by John Gwynne
‘Welcome, Nathair ben Aquilus,’ the old man said, bowing low.
Veradis scanned the old man for weapons, but could see none. There was a strength, a sense of energy about him, his bare arms wiry with lean muscle. His face was deeply lined, a hint of good humour dancing in his eyes, which looked strange. Were they tinged with yellow?
‘King Lykos?’ Nathair said, stopping half a dozen paces before the man, Veradis, Rauca and Orcus spreading either side of him, a pace behind.
‘Me? Lykos?’ the man said, still smiling. ‘Sadly, no. I wish it were true, I envy his youth and vigour. I am but a servant of Lykos. He bid me apologize for his absence.’
‘Where is he?’ Nathair asked, eyes flitting amongst the boulders.
‘He has been unavoidably detained,’ the old man replied. ‘So he sent me, instead.’
‘And you are?’
‘I am the counsellor of the Vin Thalun, adviser to Lykos, King of the Three Islands and the Tethys Sea,’ the old man said, bowing again. Orcus snorted.
Veradis noted that the man had not actually given his name.
‘And the baron that you are to meet?’ Nathair said.
‘Ah, yes.’ The old man tugged at his short beard. ‘You must understand, Lykos and I were very eager to meet you. The rendezvous with a baron was an . . . elaboration. It seemed the best way to ensure your presence.’
‘What? But, how did you know I would come?’
The counsellor smiled. ‘Well, it is common knowledge that Peritus your father’s first-sword is leading a campaign against the giants, dragging the bulk of Jerolin’s warband around the Agullas Mountains, so that rules him out. Then, as suspicion has been cast on one of your father’s other barons, Aquilus would be most unlikely – in fact, foolish – to send one of them on this task. Who else was left that your father could trust? And it is no secret that you are, uh, overdue, in leading a campaign.’
Nathair scowled, flushing red. ‘So all of this,’ he said, waving a hand around the dell, ‘it was just a ruse?’
‘Aye, although that would not be my word of choice. As I said, I was very eager to meet you.’
‘Why?’
‘Now that is a very good question. Right to the heart of the matter,’ the old man said. ‘A question that requires a detailed answer. Perhaps you would care to step into my tent? There are chairs, wine, fruit. A more fitting environment for a long conversation.’
Nathair frowned, eyes narrowing.
‘Not quite ready for that yet,’ the counsellor shrugged. ‘I can detect a distinct lack of trust in you, Prince.’
‘Understandable, I think, under the circumstances,’ Nathair said.
‘Indeed, indeed. Well, for now perhaps the short version, then. Lykos wishes there to be an understanding between us.’
‘Us?’ Orcus snapped.
‘The mainland of Tenebral and the Islands. A truce, an alliance, even.’
‘Pfah,’ spat Orcus, but Nathair just stared at Lykos’ counsellor.
‘Father would never agree. He hates the Vin Thalun islanders.’
‘Yes, we are aware of Aquilus’ disposition,’ the counsellor said. ‘That is, in part, why I am speaking to you, Nathair. But, more than that, you are the future of Tenebral, and of any treaty between us. You.’
‘My father is king, not I.’
‘At present, true. But that will not always be so.’ The old man smiled, as if talking with an old friend. ‘The older you get, the more likely you are to become fixed in your ways, in your opinions. Sometimes fresh blood is needed to guide the way. These are exciting times, as I would think your father has discussed with you. Perhaps your opinion, your guidance, is of worth.’ He looked intently at the Prince.
Nathair snorted, but did not look away from the counsellor’s gaze. ‘Even if I were to agree that there may be some value in an alliance between us, how would I ever trust you?’ the Prince said. ‘A people that have preyed upon those weaker than themselves, that burn and steal, that, until now, have not even been able to maintain a truce amongst themselves?’
‘Back to that again,’ the counsellor frowned. ‘Trust. A most important foundation to any relationship. I could smother you with words, promises, but they are easily spoken. I do not think you would be swayed by them. The old man took a step towards his cooking fire. ‘Perhaps a more practical demonstration of trust is required here.’
‘Demonstration of what?’ Orcus said suspiciously.
