by John Gwynne
‘If you see my mam and brother, tell them . . .’ she had said, then fell silent. She did not know what to tell them. That she missed them, that she wanted them to come back, what?
‘I will, lass,’ Pendathran had said, cupping her hand in his. ‘And I will not forget what you have done for me.’
Then he had left, slipping into the night. As far as she knew, Evnis had not mounted any large search for him. How could he, under Owain’s nose? He must be raging. She smiled at that thought.
Something caught her eye, a movement to the west, out on the sea. As she watched, it became clearer. Ships, lots of them, sleek and black-sailed, like the one already anchored in the bay. Closer and closer they came, horn blasts rising along the walls of Dun Carreg as they were spotted. Cywen counted ten, twenty ships, more – all sailing into the bay. Banners snapped from the mast of the first ship – a white eagle on a black field. Nathair’s fleet had come.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CAMLIN
Camlin led them through the woods to where the horses were hobbled.
They were still there, four of them.
Quickly, Marrock split the group. Edana and Halion mounted one horse, Heb and Brina another, though the old lady complained about having to hold on to Heb.
‘You can squeeze me as tight as you like,’ Heb said, ‘only admit that you like it.’ Brina slapped him across the back of the head.
Camlin chose Vonn, Anwarth and Dath to help him; the first two because they had fought well, and they were quick, looked as if they could move fast if they needed to. He chose Dath because the boy could do with a job to do. He felt sorry for the lad, knew what it was like to lose kin. He looked as if he was falling deeper into a pit that could be hard to climb out of.
‘I’ll help,’ Corban volunteered.
‘Don’t think the smell of your wolven will help us sneak up on a herd of horses,’ Camlin said. ‘Could do with you, though, Gar. You’ve a way with horses.’
‘I’ll be going where Corban goes,’ Gar said, and Camlin could see there was no negotiation in that. He shrugged.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Marrock said. ‘I could do with a lesson in sneaking about.’ He grinned.
Camlin smiled back. ‘All right then.’
‘We’ll ride to where the two hills meet, wait for you there,’ Halion said, pointing across undulating meadows into the distance.
‘If we have not joined you by sunrise, go on without us,’ Marrock said.
With that the two groups split. Camlin watched Halion and Edana lead the riders off, heading along the wood’s fringe, away from the village to avoid any watching eyes.
There was a new tension in the air between Marrock and Halion. The turn of events had hardened Marrock’s opinion that they should have sailed back to Ardan. Can’t turn back time, though. A good leader should know that. Camlin liked Marrock, thought of him as a friend. But Halion’s the natural leader, here. He’s led men before, given orders.
It’s Edana that should be leading us, but instead she follows where anyone brave enough to speak up points. Edana had a haunted look about her; she had been silent since the battle on the beach. Truth was Edana didn’t look fit to lead a pony, let alone a desperate band of runaways through enemy land. Is she even worth saving? Worth going through all this for? The thought of leaving, of just slinking away, entered Camlin’s head again. But Edana wasn’t the reason he was here, anyway. It was a combination of circumstance and a sense of loyalty to the friends he had made. Marrock, Dath, Corban. Loyalty? What’s happening to me? He had felt a sense of camaraderie with Braith and his outlaws in the Darkwood, but he had always known that any one of them would cut his throat in his sleep if the circumstances called for it. Being here was different. The friends he’d made were not like that. He’d finally found a sense of belonging, of doing something right. It probably won’t last, he thought, but while it did, he would not be leaving. Not today.
Brina and Heb’s grumbling faded as they shrank into the distance. Gwenith and Farrell rode the other two horses, Corban and Gar jogging behind them. The wolven looped out wider, became a white blur in the long grass and meadow flowers. There was a noise from amongst the trees, high up, and Craf emerged from the canopy. The crow trailed the riders, soon becoming just a dark smudge in the sky.
‘Better get on with it,’ Marrock said.
‘Aye, chief.’
The sun was low in the sky, sending long shadows behind them as they approached the paddocks. The ground was undulating, with long grass sighing in the breeze, allowing them for the most part to remain hidden from the village strung along the coast and river.
