by John Gwynne
‘I thought he was assassinated, my lady.’
‘Yes, but we’ll keep that between us. Took his own life is better, less likely to turn him into a martyr. A cowardly act, suicide. Couldn’t face me.’ She winked at him.
I would not like to face you as an enemy, either.
‘And what would my orders be, my lady, now that the resistance against you is crushed?’ I do not want to spend another moon here. The God-War is happening, out there, while I play at peace-keeping on the edge of the world.
‘Getting a scratch in your boots?’ Rhin asked.
Can she hear my thoughts?
‘Aye,’ he nodded.
‘I feel the same,’ Rhin said with a shrug. ‘Once Conall returns I plan on leaving Domhain. Nathair is on my mind.’
‘And mine too, my lady.’
‘Of course he is. And there are other concerns I would attend. I sent a warband north, after this Corban and his companions – the ones I had trouble with in Dun Vaner.’ She pulled a sour face. ‘I have not had any news from them, and I am impatient. So I will travel north. I would like you to accompany me, and we can see if I can reunite you with your King.’
‘That would be good,’ Veradis said. ‘How do you know where the boy has gone?’
‘He told me,’ Rhin said. ‘He came to Dun Vaner chasing after his sister. She was with Nathair, riding to Murias with him. I forget her name.’
‘Cywen,’ Veradis said, her face filling his mind as he spoke her name.
‘That’s the one. Her brother seemed to have a strong sense of family loyalty. Foolish child. It’s an overrated quality in my opinion – I’ve spent most of my life plotting how to kill off my kin, not rescue them.’
‘So you’ve sent a warband after him?’ Veradis asked. ‘I’m surprised you have the men available, spread throughout four nations as you are.’
‘I’ve spent many years raising my warbands in preparation for these days. Even so, you are right, things are a little stretched. I’ve had to send men who were stationed in Narvon. They should be at the border with Benoth soon.’
Booted feet echoed from the corridor; a guard entered.
‘Lord Conall has returned, my lady.’
‘Excellent,’ Rhin said. ‘Where is he?’
‘His company approaches the gates as we speak, my lady.’
‘Come, then,’ Rhin said, rising. ‘I could do with stretching these old legs.’
They found over three score warriors dismounting from horses in the courtyard beyond Dun Vaner’s keep. Veradis knew in a heartbeat, from the averted faces and the stoop of shoulders, that Conall and his men had failed to capture Edana and Lorcan, Eremon’s heir. Veradis saw Rafe dismount, the blond lad from Ardan, two hounds circling him. One jumped up at him, sniffing a pouch on his belt. He cuffed it good-naturedly and went to another horse and helped a grey-faced warrior dismount. The man looked close to collapse, a wide bandage strapped around his neck and shoulder. Spots of blood had leaked through.
‘Braith?’ Rhin cried out as she strode down the wide stone steps into the courtyard. She stroked the huntsman’s face and for a moment it was as if the two of them were the only people in the courtyard.
‘Get him to a healer,’ Rhin snapped at Rafe. ‘I’ll be along as soon as I can,’ she called over her shoulder.
Then Conall was there, his face set in proud lines.
‘They got away,’ he said.
‘That much is obvious,’ Rhin scowled. ‘The how I will hear when we are somewhere more private. And I hope you can tell me something of the where.’
‘I have a prisoner who may be able to help with that,’ Conall said, stepping aside and pulling a man forward. He looked remarkably like Conall. Older, lacking the fire and mirth that seemed to war constantly for control of Conall’s features, but definitely related. Serious grey eyes regarded Rhin.
‘This is Halion. My brother, and Edana’s first-sword.’
‘Ahh,’ Rhin smiled viciously. ‘Your jaunt across half of Domhain may not have been entirely wasted, then.’ She stood and stared at Halion a long moment, the warrior returning her gaze.
‘Eremon’s seed,’ she laughed, ‘all so proud.’ Then she turned and marched back up the stairs towards the keep. ‘Come on, then,’ she snapped, ‘bring him along and we’ll see what we can salvage.’
