Malice

by John Gwynne

  ‘Do you doubt me? Do you doubt my men? We are more than equal to the task,’ said Nathair.

  Aquilus looked at him searchingly, then shifted his gaze to Peritus. ‘Perhaps. I will meet with your men, watch your training, of which I have heard much.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Then I will decide.’

  Nathair bowed his head. ‘As you wish.’

  ‘Peritus,’ said Aquilus, ‘you still carry the dust of your journey. Please, relax this day. Join me on the morrow. We shall view my son’s warband together.’

  ‘As you wish,’ said the battlechief and, with a nod to Nathair, left the room.

  ‘Nathair, there is another matter that I would speak of with you.’ The King frowned. ‘A messenger came this morning from our border with Carnutan. He had interesting news. There have been more raids, by the Vin Thalun.’

  Nathair said nothing.

  ‘Over the last moon the Van Thalun have caused more death and destruction than ever before.’

  ‘What of it, Father?’ Nathair said with a shrug. ‘They have kept their word to us. No raids have taken place within our borders.’

  ‘Aye, true.’ The King took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. ‘But the Vin Thalun are raiding as far west as Carnutan. That has never happened before.’ The King’s fingers tapped on the arm of his chair, the room otherwise quiet and still.

  ‘If you looked hard enough, you could almost see a pattern emerging here,’ Aquilus continued. ‘The lands raided during the last moon: only Carnutan, a realm that opposed me in the council, and Mandros of Carnutan louder than most. And what of Tarbesh? A realm that stood with me in the council, but that has oft been raided by the Vin Thalun in the past – nothing!’ Aquilus stood suddenly. ‘Tell me true, son. Have you played a part in this?’

  Father and son stared at each other.

  ‘Nay,’ said Nathair eventually, holding Aquilus’ gaze. The King sighed, looked away, the tension dissipating.

  ‘Good. That is good. But if I have thought of this, others will not be far behind. Mandros most certainly; he mistrusts all at the best of times, and it is no secret that you have championed the Vin Thalun and our treaty with them. They could be trying to sow discord here, to undermine the alliance before it truly begins.’

  ‘Surely not, Father.’

  ‘In the past I would have agreed with you, but their new leader, this Lykos. I have heard troubling things of him. It was quite a feat of itself to unite the islands, eh? Panos, Nerin and Pelset were always a thorn in the side of the mainland kingdoms, but no more than that. Now that they work together, they are capable of considerably more.’

  Veradis was growing increasingly uncomfortable. He knew that things had been hidden from Aquilus, but lying outright was a greater step. He swallowed. It is for the greater good, he told himself. His eyes touched on Fidele. She was watching Nathair intently, studying him.

  ‘Father, why is it that you care so much about the opinions of such as Mandros. They are beneath you. We do not need him, or any like him. We are the instrument of Elyon’s justice. We will take the war to Asroth, and the likes of Mandros will matter not at all.’

  Aquilus shook his head. ‘Nathair, you are young, your principles fixed, but you have much to learn of politicking. You still possess the naivety of youth. And the pride.’ He sighed. ‘Asroth’s champion, this Black Sun, will not be some mountain brigand that can be swept aside in a day’s combat. We must marshal all of the strength available before he reveals himself. We need the likes of Mandros. Every realm that does not stand with us will most likely stand against us.’

  Nathair snorted. ‘I do not agree, Father. Mandros and his ilk are more trouble than they are worth. I have a feeling about Mandros: he is wrong, somehow. Have you considered that he could be in league with this Black Sun? Could even be him. Asroth is cunning incarnate, the tales tell us – he would not be likely to let you raise this alliance unhindered.’

  ‘You are not listening to me,’ Aquilus pounded the arm of his chair. Then his voice dropped. ‘I am not so interested in your agreement or your theories. It is your loyalty that concerns me. I will not have you opposing me thus at every turn. I am king, Nathair, and my word is law. Remember that.’ He now looked weary, bowed his head and walked to the open window beside his wife. ‘And my word on this matter is that you will distance yourself from the Vin Thalun. I do not want you linked to them, in any way. Is that clear to you?’ Nathair’s shoulders tensed. ‘Aye, Father. Your will is clear to me.’ Aquilus grunted. ‘That is all. I will see you on the morrow.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CORBAN

  Corban grunted as Gar’s practice sword cracked his knuckles, his weapon dropping into the hard-packed dirt of the stable.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ Gar asked as Corban bent to retrieve it.

