Valour

by John Gwynne

  ‘I have already broken my fast. Though perhaps some wine.’

  ‘Of course.’ Nathair filled a cup for him. ‘I was hoping that you might help me.’

  ‘If I may be of service, my lord.’

  ‘I am certain that you can. When I came here it was as part of a bigger journey: I planned to travel north. I still do. The issue is when to leave. Much has happened here that I think has bearing on my alliance, on the future, but the situation here is fluid, prone to change. Dramatically. Would you agree?’

  ‘Your summary is quite correct, to my mind,’ Evnis said.

  ‘I am torn, Evnis. My errand in the north is pressing, but I feel that perhaps I should linger here a while longer, as these events play out. To ensure that the results are favourable to me and my alliance.’

  ‘Most prudent, my lord.’ This is a man who thinks before he speaks. Where is he leading this conversation?

  ‘You are probably wondering why I am telling you this.’

  Evnis smiled and dipped his head in acknowledgement.

  ‘I believe that you are pivotal to this situation. And certain that you know more than you have told me.’

  ‘Do any of us tell all that we know, my lord?’ Evnis replied. ‘After all, knowledge is power.’ This is dangerous.

  ‘Wise words,’ Nathair said with a smile, ‘and words that I have heard before. But let me be frank with you. We are both in a position to help each other. I am in a strange land, surrounded by war, a history guiding it that is unfamiliar to me. I need to make decisions, but I lack the knowledge to be confident that I am choosing the right course. You are familiar with the politics of this realm, this conflict, well placed to see much. I need that knowledge. But you are surrounded by enemies – Owain, the man that took your own brother’s head, rules here, so you need a friend, someone in power who has some influence. You need me.’ Nathair took a deep breath, fixing Evnis with intense blue eyes. ‘Tell me, Evnis, what is your heart’s desire?’

  Evnis blinked, thrown by the question, the sudden change of direction. ‘I . . .’ What is happening here? Be careful. Nathair’s eyes pinned him, became the whole world. Is he bewitching me? Using the earth power?

  ‘To find my son,’ he heard himself say, surprised to hear the tremor in his voice.

  ‘Yes. Escaped with Edana, or so rumours are saying.’ Nathair waved a hand. ‘I am not completely without information, even here. I could help you find him. I look after those that serve me.’

  ‘Serve you?’

  ‘Yes. I am looking for men: powerful men, brave enough to take risks, brave enough to follow me into a new order, a new world. I think that you are such a man. Follow me and you will gain more than you can imagine. But in return I must have your loyalty. Unquestioning, unfailing.’

  I serve you already, Evnis thought. He opened his mouth to speak but then froze, pinned by Nathair’s unblinking stare. There was something in Nathair’s words that stirred his blood, that would have made him want to follow this man, to believe in a cause again, even if Asroth had not already commanded it. Your only cause is yourself, a voice whispered in his mind. ‘I will serve you, if I can,’ he said.

  ‘Good. That is very good.’ Nathair grinned, refilled their cups of wine and together they drank.

  ‘Now, tell me,’ Nathair said. ‘Does Rhin play a part in this business between Owain and Brenin?’

  ‘Yes. She manipulated this war,’ Evnis said. How much to tell? That is the question. Rhin will not look kindly on me if she thinks I have betrayed her. He returned Nathair’s unflinching gaze and made a decision. ‘Rhin tricked Owain into marching against Brenin, her design was that they would weaken one another. She will move against Owain soon. She is the real power now in the west – Brenin was her greatest rival, but now that he is gone Owain cannot match her – he does not have the strength of will nor the wit to outmanoeuvre her. Brenin was the only one who stood that chance. And King Eremon of Domhain is too old, uninterested in affairs beyond his borders. Before long she will rule all the realms of the west.’

  ‘She was always the one to watch,’ Nathair murmured. ‘A sharp tongue, a sharper mind.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘And what is your relationship with her, Evnis?’

  Lovers, once. Conspirators, always. ‘We have communicated, in the past, helped one another in small matters.’

  ‘I see.’ Nathair paced to the open window, sharing a look with Sumur. ‘I would like to communicate with her, too. Can you arrange that?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  Sumur whispered something, too low for Evnis to hear.