Veradis leaned against a pillar of stone, watching as Rhin stirred a pot bubbling over a fire. Conall’s brother Halion sat in a chair, his wrists tied to the arm-rests, a leather belt tightened about his chest, holding him secure.
‘We could try the traditional method of questioning,’ Rhin said as she unstrung a pouch from her belt, pulling some dried leaves from it and crumbling them into the pot. ‘But I’m inclined to cut straight to the end of the hunt. With the traditional route – you know, flaying, toe crushing, hot irons, the removal of genitals, that kind of thing – there is always so much blood. And screaming. It takes time.’ She smiled grimly. ‘I don’t really have the time to waste. I don’t like it here. I need to be elsewhere, so you need to tell me what you know, and you need to tell me now.’
Halion watched her, his face an unreadable mask.
I’m glad I’m not him.
Bitter fumes started to rise from the pot.
‘I wouldn’t stand too close,’ Rhin warned Conall and Veradis, ‘unless you wish to tell me your deepest secrets.’
Both men took a step back.
‘Now then, take a deep breath,’ Rhin said to Halion, taking the pot by its chain and holding it above Halion’s lap. He held his breath before the fumes enshrouded him. He bucked in his chair, trying to break free. Two warriors stood behind, holding it in place. Halion shook his head from side to side, searching for an escape from the fumes, his arms rigid, his back arched. Eventually he had no choice; he took a shuddering breath, then another. Moments passed and he slumped into the chair, tension seeping from his muscles.
‘Good,’ Rhin muttered. ‘Now. Tell me your name.’
‘Halion ben Eremon.’ He looked surprised, then too relaxed to care. Rhin smiled.
‘And whom do you love, above all others in these Banished Lands?’
‘Conall ben Eremon, my brother.’
Conall took a step back, as if from a blow.
‘And who is your lord?’
‘I have no lord,’ Halion corrected. ‘I serve a lady; Edana ap Brenin. Queen of Ardan.’
Rhin scowled at that.
‘Why are you asking him these questions?’ Conall growled. ‘How are they relevant?’
‘I am establishing that he is telling the truth – that the drug has him fully.’ She looked back to Halion. ‘And where is Edana now?’
‘At sea, I would imagine.’
‘What are her plans?’
‘To reunite with the resistance in Ardan. To take back her crown.’
‘It was never hers,’ Rhin muttered. Halion stared ahead.
‘And where is this resistance? What is Edana’s destination?’
‘Dun Crin, the giant ruins in the marshes of western Ardan.’
Rhin smiled triumphantly. She reached out and stroked Halion’s cheek. ‘Thank you. You have been most helpful.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CORALEN
Coralen looked up as Craf spiralled down to her. She drew her horse to a halt and waited for him, twisting in her saddle to check on the main company emerging from the woodlands of the mountain slopes, as small as ants from this distance.
‘Village,’ the crow squawked as he drew nearer, alighting on her saddle pommel.
‘Where?’ she asked.
‘Ahead. On the road.’
Typical. She’d known it was inevitable that they would encounter other people at some stage but had hoped they’d have escaped detection a little longer than this. They had spent two nights travelling through the mountains and entered Narvon only yesterday.
Enkara and Storm approached her. Even relaxed they both radiated strength and menace. Cor
alen grinned, for a moment lost in the strangeness of the company she kept. The world has changed immeasurably since I tracked half a dozen Benothi giants into the mountains between Domhain and Cambren. That had been where she’d first encountered Corban and his company.
‘What is it?’ Enkara said as she rode over. She was one of Tukul’s Jehar, one of the Hundred that had ridden out in search of the Bright Star nearly twenty years ago. Coralen had a healthy respect for all of the Jehar – their martial prowess and dedication was verging on inhuman, and the fact that the women amongst the Jehar ranks were easily as skilled as the men impressed Coralen. But Enkara had become more than that: a mutual respect had developed, and out of that a hesitant friendship.
‘A village, not far ahead,’ Coralen said. As she stared she saw faint columns of smoke. Cook-fires.
‘Can we go around?’ Enkara mused.
