by John Gwynne
‘Ignorance is bliss,’ Brina agreed.
Coralen snorted.
Storm leaped the stream in a single bound, circling then pushing in tight against Corban. She folded her legs beneath her and laid her big head across his lap. He grunted with her weight but didn’t push her off, instead tugging absently at one of her fangs. It was about as long as one of Cywen’s knives. Buddai followed, not quite clearing the stream and splashing them in ice-cold water. He curled up against Cywen.
‘Dun Cadlas, the capital of Narvon, is only a half-day’s ride ahead. Balur One-Eye tells me the border of Narvon and Ardan is close, Uthandun and the giantsway only two days’ ride from Dun Cadlas,’ Corban said. ‘Coralen saw the fringes of a great forest during her scouting. It can only be the Darkwood.’ He turned and reached a hand out to Cywen, squeezing her hand.
He remembers Ronan, too. They were friends.
‘In many ways it feels like the place this all started. When Rhin sprung her trap, ambushing Queen Alona, kidnapping you and Edana. Uthan being murdered, Brenin blamed for it.’
‘And Craf found you, lost in the trees,’ Craf muttered.
‘That you did, Craf. You saved us,’ Corban agreed.
‘Yes, Craf did. Clever Craf.’
Corban stared at Craf a while. ‘I miss Fech,’ he said.
‘Craf miss Fech too.’
‘That bird,’ Corban said. ‘It was Kartala, Ventos’ hawk.’
Of course, Cywen thought.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘It brought a message to Calidus about you.’
‘It’s been following us, ever since Fech,’ Corban said. ‘We need to do something about that. Calidus and Nathair cannot know our every move.’
‘Unless you can fly I don’t know what you’re going to do about it,’ Brina said.
‘How’s your needlework?’ he asked her.
‘I stitch my clothes,’ Brina shrugged. ‘How’s yours?’
‘The same. Mam and Da taught us both to sew – Mam our clothes, Da leather – boots and the like.’
‘Why?’
‘I’ll talk to you about it after. First, though . . . It’s time for me to choose which way we’re going to go. Dun Crin or Drassil.’
‘Well, what’s it to be?’ Brina asked him.
‘That’s what I was hoping to ask you,’ Corban said.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ Brina said. ‘ Usually I’d be more than happy to tell you what to do – it’s often safer that way. And of course I don’t mind advising you until all our skin wrinkles and turns to dust. But it’s your decision that counts here.’
‘I know,’ Corban said flatly. ‘I’m still struggling with why.’
‘Me too,’ Brina and Cywen said together.
‘I’ve thought a long time over why I have been chosen for this,’ he waved his hand vaguely towards the warband. ‘Why me – a blacksmith’s son, no particular ability or influence in our world.’ He shook his head.
‘I’m still confused about that,’ Brina said. ‘But Meical is convinced, and he is one of the Ben-Elim. You should probably listen to him.’
‘I know. And I do. I’ve asked him why me, but that is the only thing he doesn’t want to tell me. He usually likes telling me what to do – he reminds me of you like that.’
‘I’ve always liked him,’ Brina said.
‘I wish it wasn’t me. Not that I don’t want to fight. Back in Murias I saw evil enter our world, and there’s no running from it. We tried that, eh?’
‘We did,’ Brina sighed.
‘No, I understand that, and I will fight Calidus and Nathair until my last breath. But what I don’t want to do is lead. So many consequences from every decision. So many lives at stake. I wish it wasn’t me.’
Cywen felt a wave of guilt. Poor Ban. And most of the time I’ve been sulking that he isn’t spending every moment with me.
Brina nodded. ‘But it is you. There are times when we cannot understand something, don’t know the reason for a thing and have to leave it at that – I know that that goes against every fibre in your very being . . .’
Cywen and Coralen both snorted laughter at that.
‘But on these occasions we just have to accept that they just are.’
‘That’s the conclusion I’ve reached,’ Corban said glumly. ‘When Gar started saying similar things to me, when we were fleeing Ardan, I just thought him mad. But I can’t really argue against it now. Things have happened.’
‘You mean apart from seeing Kadoshim boil out of a cauldron?’ Brina said.