  ‘Nothing,’ muttered Corban, wincing as he flexed his hand. The knuckles were red and already swelling. He grimaced. In truth there was much wrong. He had slept little, wondering all night if he had done the right thing, allowing the brigands just to walk away. Cywen had made her thoughts on the matter clear before Braith and his companions had even disappeared from view, scolding him for a fool. But what else could he have done? Died a warrior’s death, yes, but Cywen and Marrock would have done so too, and the outcome would have been the same: the brigands slinking off into the darkness. They had talked about going straight to King Brenin, or their mam and da, but eventually decided against it. Telling any adult would most likely result in the alarm being raised and Marrock being executed. He did not doubt for a moment that Braith would do it. At least this way there was a chance that Marrock would live.

  He sighed, gripped his practice sword and faced Gar again. Trying to clear his mind, he inhaled deeply, held his breath, feeling pressure build in his chest, then blew out slowly, as Gar had taught him.

  The stablemaster nodded to himself, watching.

  He misses nothing, Corban thought, then all else was banished from his mind as he set about determinedly attempting to keep his knuckles from further harm.

  ‘There’s something on your mind,’ Gar said, breaking the silence as they rested after their training session.

  Corban looked up, but said nothing.

  Gar shrugged. ‘Your business is your own. But you must try harder to focus. It affected your training today.’

  Corban dipped a ladle into the water barrel and took a long drink. ‘Easy for you to say,’ he muttered under his breath.

  ‘Aye. It is,’ said Gar.

  Corban blinked, feeling a flush of embarrassment.

  ‘Most things of worth don’t come easy,’ Gar continued, ‘and anything that can save your life on the battlefield is of worth. But you got the better of your distraction, after a while. That is good. Just do it more quickly next time; save your knuckles some pain.’

  ‘Huh,’ Corban exclaimed sourly.

  ‘How goes it in the Rowan Field?’ asked the stablemaster.

  You know well enough, thought Corban. He had often caught sight of Gar watching him train in the Field, standing in shadows.

  Halion had taught him much, and he was now beginning to feel more at home with shield and spear, although it was with the sword that he was excelling, felt like it was becoming part of him, an extension of his arm, rather than just a heavy stick. Nothing had been said, but he could tell that he was doing well, just by the way Halion would raise an eyebrow during sparring, or sometimes he would look around during a pause in training to find eyes on him from amongst the older warriors. Much of his progress was thanks to Gar, he knew.

  ‘My weapons training is going well,’ he said. ‘Halion says little, though more than you. I think he is pleased with me.’

  Gar grunted, said nothing more.

  ‘Why do you not train in the Rowan Field?’ Corban asked, giving voice to a question that he had long wondered about.

  ‘I cannot fight with a warband. My leg, my wound . . .’ Gar turned away, cupped some water from the barr
el in his hand and drank. ‘There is little point training with warriors when you cannot fight beside them.’

  Corban looked sceptical. ‘I suspect your wound is not as bad as you think. It does not stop you killing me ten score times every time that I spar with you.’

  ‘You are a fourteen-year-old boy, not a full-grown warrior.’

  ‘But still, I watch others in the Field, Gar. Halion can best most of them, probably all, and you are at least his equal. You would be given more respect if people knew. They would not think of you as just a stablemaster.’

  ‘Just a stablemaster.’ Gar frowned. ‘I do not desire other men’s respect. And stablemaster is good enough for me.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘Enough,’ Gar’s patience was at an end. ‘I made my decision a long time ago. I will not change it now.’

  In silence they unwound the padding from their practice swords – Gar had become concerned about the noise their sparring had been making and so insisted on covering the wooden swords in tightly bound lambskin.

  ‘How is your wolven-cub?’ asked the stablemaster.