‘If we numbered a score, yes, we would go around. Three hundred . . .’ Coralen shook her head. ‘There’s no point. We would have to march leagues out of our way not to be spotted. And this is only the first of many villages that we are going to come across.’
‘So we just go straight through it?’
‘Yes. Fast.’
Enkara thought about that a moment, then smiled. ‘I like it.’
The rest of the scouting party joined them.
‘So what now?’ Dath asked, sitting relaxed and confident in his saddle. He was starting to lose the nervousness that had seemed to cloak him like a mist. He’s found something he’s good at. He’s made to be a huntsman, can track, scout, has a remarkable eye for details. And he’s a better shot with his bow than I am, or anyone else I’ve known.
Coralen gave them her orders, splitting the crew, Enkara and two others leaving to warn Corban and the warband, the rest going with her to scout out the village. It still felt strange, giving orders. She had ridden with a hard crew most of her life, with Rath and his giant-killers, but they had numbered around a score or so, and she had grown up with them. And she’d never given them orders. Now she was responsible for three hundred lives and was making decisions that could mean the difference between life and death for them all.
If it is strange for me, how must it feel for Corban, sitting at the head of this warband, having the Jehar, Benothi giants and one of the Ben-Elim looking to him?
‘What about me?’ Craf squawked.
‘Stay with me,’ she said, clicked her tongue and touched her heels to her horse, spurring it to a canter.
Coralen lay hidden amongst gorse and heather, studying the village in front of her. She had led Dath and a dozen Jehar wide around the village and approached through woodland from the south, leaving the majority of them hidden in the trees. Coralen and Dath had crept closer for a better look, accompanied by Kulla, a young Jehar warrior who always seemed to be somewhere close to Dath. Coralen just ignored her.
The small village spread along the riverbank, consisting of forty or fifty buildings of undressed stone and turf roofs, a large round-house at its centre. Women were scrubbing clothes in the river shallows, bairns playing on the riverbank under their watchful eye. Men worked in fields of wheat and rye spread to the west, and to the east Coralen saw a herd of goats dotting the valley slopes, their bleating drifting on the wind.
As Coralen watched the women about their work she saw a girl – six or seven summers, maybe – creep up on one of the women and splash water over her back, then run away in a burst of spray and giggles. The water must have been icy cold, fresh from the mountains, but the woman didn’t turn, just continued her scrubbing against a boulder. In time the girl crept back again with exaggerated stealth, but just before she put her cupped hands into the water, the woman turned and dashed after her, sweeping her up and kissing her repeatedly. Coralen heard them both laughing.
As she watched she felt something tighten in her chest, and to her horror she felt tears bloom in her eyes. I can’t remember one moment in all my life like that with my mam. I was never the child she wanted. She blinked, sending a fat tear rolling down her cheek, and sniffed.
‘You all right?’ Dath asked beside her.
‘Fine,’ she snapped, swiping at her face. ‘A fly in my eye.’ She paused a moment, then crept back to her horse and swung into the saddle. Dath and Kulla followed her.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To the village.’ The original plan had been to stick to their position until Corban and the warband appeared, and make sure that no one headed south from the village in an attempt to spread word of the warband’s coming. Suddenly, though, the fear and panic that the villagers would feel were things she wanted to try and avoid.
‘Why?’ Dath asked her. ‘It’s dangerous.’
‘You should stay here,’ she said as she rode towards the village. Dath caught up with her.
‘You’re mad, but Corban and Farrell would have my stones if I let you go riding into that village alone.’
‘Displeasing the Seren Disglair must be avoided,’ Kulla said, a horrified expression creeping across her face. ‘At all costs.’
Dath raised an eyebrow and Coralen scowled. ‘I can look after myself,’ she snapped.
‘I know that.’ Dath shrugged. ‘But I’m still coming.’
‘We,’ Kulla amended.
‘Suit yourself.’