‘Aye. Other things.’
‘What things?’ Cywen asked.
He took a deep sigh. ‘When I was held captive by Rhin – in Dun Vaner – something happened. She did something. Witchcraft. I woke up with her . . . somewhere else. It was the Otherworld. She brought me before the throne of Asroth.’ He paused here, staring at the stream a long time. Eventually he shivered and carried on. ‘He told me he’d been hunting for me. And that he was going to cut my heart out.’
And I thought my time with Nathair was hard. What kind of a world are we living in?
‘If it was true, not a dream, or a hallucination, I mean, how did you escape from him?’ Cywen asked.
‘Meical and a host of the Ben-Elim smashed their way in and saved me. I saw Meical as he truly is. He’s got wings.’
‘Strange and terrifying times we live in,’ Brina said. She reached out and squeezed Corban’s hand. He smiled at her.
‘Yes, they are,’ Corban agreed.
‘But you still have a decision to make,’ Brina said.
‘I know, but I was hoping for some advice. There are times when I feel I am going mad with it all.’ He rubbed his temples. ‘So. Advise me. Please.’
‘That I’ll happily do,’ Brina said. ‘The way I see it, there are good reasons to go to both places. Ardan because, we hope, Edana is there, with warriors about her. Combine them with this warband that is gathered behind you, we could make a considerable force. And Rhin must be stretched thin, ruling four realms so suddenly. It could be a good opportunity to take Ardan back.’
She paused, running a bony finger through Craf’s feathers. ‘And Ardan is our home – it would be nice to be back there. Familiar and comforting.’
‘Aye, it would,’ Corban murmured.
‘And it’s closer. Much closer than Drassil.’
‘Aye, it is.’
‘As for going to Drassil. Meical says you should go there. He is Ben-Elim, he should be listened to. Also, this prophecy says you should go. I am usually suspicious of fate and divine control, but in this case, you should listen. And one of the Seven Treasures is there. We will need them all if victory against Asroth is to become vaguely possible, so we should go and get it.’
That’s a better assessment than I could have made. When Brina says it like that, it seems that we should go to Drassil.
‘So there you have it, Corban, the fors and againsts of both choices. The question is, which one will you choose?’
‘My head tells me to choose Drassil,’ Corban said. ‘For all of the reasons that you state. Mostly because Meical tells me to, and, as you say, he is Ben-Elim, so he should know. But my heart whispers to me of my oath to Edana. I can’t get her out of my mind.’
There was a loud crack. Coralen was sitting with two halves of a stick in her hands. She was glaring at it. They all stared at her. After a few heartbeats she must have felt their eyes, for she looked at them. With a snort of disgust she threw the two halves of the stick into the stream, then rose and stalked away.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ Corban asked.
Brina laughed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
FIDELE
Fidele stood in Lamar’s chambers situated at the very top of the high tower of Ripa, gazing out of the window onto the landscape beyond – limestone cliffs, the horseshoe of the bay and the wide sea beyond. Black sails studded the waters, settled about the bay like a murder of crows.
The Vin Thalun. Will we ever be rid of them?
Over a moon now she had been here, surrounded by the enemy. Lykos was out there somewhere, she knew that. Once, not so long ago, that thought would have filled her with rage, and with fear. Now, though, something else consumed her thoughts.
Someone. Maquin.
I feel . . . happy. A ten-night had passed since Maquin had awoken, since she’d found him awake and kissed him.
He did tell me that he’d returned from death for me. Truth be told, though, he hadn’t needed to say anything. When she’d seen him collapse in the feast-hall she thought she’d lost him – and something in her had died. The feelings of relief when he had awoken had overwhelmed her like some dark, powerful wave. It’s ridiculous. And yet, she felt happy, for the first time since . . .
Since before Aquilus died. I should feel guilty about that. My dead husband. And yet a lifetime has passed since then.
‘My lady?’ a voice said behind her.
She turned. Peritus was standing beside their council table, maps strewn across it, platters of food and jugs of wine.
‘Yes?’ she said.
‘We have much to speak on; are you ready to begin?’ Peritus said.