  Corban could not help but smile. ‘She is well. I left her snoring with Buddai before the fire,’ he said. Usually Storm woke when he did, but not this morning. He always left her behind when he trained with Gar, anyway, as he often went straight from the stables to the Rowan Field. Halion liked to start early, and that meant an earlier finish, leaving more time in the day for other things. There would be no training in the Field today, though. Halion had left before dawn with a search party hunting for Marrock and the escaped brigand.

  His stomach growled. ‘I think I shall go and wake her,’ he said and bid Gar farewell.

  Corban stepped quietly into the kitchen. Thannon was sitting on a chair by the fire, chin resting on his chest. Wisps of his black beard rose and fell around his mouth as he snored rhythmically. Buddai looked up from his master’s feet, tail thumping softly on the stone floor at the sight of Corban. Storm appeared from behind the hound and bounced over, a bundle of soft white fur slashed with darker stripes. He crouched and she rubbed her muzzle against him, nipped at his fingers with her sharp cub’s teeth.

  ‘Shh,’ he whispered, not wanting to wake his da. He stroked Storm gently, calmly. Her white baby fur was soft and fluffy, coarser hairs already beginning to grow through, flecked with black.

  Thannon woke as plates banged onto the kitchen table, and Cywen came in from the garden, a dozen or so eggs scooped in her shirt.

  There was not much conversation during the meal. All were tired, having slept little. The alarm had been raised in the dead of night, when the brigand’s guard had been changed and his cell was found empty. It was not long after that news spread of a dead warrior near the well-pool, of Marrock and Camlin gone. Corban put his energies into demolishing the cheese, eggs and warm bread that was placed in front of him.

  ‘Any word?’ asked Cywen. Corban stared at the contents of his plate, resisting the urge to look at his sister. He could feel her eyes on him.

  ‘None yet,’ said Gwenith, her back to them as she bustled around the ovens.

  ‘It’s early still,’ said Thannon. ‘Tracking’ll be easier, now sun’s well up.’

  At dawn, thought Corban. Marrock should have been released at dawn. Raising his eyes, he caught Cywen’s gaze; it told him she was thinking the same thing.

  Braith had given his word. Darkwood style. He shuddered, remembering the woodsman’s eyes, his grip and his promise of retribution if Corban broke his word. Despite all that he had heard of the chief of the Darkwood outlaws, he had believed him. Fool. I am a fool, he told himself.

  ‘I’ll be off to Brina’s,’ he said, chair scraping on the flagstones as he stood quickly. ‘Get my chores out of the way.’

  ‘I’ll walk some of the way with you,’ said Thannon. Gwenith slipped some food wrapped in waxed paper to him as he left with his da, Buddai and Storm trotting out behind them.

  ‘Where are you going, Da?’ asked Corban.

  ‘Could do with checking on Steadfast. He’s in the paddocks, near your colt,’ said the huge blacksmith. Corban looked up at him as they made their way to Stonegate, an eyebrow raised.

  ‘All right, truth be told I’m not so happy about you walking the countryside on your own right now, what with escaped brigands from the Darkwood about.’

  ‘They’re long gone by now,’ said Corban.

  ‘How do you know that, lad?’ said his da. Corban’s heart lurched in his chest, but then Thannon carried on. ‘They may’ve gone to ground somewhere nearby. Wait for the fuss to die down, make their way back to the Darkwood when eyes aren’t watching for them. It’s an old trick, I’d not put it past that brigand. What I want to know is, where’s Marrock?’ He went on, not expecting an answer from Corban. ‘Dead, most likely. Lying behind a wall or in the bay with his throat slit.’

  Corban felt sick.

  They walked in silence a while, passing under the arched pillars of Stonegate, out across the ancient stone bridge. Goats roamed across the hill as they descended, searching for grass and vegetation on the wind-blasted ground, gorse bushes flowering yellow in the summer sun.

  ‘Have you named your new colt yet, Ban?’ Thannon asked.

  ‘No. Not yet.’ It had not been from lack of thought on the matter. He had spent much time with his colt, both with Gar and Cywen, and alone. Many nights he had fallen asleep to lists of names: Swiftfoot, Hunter, Keensight, Light-tail, even Windwalker, after the stallion that had belonged to Sokar, their ancient ancestor, first king of the Banished Lands. Nothing seemed to fit.

