Malice (Faithful & the Fallen 1)

by John Gwynne

  ‘Yes, good questions. As to where this fortress is, Lykos has heard word it is in Tarbesh.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Exactly. So the time we are saving on our journey can be put to good use. I will find this Telassar, and talk to these shadow warriors.’

  ‘Before or after we have dealt with Rahim’s giants?’

  ‘After.’ Nathair flashed a smile. ‘We shall take council on that now. I have asked Lykos and Calidus to join us here, as soon as they are able.’

  ‘And the giant. Are you not troubled about taking aid from such as he?’

  ‘Troubled? No, Veradis. Never take your eye from our goal, my friend.’

  ‘The goal. And what is that, in the end?’

  ‘Victory,’ Nathair whispered. ‘I will use man, giant or beast to attain that goal. For the greater good I will do what is required.’

  Veradis heard the creak of a door, turned to see the hulking shape of Alcyon emerge from the hold, Lykos and Calidus walking in the giant’s shadow.

  There was something wolf-like about Lykos, Veradis thought, as the lord of the Vin Thalun approached them, iron rings clinking in his grey-streaked hair. His walk was graceful, confident, speaking of years on the deck of a ship. ‘My lord,’ the corsair chief said as he drew near. Many in the warband had been surprised to hear Lykos refer to Nathair so.

  ‘Greetings,’ said Nathair. ‘As you know, I go to the aid of King Rahim. He is plagued with giant raids. Can you tell me anything that will ease my task?’

  ‘Ever since we spoke of Telassar,’ said Lykos, ‘I have sent many men to Tarbesh, seeking to find your fortress. In the process my spies have travelled far and learned much.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘They report to Calidus. He has been my ears for many years now, and has served me well.’ He waved a hand at the gaunt man.

  ‘A river marks the eastern border of Tarbesh,’ Calidus said, ‘marking the boundary between Rahim’s realm and the Shekam giants. The Shekam have been crossing the river of late, raiding Rahim’s lands. It is a familiar tale, I hear. The giant clans that are left are becoming bolder throughout the Banished Lands.’

  ‘Aye, I have heard that also,’ Nathair said. ‘Do you know anything of how these giants, these Shekam, make war?’

  ‘There is one more knowledgeable than I on that subject,’ Calidus said with a grin and nodded to Alcyon.

  The giant took a step forward; Veradis felt a slight tremor in the deck.

  ‘You know of the Shekam?’ Nathair said, looking up at Alcyon’s broad, angular face.

  ‘Aye,’ the giant rumbled, his voice harsh and low pitched. ‘All the clans had many things in common: like most, their weapons of choice are the axe and hammer. There are differences as well, I remember. The Shekam often fought mounted.’

  ‘Mounted,’ Veradis said. ‘But a horse could not carry a giant.’

  ‘Aye, prince’s man,’ Alcyon said, turning small, dark eyes onto him. ‘They ride draigs.’

  ‘Draigs,’ Veradis spluttered, eyes widening.

  ‘Aye. Draigs,’ the giant repeated, the edges of a smile touching his mouth, making his drooping moustache twitch.

  ‘I did not think giants rode anything,’ Nathair said.

  ‘Most do not. We can match your horses, over distance.’ The giant shrugged. ‘But the clans are warlike by nature. We were fighting each other long before your kind ever came to these lands, and advantages of any kind were sought. The Jotun in the north rode bears. I do not know if they still do, since your kin drove them across the Bone Fells, but I suspect so. The Shekam ride draigs.’

  Veradis nodded, his mind filled with the coming conflict. He knew that the giant clans had been defeated before, and that there were more of them then, far more, so the task they faced was surely achievable. But giants on draigs – now, that was an unsettling thought.

  ‘Is there any more you can tell us, Alcyon?’ Nathair asked.

  ‘Aye. Your greatest risk will be from Elementals. They are likely to be amongst their ranks.’

  Veradis’ eyes grew wide again. ‘Sorcerers,’ he muttered.

  ‘Aye. Wielders of the earth power,’ Alcyon rumbled.

  ‘This task is becoming more than a campaign on which to “cut our teeth,” Nathair,’ Veradis muttered.

  ‘Indeed,’ replied the Prince. ‘How can we combat these Elementals?’