‘Alcyon, join us,’ the counsellor called out, and out of the laurels strode a huge form, black braided hair and a drooping moustache framing a weathered, deep-lined face. Swirling blue tattoos coiled up massive arms and disappeared under a coat of chainmail. The hilt of a great broadsword jutted over one shoulder.
‘Giant,’ Rauca spat like a curse, and, as one, Nathair’s three companions drew their swords.
At the same time the counsellor dipped his head and muttered something. The flames of the cook-fire suddenly sprang up, higher than a man and leaped forwards, cutting a line between Nathair and his companions, leaving the Prince on the wrong side, alone with the giant and counsellor.
Orcus took a step towards the flames and staggered back as they flared in his face, the heat searing.
Veradis heard the scuffling of feet as the rest of their warband poured over the ridge behind him. On the far side of the flames he could see the blurred figures of the giant, Nathair and the counsellor. The giant had drawn his huge sword and was levelling its tip at Nathair.
Veradis sucked in a deep breath, ducked his head behind his shield and ran at the flames.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CYWEN
Where are they? thought Cywen as she ran her hand down the foreleg of a large roan colt – Gar had asked her to check over a number of horses while he was gone. She grunted as her fingers found a small lump on the underside of the horse’s hoof.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked the horse trader who owned the colt.
‘He’s lame,’ she said with a shrug, absently pushing back a strand of dark hair fallen from her pin.
‘What?’ said the trader, eyes narrowing, staring at Cywen down a long, thin nose.
‘He’s lame,’ Cywen repeated.
They were standing in a roped-off section of the meadow amongst rows of horses brought for the Spring Fair. Cywen was having the time of her life. First Gar had asked her to help him choose and haggle for the new stock that Brenin wanted bought in, and on top of that he had asked her to aid him with the King’s horses. It had been as close to a perfect day as she had ever known. That was, until she had seen Dath with a face as long as one of the horses she was tending. He had told her everything, but only after she’d threatened him with a fist in the eye. Poor Corban, she thought, swinging between worry about him and anger at Rafe. She felt a swell of rage, imagined punching Rafe’s arrogant face. No, Mam’ll skin me if I’m caught fighting again. And now Gar had been gone for so long, saying that he must go and find Corban. Now she was beginning to worry about him as well. With an effort she focused back on the horse trader in front of her.
‘Where is Gar?’ the thin-faced trader asked.
‘Not here,’ she shrugged. ‘He said he had urgent business, could be gone all day. Like I said, the horse is lame. I’m sure Gar would still be interested, but not at the price you’re asking. Come back next spring, if you’d rather barter with him.’
The trader scowled, moaned a little more but still accepted the coins that Cywen offered her, then walked away stiffly, muttering under her breath. Cywen smiled to herself and patted the roan’s neck.
‘That was well done,’ a voice said from behind, startling her. She turned to see a tall, willowy girl, long golden hair framing a pretty, serious face.
‘Thank you,’ she replied. Then she recognized her. ‘You’re . . .’
‘Edana, and you are?’ the young princess said.
‘Cywen. I help, at the stables. Thannon the smith is my da.’
‘I’ve
seen you before, mostly with Gar, around the stables. I just didn’t know your name, that’s all. You handled that trader very well.’
Cywen smiled. ‘The horse is lame, but not for long. Look.’ Cywen lifted the roan’s foreleg, resting the upturned hoof above her knee, Edana looking over her shoulder.
‘See here,’ Cywen ran a finger over a lump on the tender part of the hoof. ‘Watch.’ She pressed the tip of the knife to the lump and gently sliced the skin. ‘This has been here a while, the skin has grown thick,’ she explained. Grunting in concentration she continued to cut carefully away at the tough skin. Placing her thumb behind the lump she pressed, and, with a pop, the skin burst, yellow and green pus leaking out. The horse’s muscles twitched. Cywen murmured soothingly, still applying pressure with her thumb until the cut stopped weeping.
‘That’s disgusting,’ said Edana.
‘We’re not finished yet.’ Cywen dipped a cloth into the water trough next to her and began cleaning the wound. She pressed the knife’s tip firmly into the cut, pushing hard on the other side with her thumb.
‘There it is,’ she whispered, pulling a sliver of wood from the cut. She held a long thorn up for Edana to see. ‘He’ll be fine now.’ She grinned, slapping the horse’s neck.