  ‘Gar has told me that the name will claim the horse, and not to rush it,’ he said, ‘but it has been a long time, and I’m growing tired of calling him “Boy.”’

  ‘Well, there aren’t many that know horses better than Gar. I’d take his advice.’

  ‘Aye,’ Corban agreed.

  They continued down the hill, walking quickly through the village and out towards the giantsway, children playing in the street stopping to stare as Buddai and Storm trotted behind them, Storm bouncing around the hound, slipping between his legs as they played. Thannon chuckled.

  ‘Used to all the eyes on you, yet?’ he asked, looking at the wide-eyed children.

  ‘No,’ said Corban. ‘I hope people will get used to her soon.’

  ‘That may take a while,’ said Thannon. ‘There aren’t many places where a wolven walks amongst men in the light of day. And she’s only going to get bigger.’

  Corban had not really thought too far ahead about Storm, but his da was right.

  ‘I don’t care,’ he said. ‘She’s here now, and that’s how it’s going to stay. People will have to get used to it.’

  ‘Aye, lad, no doubt about that.’

  He’d had to remind himself that the cub was not a hound pup, but something altogether wilder, more dangerous. Only once so far had he caught a glimpse of that. He had been walking back from the village, with some smoked fish his mam had sent him to get, trailed by a few dogs from Havan. He’d thrown a scrap of fish to Storm, but one of the dogs had darted forward and tried to take it from her. She had dropped the scrap, pounced on the dog, which had been almost twice her size, all snapping teeth and white fur. The dog had run off, tail between its legs, whining.

  The paddocks came into view, Havan receding behind them. Corban could see his colt, standing quiet in the shade of a hawthorn bush.

  ‘I’m going to check on Steadfast. You’ll be all right from here, Ban?’

  ‘I was all right to begin with,’ said Corban. Brina’s cottage was not much further along the road. He could see a thin wisp of smoke rising from behind the trees that hid her cottage.

  The sound of wheels crunching on stone drifted faintly behind them, and they both turned to see two horses pulling a large wain. It was coming their way, leaving Havan. Thannon stared at it a moment, then looked back to Corban.

  ‘Maybe I should walk with you to the healer’s cottage
,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll be fine. I’m not a bairn, and, besides, I have Storm to protect me.’

  Thannon chuckled. ‘No doubts she’d try, but she needs to grow a bit, yet. Take Buddai, ease your old da’s mind. Then I’ll stop fussing over you as if I were your mam.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Corban. His da smiled and left the road, told Buddai with a flick of his wrist to stay with Corban. The hound watched his master a moment, then bounded after Corban and Storm.

  The path through the trees to Brina’s was trampled, the constant coming and going of guards set by Evnis to watch over Vonn having churned the ground. Corban saw the guard sitting in the shade, back against a tree, his horse cropping grass. Another horse stood nearby, its reins wrapped loosely around the branch of a willow near the stream.

  Corban knocked on Brina’s door, heard raised voices inside. The door flew open and Brina’s wrinkled face appeared.

  ‘What now? Oh, it’s you,’ she said, squinting at Corban. ‘Well, you may as well come in. Why not, everyone else has. It’s like the Spring Fair in here.’

  Corban stepped through the doorway, unsure whether to smile or not. Buddai padded warily in behind him, sniffing the air, Storm hidden between the great hound’s legs.

  An old man stood in the middle of the room, grey haired, thin. Corban blinked as he recognized Heb, the loremaster. His eyes flickered over Corban and he raised an eyebrow, looking at Brina.

  ‘My apprentice,’ she said with a wave of her hand.

  Heb raised his other eyebrow. ‘Apprentice. Very well. As I was saying, it is not safe here, Brina. No one knows how the brigand escaped, how many aided him, where he is.’ The loremaster sat in a wooden chair, fingers steepled under his chin. ‘You trouble me, living alone, so far from protection.’

  Brina’s face changed colour, purpling as if she were choking on a stone.