  ‘Do not be troubled,’ said Calidus, ‘Alcyon and I will accompany you. We are also familiar with these powers.’

  ‘You are sorcerers?’ said Veradis.

  Alcyon said nothing and Calidus just smiled.

  The rest of the journey passed quickly enough: the weather was hot, tempered by a constant wind that sped their progress, the sun filled cloudless blue skies, baking the skin of all that stood on the decks. After the passing of five more nights, Veradis found himself standing once again at the prow of the ship, looking at a dark smudge on the horizon.

  ‘Tarbesh,’ he muttered quietly, excitement building within him, a weightlessness dancing in the pit of his stomach.

  As the day wore on, the land on the horizon grew until he could see the coast clearly. There were craggy cliffs of dark, reddish rock and sand with a covering of sun-blasted grass, here and there stunted olive trees with pale bark, looking like a twisted mass of tendon and sinew.

  The small fleet turned north and followed the coastline until they came to a large bay where a river flowed into the sea. Here the land was greener, with groves of tall cedars flanking the river. By nightfall Nathair’s warband was ashore. They made camp beside the river, and in the morning Lykos bid them farewell.

  ‘I shall return on the last night of the Reaper’s Moon,’ he said. ‘If you are not here we shall wait for you, or until you send word. I shall see you back to Tenebral and Jerolin in good time for Midwinter’s Day.’

  Nathair turned and swung into the saddle of his white stallion. Horns blasted, and with a great sound the warband moved out.

  ‘How long till we reach Rahim’s fortress?’ Nathair asked Calidus.

  ‘Four, five nights, no more.’

  ‘Good.’ The Prince turned in his saddle, looking at his warband. Veradis felt his spirits soar as he spotted Rauca in the mass of mounted warriors, holding Nathair’s standard aloft, the eagle of Tenebral snapping in the wind. He raised his hand to his friend, a broad grin splitting his face. He had never felt more alive.

  Nathair grinned at him fiercely, and Veradis knew the Prince felt it too. Destiny leading them, just as Nathair had promised. They both faced forward and spurred their horses on.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CORBAN

  Corban was sweating by the time he passed through Stonegate into the shadowed cold of Dun Carreg. He looked only at the ground before his feet, fearing accusing eyes were watching him.

  What will Marrock say? Does everyone know already that I let the brigands escape?

  Buddai loped at his heels, Storm tucked under his arm. He had been desperate to get back to the fortress and had run all of the way, although he was equally terrified of what he would discover upon his return.

  His first reaction on hearing that Marrock lived had been a sharp joy, utter relief.

  Braith had kept his word and released Marrock.

  Or maybe Marrock had escaped.

  So many questions.

  Where should he go? Surely Marrock would have been taken straight to Brenin. But that would have been some time ago, by now. Time enough for word to have spread through the fortress of Marrock’s return, and also time enough for many to have heard Marrock’s account of all that had happened, including Corban’s part in it all.

  He looked up and saw the grey stone of his home. So this was where his feet had taken him. The door was open, his mam standing there. A pressure began to build in his chest, as if his heart were expanding, becoming too large for his ribcage. He did not like the way his mam was looking at him – frowning, her mouth a straight edge, lines of worry around
the corners of her eyes.

  Storm wriggled under his arm. He put her down and she ran ahead with Buddai, both of them slipping past his mam’s legs.

  She did not move when he reached the door. He stood still, his gaze slowly rising until their eyes met. Gwenith reached out and ran her long fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his forehead where it had stuck with sweat.

  ‘You have a visitor,’ she said.

  ‘Where?’ he stuttered, trying to peer past her into the kitchen.

  Gwenith stepped out of his way, although he did not move. He felt as if he had stepped into one of the Baglun’s bogs.

  ‘Out back, in the garden,’ Gwenith said. With a wrench of will, he stepped into the kitchen, not even asking who was waiting for him, and strode to the back door. He pulled it open and walked through, passing under his da’s giant war-hammer that hung above the door. Storm squeezed through as he closed it behind him.

