by John Gwynne
‘Who’s that?’ Veradis asked Nathair.
‘That’s her battlechief, Geraint.’
‘You should be seated with her,’ Veradis whispered to Nathair. ‘You won this battle for her and, besides, you are high king.’
‘Let her enjoy her moment,’ Nathair said with a smile. ‘She might well have won this battle without our help, even outnumbered. She’s a sly one.’
‘Yes,’ said Veradis. He remembered her well from Aquilus’ council. Clever, cunning and with a clear predilection for younger men, if the way she had looked at her first-sword had been anything to go by.
Bos pushed through the crowd, heading towards them, grasping Cywen’s wrist. She had washed the blood from her face, but it was still patched with bruises.
‘I hear you have taken on a new ward,’ Nathair said, looking at the girl.
‘Thought you’d be upset if she was found with her throat slit. I don’t think that Conall has the temperament for guard duty.’
‘You are right. And Calidus would most likely explode if she was killed. He is convinced the girl is important, perhaps a route to finding her brother.’ Nathair’s expression turned serious. ‘The Black Sun. He is out there . . .’ He looked out across the marshes, just a glimmer now as darkness fell, the sea beyond a murmur.
‘So what now,’ Veradis said.
‘Tomorrow we shall meet with Rhin, make more plans and continue the serious business before us. But tonight. Tonight we shall celebrate our victory and the fact that we are still alive.’ He raised a jug, poured from it and offered Veradis a cup. Veradis took a sip. Mead. He winced at the sweet taste of honey, but still managed a twisted grin.
Bos led Cywen over, freeing her when they reached Veradis. She scowled at the big warrior, rubbing her wrist.
‘How is your horse?’ Veradis asked her.
A smile touched her face, hesitant, for an instant transforming her. There’s actually a pretty girl beneath all those bruises and scowling.
‘I think he will be fine,’ she said. ‘Your friend, he is an amazing horseman.’
For a moment Veradis did not know what, or who, she meant, then realized she was talking about Akar. ‘The Jehar are skilled horsemen. I have never seen their like on horseback . . .’ He blew out a long breath. ‘I think they care more for their horses than people.’
She smiled again at that. ‘I know how that feels.’
Veradis heard a blowing of horns, looked in the direction of the sound and saw men spilling from the woods, many holding torches aloft, a constellation of firelight in the growing darkness. At their front three men marched. One walked – a woodsman by the look of the long bow slung across his back. Beside him a warrior rode a fine horse, sitting tall, teeth glinting in the torchlight. Before them both stumbled another man, his hands bound behind his back.
Owain.
Veradis saw Evnis further back amongst the warriors emerging from the woods, his shieldmen riding close about him.
Owain’s captors marched him up the hill and pushed him stumbling before Rhin. The rider with them raised a hand in greeting to Rhin, gave a wide smile and dismounted, handing his reins to a warrior.
Cywen was still standing beside Veradis, and he heard her hiss, saw that her eyes were fixed venomously on the warrior.
‘Morcant, Rhin’s first-sword and paid killer,’ Cywen said bitterly.
Veradis blinked. Of course.
Owain was cut and bruised, his lips and one eye swollen, but somehow he managed to stand straight.
‘Welcome, cousin.’ Rhin smiled. ‘You have arrived just in time. We were about to eat.’ She gestured to the boar turning above the fire. ‘I am celebrating, you see.’
Owain stared at her, rage surfacing through the ruin of his face. ‘Cambren not enough for you?’ he said.
‘Not when I am surrounded by realms ruled by idiots,’ Rhin replied.
‘You are a tyrant, a liar, a thief. I hope you rot in hell for what you have done.’ He spat on the ground. Angry murmurs rippled the crowd, but Rhin merely laughed.
‘A tyrant? Surely it’s a little too early to tell. I have only been Queen of Narvon and Ardan for half a day.’
Owain lunged at her but Morcant clubbed him across the shoulders, sending him sprawling.
‘You started the war between Brenin and me,’ Owain snarled.