It took them a long time to reach the edge of the first paddocks; Camlin paused behind a post-and-rail fence. The warband’s camp was mostly on the far side of the river, and fires were lit as dusk settled, the sound of singing drifting across to them.
At least fifty horses were penned before them, cropping grass, herded together, most in the centre of the paddock. On the far side a smokehouse stood before the river. A warrior was standing at its open doors, silhouetted by light from within. It looked as if the building had been commandeered as an impromptu stable and tack room.
He felt a presence at his shoulder, saw Marrock creep up close.
‘So how do you want to do this, chief?’ Camlin asked.
‘I was about to ask you the same question. You’re a bit more practised at this, so I thought I’d learn from you,’ Marrock said. ‘One thing I do know: if we’re going to ride those horses away from here we’re going to need saddles and tack.’
‘Just what I was thinking,’ Camlin said, nodding towards the smokehouse. ‘I’ll take Vonn and Dath, see what we can do. Wait for my signal, then start catching some horses.’
‘Will do.’
Camlin circled the paddocks and smokehouse, making his way almost to the river, where the grass became tall sedge and reed, the ground spongy. He waited for Vonn and Dath to follow, then gave his orders. Vonn looked at him determinedly, but Dath appeared nervous, distracted. When Camlin had finished talking he sent Vonn off to his point, but held on to Dath’s arm. The boy looked at him.
‘I know you’re hurting, lad, but I need to know you’re gonna do this right.’
‘I . . . I’ll try,’ Dath mumbled.
‘I’m looking for better than try,’ Camlin said, holding Dath’s face in his hands, locking eyes with him. He could feel him shaking. ‘Your da’s dead; it’s a sad truth. But we’re not. And we need you. Do you understand? We are each other’s kin, now. You, me, Marrock, Halion, your friend Corban, all of us. We are bound together. Let’s see if we can keep each other alive, an’ live long enough to avenge our dead.’
Dath sucked in a deep breath, the trembling in his limbs settling.
‘I’ve given you a job to do. A man’s job. Because I know you can do it. I’ve seen you today; you’ve fought well. And you have skill with that bow of yours.’
Dath looked down. ‘I’m afraid.’
Camlin chuckled. ‘Aren’t we all? You’d have to be dead to be feeling no fear right now. Use it, lad. Let it keep you sharp, alert. Don’t let it beat you.’
Something firmer entered Dath’s eyes then, a decision made. He nodded.
‘Good lad. Now, get on, and do your part.’
The sun was just a glow on the horizon; darkness was pulling in tight around the light from the smokehouse. Camlin watched Dath fade into the grass, giving him more time than he should need to reach the smokehouse and sneak around to its far side. Then he stood and walked tall through the grass, ducked under the paddock rail and made for the building. A warrior still stood at its doors.
‘Evening,’ Camlin called as he drew near, holding a hand up and smiling. ‘How goes it?’
The warrior shrugged, peering at Camlin. ‘Well enough. What can we do for you?’
‘Just came to check on my horse, an’ stretch my legs. Can only do so much sitting and drinking.’
Anoth
er figure appeared at the doorway, taller than the first. ‘Can never do enough drinking,’ he said. ‘Don’t happen to have a drop, do you?’
‘No,’ Camlin said, close enough to touch them, now.
‘Pity.’ The new figure shrugged and stepped back inside.
‘All quiet, then?’ Camlin asked, glancing through the doorway after the disappearing figure. The smell of fish drifted out. A pot was warming over a fire, saddles and rugs stacked along one wall, bridles, reins, girth straps all hanging on another. There was only one man in there.
‘Aye,’ the first man said.
‘No sign of Haf an’ his lads?’
‘Haf?’
He led a few of our boys into those woods over there,’ Camlin said, pointing into the distance. ‘Someone saw a boat land out that way, thought it might be spies of Owain.’
‘I hadn’t heard,’ the warrior said, stepping forward, peering at the woods. They were just a deeper shadow in the gloom of dusk.