  Marrock was sitting on a tree stump by the woodpile, looking his way, Cywen silent and still beside him. She had a knife in her hand, had probably been practising her throwing when Marrock arrived. Corban froze a moment, blinking in the sunshine, then walked towards the huntsman. Marrock rose as Corban drew close. He was pale, the scar on his face standing out pink and livid. A bandage was wound tight around his back and shoulder. They gazed at each other in silence, then Marrock gestured for Corban to sit.

  ‘He did his best for you, and for me,’ Cywen blurted. ‘You’d be dead if he’d done aught else.’

  ‘Hush, lass,’ said Marrock, raising a hand. He winced as he sat back down, facing them both.

  Defending me still, even though she thinks me wrong, thought Corban, glancing gratefully at his sister.

  A heavy silence fell on them as they sat there, Marrock looking at them, Cywen frowning in return, Corban’s eyes flitting between them both.

  ‘I am in your debt,’ Marrock said, intense blue eyes boring into Corban. ‘You saved my life.’

  Surprise. An instant relief of pressure somewhere between his shoulder blades and the base of his skull. He does not blame me. Then worry descended again. Who else knows? Corban tore his eyes away from the huntsman, looking at the thick grass by his feet. He did not know what to do, what to say, so he stayed silent and did nothing.

  ‘How did you come to be there? At the pool?’ Marrock asked.

  Corban shrugged, eyes darting to Cywen. They had argued about this as well. Cywen had thought they should go straight to Brenin, tell all, including the whereabouts of the secret door and tunnels beneath the fortress. Corban had thought otherwise.

  He could not even explain why he felt so strongly about keeping the tunnels secret; he only knew that he did, and swore he would only ever know Cywen as ‘oathbreaker’ if she told.

  ‘Happenstance,’ he muttered.

  Marrock exhaled, leaning back, looking between Corban and his sister. ‘Happenstance? Well, Elyon must have some great task saved for me, to bring you along at such an opportune moment.’

  Corban shrugged again. He took a deep breath. Best to know, one way or the other. ‘Have you told anyone. Of our involvement?’

  ‘Aye, lad. I have.’

  Corban tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. Suddenly his throat seemed to constrict, tightening, his pulse ringing in his ears. Well, so be it, he thought, trying to remember Gar’s counsel, breathing slow and deep through his nose.

  ‘But only the King and my uncle know,’ Marrock continued. ‘In fact, Brenin had us swear that no one else should hear of your involvement.’

  Silence, broken only by the small sounds of the garden, wind sighing through the branches of the apple trees.

  Relief swept through him.

  ‘You were courageous – both of you,’ the huntsman said. ‘Far beyond many warriors I have seen. I would have your names lauded from the highest towers, but Brenin is of a different mind. He believes if word spread of your involvement it could be misunderstood. Brenin would not have your bravery rewarded with scorn, or worse. So.’ He smiled, his scar creasing. ‘It shall remain our secret. Have you told anyone?’

  ‘No,’ Corban and Cywen answered together.

  ‘Good. Then let it remain so.’

  ‘Did you escape?’ asked Cywen.

  ‘Escape? Nay, lass. Much as it pains me to say it, Braith kept his word. He let me go, at dawn, just as he said he would.’ Marrock lifted a hand, ran it through his hair. ‘Did you see Braith’s scar? Running from here to here.’ He placed a finger beside his left eye, tracing it slowly down to his jaw line.

  ‘I did,’ said Corban.

  ‘My father, Rhagor, gave him that scar, so Braith told me. He spoke of my da.’ He fell silent, closing his eyes. ‘They fought in the Darkwood. Braith said no man had ever so much as tickled him with a blade, until my da. Braith slew him that day, in the Darkwood.’ An expression of utter desolation swept Marrock’s face, quickly hidden.

  ‘Where did you learn to throw a knife like that, lass?’ he asked, blowing out a short breath, smiling again.

  ‘My mam,’ Cywen said, grinning shyly in return. ‘She taught me over there.’ She pointed at an old tree trunk back near the rosebushes. It was splintered and pitted from a thousand knife blades. ‘I don’t let many know I can do it. Most men don’t seem to like me being able to throw a knife. Makes them uncomfortable, Mam says.’

  Marrock snorted. ‘Well, I for one am glad you’ve acquired the skill.’

  Cywen smiled.

  With a big sigh, Storm flopped down at Corban’s feet, her back leg coming up to itch her ear.