  ‘There is another matter that I am interested in. The night Dun Carreg fell, there was a boy in the keep. With a wolven . . .’

  ‘Yes. Corban.’

  ‘You know him, then?’

  ‘Not really. I have had some dealings with him. An insolent, disobedient child.’

  ‘His kin?’

  ‘Thannon, his da, was slain in the great hall. His mother cannot be found, is thought to have escaped along with him and Edana. His sister, though, she is still here.’

  ‘What of Gar,’ Sumur interrupted, his voice guttural, coarse. ‘What is his relationship to the boy?’

  Evnis remembered Sumur and Gar fighting in the keep, swords a blur, with such skill as he had never seen before. Hadn’t Gar used a blade similar to the one Sumur had strapped across his back. This mystery deepens.

  ‘Gar was Brenin’s stablemaster. He has always been close to the boy and his family. I am not sure why – they were living here long before I came to Dun Carreg. I will see what I can find out about them.’

  ‘Yes, do. His sister,’ Nathair said, ‘I would speak with her. Soon.’

  ‘I will arrange it.’

  ‘Good.’ Nathair poured himself some more wine, tugging at something on a chain about his neck – was it a huge tooth? ‘One last thing, for now. The errand in the north that I mentioned. It is to find something. You recall I have spoken of the Benothi giants.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It is my belief that they have something in their possession that I need. A cauldron, I have been told. One of the Seven Treasures.’

  Evnis felt the blood drain from his face and coughed to hide his surprise. The cauldron – how he had longed to see it for himself, to take Fain to it, while she still had time, to call on its powers. To save her.

  ‘I have heard of it,’ he said.

  ‘Really?’ Nathair stared at him, eyes hard now, all warmth stripped from them. ‘What, exactly, have you heard?’

  Roll the dice, Evnis thought. ‘That it is an artefact of great power.’ He paused, swallowed. ‘I know where it is.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘To the north, in Benoth. In the fortress of Murias.’

  Nathair slammed a fist into his palm. ‘Calidus was right,’ he said, then focused back on Evnis. ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘I have had dealings with the Benothi, on occasion.’ Well, one of them.

  Nathair’s expression changed, became thoughtful. ‘You are of more value than I guessed.’ He patted Evnis’ shoulder.

  There was a knock at the door, the Jehar guard peered in. ‘Owain has sent a messenger. He is in the great hall and would speak with you.’

  ‘Of course,’ Nathair said. ‘We shall speak more, and soon, Evnis. For now, though, accompany me.’

  Nathair and his entourage passed through high-roofed corridors, Evnis and his shieldmen following behind. Their numbers grew as more of the Jehar appeared, silently joining them from side corridors as they moved towards the great hall.

  Owain was standing by one of the fire-pits, a dark-haired, sharp-featured man. He looked haggard, drawn. You have grasped beyond your reach, Evnis thought. Owain was in deep conversation with a mud-splattered warrior, a handful of red-cloaked shieldmen hovering about them.

  ‘Greetings, Nathair,’ the King of Narvon said, his eyes taking in Nathair’s followe
rs. He frowned when he saw Evnis.

  ‘Well met.’ Nathair smiled broadly. ‘How goes your campaign?’

  ‘It goes well,’ Owain said. ‘I have just received news of Dun Maen. Its strength was broken here when Dalgar fell and his warband was scattered. Dun Maen’s walls were filled with little more than old men, women and their bairns.’

  ‘So Ardan is yours,’ Nathair said.

  ‘It would seem so.’ Owain sighed. ‘There are still skirmishes between here and the western marshes, but of little consequence, I think.’

  ‘You have succeeded in your task, then.’

  ‘Aye, but there is little joy in it. Uthan is still dead.’ He grimaced. ‘All that was best in me seemed to live in him, and now he is gone.’

  ‘But at least your son is avenged.’

  ‘Not quite. Edana still lives.’ Owain looked up, his mouth a straight line. ‘I will not rest while she draws breath. Brenin’s stain will be wiped from the earth.’

