical and he could barely close his hand around the grip, which was built for a hand on an altogether different scale. Even so, Bellamus strapped it on. There was more than one way to use a weapon like this.
Bellamus had told Lord Northwic that Kynortas was dead, though he had neglected to mention that his body had been recovered. Now he and the lord rode along the crest of the ridge together, moving slowly enough for the canopy to keep up with them. Thunder was beginning to rumble in the mountains to the north and a bolt of pale lightning splashed shadows across the battlefield. It made the flood waters boil where it struck them. “This is a bleak country,” said Lord Northwic, staring down at the labourers who toiled over the Anakim dead. “We must rid ourselves of the Anakim, but beyond that … it isn’t worth the taking.”
“They have been beset by unusual quantities of rain just as surely as we have,” said Bellamus mildly. “I can imagine this looking quite beautiful in the sun, in a rugged sort of way.”
“Wilderness,” replied Lord Northwic dismissively. “These mountains are the cankers on the face of the earth. Below the Abus, good ripe soil; tilled, farmed and ordered. It is a little closer to paradise. This …” he flicked a clawed hand at the forest that occupied one end of the ridge, tree tops shifting in the wind. “This is the country of the wolf and the bear and the wildcat. Their villages are isolated by the distance and the wild. They share their land with the barbarous and the chaotic. No wonder they are so wild themselves.
“I wonder, can it even be pacified? When we have defeated the Anakim, can this land be tilled, or is the earth too shallow and too filled with rocks? Will the site of the forests support pasture land for cows and sheep, or is the earth too sour?”
“We shall have to keep the Trawden forests standing,” said Bellamus. “By all accounts a legendary hunting ground.”
Lord Northwic grunted. “So this is your plan. Take the north and you shall be its master.”
Bellamus smiled briefly. “Nobody else seems to want it. His Majesty even speaks of building a great wall and forgetting that half of this island lies to the north. Give the north to me; I’ll pacify it.”
“Is it just the north you want, Bellamus?” Lord Northwic was looking sidelong at him and Bellamus knew at once what he was referring to. “I was as young as you once. Even younger. I can see how you act around Queen Aramilla. She is the only one of us you keep your distance from.”
“Better not to play with fire,” said Bellamus, not returning Lord Northwic’s gaze.
“Yes, it is,” said Lord Northwic forcefully. “In the eyes of both God and man. Be careful with her.”
“I barely know her,” said Bellamus.
“I know you both,” said Lord Northwic. “She is inscrutable. But you are hiding something.” Lord Northwic spoke harshly but Bellamus knew that, whatever his words, the old man rather liked him. In any case, he was in no danger. The man who suggested to the king that his wife was having an affair was at greater risk than either of the accused. The two men rode in silence for a time. “Perhaps we should move to take the Hindrunn,” suggested Lord Northwic.
“Bad idea, Ced,” responded Bellamus. Lord Northwic was relaxed in his leadership and did not object to the informality. “With the legions still inside, that nut is un-crackable. They would like nothing more than for us to attempt a siege.”
“More plundering, then,” said the lord, unenthusiastic.
“More plundering,” agreed Bellamus. “The more loot that floods the south, the more warriors will come to our cause. It is also our best hope of bleeding the Black Legions from the Hindrunn before we have to attack it.”
“And what do you know of their new leader, the lad Roper?” asked Northwic.
Bellamus had risen to prominence as the Anakim-specialist of Erebos—the continent to which Albion was tethered. Nobody navigated the shadows quite like the upstart and nobody had the same ability to speak
