by John Gwynne
There was a tap at the door, a pause, then the door opened.
Alben stepped in, the old warrior looking tired, but graceful as always. He dipped his head at them both.
‘And how is my miracle patient?’ he asked, moving to check Maquin as he always did – his temperature and pulse, then the wound in his belly, just a slight bump and the silver knotting of a scar upon the skin now.
‘Restless,’ Maquin said.
‘I am not surprised,’ Alben said. ‘Men such as us, a lifetime of routine and training, it does not just go away. And it is a good sign, your mind and body telling you that they are ready. We best get you into the weapons court.’
‘Will you spar with me?’ Maquin asked him.
‘You will have to go easy on me.’
‘Ha, I think it will be the other way round,’ laughed Maquin.
Alben smiled at him. ‘In the morning, then.’
He walked back to the door, hesitated before he opened it.
‘You should know, people are talking of you both,’ he said.
Fidele felt her breath catch in her chest.
Alben turned and looked at them. His expression was sadness mingled with concern.
‘Go on,’ Maquin said.
‘War does things to people. Our mortality becomes clear. Will we die today, or on the morrow? These questions become foremost in the mind.’
‘I have lived in that state for more years than I can remember,’ Maquin growled. ‘This is no passing fancy.’
Alben shrugged. ‘I am not your judge. But you should know, talk is spreading, of the Queen and the pit-fighter. You have scarcely left this room, Fidele.’
‘I am not a queen,’ Fidele breathed.
‘You are to them,’ Alben said, gesturing vaguely about him. ‘The people of Ripa, the survivors, they see you as their queen, at least in Nathair’s absence.’
Fidele drew in a deep breath, standing taller. ‘I have lived in misery, thought that my life was ended – a living hell. And yet, here I am.’ She felt her hand searching for Maquin, just wanted to touch him. ‘I will not deny myself this. It came to me unsought, but I cannot deny it.’
‘You do not have to explain or defend yourself to me, my lady. I am both warrior and healer; I exist in a place where life and death cohabit; where they are bedfellows, only a breath apart. Life should be lived, and what is life without heart and passion?’ He shrugged. ‘I thought you should be aware, that is all.’
‘Thank you,’ Maquin said.
The swordsmaster left the room. Maquin just stared at Fidele.
‘I’ll not give you up,’ she said fiercely.
‘I returned from death to life for you. Rumours aren’t going to scare me,’ Maquin grinned.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CORBAN
Corban hoisted his saddle onto Shield’s back and buckled the girth. Shield looked round at him and nudged him as he went through his routine.
When he had finished he put his arm under the stallion’s neck and laid his head against Shield’s shoulder. He stayed like that a while, listening to the rhythm of Shield’s heart, the steady flow of air expelled from nostrils. Eventually he stepped back, began picking a knot from Shield’s mane.
‘Big day today,’ he said, ‘and I’d rather be here seeing to you than over there.’
He glanced towards a group that had gathered at the head of the warband, waiting for him. Meical was at their head.
Shield regarded him with his dark liquid eyes and whickered. He stamped a hoof.
‘I know – truth and courage,’ Corban whispered as he swung into his saddle and trotted towards Meical.
The sun was rising, a finger’s width over the rim of the world, the sky clear of cloud. There had been no sword dance or sparring this morning. Meical had suggested that at this point speed was more valuable than training, and Corban was inclined to agree.
I want to be out of Narvon.
He saw a dark speck circling high above them and frowned. Kartala – we need to do something about that bird. He glanced at his fingers, the tips sore and throbbing from all the stitching he had done last night.
He pulled up before Meical, Tukul and Balur One-Eye, the rest of the warband gathered behind them. All were ready to travel, watching him.
‘Balur, will you lead us to Ardan?’ Corban said. He waited as the meaning of his words settled upon them. Meical sat tall and straight in his saddle. He gave nothing away except for a tightening around his lips, perhaps a rigidity in his shoulders. They locked gazes for what felt like a hundred heartbeats.
Meical nodded, a sharp, controlled movement, and Corban let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.
