by John Gwynne
Halion stood at the edge of the crowd, appearing quite relaxed, apart from the lines around his mouth.
‘Stay out of this,’ the warrior grunted, glaring at Halion.
‘This is the Rowan Field, Glyn. Grudges come no further than the trees, remember.’
‘Not this time. You’re not from round here – you would’na understand. Walk away.’
‘No.’
Glyn released Corban, shoving him back a couple of paces and turned to face Halion. The tall warrior raised his hands, palms open.
‘No need for this to go further, Glyn. Our heart rules us all on occasion. Let’s leave it at that, eh?’
‘Do not seek to instruct me, outlander,’ said Glyn, taking a stride towards Halion, who did not move, other than a slight adjustment of his feet.
‘What’s all this?’ a deep voice called from beyond the group. Over the gathered heads Corban saw a tall, wide form striding towards them. It was Tull.
The crowd parted before Brenin’s champion until he stood towering over Corban. Rafe had scrambled to his feet and sidled a few steps away.
‘What’s all this?’ Tull repeated, glancing at Corban before his eyes rested on Halion and Glyn. Halion said nothing, returning Tull’s gaze.
‘Someone answer me, ’fore I feel the need to start cracking heads,’ the ageing champion growled.
A ring of people were formed around them now. Conall, Halion’s brother, was pushing to the front, a scowl on his face.
‘He’s brought that devil-dog into the Field,’ Rafe blurted from behind Glyn. Tull’s head snapped around, like a hunting bird sighting prey, fixing Helfach’s son. ‘He mocks us, mocks the warriors that fell in the hunt,’ Rafe stuttered, looking at the ground.
‘The boy speaks true,’ muttered Glyn, and other voices in the crowd echoed him.
Tull held his hand up, looking around, his eyes eventually falling on Corban and the cub at his feet. A heavy silence descended as the King’s champion appraised him, and Corban was acutely aware of eyes on him. Almost certainly most of the Field would be watching this exchange. He cursed himself for a fool. What have I done?
‘Lad, did you not claim King’s Justice and stand before our Queen Alona?’ Tull said loudly, for all to hear.
‘A-aye,’ Corban said.
‘Speak up. If you’re bold enough t’talk in front of our Queen, surely you’re bold enough t’talk in front of this rabble.’
‘Aye,’ said Corban, louder.
‘And did she not pass judgement on you?’
‘She did.’
‘What was her judgement?’
‘That, that I was not responsible for the harm done in the Baglun. And that I could keep the cub.’
Tull grunted. ‘Did any not hear?’ he boomed.
Silence.
‘King’s Justice says this cub stays with the lad, and he can take it wheresoever he pleases. Any man, anyone,’ Tull said, his eyes sweeping the crowd and coming to rest upon Rafe. ‘Anyone here fault our Queen’s judgement?’
Again, silence.
‘Good. As it should be. I’ll be reminding you, I am the King’s sword. I’ll disregard the insult that’s been made here. But only this once.’ He stood in silence, glowering at the group that had waylaid Corban. One by one they sidled away, until none was left.
Tull turned his eyes to Corban, frowning. ‘I’ll be watching you,’ he said, then marched away.
‘You all right, lad?’ Halion asked. Corban was watching Tull’s back.
‘I . . . I’m fine,’ Corban mumbled.
‘Good. Come, then.’
They walked to a weapons rack, both searching for a practice sword to their liking. Something made Corban glance over his shoulder. Two figures stood in the shadows of the rowan trees: one a hulking mass, the other not quite so tall, slimmer. They moved away, and Corban blinked, then they were gone.
‘Are you sure that you are well?’ Halion asked him again as they found a space to begin their training. ‘You look pale.’
Corban blew out a hard breath. He did feel a little light-headed.
‘I didn’t expect that,’ he said.
‘No?’ Halion raised an eyebrow.
‘No. I’m accustomed to staring, harsh words. But that . . .’
‘Strong feelings, lad, oft are displayed in strong actions.’
‘Aye. So I see.’
‘Why did you do it? Bring the cub here?’
Corban looked down, watching Storm as she lay in the grass, her copper eyes considering him in return.