‘Yes, I did. Which is why you accuse me of being a thief, I suspect. Stealing your realm from you. To be fair, you did have a choice in the matter. And Brenin did try to explain my part in things to you. He was always the brighter of you two. Besides, I have not stolen your realm; I have taken it from you. There is a big difference.’
‘But . . .’
‘Now, the real question left is what to do with you. You could serve me, you know. Be my vassal, govern part of my realm for me.’
‘What?’
‘I know, a shocking idea, and most likely a bad one. You see, I am not sure that I can trust you.’
Owain snorted.
‘So what other options do I have? Exile. A lenient ruler, merciful even, might choose that, as you are kin.’
She looked around the crowd. ‘What should I do with this vanquished king?’
‘Mercy,’ a voice shouted behind Veradis. It was Nathair, hands cupped to his mouth. ‘Show him mercy.’
‘Mercy,’ Veradis called out, joining his voice to Nathair’s. Soon it was a chant, hundreds strong.
‘Very well,’ Rhin said. ‘And if I grant you mercy, will you accept it?’ she said to Owain.
He stood silently, glowering at her.
‘Please, merciful I may be, but patient I am not. Well, not tonight, anyway. I am too hungry, and that roasting pig smells very good.’ She looked about the ring, all eyes on her.
She’s enjoying this, Veradis thought.
‘You killed my son,’ Owain said.
‘Not me personally, actually. That was him.’ Rhin pointed to Evnis. ‘But I did order his death.’ She shrugged. ‘It was war. Men die. But now the war is over, with you, at least. And you have the chance to live. Will you take it?’
‘I would rather die than serve you.’ Owain stared defiantly at her.
‘Very well.’ Rhin shrugged. ‘Braith, hold him. Morcant, take his head.’
The woodsman kicked Owain behind the knees, dropping him to the ground as Morcant drew his sword. Owain struggled, spluttering mud, then the sword was whistling, chopping with a wet thunk. It did not cut all the way through Owain’s neck, and his body jerked, spasmed, his feet kicking. Morcant wrenched his sword free and swung again, then Braith was holding Owain’s head for Rhin to see. He turned slowly, showing the crowd.
‘Well, that’s done, then. Put his head on a spike, Morcant, but later. First come and cut some meat for me,’ she said, rising and holding her hand out to her first-sword.
Veradis sighed at yet another life lost and looked down at Cywen. She was gone.
He snapped a curse at Bos, scanned the crowd.
‘But I was watching the head,’ Bos said.
Then Veradis saw her, a figure pushing through the crowd, moving determinedly towards Rhin. Thought she would have been going the other way, trying to escape. Then it hit him. She can’t seriously be thinking to kill Rhin. He charged after her, warriors grunting as he shouldered them out of the way.
Rhin was standing by the spitted boar, Morcant about to slice the first cut of meat for her, when Cywen stepped into the ring. She started to run, reaching a hand low to the heel of her boot – no doubt a hidden weapon. Veradis gave a burst of speed after her and yelled a warning, knowing he was too late, that she would reach Rhin before he managed to stop her.
Morcant looked up, shoved the Queen away and stepped forwards, reaching for his sword.
Cywen threw her knife and barely paused as it hit Morcant in the shoulder, knocking him back into the boar, flames flaring around him. She leaped at him, heedless of the flames, her hands reaching for the knife. Veradis closed the gap; all about p
eople were staring in frozen surprise. Warriors hastened towards Rhin.
Morcant and Cywen rolled away from the fire, flames licking about them from Morcant’s clothes. She had a hand around the knife hilt, was trying to pull it out to use again. He managed to get a knee up and kicked out, catching Cywen in the gut, sending her rolling away. In a heartbeat he was on his feet, grabbing his dropped sword and raising it high. With a hiss of iron Veradis drew his own sword, sparks flying as he blocked Morcant’s swing. For a heartbeat the warrior stood and stared at Veradis, then Cywen was leaping at him again as Veradis lunged for her, grabbing a handful of her tunic, and managing to block another strike from Morcant as the warrior tried to cave Cywen’s skull in with the hilt of his sword. Veradis glimpsed Alcyon striding into sight, Calidus, Bos and Nathair close by. He pushed Cywen towards them just as Morcant seemed to decide that Veradis was an obstacle that needed to be removed.
