Valour

by John Gwynne

  Corban was not yet sure what part his group would play in the coming conflict. Halion had told him that King Eremon would be staying at Dun Taras, too old for the journey, and that Rath would be leading the warbands of Domhain against Rhin. It was likely that Edana would have little choice other than to stay with Eremon. But Corban, along with many others in their small company, wanted to fight. Rhin had taken everything from them, and they all wished to play some part in taking it back.

  The doors to the feast-hall opened and a figure came in from the dark, the wind hurling a spattering of rain in after him. Ventos, the trader. Corban had seen Ventos a handful of times since he had arrived in Dun Taras, and always enjoyed talking to the man. He felt like another part of home, somehow, a reminder of happier times. And he was a great teller of tales, the places he had been.

  ‘How long will you be staying here?’ Corban asked him as he settled next to him and took a drink of ale.

  ‘For a while.’ Ventos shrugged. He looked around the overflowing feast-hall. ‘Seems as if the whole of Domhain is coming to Dun Taras, so it would be stupid to walk away. It’s a good place to sell.’

  ‘Even though war is coming?’

  ‘War’s good for business. People get reminded that we’re not here forever – they like to enjoy life a little more, make the most of it.’

  Nearby a man leaped onto a table and started dancing a jig to the applause of his friends.

  ‘See.’

  ‘I just thought that this is what they are like in Domhain,’ Corban said.

  ‘Oh, they are more inclined to a song, a good tale and a drink than many places I’ve been,’ Ventos said. ‘Maybe it’s the rain. It rains so much here, you have to balance it with something.’

  ‘Where is your hound?’ Corban asked.

  ‘He’s guarding my wain. It’s full of goods I’ve collected from all over the Banished Lands. Wouldn’t want them to be robbed in the night. Talar won’t let anyone take what’s not theirs.’

  Corban nodded his agreement. It was a vicious-looking hound. I remember that from the first time I saw him. I fell on him and he looked at me like he wanted to eat me. ‘And what of your bird? The hawk you won from the Sirak in a game of dice?’

  ‘Ah, Kartala. She is around. She can leave me for days at a time, even moons, but she always finds me again.’

  The doors opened again and in walked a large crowd. Leading them was Quinn, Eremon’s first-sword. He was tall and thick muscled. Corban had seen him training in Dun Taras’ Rowan Field. There seemed to be little finesse to him, but he had a strength and speed that he used to overwhelm his opponents – literally battering them to defeat. Beside him walked Lorcan, Eremon’s only recognized heir, Roisin’s son.

  Edana’s betrothed, now.

  He was slim, dark haired, fine featured like his mam, though Corban could see something of Halion about him – perhaps it was his eyes, sea grey like Eremon’s. Lorcan was fifteen summers, not yet sat his Long Night, but he trained in the Rowan Field and looked close enough to ready from what Corban had seen. He had expected there to be some animosity between Halion and Lorcan, but Corban had seen nothing to suggest that. If anything, the boy seemed to admire Halion, or at least his skill in the weapons court. Corban often noticed Lorcan watching Halion when he was sparring, and there was no malice that Corban could read in his face. A host of others walked in with Quinn and Lorcan. One of them pushed a hood back and Corban saw it was the serving-girl from Eremon’s chambers. Maeve. She looked at him and smiled. He’d seen her a few times about Dun Taras, and this was not the first time that she had favoured him with a smile. She walked over.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I heard your story – that you told to the King.’

  He didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything, just nodded.

  ‘It’s quite the tale. Special,’ she said, bending lower. She put a hand on his and squeezed it. ‘I think you must be too.’

  Corban didn’t know what to say to that either, so he blushed instead. Maeve smiled. She looked along their table and saw Halion.

  ‘Brother,’ she said to him.

  Of course, another sister, thought Corban.

  Halion dipped his head in response, then she walked away.

  Corban looked up to see Dath with his mouth open, Farrell staring at him.

  ‘Why are they all smiling at you?’ Dath said.

  It was true, Corban had been noticing a lot of attention of late. He put it down to Storm, remembering it was the same in Dun Carreg, at first. But it was different here – in Dun Carreg it had been children following and warriors frowning. There was still a fair share of that here in Dun Taras, but there were also a lot of smiles and waves, mostly from girls.