‘Because it doesn’t feel right, hiding her away as if she’s done something wrong,’ he said. ‘She deserves better. And I’ve done nothing wrong either, and will not act as if I have.’ He smiled at Halion. ‘My thanks.’
‘What for?’
‘For speaking for me. No one else did.’
‘You’re welcome, lad. Come, let us begin.’ The tall warrior raised his weapon, then lunged at Corban, striking at his head and chest. Stepping quickly backwards, Corban managed to block the blows, then there was a flurry of movement and Halion fell back, crying out. He was hoping on one leg, shaking the other frantically.
For a moment Corban could not tell what was happening, then he saw a bundle of fur attached to Halion’s calf. Storm had latched on and was refusing to let go. Halion stopped jumping about and Storm planted her feet on the ground, jaws still clamped around Halion’s leg. Only her copper eyes moved, looking up at the tall warrior. She growled, deep in the back of her throat.
There was a moment’s silence as Corban rushed forwards, then Halion began to laugh.
‘Storm. Here,’ Corban said sharply, and the cub stepped back to him.
‘Can’t blame her, I suppose,’ said Halion as his laughter calmed. ‘She thought I was attacking you. Mind you.’ He wagged a finger at Corban. ‘It might be funny now, but she’s going to grow as big as a pony. I would not find that amusing.’
Corban began laughing too, picturing the thought.
‘We’ve taught her not to bite chickens,’ he said, ‘so I’ll just teach her not to bite you.’
‘I’d appreciate that. But don’t stop her protecting you. It could prove to be quite advantageous.’
‘I won’t. I’m teaching her “Friend” and “Foe”.’
‘What do you mean?’
Corban walked over to Halion and knelt beside him, then called Storm.
‘Hold your hand out,’ Corban said to Halion, who squatted and did as instructed. Storm sniffed the warrior’s palm with her long muzzle, then growled.
‘Friend,’ said Corban. The growling stopped.
Halion snorted. ‘Come, lad. She’s not that clever.’
‘My da says she is. He teaches his hounds this, though he said it takes them much longer to pick it up. Even Buddai. Said she’s very bright, and can pick out a scent better than any hound he’s come across.’
Halion raised his eyebrows, but the disbelief in his face faded a little.
Suddenly he looked beyond the cub, eyes narrowing, then stood, strode quickly towards the warrior weapons court. Corban hesitated a moment, then followed him.
The weapons court was really just a square expanse of stone in the Field. It was the place where warriors sparred. Only those that had sat their Long Night were allowed to set foot on the stone.
As Corban hurried after Halion he saw Tull standing out on the Field, like an old oak amidst saplings, two smaller figures before him. He blinked as he recognized Dath standing beside his da, Mordwyr.
Of course, he thought, feeling a flush of joy. Dath’s nameday. His friend’s face was tight with excitement and concentration. Corban saw him grin as Tull took his wrist in the warrior embrace. At least I’ll have one friend in the Field.
Halion reached the weapons court and stopped, folded his arms and stared.
Two men were sparring, if you could call it that. One man was a whirling blur, in constant motion, the other clearly outclassed, struggling desperately
just to defend himself. It was Glyn.
The blur of motion around him stopped, the warrior laughing. It was Conall, Halion’s brother.
‘Guard your head, man,’ Conall said, smiling as he struck at Glyn. ‘That’s it. Now, right thigh,’ he shouted, ‘gut, left shoulder, throat.’ A split second after he spoke, his practice sword would whip out, slashing exactly where he had called. Warriors around the court began to chuckle, although others were frowning.
‘Left knee,’ Conall called, but this time his weapon caught Glyn on the wrist with a loud crack. Glyn’s practice sword dropped from numb fingers and the tip of Conall’s weapon was suddenly at Glyn’s throat, pressing upwards, under the chin. Conall sneered, took a step forwards, pushing Glyn back.
‘Next time you speak to my brother,’ Conall snarled, ‘you should be more polite.’ He pushed forwards again, and Glyn tripped as he stepped back, falling heavily on his backside.
Conall hawked and spat at the man’s feet, then turned and stalked away. He grinned as he saw Halion, changing his course to approach his brother.