  ‘Is there any sign of her, any clue as to where she has fled?’

  Owain shrugged. ‘No, none. I cannot even discover how she escaped the fortress. She could still be here, in hiding.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ Evnis said. ‘I have searched Dun Carreg stone by stone for them.’

  Owain considered Evnis. ‘There must be other ways out of this fortress, other than Stonegate. How did you sneak these warriors in?’ He gestured to the Jehar spread about Nathair.

  Of course, the tunnels. The thought hit Evnis like a blacksmith’s hammer. They must have escaped by the tunnels. Maybe even still be down there. ‘There are many unguarded portions of the wall, especially on the north side,’ he said to Owain, concentrating on keeping his face calm, blank. ‘Brenin was too sure of his defences, but a strong rope and strong arms were all that was needed. Maybe Edana left by the same means.’ Nathair looked at him, but said nothing.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Owain muttered, ‘though I find the word of someone who would betray his own king hard to accept.’

  ‘Evnis has given us great aid,’ Nathair said, taking a step closer to Evnis. ‘Without him you would still be camped beyond Stonegate.’

  ‘Even so . . .’ Owain scowled at Evnis.

  He looked down at the flagstone floor. Is my Vonn hiding in the tunnels beneath my feet . . .

  He shook his head, with an effort concentrated on Owain’s words.

  ‘On your own head be it if you choose to favour him,’ the King of Narvon was saying, ‘but keep a close eye on him. Once a betrayer . . .’

  Evnis felt a surge of anger, with effort pushed it down and painted a smile on his face. Owain is not long for this earth, he told himself. The trick is to outlive him – that will be revenge enough. Rhin is coming, and then his head shall be parted from his shoulders.

  ‘And what of your plans, Nathair?’ Owain asked. ‘Will you be staying or going?’

  ‘I will stay a little while longer. I have summoned men to me here, my counsellors. I must speak with them before I depart.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  ‘I have a request, though. An unusual one.’

  ‘If it is in my power.’

  ‘I have something on my ship in the bay, something rare, special to me.’

  ‘What is it? Treasure that needs guarding?’

  ‘In a way. It is a draig, not yet full grown. It needs to come ashore, to be stabled, fed.’

  ‘A draig. Why . . . ?’ Owain trailed off.

  ‘It is an experiment of mine –’ Nathair smiled – ‘and I would be grateful of your assistance, your cooperation.’

  ‘Of course.’ Owain frowned, then tried to smile. ‘You have helped me more than I can repay. Stables shall be prepared, an auroch slaughtered.’

  ‘My thanks.’

  The clatter of hooves on stone drifted in from the courtyard, there was the scuff of booted feet running, and a man burst into the hall. He hurried to Owain and fell to one knee before him.

  ‘Rise, man,’ Owain said. ‘What news? Is Edana caught?’

  ‘No, my lord.’ The man gulped a deep lung-full of air. ‘Dire news from Narvon. Rhin has invaded. It is overrun, Uthandun is fallen.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  CORBAN

  Corban shifted uncomfortably; a tree root was digging into his back. He’d slept little, if at all, and now a raindrop dripped onto his nose.

  ‘Wonderful,’ he muttered, pulling his cloak over his head. He just wanted to sleep, it was preferable to getting up, having to face people, having to face his mam and Gar.

  Their words from the night before were still spinning around his head. They had shaken him, stirred both anger and guilt. The things they had told him; madness, surely, born out of grief and exhaustion. And they have asked me to leave. Nothing else could have felt so wrong – to leave this small band of survivors. And so he had said no. Never had he said no to his mam or Gar – many times in his head, or muttered quietly after a reprimand – but never to their faces. And then had come the guilt. This was the worst moment in the world to have a conflict with his mam, when they were both grieving the loss of his da and Cywen. But what they asked was so unreasonable. And then anger had followed.

  How can they put me in such a position? He wished their conversation had never happened. And so his night had passed, racked with anger or guilt, along with a measure of self-pity. Now, though, with the coming of dawn, he just felt alone. No one was who he thought they were. His mam and Gar felt like strangers.

  Something tapped his shoulder.