‘To Ardan,’ Balur said, striding off on his trunk-like legs. Like a creature rousing from sleep the warband followed him.
‘Dun Cadlas lies to the east,’ Balur said to Corban as they travelled through a green-sloped valley. ‘It was Owain’s fortress, his seat of power. Rhin will likely have a strong garrison there.’
‘I thought the same,’ Corban said. So we need to avoid them. Coralen had already gone ahead with a score of scouts, Dath amongst them. Corban had asked her to search for a specific location for their evening campsite. She had scowled at him as she’d ridden away.
Did she want to go to Drassil?
‘We will loop wide around the fortress, then rejoin the old road – it is the fastest route to the border,’ Balur continued. He didn’t usually offer information, speaking only when Corban asked questions of him.
Hooves drummed and Meical rode up beside them. He nodded at Corban but didn’t say a word.
Thank Elyon for that.
The leagues passed quickly and soon after highsun Balur led them back to the giants’ road that they had followed virtually all the way from Murias.
‘Dun Cadlas is ten leagues behind us, the bridge into the Darkwood forty leagues ahead,’ Balur said. The road was in better repair now, and there were more travelling upon it. Ahead of them Corban saw shapes fleeing down the embankments and heading for cover as they thundered down the road. No one stayed on the road to challenge them. Frequently Corban looked up at the sky. Every time he found the winged shadow trailing them. He swore under his breath.
Amazingly they encountered no opposition throughout the entire day. As the sun began to merge with the horizon they crested a ridge and Corban saw to the south an ocean of green boughs spreading across the landscape.
The Darkwood. It was still some distance away, most of a day’s ride, the land between dotted with woodland and undulating meadow. To the west Corban saw hills rolling into mountain peaks. We will not make it today.
A black dot appeared on the road ahead, quickly growing larger. Soon individual riders were visible – three of them, and a wolven loping beside them.
Coralen.
She’d found a place for camp that suited Corban’s request and led them to it, a patch of woodland upon the slopes of a gentle hill, a stream curling along its base. The sun painted the sky pink as they saw to their mounts and secured the area.
While all were at their tasks Corban went to see Craf.
‘Now, Craf,’ Corban said, and with a flapping of wings Craf took to the air. It wasn’t elegant, the first time that Craf had become airborne since the death of Fech, but it was flying.
‘Craf won’t fly,’ the crow had said when Corban had sat and begun talking to him.
Higher Craf spiralled now, at the edge of the trees, level with the first boughs, then higher, cresting them and bursting into open skies. He circled there a moment. Corban was sure that the bird was looking back down at them, at him.
Don’t ask him to do this, Brina had said. It’s not fair. He’s old, he’s been through enough.
‘He’s going to come back down,’ Corban said to no one in particular.
Craf didn’t. He winged higher, angled his course to the north.
I don’t want to ask him, Corban had said. But I see no other choice.<
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Corban put a hand above his eyes and peered into the sky, tracking Craf as he shrank to a black dot.
We are in a foreign land, enemies all about us. Coralen and our scouts have saved our hides a hundred times, but we need eyes in the sky.
Craf passed out of sight and Corban slipped into the treeline, looked back to check that no one was left out in the open. Only Brina was still standing on the grassy slope, her face pale and anxious.
‘Brina, come on,’ Corban called, holding his hand out to her. She gave him a foul look but hurried under the cover of the trees, refusing to take his hand.
Corban looked, saw Balur standing by a tree trunk to one side, another giant to Corban’s left. The trees either side of him formed a kind of gateway into the woods. He looked behind, up at the tallest tree, saw Dath’s boots dangling down from the highest branches. Dath had the best eyes in the whole warband.
‘Anything?’ Corban called up to him.
‘Nothing,’ Dath called back down.
Corban swallowed.
‘Craf won’t do it,’ the crow had said. ‘Craf scared. Too dangerous. Might die.’
‘I know it is dangerous,’ Corban had said to Craf, ‘but it is necessary. Please help us, Craf. Be brave and do it for us. And you will get first pickings of everything that Storm catches.’