‘How did you know that was there?’ said Edana.
She shrugged. ‘Gar has taught me a lot.’
‘He has indeed.’
Something caught Cywen’s attention over Edana’s shoulder, a flash of blond hair, a familiar swagger. Rafe. ‘Watch the colt for me,’ she blurted as she broke into a run, ducking under the rope that ringed the paddock. She sped through the crowds and with a loud thump threw herself into Rafe’s back. They both fell to the floor with a crash, limbs tangled.
‘How do you like it?’ she shouted, jumping clear of Rafe as he rolled over. She aimed a kick at his stomach and leaped upon him again, raining down a furious barrage of blows. They rolled on the ground, Rafe trying to protect himself, then Cywen was grabbed and hauled off.
‘Get off me!’ she screamed, squirming in the grip of Vonn and Crain, aiming a last vicious kick at the prostrate Rafe.
‘Calm down, wildcat,’ Vonn said.
She struggled a moment longer, before realizing that the two holding her were not about to let go any time soon. Rafe groaned, holding his stomach as he rolled onto his side and rose unsteadily. He was covered in grass stains and mud, his fair hair sticking out wildly in all directions. A thin trickle of blood ran from his nose.
A crowd had gathered around them, and someone laughed. Rafe’s cheeks coloured.
‘Are you mad, girl?’ he said, wiping blood from his face with the back of his hand. He glanced at the crowd. ‘You should be more careful, you’re lucky I didn’t hurt you.’
‘You’re the lucky one,’ she snapped. ‘Lucky you’ve got two bodyguards to protect you.’
‘What illness do you have,’ Rafe said, ‘that causes you to attack innocent people? From behind, like a coward.’
Cywen renewed her struggling; Rafe began to laugh. It spread round the crowd as Cywen tried more and more frantically to break the hold on her wrists, spitting and snarling at Rafe.
‘Please, stop,’ Vonn said, ‘or I’ll have to ask Rafe to fetch a bucket of water to cool you down.’
‘He’s – the – coward,’ Cywen grunted, but stopped struggling. ‘Rafe. He’s been doing his warrior training for over a year, picking on someone who hasn’t even set foot in the Rowan Field.’ She spat at Rafe. ‘Have you got round to learning the code yet? Or are you too slow-witted to understand it?’
Vonn’s face creased in a smile. ‘Got some spirit, hasn’t she?’
Rafe’s eyes narrowed. ‘Your brother needed to be taught a lesson, as do you,’ he hissed, a fist bunching as he took a step towards her.
‘Stop,’ cried a voice from within the crowd. Rafe paused, fist still balled as a slim figure stepped out of the mass. It was Edana, mouth set in a stern line, her back straight as she strode into the circle that the crowd had formed.
‘Let her go,’ she snapped, shooting a withering glance at Crain and Vonn.
‘We would not have harmed her,’ Vonn said, releasing Cywen. ‘Just didn’t want her harming Rafe.’
‘She attacked me,’ Rafe said, licking his lips. ‘She should be taught a lesson.’
‘A lesson?’ said Edana. ‘Well, maybe, but not by you, Rafe ben Helfach. I’ve heard what your father’s lessons are like, and I would not wish that on anyone. Even you.’ Rafe coloured.
‘Come on,’ Vonn said to his friends. ‘Best to make a retreat. I feel we’re outnumbered.’ He winked at Edana.
‘It’s a shame,’ Rafe called over his shoulder, ‘that Corban doesn’t have some of his sister’s courage, then maybe he wouldn’t need her to fight his battles for him.’ He pointed a finger at Cywen. ‘And you should remember that the King’s daughter may not be around to get you out of trouble next time.’ Then he strode into the crowd.
Cywen made to follow him but Edana touched her arm and she stopped.
‘Come on,’ Edana said, steering Cywen gently towards the paddocks. They walked in silence.
‘Thank you,’ said Cywen, stroking the colt. ‘Sometimes I do things before I think. Actually, a bit more than sometimes.’ She blushed at the thought of what she’d just done, and in front of Edana, daughter of the King. ‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘Are you going to tell me what that was all about?’
