by John Gwynne
He sighed.
‘Do you feel safe here?’ he asked Brina.
‘Safe? Of course. Well, as safe as anywhere else, at least.’ She glanced at him with one narrowed eye. ‘Pendathran, though a clumsy, tactless oaf, has his uses. He is King Brenin’s faithful hound, and when set on a task, particularly one that involves stabbing people, he proves himself remarkably efficient.’ She looked around at the forest. ‘This place is safe, or at least Pendathran judges it so, or he would not allow Brenin to ride through it.’
‘Safe, safe, safe, safe,’ muttered Craf, perched on the pommel of Brina’s saddle.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Corban said.
‘Oh dear,’ Brina sighed.
‘About what you said before,’ he lowered his voice, looked around. ‘About greed. About Evnis and his brother, about their scheming . . .’
‘And?’
‘Could we not do something about it?’
Brina snorted. ‘There is no point. Even if we did, and somehow managed to stop them, a score more like them would just spring up elsewhere. No,’ she sighed, ‘they are just a sad, depressing sign of the times, of our steady slip towards . . .’
‘No,’ Corban said. ‘Truth and courage, my da taught me. Live by truth and courage and Elyon will see you through.’
‘Really?’ Brina said. ‘I would have agreed with you once, boy, but I have seen too much courage go unrewarded, truth earn nothing but hatred and deceit. Oh, to be young again . . .’
Craf cawed and flapped his wings. ‘Truth and courage,’ he squawked. Brina scowled at him.
‘So you will do nothing, then?’
‘What do you suggest?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I don’t know,’ she echoed, rolling her eyes. ‘The sanctuary of youth. Let me tell you,’ she waggled a finger at him, ‘ignorance is not a desirable quality.’
‘Do nothing do nothing do nothing,’ Craf muttered, heaving his wings and lurching into the air, spiralling above them.
‘See, Craf agrees with me,’ Brina said, though she glared after the crow.
‘I-I . . .’ Corban stuttered. ‘Better to try and fail, than not to try at all.’
There was a squelching sound and something splattered onto Corban’s shoulder. He looked at the creamy-white slime, puzzled, eyes widening as he realized exactly what Craf had just done to him.
Brina barked a laugh. ‘You see – that is what Craf thinks of your truth and courage.’
‘I hate that crow,’ he muttered.
‘He’s not all bad,’ Brina said. ‘There are some advantages, still, from acquaintance with an animal that has the gift.’ She leaned closer and spoke quietly. ‘Craf tells me things. Mostly about the weather, or snails, or frogs,’ she shivered, pulling a sour face, ‘but sometimes I hear something a little more interesting. For example, today he has told me that he has seen something.’ She looked at him pointedly, then stared ahead. ‘He has told me of a wolven that tracks us, just out of sight. A white wolven with dark stripes on its body.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CORBAN
‘How long?’ Corban asked. ‘Before we reach Uthandun?’
‘We should see its walls before sunset.’
‘Oh.’
Corban felt a pang of worry at the thought of their journey coming to an end. When Brina had told him of Storm following them he had felt both worried and excited. The worry had faded as they travelled through the forest with no sign or sound of Storm. Corban found it comforting knowing that she was close, whilst becoming more confident that she would keep her distance, not give her whereabouts away. What she would do when they reached their destination, though, was another matter entirely. He was starting to feel an anxiousness settle upon him again.
The long column crossed a bridge, Uthandun on a hill before them. Corban began to twist and turn in his saddle, constantly looking back at the forest.
‘For goodness sake,’ Brina hissed, ‘try and be more discreet. Else you’ll have Brenin’s entire host looking over their shoulders.’
Corban grimaced and tried to sit straight.
‘Craf,’ Brina said. She leaned close to the bird and whispered something. With a croak and a noisy flapping the crow took off and swung back along their path, towards the trees of the Darkwood.
‘There you are,’ Brina said. ‘Now stop fretting.’
‘Thank you,’ Corban said quietly.
Brina snorted.