‘Of course.’ She turned and sat at the table. Lamar was there, flanked by his sons Krelis and Ektor, as well as Peritus, once battle-chief of Tenebral, until Nathair had replaced him with Veradis.
‘The messenger told me you had news?’ Fidele said.
‘That is true,’ Lamar said. He looked older than the last time she had seen him, his skin sagging like melted wax upon the frame of his skull. His eyes were sharp, though. And hard.
‘Marcellin marches,’ Peritus said. ‘He has gathered his warband, and the eagle-guard that had been sent on fool’s errands when . . .’ He paused, looking into his cup. ‘Sent to the kingdom’s borders by Lykos.’
Fidele took a deep breath at that. When Lykos had controlled her through his witchcraft he had governed Tenebral through her. She had signed letters, orders written by him that sent the most loyal of her eagle-guard to the fringes of the realm, on the pretext of giant raids or supposed sightings of lawless men. All untrue, part of Lykos’ scheming to ensure that the balance of power in Jerolin remained in favour of the Vin Thalun. She knew that she had had no control of the matter, but that didn’t stop her feeling shame for it.
‘That is good news,’ she said.
‘Your letter to him must have convinced him, my lady,’ Peritus said.
Marcellin, Baron of Ultas, had barred his gates to Lykos and the Vin Thalun, but equally he had seemed unmoved to take any action in defence of Tenebral. He lived to the north-east of the realm, on the edge of the Agullas Mountains, a long way from Jerolin and the events and politics of Tenebral.
‘I am glad to have contributed something of use,’ Fidele said. ‘How many men march with him? And how long before Marcellin reaches us?’
‘We don’t know the numbers for sure. Marcellin can raise a warband at least two thousand strong, and if he has gathered all those who were sent on postings from Jerolin –’ Peritus shrugged – ‘three and a half thousand swords at least, most likely more. As for time, it will take them a moon at least to reach us.’
‘Another moon for us to hold out here.’
‘We can do that,’ Lamar said. ‘We have the supplies.’ He looked to Ektor for confirmation, his son nodding.
‘Part of me says we should march out and show these Vin Thalun what the men of Ripa can do,’ Krelis growled. ‘We don’t need Marcellin to come and save us.’
‘We must wait,’ Peritus said to Krelis. ‘You have eight hundred swords under your command here. The Vin Thalun ranks have swelled, more ships arriving. They must have at least two thousand men out there. With Marcellin’s reinforcements we will crush them, give them the lesson they deserve. Unless, of course, our King Nathair returns to us unbidden.’ He turned his eyes to Fidele.
Nathair. Once, not so long ago I yearned for his return, thought that he would set me free of Lykos’ spell, give me justice. Now I am not so sure . . . Her gaze flitted to Ektor, who was watching her. Ever since he had told her of the prophecy, read to her from the giant scrolls in his chambers, a gnawing seed of doubt had taken root in her belly. What if Calidus is not Ben-Elim? What if he is Kadoshim? If that were true, then Nathair was in great danger. And the things Lykos had said, insinuated about Nathair. That he had troubles of his own. She did not hold out for Nathair’s return any time soon, and part of her did not want him to come back, for fear that her foreboding might turn out to be more than just the paranoid fears of a mother long parted from her child.
‘I fear that Nathair’s quest will keep him from our shores for a good few moons yet,’ Fidele said. ‘You must be patient, Krelis.’
Krelis lifted a cup and drained it. ‘Patience,’ he growled as he slammed the cup down. He sighed. ‘I know, you’re right. I’ve had enough of sitting on my arse, though. It wasn’t so bad when Lykos kept sending sorties against the walls. Kept me busy . . .’
‘Perhaps there is something we can do,’ Peritus said. ‘I spoke to your scouts earlier.’
‘The ones returned from Sarva?’
‘Aye. They said they saw Vin Thalun in the old ruins of Balara.’
‘Perhaps they are setting up a base of command there,’ Krelis offered.
‘That would make sense,’ Fidele said. ‘That is where we discovered the fighting-pits, is it not?’
‘Aye, my lady,’ Krelis and Peritus said together.
