Malice (Faithful & the Fallen 1)

by John Gwynne

  ‘Bind them,’ Morcant said.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  CAMLIN

  ‘We’ll camp here,’ Braith called, standing before a patch of open ground.

  They had walked hard until sunset, Camlin behind the three women as they travelled through the forest. Their prisoners had made no trouble and kept mostly silent, walking with heads down, apart from the one Scar had clubbed. She had stared at Scar’s back most of the time, her fury almost tangible.

  Braith ordered the women to sit against a wide chestnut, where they were tied to the trunk and each other. Camlin looked around at the men making camp and failed to shake his dark mood. Out of the score of the old crew that had followed Braith out of the hills only eight remained, including him. The new lads had not fared much better, as only twelve of them moved around the fire and stream. Eight of their number lay dead in the grass back at the glade. He sat in the shadows beyond the fire’s reach, his back to a tree, and began running a whetstone over his sword’s edge. He had a bad feeling about this, a niggling sensation in his gut and a sense of dread to match. Braith had told them this was a ransom job. Kill the guards, grab the girls, wear the red cloaks of Narvon to throw anyone off their trail, then bleed a large pot of coin from King Brenin. That sounded good: plenty of coin poured onto a stiff dose of revenge. But things didn’t feel right.

  Braith had not given a straight answer on who the new lads were or where they came from, and as time had passed Braith had been dipping his head more and more to Scar, as if he were the crew’s chief. And now, plain as day, Scar had known the big man, called him Tull. More than that, had some grudge with him. Then Queen Rhin had been mentioned. He had no axe to grind with her – Brenin and Owain were his problem – but taking orders from any king or queen sat ill with him.

  He was starting to feel used, and he didn’t like that one little bit.

  And then there was the bairn. The one with the knives from Dun Carreg. She was tied to a tree, glaring holes into Scar.

  He’d not be killing women or bairns – and Braith knew that.

  Later, when he saw Braith slip into the trees, Camlin followed silently.

  Camlin changed his approach now, holding his hands up. He didn’t want an arrow in his chest.

  Braith nodded a greeting but said nothing, and for a while they stood there in silence. Eventually Camlin spoke. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked. ‘I heard what the big man said, Braith, back in the glade. He knew Scar, and, that talk, about Rhin . . .’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Who is Scar? And why do you treat him like he’s chief? You, who’s not taken sauce from any man in all the years I’ve known you?’

  Braith looked at him, his face expressionless.

  ‘We’ve followed you a long time, Braith. I’ve followed you a long time. Think you owe me some truth here.’

  ‘Aye, maybe so,’ Braith conceded.‘Scar is Rhin’s first-sword. His name’s Morcant.’

  Camlin folded his arms, waiting for the rest.

  ‘You asked me back at the village what my story is, Cam.’

  ‘Aye. I remember.’

  ‘I am Rhin’s man. I always have been. Well, as long as I can remember. King Owain killed my kin, my mam and da, over a border dispute. It was Rhin’s people, in the village I took you to, that raised me. Rhin sent me here, with the task of becoming one of you.’

  Camlin had wondered many things, but never this. ‘Why?’ he said, shocked now.

  ‘To stir things up between Brenin and Owain. She wants their land, Cam, and she’ll have it, too. Soon.’

  ‘So this,’ Camlin said, waving a hand back at the campsite. ‘This is about more’n just coin and vengeance?’

  ‘Aye. We’re starting a war here. Soon enough Ardan and Narvon will be at each other’s throats, and Queen Rhin will step in at the end of it, clean up the mess.’

  After all these years of robbery, burning and murder Camlin felt he should have expected this, or at least not been surprised, but instead he felt foolish. And betrayed. Somehow he’d trusted Braith.

  Somewhere in the forest a fox barked, like a bairn’s scream.

  ‘You could do all right out of this, Cam. You could join me. I’ll be going back, soon. Back to Rhin. You’ve a good head on your shoulders, and at a time like this there’s always need of those that can do our work.’ He waited for Camlin’s response.

  ‘And if I don’t . . .’ Camlin said.