Uthandun was a sparse, precise town, everything laid out in its place, high wooden walls neatly enclosing every building, every space, including its acres of paddocks.
Beyond the northern edge of the fortress, the hill it was built upon dipped gently towards a flat-bottomed dell, and it was in this dell that King Brenin and his company had to camp, as the walls did not have the room for them all. Brenin refused to leave his people and chose the dell over a chamber.
That night Corban sat with his family around a campfire – Gar and Brina as well. Craf fluttered around her, feeding noisily on strips of mutton she occasionally threw him. Unlike Dath, whose da had kept him at home, Farrell was there too. He had come to see Corban, the day after Storm had mauled Rafe. He found Corban in his garden, just sitting, lacking the will to do anything other.
‘I . . . wanted to speak to you,’ the lumbering blacksmith’s apprentice had said. Corban just looked up at him, at his bruised face, his cuts cleaned and bandaged.
‘Aye. Well?’ Corban had said.
‘I wanted to thank you,’ he said. ‘For what you did.’
Corban shrugged.
‘It would have turned out bad. If you had not helped.’
Corban had not known what to say, so Farrell had just stood there a few moments, then turned and walked away.
Since then, though, he had seen quite a lot of Farrell – not so much to speak to, but just, around, hovering.
A figure loomed out of the darkness, wrapped tight in one of their company’s grey cloaks.
‘May I join you?’ Heb the loremaster said, looking between Gwenith and Brina.
‘Of course,’ said Gwenith. ‘Make space, everyone.’
‘Pfah,’ snorted Brina, but shuffled over to make more room at the fireside. ‘Why are we so honoured?’ she said. ‘To choose our fireside over Brenin’s?’
Heb scowled at her. ‘As abrasive as your company may be, my dear lady,’ he said, smiling falsely, ‘it is more preferable by far to those seeking to ingratiate themselves with Brenin.’
‘Oh?’ prompted Brina. ‘Uthan not to your liking?’
‘I am not speaking of Uthan,’ Heb grumbled. ‘Oh, he is quite dull, but the poor boy can’t help that, with a father like Owain. No, it is Gethin’s crowing and Evnis’ fawning that I object to. He thinks us all halfwits, blind to his clumsy attempts at manoeuvring Vonn as a candidate for Edana. Not that I even care much about that. Brenin can marry her off to whomever he wishes, though I am certain it will not be to any son of Evnis. I just resent being treated as a fool.’
‘Perhaps you’ve come to the wrong fireside, then,’ Brina said, causing a ripple of laughter.
‘Being called a fool and being treated as a fool are two entirely different things, my dear,’ Heb replied, smiling faintly. ‘At least the conversation here may keep me awake.’
Corban grinned now. Brina and Heb were almost a match, he thought, in terms of wits and sharp tongues. It would be an entertaining evening.
Thannon leaned close to Corban and patted his son’s knee with a big, calloused hand. ‘Not long till your nameday, Ban,’ he said quietly. Corban shivered with excitement.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Thannon said. ‘Once we get back, we should start work on your sword.’
Corban grinned. ‘That would be fine,’ he said. Finally, a real sword, hard iron instead of a wooden stick. ‘Mighty fine.’
Thannon smiled back at him.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CYWEN
Cywen didn’t like
the stables at Uthandun: they felt too new. She was riding out today with Princess Edana and her parents. Most of their horses were stabled in meadows outside the fortress, but the royal mounts were kept within Uthandun’s walls. She frowned to herself and shivered unaccountably. Something here didn’t feel right. She wanted to go home.
Don’t be such a bairn. She led her saddled horse out into the yard where Edana were already mounted.
And anyway, she had no reason to feel this way. Quite the opposite. Ronan had asked her to walk with him last night. He made her laugh and blush in equal measure. He had spoken of them as a couple, of asking her da for permission to court her. She felt a fluttering in her stomach, just at the thought of it, could still taste his lips. She shook her head and looked around shyly, as if people could guess her thoughts, just by looking at her. But no one was paying her any attention. Except Ronan, of course. They shared a smile.