  ‘How do things go, with your cub?’ Marrock asked, looking at Storm.

  ‘Well, I think,’ said Corban. ‘We’re training her as my da did Buddai.’

  ‘And how goes that?’

  ‘She’s not eaten any chickens yet,’ said Corban with a grin. ‘That day, the day of the hunt, when I stood before Alona. You spoke for me. If you had said different I don’t think she would be here now.’ He ran fingers through the cub’s thickening fur. ‘Why?’

  ‘In truth, lad, I do not know. Keeping a wolven is not the most . . . sensible . . . decision. I just had a feeling. Sometimes you know, something speaks to you.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m mighty glad I did support your case. You might not have been as inclined to speak up for me, at the pool, if I hadn’t.’

  ‘Yes he would,’ snapped Cywen, ‘Ban’s not like that.’

  Marrock held his hands up, smiling now. ‘I dare say you’re right, girl. There is certainly more to you than meets the eye, lad. You have stood before Braith, the most feared outlaw in Ardan, and had the courage to bargain with him. You have a wolven at your heel, and a warrior for a sister.’

  Cywen grinned fiercely.

  Marrock stood. ‘I must go, my wife is fretting about my health, and is most willing to tend me. Remember, I am in your debt. Both of you. You saved my life.’ He held out his hand to Cywen, gripping her forearm in the warrior’s embrace, which drew another huge grin.

  ‘Look after your cub, lad,’ he said to Corban as he gripped his arm. ‘Not all are happy about her being here. Evnis has many followers in the fortress.’

  Corban stepped out of the shade of the rowans into the Field, paused and sucked in a deep breath before he walked on, striding towards Halion. He kept his eyes fixed on his weapons-master, nevertheless felt ripples of attention begin to flow around him, heard muttered whispers and gasps.

  He had brought Storm to the Rowan Field.

  A ten-night had passed since Marrock’s reappearance and life had almost gone back to normal. Vonn had recovered enough to return to his father’s hold, so Corban was free of Brina’s chores for a while. Something had happened to him when Marrock had returned. It had been strange, almost uncomfortable, hearing Marrock talk of him that day and using words such as ‘courage’ and ‘bravery’. All that he remembered of the night by the pool was utter terror, as if his guts had turned to water. But nonetheless, he had stood up to Braith, b
argained with him even. That must count for something, even if he knew deep down he truly hadn’t acted out of any bravery.

  And now he was tired of hiding Storm away. He had told his da as they broke their fast earlier that morning that he was going to take Storm to the Field. He had expected an explosion, or at least a flat ‘No,’ but neither had happened. Instead Thannon had just looked at him, frowning from under bushy eyebrows.

  ‘As you wish,’ was all his da had said, and then returned to the pile of oatcakes before him.

  He looked down at Storm, padding beside him. She had grown already, just in the score or so of days since he had brought her out of the Baglun. She was taller, less fluffy, dark stripes marking her white fur. He knew that bringing her here would stir painful memories for some, but it was not her fault. She was his, and he was proud of her.

  ‘Get that Asroth-spawn out of the Field.’

  Corban looked up. A handful of people had drifted between him and Halion. Some younger, not sat their Long Night yet, but there were others, older warriors. He recognized Rafe’s face walking amongst them.

  Corban snatched a glance around him. Many were watching. ‘That does not belong here,’ said a faceless voice from the group growing before him. Beyond them he saw Halion begin to stride towards him.

  Corban tried to move around the small crowd, but Rafe stepped forward, blocking his path.

  ‘Get out of my way,’ Corban muttered.

  ‘You heard, blacksmith’s boy,’ said Rafe. ‘Take that thing out of here. You’re fortunate Vonn is not returned to the Field yet.’

  Deep breath, Corban told himself, feeling the familiar churning begin in his gut. He breathed out slowly.

  ‘No,’ he heard himself say, pleased that his voice did not tremble. He pushed forwards.

  Rafe bunched a fist and swung, but Corban had been waiting for it. He ducked, stepped onto one of Rafe’s booted feet and pushed him hard, both hands, in the chest. Instinctively Rafe tried to right his balance, but his pinned foot betrayed him and he tumbled to the ground.