  ‘Become chief here. For a while, at least. There should be easy pickings for a time, with both kings Brenin and Owain distracted. ’Course, once Rhin steps in, you’ll have to find a new trade. She’ll not have the likes of you roaming her land, takin’ what you want, when you want.’ He coughed, not quite a laugh. ‘Times are changing, Cam. You move with them, or get moved by them. We’ve been through a lot together, you an’ me. I’d be proud t’have you with me.’ He reached out and squeezed Camlin’s shoulder.

  ‘Huh,’ said Camlin, his mind racing, fighting the urge to shake Braith’s hand off him. He didn’t like this. The Darkwood life suited him. He had always had a chief, sure, but that was different to a king or queen pulling your strings. So that left staying in the Darkwood, becoming chief himself. He didn’t fancy that much, either – and it wasn’t exactly a long-term move, anyway, if what Braith was saying about Rhin was true. ‘So, what’s your plan, now, Braith?’ he asked, struggling to keep his voice expressionless.

  ‘The plan is to take the women across the river, to the village in the hills. From there deliver them to Rhin. Get paid.’ He shrugged. ‘After that, it’s up to you.’

  ‘So, why have you just not killed them? The women, I mean. Surely King Brenin’s wife and daughter dead in the glade would have been the quickest route to sparking a war.’

  ‘Rhin wants some leverage, some bargaining power, in case things don’t go her way. Whether they’re dead or not, Brenin’ll think Owain’s behind it, the red cloaks will make sure of that.’

  ‘Good,’ said Camlin vehemently. ‘I’ll not be part to the killing of women or bairns, Braith. I told you that back at Dun Carreg.’

  ‘Aye, you did.’

  ‘So, I’d not see any harm come to them.’

  ‘Let me make this clear to you, Cam,’ Braith said, an edge to his voice. ‘We’re part of something bigger here. Rhin’s champion – I’m not scared to hold up a blade ’gainst any man, but I’d not rush it with him. I’ve seen him destroy men.’ Braith stopped a moment, letting his words sink in. ‘From what I know, there’s no risk to any of them women, less they try t’run, or start screamin’ their lungs out. But my point is this, Cam. Right now you’re in no position to be giving out orders to anyone. Not yet. If you choose t’be chief, well an’ good. But right now, it’s Morcant that says what’s what around here, and after him, it’s me. Don’t go forgetting that.’

  Camlin frowned in the darkness.

  They said no more, and a short while later Camlin walked back to the camp. On the way he unclasped his red cloak and let it fall to the ground.

  At dawn, Camlin stirred, grey light filtering hazily down to the forest floor. Mist swirled up from the stream in thick coils and crept amongst the forms of sleeping men.

  He looked past the fire to the tree where the women were bound and saw the girl from the watering pool staring straight back at him, so he walked over to the captives.

  ‘I know you,’ the girl said as he drew close. He did not answer, just offered his water skin.

  ‘My hands,’ she said, raising an eyebrow.

  Of course. All of the captives’ hands were bound tight, then bound again to each other and the trunk of the tree. He put the water skin to her lips. She pursed them a moment, eyes glaring at him. Looking closer he saw tear tracks streaked her grimy, bloodstained face.

  ‘Drink, girl. You’ll spite none but yourself.’

  She glowered at him another moment, then opened her mouth and drank thirstily.

  ‘I know you,’ she said again when she had finished. �
�You’re not one of Owain or Uthan’s men.’

  ‘Best keep your observations to yourself,’ he said, moving on to the next girl, awake now too.

  He gave water to all of them, finishing before the eldest. Alona, Queen of Ardan.

  ‘My thanks,’ she said after sipping at the water.

  He grunted, stayed squatting beside her.

  ‘You must know, you will not get away with this,’ she said quietly.‘My husband, his anger will be great. But he would be grateful, generous to any that aided me . . . us,’ she said, her eyes flickering across the girls either side of her.

  ‘There’s nothing I can do, other’n give a lady a drink of water,’ he said.

  ‘And for that kindness I thank you,’ she smiled sadly.

  ‘You,’ a voice called out behind Camlin. ‘Step away.’

  Camlin stood and saw Morcant striding towards him, two of his lads behind with spears in their hands. Braith followed.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Morcant snapped as he reached them.

  ‘Giving them a drink,’ Camlin said, holding up the water skin.