Their blades clashed; Veradis retreated before a surprisingly fast combination of blows. He stepped out of range and then Rhin was moving between them, scowling at Veradis.
‘What is going on here?’ she demanded.
‘She tried to kill you,’ Morcant said, pointing at Cywen, who was being restrained in one of Alcyon’s huge hands.
‘I tried to kill you, you idiot,’ Cywen yelled.
‘What?’
‘You murdered Ronan.’ She struggled in Alcyon’s grip, then slumped, angry tears staining her face. ‘In the Darkwood, when you attacked Queen Alona.’
‘I probably did,’ Morcant said, ‘though I don’t know who he is.’ He studied Cywen. Recognition flared in his eyes. ‘But you I do remember. She should be executed.’
‘No. She is under my protection,’ Nathair said, stepping forward.
Rhin frowned, staring icily at Cywen. Then she smiled at Nathair, a sudden change to graciousness and charm. ‘As you will, Nathair. She is fortunate to have your patronage. But I wonder who will protect my first-sword from her?’’ She cast a look of derision at Morcant as laughter erupted from her chieftains.
‘I can look after myself,’ Morcant said indignantly. He grabbed the knife hilt sticking from his shoulder and pulled it out with a grimace. ‘Think I’ll keep this.’
‘I’ll just find another one,’ Cywen said.
Veradis strode over to her, furious at having been put in such a position in front of Nathair. She does not know when to quit. ‘Bos, bind her hands. And you.’ He stepped close to Cywen and pointed a finger at her. ‘You really need to stop trying to kill people.’
She glared at him.
‘Well, I’m glad that’s all over with now. Good, then perhaps I can finally have something to eat?’ Rhin said.
Morcant strode back to the fire-pit, drawing his knife. As he reached to make the first cut for his Queen another figure stepped into the ring.
It was Conall. ‘I contest your right,’ he said loudly, for all to hear.
It was written in the Lore of the Exiles that each ruler would have their champion, their first-sword. Tradition said that only they had the right to carve the first cut of meat for their king or queen. That right could be challenged, though, to be decided in the Court of Swords. The victor would be first-sword.
‘Ahhh,’ Rhin groaned, ‘am I never going to eat tonight?’
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CORBAN
Corban had lost track of time, his world contracted to the ground before him, the burn in his lungs and legs, the shadows of his companions about him.
How long have we been running?
It was still dark; the only light was the burning torches that had been hastily fashioned from branches back in the dell where the wolven attacked them.
Dawn cannot be far off. Shapes were starting to emerge from the darkness, boulders, steep rocky cliffs to either side of the narrow path they were travelling.
In front of him Farrell stumbled, still carrying his da’s body. Corban grabbed Farrell’s belt, steadying him.
Heb and Brina dropped back, Heb looking at Farrell.
‘You should lay him down,’ Heb said.
‘No,’ Farrell grunted. ‘I’ll not leave him for his bones to be picked by scavengers.’
‘He would not want you to die on his account.’
‘I’ll not be dying yet,’ Farrell breathed, sweat dripping from his nose.
‘I think—’ Heb said, but Brina interrupted him.
‘Less thinking, more shutting up. Leave him be.’
‘She loves me really.’ Heb winked at Corban.
‘What you did in the dell,’ Corban said to Brina and Heb. ‘You saved us all. It was amazing. I never imagined what you could do.’
‘Neither did we,’ Heb said. ‘Never done anything remotely close. Blind terror is a good motivator.’
There was a fluttering of wings above – Craf swooping down to perch on Brina’s shoulder.
‘Wolven,’ the bird croaked loudly, sending a tremor of fear running through Corban.
‘Where,’ Brina managed to ask through her laboured breaths.
