Valour

by John Gwynne

  ‘You’ll find Corban’s not so easy to kill,’ Cywen hissed at him. ‘More likely he’ll be the one killing you.’

  Alcyon just looked across the flames at her with pity.

  CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT

  CAMLIN

  Camlin stood on the walls of Dun Taras, watching the riders approach along the giants’ road. Mist swirled about their horses’ legs, as high as their knees, giving them a ghostly quality, as if they were floating, not walking. A banner was held above them, the broken branch of Cambren. At its top a strip of white cloth was tied, declaring their intention to talk rather than to fight.

  Horns had blown from the camp surrounding the fortress, announcing the advance, and the sounds had been taken up in Dun Taras, ringing all the way to the keep.

  Will Eremon come?

  He felt a presence at his shoulder: Halion, Marrock, Vonn and Edana stood beside him. Countless others were streaming up the stairwell to see what the horns portended. Everyone looked gaunt and listless, more than one appearing surly, even angry, a black mood enfolding the fortress like a sullen cloud.

  Three moons of not eating will do that to a person.

  People were dying. Of starvation, of the fever that swept the stronghold, a score of other diseases winnowing away the weak. Every day wains were pulled through the streets, clearing the dead.

  A procession appeared in the street below, warriors forcing a path for it: a grand carriage pulled by two glossy black stallions. Eremon and Roisin sat within. The carriage halted by a stairwell close to the gates and Eremon and Roisin disembarked, warriors escorting them up the stairwell to the walls.

  A figure with blonde hair squirmed its way between Camlin and Halion – Halion’s half-sister, Maeve, the one who was sweet on Corban.

  Camlin looked back to the giants’ road, saw that the party was close to the gates now. A woman rode near the front, a black cloak of sleek fur about her. Silver hair fell about her shoulders, shining like liquid starlight.

  ‘Rhin,’ Edana hissed from beside him.

  Warriors were about her, most in the colours of Cambren. One close to her wore the black and silver of Tenebral, his hair close cropped like all of their warriors. Another sat on his horse with the hood of a cloak pulled up over his head, his face in shadow.

  Rhin reined her horse in and gazed up at the wall above Dun Taras’ gates.

  ‘Eremon, are you there?’ she called out, ‘or are your legs too frail for the stairs? Come, speak to your kinswoman. We have not talked in an age.’

  ‘I am here,’ Eremon called back, stepping closer to the wall’s edge. His voice was loud and deep, belying his age. ‘Though I don’t think you’ll have much to say worth listening to.’

  ‘Time will be the judge of that,’ Rhin said. ‘You look tired, kinsman. Age knocking at your door?’

  ‘I’m not the only one getting older,’ Eremon called back. ‘Your face looks like my arse – saggy and creased.’

  Good, thought Camlin as laughter rippled along the wall. He still has his wits, at least.

  Rhin scowled at that, but before she could respond a screaming burst from the road behind Camlin. He turned to see a crowd surging around Eremon and Roisin’s carriage, pulling at the horses. One of them was neighing wildly, rearing and lashing out with hooves. The other was stumbling as blood gushed from a wound in its neck. Warriors rushed to protect the animals from the hungry mob.

  ‘Trouble in your streets?’ Rhin called as the noise quietened, warriors restoring a frayed order.

  ‘Only of your doing,’ Eremon replied.

  ‘I can fix that.’

  ‘Aye, you can. By leaving my country. Go back to Cambren. We’ve already bested your warriors in combat. Save yourself a long hard wait through the cold and go home.’

  ‘Bested my men in battle? If that were the case, why did your warband run all the long way from the border to here? And why do they hide inside your walls?’

  ‘It was not your warband that won any victory. It was your allies from Tenebral who turned the battle. Tell them to stand down and the men of Domhain will finish the lesson they began teaching your men of Cambren.’

  Camlin could see the effect of Eremon’s words in those about Rhin, her shieldmen scowling. Ragged cheers spread along the wall, some even drifting up from the streets behind.

  ‘I’m not here to talk about the past; it’s the future that needs our attention, before any more of your people starve to death. This can all stop, today. Now.’

  A silence fell upon those on the walls. Even Camlin felt drawn to listen, despite knowing that what Rhin said was unlikely to be anything good.