  Corban shrugged at Dath.

  ‘You’ll need to get yourself a pet wolven,’ Farrell said to Dath.

  She’s not a pet, thought Corban.

  ‘Like that’s going to happen. How about a crow?’ Dath said. ‘Brina – can I borrow Craf for a while?’

  ‘Ha,’ said Brina, who was sitting a little further along the table. ‘We all know Craf scares you witless.’ It was the largest number of words Corban had heard Brina put together for days, since Heb’s death.

  ‘He does not,’ Dath said.

  Farrell squawked in Dath’s ear and he jumped, then scowled.

  ‘There’s still hope for us, Dath. Not all of the lasses smile at Corban, anyway,’ Farrell said. ‘Coralen doesn’t.’

  ‘Now, I am scared of her. I think she actually tried to kill you in the practice court today, Ban,’ Dath said.

  Each day after Corban finished his training with Gar, Coralen challenged him to a sparring match. He had stopped losing to her, though the bouts were more often closer to draws than outright victories. She was vicious, and a cheat, with more tricks in her head than Corban thought possible.

  ‘She’s a fine lass,’ Farrell said. ‘Formidable. I’d like to marry her.’

  Dath spat out a mouthful of ale.

  ‘I think she hates me,’ Corban said. ‘At least she hits me as if she does.’

  ‘There’s a knife’s edge between love and hate,’ Brina said. Farrell frowned.

  What does she mean by that?

  ‘Like you and Heb, then,’ Dath said. His smile withered the instant the words were in the air.

  Brina looked at him, pain radiating from her.

  I thought she’d be angry, but she’s not. She’s heartbroken.

  Brina stood with a scrape of chair legs and left. Dath spluttered something after her, but she ignored it.

  Corban watched her for a few moments, then followed her. Storm crawled out after him, spilling drinks as she rocked the table. Last to follow was Gar.

  They made their way through the rain, back to their temporary home on the outskirts of the town, a black shadow winging above them. Brina lit candles and Gar set to sparking flames in the fire-pit. As light flickered into life Corban saw a figure sitting in a chair. He jumped, but it was only Vonn.

  ‘What are you doing, sitting here in the dark?’ Brina asked him, not too kindly.

  ‘Nothing. Thinking,’ Vonn said, blinking in the sudden light.

  Brina bustled about the fire that Gar had started, hanging a pot of water.

  ‘I’m making tea. Who wants some?’

  Vonn stood. ‘Think I need some air.’ And he left.

  ‘Better keep an eye on him,’ Brina said.

  ‘Just what I was thinking,’ said Gar. ‘He is still Evnis’ son.’ He headed out the door after him.

  ‘I’m here to keep an eye on you,’ Corban said to Brina.

  She raised an eyebrow at that.

  ‘I’ll make the tea,’ Corban said.

  ‘No. I will.’ Brina collected cups, sprinkling tea leaves into them and squatting by the pot, waiting for the water to boil.

  ‘Dath didn’t mean anything by what he said.’

  ‘I know,’ Brina snapped. ‘He’s an idiot. He can’t help
that.’

  She poured the hot water into two cups.

  ‘You miss Heb.’ It was more statement than question.

  Brina scowled at him, a spark of anger in her eyes. She spooned some honey into Corban’s tea, knowing how he liked it, and stirred ferociously. She sighed. ‘Corban, I know you mean well, but I cannot talk about Heb . . .’ She trailed off, blinked hard. ‘It is a raw wound. You understand?’

  He nodded. She passed Corban his tea, then sat beside him.

  ‘During the battle in the glade,’ Corban said, unsure if he should speak of Heb. Brina remained silent so he continued. ‘The giant put Heb’s burning branch out, with the earth power.’

  ‘Aye, he did. But Heb relit the branch. Not that it did him much good.’

  ‘No, I lit the branch.’

  ‘Did you?’ There was a hint of genuine interest in Brina’s voice. ‘How did that happen, then?’

  ‘I don’t know. I saw the flame go out, was terrified for Heb, and just . . . did it.’