‘I’ll go check on my horse,’ Camlin said, stepping out of the doorway’s light.
‘There are a lot of horses out there,’ the warrior said.
‘’S all right,’ Camlin said. ‘I can see her from here – over there – big piebald mare.’ He pointed to a cluster of horses.
‘Did you see that?’ the guard said, taking a few steps into the field.
‘Where?’ Camlin said.
‘Near your horse – I thought I saw . . .’ He took another step into the field, further from the light, hand going to his sword hilt.
There was a whistling sound, a wet thud and the guard staggered. In a second Camlin was behind him, one hand across his mouth, the other stabbing into his back, the blade slipping through ribs, puncturing a lung. The man sighed and sank to the ground, Camlin lowering him.
Quickly he turned and strode back to the smokehouse, sheathing his knife. Vonn crept out of the gloom, and he heard Dath’s feet behind him.
Camlin held a finger up to Vonn, pointed at the smokehouse and then stepped through the open door.
The man inside was bent over stirring some kind of stew. Camlin’s knife took him in the gut as he turned. He struggled, gripping Camlin’s wrist, then the strength went out of him and he fell across the pot, spilling it. Flames scattered and Camlin stamped them out.
He looked up to see Vonn staring at him.
‘That wasn’t very honourable,’ Vonn said.
‘No,’ said Camlin amicably, ‘it wasn’t. He’s dead, though, an’ I’m alive. An’ you’re still breathing too, for that matter.’ He pushed past Vonn and stood in the light of the doorway, raised an arm and waved. Dath was standing beside the shadow of the dead warrior in the grass, pulling his arrow from the man’s chest. ‘You did good,’ Camlin called to him. ‘Now, both of you, help me get some saddles and tack together before Marrock arrives.’
It had taken over half the night for Camlin and Marrock to catch up with Halion and his companions.
Still, they were all alive, and everyone was mounted on a strong horse. Things could be a lot worse.
Marrock and Halion moved apart, Halion riding to the front of their small column.
‘Domhain is north-west of here,’ he said, turning in his saddle, ‘so that is the direction we will ride, and fast, to put some distance between us and our trackers. I have travelled through Cambren before, but not this far south. I know there is a good pass through the mountains to Domhain, but it is much further north, so that is where we are headed.’
Good. Now let’s just get on with it, instead of talking about it, Camlin thought, looking back over his shoulder for the signs of pursuit – a cloud of dust from horses’ hooves, the startled flight of birds, anything, but so far the land looked quiet and clean behind them.
They stopped beside a stream at highsun and Camlin dismounted, drinking deeply and splashing some water on his neck. He heard a cracking noise, looked up and jumped; only a pace away Brina’s crow was sitting on a dark granite rock, gleefully smashing a large snail to pieces. It speared the soft body within and slurped it down.
‘I hate that crow,’ a voice whispered beside him. Dath. Camlin nodded, not really wanting to say it out loud, in case the crow heard him.
‘Mount up,’ Marrock called out.
As Camlin climbed into his saddle he noticed the wolven standing perfectly still, looking behind them. Its hackles were up.
He paused, staring hard into the distance, along the path they had travelled. ‘Chief,’ he called.
Marrock rode over to him.
‘What is it?’
Camlin pointed. In the distance, almost beyond eyesight, something was moving, like a line of ants.
‘Best pick up the pace,’ Camlin said. ‘We’ve got company.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
VERADIS
Veradis reined in his horse as Dun Carreg came into view.
Calidus pulled up alongside him, the warband slowing to a halt behind.
‘Nathair is there?’ Veradis asked, staring at the fortress in the distance.
‘Yes, he is there, as is Lykos,’ Calidus said.
They spurred their mounts on, the warband rippling into motion behind.