Fidele could remember it still – the stench of death, the haunted looks in the eyes of the pit-fighters they had saved. What they must have been through. Her thoughts returned to Maquin. How has he survived such a thing? She knew, though. You just do. You dig deep into your soul. Endure. But not without cost.
‘You said we could do something?’ Krelis said to Peritus.
‘I think it is time that we took the initiative, instead of sitting in here, drinking wine all day long.’ He looked pointedly at Krelis.
‘Sounds good to me,’ Krelis said, sitting up straighter. ‘What exactly are you suggesting?’
‘Night raids. Nothing big – plans easily go awry in the dark. Kill some Vin Thalun on the night watch, break some axles in their baggage trains, maybe burn a ship. And perhaps we should take a closer look at Balara, see what mischief we can perform there.’
‘Is this wise?’ Ektor asked. ‘As you said, plans in the dark easily come undone. We cannot afford to lose more warriors. And who would lead these raids?’ He raised an eyebrow, looking at Krelis.
Krelis raised his cup and grinned.
‘That is a bad idea,’ Ektor said. ‘As much as I know that you are just the brawn in Ripa, your death would devastate our warriors. You cannot go.’
‘Ahh, brother, I didn’t know you cared.’
‘I don’t, really. But I care about Ripa falling, and you are the cornerstone that our warband’s morale rests upon. Cut you out and it would come toppling down.’
‘I’m going,’ Krelis said.
‘That would be foolish – the rewards do not outweigh the risks.’
‘Ektor’s correct, Krelis. You cannot go,’ Lamar said.
Krelis’ mouth twisted but he held any retort in.
‘Help us plan the raids,’ Fidele said. ‘Whatever Ektor says, I know that you have a gift for strategy.’
‘Aye, and you have a gift for diplomacy, my lady.’ Krelis smiled at her.
Fidele passed through torchlit corridors, her footsteps taking her to Maquin’s door. She paused outside, a flutter of excitement in her belly, then opened the door.
Maquin was standing gazing out of the open window, his back to her. A ten-night of recovery had put a little meat back on his bones, his frame not quite as gaunt and skeletal as it had been. He wore a plain linen tunic, belted with rope at the waist.
She walked up behind him and he turned, a smile softening the sharp lines of his face. They embraced silently, me
lting into each other. Footsteps sounded in the corridor and they parted. The footsteps passed by.
I feel like a guilty maiden. Maquin smiled ruefully at her, a twist of his lips.
‘There is not much to see out there,’ Fidele said, looking out into the night. Far below lights flickered on the bay, pinpricks marking the Vin Thalun ships. She knew what he’d been watching.
He pulled an oar on a galley like those down there. Perhaps even one of them.
They had talked much during the ten-night since he’d woken. He’d told her of his youth in Isiltir, of his kin and friends, of Kastell, the Gadrai, of Jael and Lykos and everything in between. He had wept when he spoke of Kastell and she had held him, felt his sobs rack his body. And she had spoken of her life, growing up in Jerolin, of Aquilus, how he had lived and died, a man of principle. Of the council, the proposed alliance. She had spoken of Nathair, of her hopes and fears for her son, and of Lykos. How he had controlled her, eventually marrying her, on the day that Maquin had fought Orgull, the crowning celebration.
‘How did the council go?’ he asked her.
‘Well enough.’ She told him of the news that Marcellin was marching to their aid, and of the plan to begin raids against the Vin Thalun. He seemed more interested in that.
‘When?’ he asked her.
‘Soon,’ she shrugged. ‘A few days, maybe a ten-night. Peritus suggested that a number of raids be carried out on the same night – three, four groups with different targets. He said if they did one at a time that the Vin Thalun would be alerted after the first raid, and their security would tighten.’
‘Makes sense,’ Maquin muttered. He stretched as he spoke, rolled his neck and shoulders. ‘It is time for me to start doing – some sparring, maybe. My body is aching more from lying in this room doing nothing than it did from running through the forests of Tenebral with you.’ He smiled at her, both of them remembering.
It had been often terrifying, always hard, physically and mentally, but now Fidele could not help but look back at their journey from Jerolin to Ripa with a sense of . . . nostalgia. It had been simple, then, just the two of them. She was happy now, more so than she could remember, but something was growing in her, a sense of foreboding.