  ‘Well, there you are then. Sometimes it’s better not to think – especially those of us that lean towards the cynical.’

  ‘Are we going to continue, with the book? Learning?’

  ‘I don’t know, Ban. Truth be told, I don’t want to do much of anything. Things were different when . . .’ She trailed off again.

  When Heb was here, he finished for her. Awkwardly, scared that she might shout at him, or hit him, he reached out and put a hand over hers, gently squeezed.

  He felt a tremor pass through her as tears spilt down her cheeks.

  They sat there like that for a long time. The only sounds were the crackle of flames in the fire-pit, the occasional slurp of tea.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  VERADIS

  Veradis paused in his climb up the mountain path. He was sweating beneath his clothes, but as soon as he stopped he felt the bite of the wind. It was cold in these mountains, colder than Veradis had ever felt. He had traded his leather kilt and iron-shod sandals over a moon ago for woollen breeches and boots, and his cloak was lined with fur, but still he was cold.

  ‘Stop shivering. Keep walking,’ Alcyon said to him as the giant reached him.

  That’s helpful.

  They were part of a scouting party sent into the mountains that separated Cambren from Domhain. The bulk of the warband was camped a few leagues east, where a road cut a deep crevice through the mountains. Scouts had confirmed that King Eremon had massed a sizeable force further along the road, where it spilt into Domhain. The battle for Domhain would most likely take place there.

  The giant Uthas led their group, he was showing a handful of Rhin’s scouts the route he had taken through the mountains. Veradis had asked to come along because he wanted to see the site of this battle that had become almost legend, between Rhin’s warriors, those they had been tracking and a wolven pack. For some unknown reason Alcyon had decided to come too, even though it was clear to Veradis that he did not like the company of Uthas or the other two giants that had joined them.

  They had stopped up ahead, Uthas and his giant companions outlined at the ravine’s head. Veradis pulled his cloak tight and marched on.

  Snow sprinkled a wide dell that the narrow path opened up into. Tiered cliffs curled around it, wind-beaten trees growing on ledges. Veradis could only stare and wonder at what had occurred here.

  There were bodies everywhere, or what was left of them. A mound of half-eaten corpses was piled close to the dell’s entrance, arrows and broken bones evidencing the violence that had sent them across the bridge of swords. They weren’t just human. Wolven scattered the ground, wide rib-cages picked clean of flesh, as well as other animal carcasses – horses, Veradis realized. Parts of the dell bore the signs of a great fire, even trees and boulders blackened and charred.

  Some at least survived, were victorious even. The ones that Uthas and his band met further along the road.

  Alcyon was inspecting the twisted trunk of a burned-out tree. He rubbed his fingers against the blackened bark, sniffed them, touched them to his tongue.

  ‘What is it?’ Veradis asked him.

  ‘The fire.’ Alcyon frowned. ‘It was not natural.’

  ‘You mean, sorcery?’

  ‘Elementals.’

  ‘But how? Who?’

  Alcyon shrugged. ‘Your enemies are resourceful.’

  ‘Our enemies,’ Veradis corrected.

  Alcyon showed him his teeth, what passed for a humourless smile.

  They searched a while longer, but the scene yielded little more information.

  Veradis had brought the lad from Ardan, Rafe, thinking that he might be useful, but the bodies were too decomposed or gnawed upon to be recognizable. Uthas and his two giant companions – one with a great axe, the other female – stood to one side, watching.

  ‘This is not where I met these people. That place is further on,’ Uthas said to Veradis.

  ‘Then lead on.’

  They spent a night on the mountain; Veradis shivered through most of it. It was Hunter’s Moon, the seasons passing from autumn to winter, but back in Tenebral the chill would be easily banished by a good cloak. Not here. Veradis woke with frost in his beard and a dusting of snow over the ground. Back at the main campsite it had been cold, the morning training taking place in frost-stiffened grass, but nothing like this.

  Uthas grinned at him as they shared strips of salted meat and washed it down with cold water.

  ‘This is warm,’ Uthas said. ‘Never come north to Murias. On a cold day your urine will be frozen before it hits the ground.’ His companions chuckled at that, but Veradis didn’t find it funny.