‘Above.’
Corban looked up: sheer cliffs disappeared into the darkness. They are up there, then, hunting us. The slopes must be too high, too steep for them to attack us. Yet.
‘What shall we do?’ he gasped to Camlin, who still ran rearguard behind him.
‘Keep running,’ the huntsman said, eyes searching upwards. A handful of stones came skittering down the cliff. Corban saw Camlin loosen an arrow from the quiver at his belt.
Dawn gradually crept over them, unveiling a grey, steep-sided land. At some point during the night Corban had noticed their path had levelled off; now it began to slope downwards and their pace picked up. Suddenly they spilt out of the path onto a hillside with pine trees covering the slopes only a few hundred paces below them. Beyond that wooded hills rolled into a green land.
‘Domhain,’ Halion said.
Storm growled and Craf squawked urgently from overhead. Corban looked back and up, seeing wolven high above, outlined by the sun.
One leaped down a sloping escarpment, sliding on gravel, then a pack behind – five, six – Corban could not tell how many. All that he was sure of was that they were coming fast.
‘Run, to the trees,’ Camlin yelled, pushing Corban on. ‘Turn and face them there.’
All of them ran on, except Dath and Corban, Storm snarling beside him. Camlin drew an arrow to his cheek and let fly; seconds later Dath’s bowstring thrummed. The first wolven on the slope tumbled and rolled, sending gravel cascading. It came to a stop and did not move. The other wolven surged past it, much closer now.
‘Run,’ Camlin yelled again as he turned and dashed towards Corban, dragging Dath with him.
Corban needed no more encouragement: he turned and ran with the rest of them, pounding down the slope. The group started to disappear into the treeline, Farrell last of all. Moments later, branches were whipping across Corban’s face, bodies jostling all about. A glance back showed the wolven still powering down the escarpment.
They drew up, breathing hard.
‘Can you make the fire again?’ Edana asked Brina and Heb, the first spoken acknowledgement of how they had been saved.
‘Yes. I think so,’ Heb said. He was breathing hard, pale faced, blood congealed from a wound on his arm.
‘There’s no guarantee,’ Brina added. ‘We’ll try.’
Something rustled in a bush, sending them all reaching for their weapons. A bundle of black feathers fell out of it. A bird with a dagger sticking from its wing. Craf flew down from above, head cocking to one side as he studied this new bird.
Vonn reached a hand forward to touch it.
‘Get off, the bird said, clear to them all. Vonn jumped back.
Craf squawked. Brina ripped off a section of her cloak and threw it over the bird. It croaked a protest as Brina bundled it up into her arms.
‘Can’t just leave a talking bird lying around,’ she said, and with a quick movement pulled
the knife from the bird’s wing.
Storm looked back, growling, her hackles rising.
‘They’re coming!’ a voice shouted from behind. Gar. He stood beside Camlin at the rear of the column, looking back, hand on the sword still sheathed across his back.
‘Face them here?’ Edana said to Camlin.
‘Deeper into the trees, break their charge. That way.’ Camlin ran, the rest of them following fast.
All other sounds were filtered, distorted through the pounding of Corban’s heart. They burst into a wide glade, voices from the front of their group shouting in exclamation, those ahead of him stumbling to a halt. The bulk of Farrell moved from in front of him, giving Corban a view of what was before them.
Figures stood at the glade’s far side, beneath the trees, five or six of them, maybe more. They looked like men, but were larger.
Giants.
They were wrapped in fur and leather and for a moment just stood there staring. Then Corban saw them pull axes and hammers from their backs, some of them striding forwards. One came straight at Corban.
Storm leaped at him, burying her fangs in the giant’s head, her momentum carrying her body over the giant’s shoulder, flipping him with her.
Corban drew his sword, eyes searching for his mam. She was to the side, close to Halion and Edana.
A giant swung his hammer at Vonn. He dived for safety but the hammer clipped his ankle, sending him careening into Brina. Farrell stepped forwards, his own hammer whistling about his head, crunching into the giant’s hip.