  ‘Why?’ Morcant asked, eyes narrowing.

  ‘Thought they might be thirsty.’ Camlin shrugged. ‘We’ve far to walk today.’

  The rest of the crew were rising now. Camlin saw Cromhan wander closer, listening, Gochel setting off down the track to relieve whoever was on guard.

  ‘Well, you’ve done your deed, now. Get on with you.’

  Camlin looked at Morcant and felt a spike of anger. ‘Last I remember,’ he said, ‘Braith was my chief.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Think I’ll be takin’ my orders from him.’ After Braith’s revelations, and the fresh sting of his betrayal, this youngster strutting about and acting the lordling was becoming difficult to bear.

  Morcant’s hand twitched to his sword hilt.

  ‘Go on with you, Cam,’ said Braith, stepping close. They looked at each other, then Camlin nodded and walked away.

  Morcant squatted before the women, staring at each in turn. ‘We have a long walk ahead of us,’ he said. ‘Make no trouble and you shall have no cause to fear. Any mischief . . .’

  So he’s about threatening women and bairns, now, thought Camlin. He turned back to stand with Braith, arms folded. He knew he was being unwise: if Braith was wary of Morcant, any man should be, but he just didn’t trust him. Unbidden the memory of his mam and Col came to mind, lying lifeless beside each other in their old yard. He looked around, trying to shift the thought and frowned. Gochel should be back by now.

  ‘Rhin will never get away with this,’ Alona said.

  ‘She already has,’ Morcant smirked. ‘Now behave yourself, my Queen, none of your high and mighty talk, if you please. Remember you’re my prisoner and you shall reach Cambren safely. You and your brat.’ He smiled at Edana.

  ‘Brave man, aren’t you?’ Cywen said. ‘Taunting women. Bound women.’

  Morcant looked down at Cywen. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Untie me, then I do not think you would be so brave,’ Cywen said furiously. Some of the men around the camp chuckled.

  ‘I said, who are you? Whose blood?’

  ‘My da is a smith at Dun Carreg. And he will kill you when he finds you.’

  ‘Ah, now there lies his problem,’ Morcant said, smiling again. ‘I doubt that he shall ever find me. And you are of no use to me. In fact, you are a burden, an extra mouth to feed, another person to guard. And, on top of that, I find you irritating.’ He looked at one of the warriors with him. ‘Kill her,’ he said.

  There was a blur of movement as the man levelled his spear, then Camlin was suddenly moving too, drawing his sword. He chopped at the spear shaft, splintering it, and stepped in front of the girl.

  ‘Leave her be,’ he heard himself say.

  Morcant smiled and drew his own sword.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  CORBAN

  Branches whipped into Corban’s face, stinging and leaving red lines across his cheek. He cursed under his breath and rubbed sweat out of his eyes.

  He was ploughing desperately through the forest, Marrock beside him, Storm a dozen paces ahead with her muzzle low to the ground.

  Corban was not sure how long they had been going – the trees blocked the sun – but the muscles in his legs were burning, his back was slick with sweat and his throat was dry. He sent a prayer to Elyon that they would find their quarry soon, but fear came on its heels. What would happen then? Battle? He gritted his teeth. Cywen is out there. Fear will not rule me.

  Marrock glanced at him and smiled reassuringly. ‘You’re doing well, lad,’ he muttered.

  ‘Huh,’ said Corban.

  ‘How is it that your wolven is here?’ Marrock asked.

  ‘She followed us, me, from Dun Carreg,’ Corban panted. ‘I found out.’ He wiped his face again. ‘I could not leave her alone, here in the Darkwood . . .’ he trailed off, not knowing how else to put it into words.

  Marrock nodded. ‘I thought it might happen,’ he said. ‘You’re her pack. Makes sense she’d seek you out.’

  ‘I just wanted to give her some food,’ Corban said.

  ‘She’s survived long enough without you feeding her,’ said Marrock. ‘It’s been, what, three moons now, since you left her in the Baglun?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘She’s learned to hunt well enough, then, for she’d not be here if she hadn’t eaten. Mind you,’ he added, glancing at Corban, ‘she’s had a bit of help, there.’

  ‘Help? What do you mean?’

  ‘I saw your friends, giving her meat.’