‘Everything?’ Craf had asked.
‘Aye, everything.’
‘First pickings, not last?’
‘Aye. You have my word.’
Craf had bobbed his head, thinking.
‘First pickings no good if Craf dead,’ the bird had eventually croaked.
‘You won’t die, Craf.’
‘Corban can’t say that. False promise.’
‘I don’t think you’ll die,’ Corban had corrected.
‘Anything?’ Corban called up to Dath again now.
‘N— . . . wait, I think I see something. Yes. He’s coming.’
‘Just Craf?’
‘No. The other one’s after him.’
Corban’s heart rose into his throat. Brina edged closer to him. Corban wasn’t sure if it was for comfort or so that she would be nearer to kill him if Craf got hurt. Heartbeats passed.
‘Nearly here,’ Dath called down. ‘The other one’s almost on top of him.’ The creaking of branches signalled that Dath had started to climb down.
It was just as before, Craf setting off on a scouting mission, the hawk spotting him and swooping down from above, Craf dashing for the safety of the warband.
Please. Elyon, don’t let it end like last time.
Craf burst over the edge of the canopy, cutting tight to the trees and looping steeply down the slope. The hawk appeared, just moments behind, talons outstretched, wings tucked tight in a steep dive. Somehow Craf turned, a sharp bank in the air that brought his path around to face towards Corban beneath the trees. Wings flapping furiously, he powered towards Corban. The hawk turned too, with greater control and agility, hardly breaking pace.
Come on, Craf. Corban willed himself not to move, prayed that no one else would. Craf was close to the first branches now, with a rush of beating wings passed under the first boughs, the hawk half a dozen heartbeats behind. Craf hurtled over Corban’s head.
‘Now!’ Corban yelled.
Balur and the other giant tugged on the ropes they were holding, each one looped over a branch of the tree they were standing beneath. The same rope had lain slack upon the ground beneath the two trees. Now it shot into the air, pulling up beneath it half a hundred cloaks that Corban, Brina and Cywen had stitched together the previous night. This wall of cloaks appeared in the air so fast and sudden that it appeared to be magic, a sorcerous barrier between Craf and the hawk.
With a thud the hawk crashed into the cloaks, almost tore through them, its speed so great. The giants let go of their ropes and the huge tapestry of fabric tumbled to the ground, dragging the hawk with it. There was a powerful flapping of wings as the hawk tried to right itself. It spun in the air, wings beating furiously, scraped the ground and rolled. For a moment it stood upon the ground, then its wings unfolded, beat once and it lifted off.
An arrow slammed into a wing, spinning it, sending it crashing back to the ground. Corban glanced back, saw Dath reaching for another arrow. Coralen stood beside him, her own bow bent. Her arrow pierced the hawk’s body, and another from Dath impaled the bird to the ground. It screeched, shuddering.
There was the sound of beating wings again. Craf glided down onto the dying hawk, pinning it with his talons. Even now the hawk’s beak lashed out, trying to strike Craf, but there was no power and Craf brushed off the blow. He raised his head and struck down with his own beak, straight into the hawk’s head. Again and again. When he stopped the hawk lay still.
‘For Fech,’ Craf squawked, looking up, his beak dripping red.
‘For Fech,’ Corban echoed.
Cheers rang out behind him.
Corban walked into the trees, Storm at his side. Dimly he was aware of Jehar standing guard, a shadow too straight here, a movement there. He sat with his back to a tree, Storm curling at his feet. It had been good, taking Kartala out of the skies, and the relief that Craf had not been hurt was a physical thing. The whole warband had celebrated a little, as much as was possible whilst in the heartland of their enemy, anyway, and broken out the last few barrels of mead left from the battle in the north. Now, though, Corban had a headache and he just wanted to be alone for a while, away from the questions.
Footsteps sounded, soft on the woodland litter. It was Meical. He sat beside Corban.
‘To Ardan and Edana, then,’ Meical said to him.