Edana listened intently as Cywen told of what had happened between Rafe and her brother, the sun dipping slowly towards the western horizon, turning the bay into an undulating sea of bronze. Around them the paddock gradually emptied of people, a crowd gathering towards the northern edge of the meadow as sunset approached.
‘. . . and now I’m starting to worry about Gar as well, because neither of them has returned, and look how late it is,’ Cywen finished.
Edana looked past Cywen towards the giantsway. ‘I can see two riders. Look.’
‘I think it is them,’ Cywen said.
The girls marched across the meadow, Cywen half running and Edana walking beside her, her long strides keeping pace easily. They reached the road and followed it until the point where it forked east and west. The riders were closer now, one on a horse, the other a pony.
Cywen ran forward, hugging Gar’s leg as he pulled his piebald to a halt. ‘Where have you been?’ she cried. ‘You’ve been gone so long.’
‘Best ask your brother,’ said Gar, his face its usual stony expression.
Cywen looked at Corban as he trotted up on his pony. ‘Oh, Ban,’ she said, seeing his cut and bruised face.
‘Cywen,’ he mustered a smile. Then Edana walked up behind his sister. Corban flushed a shade of red.
Gar nodded to the blonde-haired girl.
’I’ve been watching Cywen working with the horses,’ Edana said. ‘I am most impressed with her skills. She told me she has a good teacher.’
‘She learns quickly, when she stops talking long enough to listen,’ said the stablemaster.
‘Where have you been, Ban?’ Cywen asked.
‘In the Baglun.’
‘What? Why?’ gasped Cywen.
‘Never you mind. But don’t tell Mam,’ he added quickly.
‘We’ll talk about the other thing later,’ Corban whispered, glancing at Edana.
‘The other thing? Do you mean Rafe?’ Cywen followed Corban’s gaze. ‘Don’t worry about Edana, she knows all about it.’
‘Oh,’ said Corban, shoulders slumping.
‘Your sister has had words with Rafe,’ said Edana.
‘What?’ Corban said with a squeak. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I was so angry, Ban, when Dath told me what happened to you. Well, I saw him walking in the crowd, Rafe, that is, and . . .’
‘What did you do?’ said Gar sternly, a sick expression settling upon Corban.
‘Well, I don’t remember it very clearly, but I did knock him over,
and punch him a bit. And kick him.’
‘His nose was bleeding when I arrived,’ added Edana.
Gar just stared at her, so Cywen looked to her brother for support. His face was set like stone.
‘My thanks,’ said Corban eventually, coldly, sounding as if he was having trouble breathing.
Cywen just looked at him, a weightless sensation growing in her stomach.
‘The next time I have a fight to conduct, I shall call for you to fight it for me.’
‘Rafe said something like that,’ Cywen said, then closed her mouth quickly and clasped a hand over it.
Corban grimaced.
‘Ban, don’t be silly,’ Cywen said. ‘Nobody will even remember it tomorrow. And stop screwing up your face like that, it makes you look like old Eluned, and that’s not a good thing, you know.’
Corban took a deep breath.
‘Anyway, better get you cleaned up and see what we can do about your cloak before Mam sees you. She’s likely to skin you if you turn up at the handbinding like that.’
‘I know,’ he said dejectedly.
’Speaking of mothers,’ said Edana, ‘I think I’d better go, otherwise my mam will be wanting to do something terrible to me.’
The stablemaster dipped his head. ‘My lady.’
‘Gar,’ Edana said with a smile, then she turned and walked quickly back towards the crowds in the meadow.
‘What an idiot,’ said Corban, scowling.
‘No she’s not,’ snapped Cywen.
‘Not her, me.’
Cywen stopped herself from agreeing with him. I’ll remind him some other time, she thought, when he’s not quite so distraught.
‘And I’m not talking to you,’ said Corban, pointing a finger at his sister.
‘Come on, you two,’ said Gar. Suddenly he stood in his saddle, peering eastwards down the giantsway.
‘What is it,’ asked Cywen.
‘Two riders,’ Gar murmured. With a shrug he sat back and together they headed on towards the village.
‘What were you doing in the Baglun?’ Cywen asked. Corban ignored her. ‘Come on, Ban, I know it’s not nice, what happened with Rafe. Your poor face.’ She rested a hand on his leg. With a jerk of his wrist Corban steered Willow away.