  ‘Step down, Eremon. You are an old man, in the twilight of your life. I will give you your life, to enjoy how you see fit. Just renounce your throne, and your heir—’

  ‘No,’ a shout rose up, fraying at the edges. Roisin.

  ‘Ah, your wife is there, too. Or should I call her your mistress? I have heard that it is she who rules Domhain, not you, Eremon. Should I be talking to her, or you?’

  ‘Be silent,’ Eremon hissed to Roisin.

  ‘I rule Domhain; no one else,’ Eremon said louder.

  ‘Then rule now, do what is best for your people. Step down. You cannot win. Domhain will be mine. You will be conquered. Both roads lead to that point, but one is littered with your people dead – through starvation and battle – the other can be reached peacefully. No more death. Just hand over your crown.’

  ‘I do not think the people of Domhain would like you for their mistress,’ Eremon called back.

  ‘They do not have to have me; only the regent I leave in my place. One of your own, a man of Domhain, a warrior, with the blood of kings flowing in his veins. Your blood, in fact.’

  With that she beckoned the hooded man forward and pulled back his hood.

  Camlin blinked, recognizing the face but not being able to place it in this context. Then he heard someone close by whisper the name.

  ‘Conall.’

  It was Maeve who spoke it first, taken up by a hundred others, a thousand, rippling along the wall like a wind soughing through long grass. Halion just stared, his face hard and cold.

  ‘So you have something to think on,’ Rhin said. ‘I’ll be back at highsun on the morrow to hear your answer.’

  Camlin sat at the table in their kitchen, wrapping sinew about iron arrowheads, tying them to a bundle of arrow shafts he had cut and left in a local smokehouse to dry out. He’d already fletched them. He finished the one he was working on, placed it in a pile, then took another unfinished shaft.

  He had spent the rest of his day here, after Rhin’s speech. The five of them, six if you included the bird, Fech, had hurried back to their rooms through streets thick with unrest. Conall’s unveiling had had an effect similar to a boot kicking an ants’ nest. Everywhere there seemed to be activity, people standing in groups, talking, arguing, where only the day before the streets had been deserted.

  ‘We should have expected it,’ Edana said. ‘Rafe told us that he lived, and that he was Rhin’s first-sword.’

  ‘It is a clever move,’ Marrock said. ‘It gives people a way out of starving without losing any honour. And Roisin is hated, which makes matters worse.’

  ‘Halion, are you well?’ Edana asked.

  Halion was sitting with his head in his hands. When he looked up his cheeks were stained with tears. ‘He’s my brother. Once things seemed so simple, just the two of us against the world.’ He took a shuddering breath and sat straighter.

  Camlin felt a stab of sympathy for the man. How old is he? Not yet thirty summers, I’d guess, yet he is forced to be older, more like Conall’s da than his brother. Responsibility has been the force that guides his every choice.

  ‘There was always something dark in Conall’s heart,’ Halion continued. ‘A bitter seed. Evnis and Rhin have cultivated it, and now I do not know who he is. Rule Domhain! He should have laughed at the thought, and refused it. Who has he become?’
r />   ‘The enemy,’ Vonn said clearly. ‘That is what he has become. He stands with the woman who plotted the fall of Brenin, of Alona, and Edana. Not just their fall, but their deaths. She would see Edana dead still. Sharing the same blood sometimes is not enough.’

  They all looked at Vonn then; he rarely spoke, and never about his da, Evnis. Even though he had not used his name, they all knew it was him that Vonn was speaking of.

  Fech fluttered nearer to Edana at Vonn’s words, as if his closeness would somehow protect her.

  ‘What will Eremon do now?’ Vonn asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Halion said. ‘If it were me, and I was sure of my people’s loyalty, I would wait longer – hope that they would resort to an attack while we are still safely behind these walls. But I don’t think that Rhin is that stupid. Geraint maybe, but not Rhin. She will be happy to wait until we’ve all died of starvation and there’s nothing left but the bones of the dead.’

  ‘And I do not think the loyalty of your da’s people can be guaranteed,’ Edana said.

  ‘No. So he must do something. And soon. Perhaps muster an attack.’