  ‘What? Who?’

  ‘Farrell was one of them. The other, from the village, I think. A small lad.’

  Dath. ‘I didn’t know,’ Corban murmured.

  ‘You have good friends about you,’ Marrock said. ‘Loyal.’

  Corban looked back over his shoulder, at Gar, who brought up the rear of their column. ‘I know it.’

  ‘You can tell much about a man by the company he keeps, by his friends, and his enemies,’ Marrock said.

  Storm suddenly slowed ahead of them and crouched lower to the ground, ears flattening to her skull, tail flicking.

  Marrock held a hand up and the column slowed. ‘Stay back, lad,’ he whispered. ‘If there is battle, find Gar.’

  Corban nodded but kept moving forwards, wanting to reach Storm. He felt a rumbling growl beginning to grow inside her as he laid a hand on her back.

  Warriors moved past on either side of him, a sudden tension upon them all, then Gar was there, a reassuring presence at his shoulder.

  Marrock was about a dozen paces ahead, hand on his sword hilt, eyes scanning the forest. He froze a moment, then ran forwards. The others gathered round him, Corban and Gar last of all.

  The ground was trampled here, several bodies lying in the undergrowth, two in red cloaks, one in grey. Marrock knelt beside another, solitary grey-cloaked body, a gash across his throat.

  Corban stared and felt his stomach lurch.

  It was Ronan.

  The warriors began searching the surrounding area. Nearby Conall bent, picked something up and showed a knife to Marrock.

  ‘That’s Cywen’s,’ Corban said.

  ‘Are you sure, lad?’ Halion asked him.

  ‘It’s hers, all right, one of her throwing knives.’

  ‘Search the area,’ Marrock ordered.

  While the dozen men spread out, Corban knelt next to Ronan’s body, remembered him laughing with them all, teasing Cywen, always guarding Edana. Tears blurred his vision. He saw Ronan’s sword on the ground and picked it up, placed the hilt in the young warrior’s hand and closed the stiffening fingers about it.

  Gar’s hand rested on Corban’s shoulder. Corban rubbed his eyes and stood.

  ‘They still live,’ Marrock said as the warriors gathered about him. ‘Of that I am certain. Though they were captured here, I think. The trail turns away from their previous course and heads east. We must press on.’ He looked at Corb
an, who whispered to Storm, the wolven setting off again, nose to the ground.

  They travelled fast, Storm setting a quick pace, a growing tension rising amongst them, knowing they were close.

  Nevertheless, after what seemed an age to Corban, the forest began to grow dark and they had seen no further sign of their quarry. Marrock called a halt, Corban reaching for his water skin.

  ‘It will be dark soon,’ Marrock said to his gathered warriors. ‘Those we follow will make camp and settle for the night, but we have a choice, gifted us by this wolven’s nose. We either do as they do, make camp and continue at sun up, or we follow the wolven’s nose through the night. I am for marching on,’ he said, ‘as long as we can move quietly, to close the gap between us and them.’

  Heads nodded around him and he smiled grimly, his scar twisting his mouth.

  ‘Good, then. Corban, lead us on.’

  With that they set off into the deepening twilight, slower now, Storm loping ahead.

  Corban stumbled, not for the first time, his boot catching in the vines that coated the ground. Marrock reached out and steadied him.

  They had been walking a long time in darkness now, and Storm was a white streak about ten paces up ahead. Suddenly Storm stopped, Corban almost bumping into her before he realized. The line of warriors behind him rippled to a halt.

  ‘What is it?’ Marrock whispered.

  Storm stood completely still, half-crouched, ears forward, looking fixedly into the darkness. Her lips twitched into a silent snarl, hackles standing as a crest between her shoulders.

  ‘I think someone is there,’ Corban said quietly. ‘Up ahead.’

  Marrock crept down the line, returning soon with Conall and Halion behind him. Without a word the two men slipped into the undergrowth to either side of the wolven and disappeared into the darkness.

  Corban crouched beside Storm and strained to hear something, but for what seemed like the longest time all he heard was the beating of his own heart, the rustle of leaves and branches high above and the slow breathing of Marrock behind him. Then he did hear something else, or thought he did. A thud. He strained again, but there was no more.