  He poked his head out from beneath his cloak, squinting up at a dark form silhouetted by the grey light of dawn. It was Gar.

  ‘Come, lad,’ the stablemaster whispered, prodding him with something.

  ‘Come where?’

  ‘Training.’

  ‘Wha . . . ?’ Corban said. ‘Are you joking?’

  ‘You still have much to learn,’ Gar said with a shrug. ‘Come on, there is not much time before we have to get back on that boat.’

  He climbed upright, winced at the stiffness in his limbs and grimaced at the stablemaster. ‘I don’t want to do this,’ he muttered. ‘You and mam . . .’ He could not find the words to express how he felt, did not know where to start.

  ‘This way,’ Gar said, walking away. With a scowl, Corban followed; Storm uncurled and padded after them.

  Marrock was standing guard, the shadow of his body merging with the tree he was leaning against. He looked inquisitively at Gar and Corban.

  Gar stopped beside the stream. ‘Give me your sword,’ he said, then wrapped Corban’s blade with cloth, tied it tight and passed it back.

  Without a word, Gar slid into the sword dance, his curved sword wrapped like Corban’s.

  Sullenly Corban watched him, a host of questions and accusations swirling in his mind. There were so many things that he wanted to ask Gar about, but they were all linked to last night’s conversation, and he had set his will to avoiding that subject at all costs. Gar paused, staring at him. ‘Don’t think; do. Questions, talking later, but this will help.’ He resumed his fluid movements.

  Corban sighed and raised his sword, stepping into stooping falcon, the first position of the sword dance. Skin and muscles around the wound on his back stretched and pulled, but he held the pose, then moved smoothly into the next stance. Gar was right, soon Corban felt his mind calming, his thoughts draining away as he became lost in the rhythm of the dance.

  Sunlight was dappling the ground and sparkling on the stream when he finished. Sweat dripped from his nose and the wound on his back pulsed dully. Gar faced him and raised his sword. Corban shrugged and they began to spar, and slowly Corban became aware of movement around him. A quick glance showed him half a dozen figures from the camp watching them, but also earned him a crack to the ribs from Gar.

  ‘Enough,’ the stablemaster declared.

  Gar stripped the cloth from his and Corban’s swords, then began walking back to the camp, ignoring their audience. In no mood for conversati
on, Corban followed him, purposely avoiding Brina’s stare.

  Halion drew level with them and grasped Gar’s arm, halting him. ‘I need to talk to you,’ he said to Gar. The stablemaster stopped, drawing a deep breath.

  ‘You fight differently,’ Halion said. ‘I have travelled much of the west and seen nothing like your style.’

  Gar just stared at Halion, expressionless.

  ‘Until the night Dun Carreg fell. The man you fought, Sumur. Marrock tells me there were many like him in the battle, that they opened Stonegate for Owain. You fought like this Sumur, spoke with him. You knew him?’

  Gar’s gaze flicked to Corban and back. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell me of him, of yourself. Who are you, where are you from?’

  ‘I have heard others ask the same questions of you, yet you have held your silence. My past is my own,’ Gar said.

  ‘True enough, my business is my own, and not a subject for gossip. But things are different now, and so I have spoken of my past. Because it was necessary. Now you know who I am, where I am from, who my father is. It is necessary to hear these things from you. Do you know this Sumur?’

  Gar closed his eyes and blew out a long breath. ‘I knew him, many years ago. Corban will tell you more, soon.’

  Corban raised an eyebrow at that.

  ‘That is not good enough. I am Edana’s sword and shield, and you know more about her enemies than anyone else here – seemed almost to be one of them – I must understand all that goes on, for Edana’s sake. Are you a danger to her?’

  Gar sighed. ‘No, I am no danger to the princess. You saw that I fought Sumur – that must answer your fears. I would tell you more, but Corban should hear these things first, and until he has I will speak no more of it, with you or any other.’

  Halion still gripped Gar’s arm. He held the stablemaster’s gaze for long moments then let his hand drop. ‘I will wait, but we will have this conversation again. Soon.’

  Gar nodded and strode away.

  ‘What’s this all about, Corban?’ Halion asked.