  ‘It would need to be something clever to beat that wall of shields,’ Marrock said, ‘otherwise it would just be warriors marching to a certain death.’

  ‘What’s your advice, Fech?’ Edana asked the raven. She had taken to talking to the bird more and more as if it were a human, and what was more, a wise one. Camlin wasn’t wholly comfortable with that.

  ‘Kill Rhin,’ the bird squawked. ‘Sever the head, the body wriggles and dies.’ He snapped his beak as if to emphasize his point.

  ‘Aye, good advice,’ Marrock said. ‘It’s just the how that is a problem.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ Halion said. ‘For bringing you here. I should have listened to you, Marrock. We should have gone to Dun Crin.’

  They all looked at him in silence, none knowing what to say.

  ‘Do not blame yourself for this,’ Marrock said. ‘All along you’ve done what you thought was right. I cannot fault you for that. And who is to say that things would have fared any better at Dun Crin? For all we know, our heads could be on spikes by now. We live. We have one another, oaths and friendship that bind us.’ He held Halion’s gaze until the warrior nodded at him.

  There was a knocking at the door, a warrior from the keep.

  ‘Eremon wants to see you,’ he said. ‘All of you.’

  Almost silently they passed through the streets, the only movement a rat in the gutters. That surprised Camlin: there had been a distinct drop in the number of animals wandering Dun Taras’ streets – even down to dogs and rats. Disappearing into people’s bellies.

  Camlin heard a sound in the distance, faint but growing. The roar of a crowd. An orange glow floated like a nimbus in the sky, highlighting buildings in the direction the noise came from, and the sudden smell of burning wood hit his nose and throat. There was a sense of tension amongst them, like a rope pulled taut, close to tearing. They picked up their pace and soon were walking into the keep. Warriors stood vigilantly beneath flickering torches. The group was eventually ushered into Eremon’s chambers.

  The King and Roisin were there, along with Rath. His wounds had almost healed, though Camlin saw a stiffness in his movements. A pair of serving-girls hovered, refilling Eremon’s cup as he drained it. One of them was Maeve.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ Eremon said. His eyes were sunk to dark hollows. He held out a hand to Edana and she stepped forwards and took it.

  ‘You must leave, tonight,’ Eremon said. ‘I have sent messengers ahead. A ship will be waiting for you on the coast. Baird will take you.’

  ‘What?’ Edana said.

  ‘I shall muster my warband on the morrow and order them to give Rhin battle,’ Eremon said. ‘The sensible choice is to stay behind these walls until they try and climb them, but I think my people would have opened the gates to Rhin before then. We are likely to lose,’ Eremon said. ‘We have no answer to their wall of shields.’

  ‘We will stay and fight,’ Edana said.

  ‘No. I am not asking you to leave, I am telling you, as one of my last acts as King of Domhain.’ He patted her hand. ‘You are young, but with a wise head on your shoulders, Edana. You are the best hope for all those who would stand against Rhin. You must not throw your life away.’

  ‘But where will I go?’

  ‘My ship will take you to wherever you wish to go. My advice would be to sail back to Ardan, to the south-west and the swamps of Dun Crin. I have had word that a resistance to Rhin grows there even now. Go back to your people, and lead them.’

  A frown wrinkled Edana’s brow as she considered his words.

  ‘I will do as you say,’ she said. She leaned forward and kissed Eremon’s cheek. ‘I thank you for all that you have done for me. You may yet win the day. Your warriors are brave, and Rath is no fool.’

  ‘If Rhin’s host fought like honourable men we would have won already,’ Baird muttered.

  ‘Do not think me so selflessly kind,’ Eremon said. ‘I have one thing to ask you, in return for safe passage on my ship. Take our son, Lorcan.’ His eyes flickered to Roisin. ‘I know that you have agreed to be handbound to him, but if Domhain falls and I die then it is your choice whether you honour that agreement or not. Either way, take him to safety with you.’ He smiled at her then. ‘And for myself, I hope that you and Lorcan do marry. You’ve good hips on you – there’ll be plenty of fine children, I’m sure.’

  This man would have been good drinking company, thought Camlin.