Corban watched Glyn rise slowly, rubbing his throat, cheeks flushed, giving Conall’s back a murderous look.
‘Do you think he enjoyed the lesson, Hal?’ Conall said, breathing deeply, but still grinning broadly. Halion just watched him approach, until Conall reached him, wrapping an arm around his brother’s shoulder. ‘He’ll treat you better, next time you meet.’
‘I can fight my own battles, Con,’ said Halion.
‘You are too soft, big brother,’ Conall said, steering Halion away from the court. Corban and Storm followed them.
‘He insulted you, called you “outlander”.’ Anger flashed across Conall’s face, then the grin returned. ‘He’ll not be doing that again, I’d wager.’
‘Maybe not,’ Halion said, ‘but you’ve made no friends out there today.’
‘Friends? I care not for friends. You are all I care about. My brother. Just the two of us, remember?’
Halion’s face relaxed. ‘I know, Con, but do not forget, we are here by Brenin’s grace. Do not abuse that.’
Conall looked grim. ‘I will brook no insult, to myself or my kin, regardless of whose favour I jeopardize.’
‘Have a care, Con. I, at least, have a mind to stay here. Your tongue and temper . . .’ Halion looked around, taking a deep breath. ‘As I said. I can fight my own battles.’
Conall pulled his arm away from his brother, then left abruptly with a glare, heading for the arch of rowan trees.
Halion stood and watched until his brother had disappeared from view. He sighed, looking down at Corban.
‘Come, lad. Let’s finish your training.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
VERADIS
Veradis shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, sweat trickling down his spine. He passed a hand across his face, flicking the dampness from his fingers. His horse whickered and he leaned forward, patted her neck.
‘Damn heat,’ he muttered.
‘Aye,’ grunted Nathair, one hand shading his eyes as he looked into the distance.
They were scouting ahead of the warband, sheltered in a dip two-thirds of the way up a steep grassy slope, looking over a wide, dark river: the Rhetta, he recalled Calidus telling him. He glanced quickly at the Vin Thalun, who sat a horse a few paces behind, the giant Alcyon standing silently beside him.
‘So, where do they cross?’ Nathair said quietly.
Veradis shrugged and winced absently as his coat of mail chaffed his shoulders. ‘Rahim said there is only one natural ford, a league or so north of here.’
‘Aye, but that is guarded, so they must cross elsewhere.’
Veradis squinted, his gaze following the sluggish course of the river, in the distance glimpsing the faint outline of a tower, the smudge of buildings around it. Rahim’s bastion – built to fight the Shekam’s raids, although little good it had done. ‘They are giants. Maybe they use sorcery,’ he said.
Nathair said nothing.
The river looked black from here, like congealing blood in an open wound. The land on their side of the river was green, lush, dotted with trees and flecked with bright flowers. A small village, single-storey buildings carved from white stone, clustered around a dirt track that led away west. There was no movement anywhere, the village empty and abandoned because of the Shekam’s savage raids. And on the far side of the river the land was marsh. Veradis took a deep breath and pulled a face. There was a sickly sweet scent in the air, as of food left out too long in the sun.
‘To slay these giants, we must find them,’ he said, as much to break the silence as anything else.
Nathair gave him a sour look. ‘The obvious I am well aware of. But how to find them. We could stretch our warband the length of the river, but then we would be spread too thin for combat.’
‘My lord,’ said Calidus, and Veradis felt a stab of annoyance. There was something about the Vin Thalun’s insinuating voice that was beginning to grate on his nerves. He looked at the old man, studying him a while. His frame was lean, but muscle stood firm and knotted on his arms, his back straight, a strength in him that belied his silver hair. His eyes glistened in the glare of the sun. Veradis squinted, looking closer. What an unusual colour, he thought. They were amber, like a wolf’s.
‘Aye,’ muttered Nathair, still gazing into the distance.
‘We can help you, in the locating of any Shekam that cross the Rhetta.’
‘How?’
‘You remember we discussed the use of our particular skill?’
‘Speak plainly, man. Do you mean the earth power?’
‘Aye.’ Calidus’ mouth twitched at the edges. Annoyance?
‘Then, yes, I remember very well.’