The Jehar had split into two groups, riding on their flanks like two black wings stretching across the green countryside. Further to the south, dense forest rolled away into the distance, carpeting the land as far as Veradis could see and reminding him of Forn. Since finding Maquin, Veradis had been troubled. He’d kept his word, led Alcyon, Jael and the rest of the hunting party away from Maquin and his companions, given them a chance at life, though they still had to survive Forn. He felt he owed it to Maquin, maybe as a blood-price for Kastell. Alcyon had looked at him strangely that day, and Veradis wondered if the giant knew, somehow, what he’d done. But that was not what troubled him. It was the last words Maquin had spoken to him. Be careful of what side you choose. He had been careful, had made the right choices. Haven’t I? Nathair was his friend, but more than that, he was the Bright Star that prophecy spoke of, and Calidus was one of the Ben-Elim, a warrior-angel, come to help them, to guide them through the dark times ahead: the war against Asroth and his Black Sun. Yet if he had chosen right, why did he feel wrong, somehow, somewhere deep down, and why, when he closed his eyes at night, did he see Kastell’s face, his dead eyes accusing him.
We are at war, a voice whispered in his mind. Hard choices must be made, hard deeds undertaken. Yes, that was true. He was just glad that Calidus was with them, to guide them, and help them make the difficult choices. For the greater good, the voice in his head said.
‘Yes. For the greater good,’ he echoed.
‘What was that?’ someone said nearby. It was Bos, cantering close beside him.
‘Nothing,’ Veradis said, shaking his head.
‘It’s the first sign of madness, you know. Talking to yourself.’
‘Is that so? Then I must have lost my mind a long time ago.’
‘I could have told you that,’ Bos said with a smile.
Dun Carreg was much closer now, a small village spread at the foot of the hill it sat upon.
‘Blow that horn of yours, Bos. Let them know we’re coming.’
Veradis was ushered by Jehar warriors into a room, Nathair’s chambers. A table stood at one end with seven chairs around it. The Vin Thalun, Lykos, already occupied one. Veradis had seen a fleet anchored in the bay below Dun Carreg, sleek-hulled Vin Thalun war-galleys and fat-bellied transporters. Lykos had a cup in his hand, a smile on his face at the sight of Veradis.
‘Have a drink,’ the pirate said, pouring something and handing it to Veradis.
Veradis smiled as he took it. It was good even to see this pirate – at least Lykos was someone that he associated with home. He took a sip of the drink and winced. ‘What is this?’
‘Mead. It gets better the more you drink of it,’ Lykos said, grinning.
‘I would hope so.’ Veradis grimaced. ‘Have you seen Rauca?’ he asked, look
ing at the empty chairs. It had been such a whirlwind since he had ridden up to Dun Carreg that he had not had a chance to seek out his friend. Nathair had met him before the gates of the fortress, pulling Veradis from his knees into an embrace.
‘I have missed you, my friend,’ Nathair had said.
‘And I you,’ Veradis had responded, feeling an immense sense of relief – that Nathair was alive and well, and that he was at his King’s side to protect him again. But there had been no time for talking. A man had stridden across the bridge to them, tall and thin-featured, wearing a gold torc about his neck.
‘Owain, King of Narvon and Ardan,’ Nathair had introduced him. Veradis did not think he looked very kingly – more like a man weighed by great pressures, a man bent almost to snapping by those pressures. He was grey skinned, eyes sunken. He hardly acknowledged Veradis and looked past him, down at Veradis’ warband, who were making camp in the meadow beyond the fishing village, then out into the bay, at the fleet of black-sailed ships.
‘So many men,’ he had said to Nathair. ‘You look like a man making ready for war.’
‘That is exactly what I am doing,’ Nathair had replied calmly. ‘War against Asroth and his Black Sun. As you know, I will be travelling north soon, into Benoth, which is ruled by giants. I would be a fool to march into their realm with only a handful of warriors about me.’
Owain had looked at him. ‘We must talk soon, but first I must find out where Rhin is, what she plans . . .’ he had said briefly before heading down to the village.
‘We cannot talk here,’ Nathair had said to Veradis’ questioning look. ‘I fear Owain does not trust me. At the moment he trusts no one: a lesson he has learned a little too late, I think. Come, you will be shown to your chambers, where you can refresh yourself.’ He sniffed. ‘And wash. I will send for you and we will talk later.’