  ‘I’ll go, as you ask,’ Edana said, blushing. ‘But why do you not come as well? We could all leave, now.’

  Camlin watched them all carefully, saw the redness around Roisin’s eyes, the way Eremon’s gaze dropped to the floor.

  They have already discussed this, Camlin thought. Disagreed about this.

  ‘I cannot run,’ Eremon said. ‘My people may be in the process of choosing another over me, but they have not done so yet. I cannot just abandon them.’

  ‘But if you stay and give battle, many will die. If you run, you will be saving lives,’ Edana said. ‘Bring your loyal shieldmen, let them live to fight another day.’

  ‘I cannot slink away like a kicked hound,’ Eremon snapped. ‘I will not do that.’

  This honour thing, Camlin thought. It has its downside. I’d not think twice about running away. He looked at Edana. Or maybe I would.

  A silence settled on the room. Maeve stepped forward with a jug and refilled Eremon’s cup. Camlin saw her hand was shaking. She spilt some ale, then dropped the jug. It smashed on the stone floor, shards exploding.

  For an instant all eyes were on the jug. Then Camlin saw Maeve move, a glint of metal in her hand. She lunged forwards and drove a knife into Eremon’s throat, blood gushing in a steady pulse.

  Everyone moved at once: Maeve diving across Eremon’s kicking legs towards Edana; Rath, Baird and Halion surging towards Maeve; Roisin rising from her chair.

  Edana lifted her arms, an instinctive reaction, but Maeve was not aiming at her. They collided but Maeve was rushing with her knife at Roisin, scoring a gash across her ribs. Then Rath had Maeve about the waist, was hauling her away. The knife clattered to the ground as he twisted her wrist.

  Eremon was white, his skin almost translucent. Life flickered in his eyes and then vanished. Roisin screamed and fell across his body, hugging him and keening. Eremon’s head flopped.

  ‘Why?’ Rath said, clutching Maeve tight.

  ‘Because he would let so many die. Because he was old and close to death, anyway. Because I hate Roisin and her spawn. Because I want Conall to be king.’ She glared at him unflinchingly.

  Rath drew his own knife and plunged it into her chest, then embraced her as her life fluttered away. He lowered her gently to the ground. Tears filled his eyes as he turned back to them.

  Roisin stood slowly and stepped away from Eremon, blood staining her gown.

  ‘I think thi
s changes things,’ she said.

  ‘This way,’ Baird said, leading his horse through a hole in the stable wall that hadn’t been there short moments ago.

  Those giants were a mistrustful lot, Camlin thought, remembering the tunnels beneath Dun Carreg, always with their bolt holes.

  They were in the stableblock of Dun Taras, Edana and her shieldmen alongside Roisin, Lorcan, Quinn and about two score shieldmen whom Rath had gathered, their loyalty beyond doubt.

  ‘It’s the only way out of here,’ Roisin had said of the tunnel that they were now descending – a shallow path sloping down into darkness, tall and wide enough for men and horses alike. Hooves thudded, muffled with cloth for when they reached the open road. The tunnel stretched for a league or so before it spilt back above ground, taking them beyond the ring of Rhin’s warriors, they hoped.

  Rath had refused to leave, saying that his presence in the fortress would mask Eremon’s death and buy them vital time in making their escape. There had been no changing his mind. Halion had hugged the old warrior tight.

  They walked a long while in the dark, following a flickering light ahead, then Camlin emerged into the night. It was still dark, the sky perforated by a thousand stars.

  Edana walked just in front of Camlin, Fech perched on her saddle. Camlin saw her hold out an arm for the bird and it hopped onto it and rubbed its beak against her face.

  ‘I would ask a great favour of you,’ Edana said to the bird. ‘Find Corban for me, and tell him of what has happened. Tell him that I am sailing to Dun Crin. And that I hope to see him again.’

  The raven protested at first, but Edana asked again, and with a flapping of wings the bird lifted into the air and faded into the night.

  Edana looked back and saw Camlin watching her. Tears glistened in her eyes. ‘Looks like we’re running away again, Camlin.’

  ‘Like old times,’ he said, and with a smile tried to give her some courage that he didn’t feel.

  CHAPTER NINETY-NINE

  CORBAN