I thought I’d got away too lightly with it.
‘Aye.’ Corban sucked in a deep breath. ‘I mean you no insult, Meical. You have saved my life, snatched me from the throne room of Asroth, followed me through the wilds of the north, advised me, fought beside me. I could not have saved Cywen if not for you. I am more grateful to you than words can express. And you are Ben-Elim. But . . .’
‘Yes. I know, your heart tells you to keep your oath.’ He sighed, but some of the tension that Corban had seen in him that morning was no longer there.
‘Yes,’ Corban said simply.
Meical had two cups in his hand and offered one to Corban.
He took it and sipped some mead.
‘At first, I was angry with you,’ Meical said. ‘But I have thought about it all this long day, and now I am merely annoyed, and anxious.’
Corban said nothing, just waited, a trick he’d learned from Brina.
‘We have had a few disagreements since Murias, you and I,’ Meical continued. ‘Elyon cut us from different fabric, I think – mankind and the Ben-Elim, I mean. Duty drives me, my duty to Elyon in his absence, unclouded by passion or emotion, whereas in you and your kind I see emotion lurking beneath each and every decision. Fuelling every decision.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘Whether that is good or bad, I know not, but that is the way Elyon made you, and so I must accept it. Sometimes that is not easy for me to do.’ He glanced at Corban, the flicker of a smile touching his lips.
This is the most human he has sounded since I met him.
‘Thank you, for not disagreeing with me in front of them all,’ Corban said.
‘What point me declaring that I will follow you if I won’t? Or only when you do as I want you to do? Perhaps I have lessons to learn.’ He shrugged. ‘I will follow you to Ardan, Corban. I wish we were going to Drassil, feel that our hope is best served by going there. But, I am not Elyon. I do not know all things.’ He shrugged and drank from his cup.
‘Do you think we will win?’ Corban asked, voicing the thought that dominated most of his waking life.
‘Win? I don’t know. I have laboured for more of your years than I can remember in preparation for these days, and many of my plans have come to nothing, or been thwarted by Asroth and Calidus, his servant. I thought I had sought out the best of men to fight Asroth and his Black Sun, from kings
to ordinary men. But so many of them are now dead – Aquilus of Tenebral, Braster of Helveth, your own King Brenin. Many others.’
‘Brenin knew you?’
‘Oh aye, he was one of the first to swear his oath to me. A good man, and he was one of the few that knew about you. Another one murdered by Asroth and Calidus’ schemes.’
All that time, as I grew up in his household, and this God-War was already happening.
‘I dreamed of you, last night,’ Corban said.
‘Of me,’ Meical said.
‘Aye. In the Otherworld.’
‘You know that the Otherworld is no dream,’ Meical said, looking concerned now.
Corban nodded.
‘And what happened, in your dream?’
‘I was in a valley. It was beautiful, not like the Otherworld I remember; this had vast cliffs and waterfalls. You were there. I saw you, flying. You landed upon a high ridge, greeted your kin, and entered a cave.’
Meical frowned. ‘This happened. I returned to the Otherworld last night. It is dangerous, even for me, but I longed for a moment of home, to speak to my kin.’
I can understand that.
‘I wanted to follow you, but I was afraid, so I just, wandered . . .’ Corban tried to remember, but it was all blurred images now.
Meical grabbed his arm, the grip like iron. ‘You must not do it again, do you understand? Asroth is looking for you there. If he finds you . . .’ Meical shook his head.
‘I don’t know how to make it stop.’
‘Then promise me if you find yourself there again, that you will hide, do not move. Asroth’s Kadoshim fly high, like the hawk you caught today. They will see you before you see them. And they are not the only dangers in the Otherworld. There are creatures, rogue spirits that would do you harm if they found you.’
‘Rogue spirits?’
‘Aye. Kin that went their own way, would not side with Ben-Elim or Kadoshim. They took on new forms, a reflection of their spirits. Some have become . . . savage.’ He closed his eyes a moment. When he opened them he gripped Corban’s wrist. ‘Promise me that you will hide.’