They were going for a ride in the Darkwood today, King Brenin having said to King Owain that he would like to see something of the forest. Owain had immediately put a guide at their disposal.
Queen Alona was also coming with her husband, which meant Tull and a score more stern-faced warriors. She mounted quietly.
There was a clatter of hooves and Vonn rode into the yard. He dipped his head to Alona.
‘King Brenin sends his apologies,’ he said stiffly, ‘but he and my father are unable to ride out today. They have been unavoidably detained.’
‘Oh,’ said Alona, then frowned. ‘This place is so dull,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Well, as we are all here ready, we might as well go without them – wouldn’t you say, Tull?’
‘Whatever you wish, my lady.’
‘Will you join us, Vonn?’ she asked.
‘I am afraid not,’ the young man said. ‘My father bid me return to him as soon as I have passed on this message.’
‘Then I’d best not keep you,’ Alona said.
‘My lady.’ He dipped his head and turned his horse.
‘Why the long face, Vonn?’ Edana asked as he passed them.
‘Huh? Nothing.’ He shrugged. ‘Father . . .’ he muttered, then shook his head. ‘Nothing. Or nothing you would understand, anyway.’
Edana frowned.
Cywen scowled at Vonn, suddenly remembering that day in the paddock, when he had confronted Ban, when Shield had killed the hound. ‘Perhaps you have broken his heart, Edana,’ she said, ‘now that he knows the two of you will never be handbound.’ It was common knowledge that Evnis had been manoeuvring Vonn as a potential husband for Princess Edana. According to Edana, last night her father had made it clear to Evnis that this would never happen.
Vonn smiled humourlessly at her and leaned over in his saddle. ‘Would you hear a secret?’ he said quietly, not waiting for a reply. ‘I am glad that we will not be bound. Glad. I love another.’
‘Who?’ the two girls said together.
Vonn grinned, suddenly looking handsome, and touched a finger to his nose. He kicked his horse on and left the yard.
Soon all were gathered for the ride, a score of grey-cloaked warriors about them. Tull headed the column, towering over Alona and the red-cloaked guide, a huntsman of Uthandun. Then they were on their way, through the hard-packed streets of Uthandun, out onto the green hill, and suddenly Cywen felt her spirits lift. She saw Corban standing by the bridge that spanned the river. There was only time to smile at him, then they had passed him by, cantering over the bridge and turning west along the river’s bank before their guide veered under the trees of the Darkwood.
‘Who do you think it is?’ Edana said to Cywen as they trotted down a dappled path, the sun making shifting patterns on the ground as branches above swayed in the breeze.
‘Who what is?’ said Cywen.
‘Vonn’s mystery girl.’
‘I did not think him the type to fall in love. He always seemed too arrogant.’
‘There are always females hovering around him, though,’ Edana said.
‘Like flies,’ muttered Cywen.
‘Maybe he smells bad,’ Edana said.
Cywen laughed.
‘But I’ve never seen him look interested in any other women,’ Edana continued.
‘Thought he only had eyes for you?’ Cywen said. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Edana said sharply. ‘I just hate not knowing. We shall have to watch him a little closer, when we go home.’
‘Watch who?’ Ronan said as he cantered closer.
‘Vonn.’
‘Vonn. What for?’
‘Because he has a secret,’ Edana said mysteriously.
‘Cywen,’ Queen Alona called from the head of the column. ‘Come. Ride with me.’
Cywen kicked her horse forward, Edana raising her eyebrows.
‘I saw your brother, at the bridge,’ Alona said.
‘I did too.’
‘How . . . how is he? Since that business with his wolven?’
‘Well, sad, of course,’ she said, not knowing how honest she should be. ‘I hear him crying at night, in his chamber.’ She shrugged. ‘They had a bond.’
‘It was a shame,’ Alona said. ‘But there was no other choice. After what that wolven did.’
‘They deserved it,’ Cywen snapped. ‘Rafe drew his sword. I think they would have murdered Corban and Farrell, even Bethan – Storm saved them, did no different to what my da’s hound would have done, yet she’s punished, not Rafe or Crain. Ban went to help someone, and then he’s punished. It’s not fair,’ she said, then blushed and closed her mouth. They were all thoughts she’d had countless times, but she had never intended to voice them to the Queen of Ardan.