  ‘We will enter Domhain today,’ Uthas said. ‘We may have to stop before we reach the site you wish to see. Eremon will have scouts up here.’

  ‘We will see,’ Veradis said.

  They walked for half a day, following a winding path little more than a fox’s trail. They crested a ridge, all of them hurrying across its peak so as to give no easily seen silhouette, and then stopped a little way down the other side. Hills carpeted in thick pine rolled into the distance, the hint of green land beyond them.

  Domhain.

  They set off along a quickly widening trail, the ground sloping ever downwards now. Veradis saw a humped mound on the path, saw it was a dead wolven, again its carcass mostly stripped. They passed into light woodland, the ground thick with pine needles, and soon came to a clearing. It was full of bodies. Veradis whispered an order and Rhin’s scouts moved through the glade and then faded into the surrounding trees.

  The female giant gave out a fractured wail and crouched by a corpse – a giant.

  Veradis tried to make sense of it – wolven and giants ranked highest amongst the dead this time, and this time there was a cairn, so the victors had lingered to pay respect to their fallen. The wolven corpses drew his eye, though. Something about them. It took Veradis a few moments to realize what was different.

  They’ve been skinned. Though I’m not surprised, a wolven pelt would be a handy thing in this cold.

  ‘Tell me again what you saw, Uthas,’ Veradis said.

  ‘A company burst upon us – they were a mixed company – warriors, women, carrying injured.’

  Those that had survived the previous battle, Veradis thought.

  ‘And there were wolven with them?’

  ‘Aye. One to begin with. Then others came soon after. Four, five, I am not sure.’

  ‘The wolven fought each other,’ the giant with the axe said. Salach.

  ‘That is true,’ Uthas said. ‘I remember now. A black one fought a white one. Over there.’

  They all moved to where Uthas pointed. Close by were the remains of a wolven, little flesh left on the bones, the skull picked clean. The ground was littered with torn fragments of skin, sinew. No fur.

  ‘A white wolven, you say?’

  ‘Aye.’

  That must have been Corban’s wolven. It was them, then, fled all this way from A
rdan. So Edana was here as well. And Rauca’s killer, most likely: Gar.

  And Corban. The Black Sun. Cywen’s brother. His thoughts turned to her. She had proved pleasant company, once she had left Ardan and stopped trying to murder people. Over the last part of their march through Cambren he had found himself seeking her out, enjoying the conversations they had. She made him laugh, even if her tongue was often as sharp as the knives she liked to use. He liked her.

  He shook his head. Concentrate on what’s in front of you.

  ‘Let’s have a look inside that cairn.’

  There were two corpses inside, a warrior, sword placed across his chest, and an old man, white hair whipping across the stones. His body looked deflated, creased, like a sail with no wind in it.

  ‘One’s Anwarth, Farrell’s da,’ Rafe said, pointing to the warrior. ‘Word was he was a coward.’

  ‘He died fighting, not running away,’ Veradis said, noting the puncture wounds in the warrior’s torso.

  ‘The other one’s old Heb,’ Rafe looked sad. ‘He told a good story.’

  ‘Well his story’s over,’ said Veradis. ‘Cover him up.’

  Footsteps thumped on pine needles and Rhin’s scouts burst into the glade.

  ‘Run! They saw us,’ one snapped.

  Veradis turned and ran, Alcyon keeping pace with him; the other giants soon drew ahead, their long loping strides eating up the ground. It felt like a longer journey, running back up the hill to the ridge they had recently passed over, the woods silent apart from their heavy breathing, the thud of feet. He heard footsteps behind, voices calling in the woods. As they broke from the woodland onto open ground and sprinted for the ridge Veradis heard men shouting behind him, the whistle of a spear cast high. He ran faster. The spear skittered off a stone a few strides away. He slid over the crest of the ridge and down the other side. They kept running, long after his lungs and legs were begging him to stop, and eventually paused when they were sure their pursuers had given up. They rested a while, then began the journey back to Cambren and Rhin’s warband. Veradis was pleased; he had learned much. Much to share with Nathair.