They rode into the village. Dogs barked, children shouted and people gathered about them, more filtering from the surrounding fields. Coralen saw many making the ward against evil as they saw her, causing her to scowl. Strangers obviously weren’t welcome and in these troubled times she could understand why. But if they fear me, wait until they see Corban with a warband of giants and wolven. She pulled on her reins, saw the gauntlet of wolven claws she wore on her left arm and realized she was also wearing her wolven fur, the head draped across her shoulders, jaws gaping and teeth bared.
Perhaps they have good reason to fear me.
A man stepped out of the crowd surrounding them. Dath and Kulla looked around warily, prepared for trouble.
‘Greetings,’ he said. ‘Excuse the poor welcome – strangers are rare this far north.’ Despite his polite tone he clutched a thick-hafted boar spear in his hands. With disapproval Coralen noted the blade was rusted. Other men were moving forward, most hefting woodcutters’ axes. One had a battered sword sheathed at his side. She saw the mother and child that she’d watched in the river huddled together and remembered her purpose.
‘You’re about to see a whole lot more,’ Coralen said. ‘I’ve come to warn you that a warband is approaching from the north. They’ll be here soon.’
Gasps rippled around the crowd, a hint of panic, some faces sceptical. Questions flew at her, raised voices.
‘There is nothing to fear, they are peaceful and just travelling south. They will not stop, they will not attack. They want nothing from you. You’d be best going to your homes and closing your doors.’
Coralen saw expressions of doubt, disbelief, fear spreading through the crowd.
‘Peaceful! When is a warband peaceful?’ someone yelled.
‘They mean you no harm is what I mean.’ Coralen felt her temper fraying.
‘Who are you?’ the man who had greeted her shouted. People filtered away from the crowd’s edges. A group began to hurry to the east, towards the wooded valley slopes. Some made to pass her, heading south, and she turned her horse, blocking the road.
‘This isn’t going well,’ Dath whispered to Kulla, which didn’t make Coralen any calmer.
‘Go where you wish, except south,’ Coralen said, then stood in her saddle. ‘No one heads south.’
‘They mean to slaughter us all,’ a cry rose up, and hands grabbed at her bridle. She slapped them away, clenched her fist, causing her wolven claws to chime, and gripped her sword hilt. More people surged towards her.
Dath shot an arrow into the ground at the spokesman’s feet and Kulla drew her sword.
‘Stay back, or die,’ Kulla said, her voice flat and cold.
I’ve managed to bring someone less gifted at diplomacy than me.
‘Next man goes to lay a hand on her gets an arrow through the eye,’ Dath said, loud and clear.
This isn’t going as I planned.
Men were gathered in a half-circle about her, Dath and Kulla, a score at most, balanced on the brink of violence.
There was a moment’s hush, and in it another sound grew, a distant thunder. Coralen looked to the north, saw figures appear on the valley’s horizon, more pouring from the woodland. Mounted warriors, beside them the giants striding on long legs. Ahead of them ran a hound and wolven.
Corban.
‘They are here. Go back to your homes,’ Coralen shouted, and the crowd was suddenly moving in all directions. Most of them headed into the village, some broke away east and west. A handful swerved past her, heading south.
My scouts will send them back.
Coralen leaned down and reassured the woman from the river, who was standing frozen, wondering what to do, her daughter gripped in her arms.
‘Trust me,’ Coralen said. ‘Go to your home. No harm will come to you.’
The woman looked at her, obviously torn between fight and flight. The girl just stared, big brown eyes unblinking.
‘I’ll do as you say.’ The woman took long strides and disappeared into the village.
Corban’s warband was soon upon them, a wing of Jehar warriors a hundred strong riding west of the village, thundering across fields of wheat and rye, the rest marching down the centre of the valley and through the settlement. Corban rode into the silent village, Meical on one side of him, Farrell on the other, a huge grin splitting his face.
Corban nodded a greeting at Coralen’s group.
‘How are you, girlie?’ Farrell winked at Coralen.
‘Well enough, and don’t call me girlie. I’ve spoken to you about that before.’
‘Sorry – habit.’ He winced, a hand moving protectively to his groin. Dath chuckled.
‘Everything all right?’ Corban asked, frowning as Coralen fell in beside him.
‘Aye. Just trying to prevent a mass panic.’