‘Alcyon and I shall stand vigil. We will know when the Shekam cross the river.’
Nathair looked at him. ‘You can do this? You are sure? I would not wish to camp out, roasting my warband in this heat, only to have you fail me.’
‘We will not fail you.’
Nathair was silent a long moment. ‘Good. Then we shall wait upon your word.’
More waiting. It had been almost twice a ten-night since they had set foot on the shores of Tarbesh now. Midsummer’s Day had come and gone, and the Meadow’s Moon passed into the Draig’s Moon.
They had spent a handful of days at Rahim’s fortress, where the King of Tarbesh had held a feast in their honour. Then the warband had marched again, heading ever east. It had been clear almost immediately that Nathair’s presence here was considered more token than genuine remedy to the giant problem, although Rahim had sent some two hundred men from his own warband as escort, under the command of his battlechief. Nathair pulled on his stallion’s reins and cantered back up the slope with Veradis following. On cresting the ridge they saw their warband spread across a gentle valley with Rahim’s camp alongside, hide tents and cook-fires dotting the grassland.
Dawn was not far away. Veradis shivered. Strange how the days in this land were so hot, and the nights so cold. He blinked hard, eyes stinging from tiredness. Leather creaked behind him and a horse whickered gently. Glancing over his shoulder, he glimpsed figures close to him – just – as solid, impenetrable shadows in the darkness. Some four hundred warriors were spread behind him, he knew, but he could only see a handful.
They had ridden hard for what must have been half of the night. Earlier he had seen the giant Alcyon march into Nathair’s tent, Calidus cradled in his arms, and had rushed after them.
‘The Shekam have crossed the river, over a score of leagues to the north,’ the giant announced. They were headed south-west, so the warband could intercept them if it moved quickly. Calidus was exhausted from his scrying; some sorcerous effort, no doubt. Veradis felt the hairs on his neck stand on end at the thought of it, but still, here they were now, moments away from confronting the Shekam. If Alcyon and Calidus could be trusted.
A huge shadow loomed out of the darkness.
‘It is time,
’ the giant rumbled.
Veradis dismounted, handed his reins to the warrior beside him, then turned and followed the hulking shape of the giant.
They climbed a steep ridge and Alcyon dropped to his belly, crawling the last few paces to the crest. Veradis followed suit, grunting as sharp stones dug into his arms and knees. He drew alongside Alcyon and peered over the ridge, not that it did much good. Although an edge of grey was seeping into the air around him, the sky above turning a deep purple, the valley below was still cloaked in darkness.
‘Where?’ Veradis whispered.
‘From the east. Patience, little man.’
More waiting. He wished the battle would just begin – the waiting was worse. He wiped sweaty palms on the coarse grass beneath him, looking across the vale to the vague outline of the opposite ridge, where he knew Nathair and his four hundred men were hidden.
The darkness was thinning in the valley now, dispersing between solid clumps that slowly became recognizable: large boulders littered the slopes and valley floor, the odd stunted, twisted tree. He could hear the gentle trickle of water in the distance, where, he guessed, the village that the Shekam were bent on raiding was situated.
Not this time. He smiled humourlessly.
‘They will come from there,’ Alcyon rumbled, pointing. Veradis looked at the giant’s arm. At the wrist, flowing from beneath a leather band, a dark tattoo swirled up it, circling great knots of muscle and sinew. Curved thorns were etched into the skin, the tattoo resembling a vine creeping up Alcyon’s arm. It disappeared at his elbow, covered by a half-sleeve of chainmail.
‘Why do you have that?’ Veradis asked, without thinking. The giant looked at his arm and grunted.
‘That is my Sgeul; my Telling, in your tongue.’ His voice was cold, flat.
‘Telling?’
‘Aye. The lives I have taken.’
Veradis swallowed. ‘You mean, each thorn . . .’
The giant grunted again.
With an act of will Veradis stopped himself staring at the giant’s arm, from trying to count the thorns, and gazed back into the valley. He could see a thick wall of mist in the distance, in the direction that Alcyon had pointed. Veradis blinked. It was moving towards them, expanding, rushing like the tide up the valley’s floor.