Tull grunted beside them, something like approval in his eyes. Queen Alona frowned at him.
‘And if it had been Corban that had had his arm mauled, or Farrell?’ she said. ‘Your judgement is subjective, Cywen. No, it was the only option. The wolven should have been destroyed.’ Alona shrugged. ‘Other than that, has Corban been different, in any other way?’
‘No . . .’ said Cywen. In truth Corban was changing in all kinds of ways. Ever since that man had left – Meical – he had seemed quieter, withdrawn. She had wanted to talk to him about that and tell him what she had overheard, but every time she tried, something stopped her, whether it be circumstance or just a feeling. And at other times he seemed like the old Ban, only more confident, more sure of himself – at least when he was teaching her and Dath their weapons. Without even realizing it, Corban had become their leader, the glue that held them all together.
‘Not really,’ she amended. ‘He misses Storm.’ She shrugged. ‘And he sits his Long Night soon, takes his warrior trial. He is just growing, I suppose.’
Alona nodded slowly, thoughtfully. ‘Tull, how does Corban fare in the Rowan Field?’
‘Corban? He has done well, my lady. Very well. He could be a master with a blade, though . . .’ he frowned, said no more.
‘Though what?’ Alona prompted.
‘Nothing, really,’ the warrior said. ‘His style, that is all. It is different. Maybe because Halion is his master.’ The big man shrugged. ‘With a spear he is adequate: not the best, but not the worst. With a bow, well, let’s just say that is not for him.’
‘Thank you,’ Alona said.
Tull was silent a moment, then spoke again. ‘He has grit . . . courage. The deep kind. I’ve not seen it so clear in one so young before.’ He nodded to himself and said no more.
They rode in silence a while, the thud of hooves, the creak and jingle of harness filling the forest.
‘There is a glade ahead, my lady,’ their guide said. ‘A good place to rest the horses and stop for a drink.’
They spilt into the glade, the sunlight suddenly dazzling. Cywen was still at the head of their column, with Alona, Tull and their guide trotting into the centre of the clearing. The rest of them, Edana, Ronan, the other warriors, spread to either side of the Queen, some dismounting.
Cywen looked u
p, blinking, and shielded her eyes from the sun’s glare. Birdsong filled the glade, bees buzzing lazily around clumps of snowdrop and red campion.
Then the first arrow struck.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CORBAN
Corban stood by the bridge, staring across the river at the Darkwood.
He missed Storm.
Two nights had passed at Uthandun and not knowing was finally becoming too much for him. Last night he had asked Brina if Craf had news of Storm. She had said only that the wolven was still here, prowling the fringes of the forest.
The drumming of hooves pulled his attention away from the forest, back up towards Uthandun. A group of riders were trotting down the hill, all in the grey cloaks of Ardan, apart from one red-cloaked figure at the front.
Queen Alona rode beside the red-cloak, a huntsman by the look of him, a bow and quiver strapped to his saddle. Tull towered beside them, a huge shield slung across his back. Behind them Corban saw Edana riding beside Cywen.
A score or so warriors of Ardan followed, Ronan first amongst them.
Alona’s eyes hovered on Corban as they crossed the bridge. He smiled at his sister. Ronan nodded to him and then they were riding past, people crossing the bridge standing to one side to give the riders passage. Once on the far side they branched off the giantsway, then the red-cloaked rider took them into the forest.
Taking a deep breath, Corban shouldered a small sack and strode purposefully across the bridge towards the forest, not looking back. But soon something made him turn, and he paused to look back at the bridge, one figure catching his eye. He stayed where he was, the figure getting closer, walking with a distinctive limp.
‘Why’re you following me?’ Corban said as Gar drew near.
The stablemaster blinked, cheeks reddening. ‘What are you doing, wandering off into the Darkwood?’ he said.
‘I don’t need following. I’m not a bairn,’ Corban snapped.
