Valour

by John Gwynne

  ‘Was he, now?’ Camlin asked, remembering Dath’s father, seeing his hands trembling for no obvious reason. ‘Maybe Dath’s better off without him, then.’

  Anwarth shrugged. ‘Don’t know if he’d agree with that. But I’ve seen the way you’ve looked out for him. Just wanted you to know, I’m grateful.’

  Before Camlin could answer, the gangly warrior had kicked his horse on and ridden further up the column.

  They climbed higher, the mist slowly burning off as the day approached highsun. Camlin reined in, staring back into the distance. They were following a shallow valley through a region of rolling foothills blanketed in swathes of red and purple heather. Camlin could see no sign of their pursuers, but the valley they were in had twisted and turned, so the distance he could see was limited. Safe for now. But not for much longer if we can’t change this pace.

  He heard a horse approaching, looked around to see Brina, her black crow perched on her saddle pommel.

  ‘You look worried,’ she said.

  ‘I’d be happier if I could see further.’

  ‘Maybe I can help you there,’ she said, one finger scratching the neck of her crow.

  ‘Tired,’ the bird squawked.

  ‘Get on with you,’ Brina snapped, lifting the crow and hoisting it into the air. ‘Try and earn some of the food I keep giving you.’ The bird circled once over their heads and then flapped back along the way they had travelled.

  ‘My thanks,’ Camlin said.

  ‘A bit of exercise will do him good,’ Brina replied as she rode back to the column. She settled alongside Corban and his wolven, the great beast keeping pace easily. The company I keep these days. Braith would laugh t’see it. Brina and the other old one, Heb, had spent much of the night with Corban. Camlin had seen them move a little way from the rest of the group and sit huddled in deep conversation long into the night. They were an odd company indeed, and that Gar was one of the strangest. Camlin had thought over what the grim-faced warrior had said the other morning, about Corban being chosen.

  Extraordinary things had been happening, of late, but there was no doubt that would be the strangest of all. Still, he’d learned not to judge. He was happier to sit back and watch, and that is what he would do with this Corban. There was something about him . . .

  Camlin stayed where he was a while longer, watching the crow fade to a pinprick. Then he spurred his horse to the head of the column, pulling close to Halion.

  ‘Any sign?’ the first-sword asked.

  ‘No, but I can only see about a league behind us. Wanted to ask you – what’s the ground like ahead of us.’

  ‘Much like this until we reach the mountains. The pass into Domhain is two, three days’ ride. There’s a road the giants built cutting through them.’

  ‘Is the pass guarded?’

  ‘It used to be – only a token guard – although there are more villages and holds all about the giants’ road.’ Halion shrugged. ‘I’m hoping Rhin has taken most of her fighting men with her to Ardan. We’ve travelled through the wild, but I still would have expected to see more people than we have.’

  ‘We’ve been lucky,’ Camlin said.

  ‘I don’t trust to luck.’

  There was a squawking up above and Camlin looked up, saw Brina’s crow. It swooped in and circled low over their heads, landing on Brina’s outstretched arm.

  ‘Hunters,’ the bird croaked. ‘Close, close, close.’

  Faintly on the breeze the sound of hounds baying drifted up to them.

  ‘So much for luck,’ Camlin muttered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CYWEN

  Cywen sat in her saddle looking out over the battlefield, Buddai sitting at her horse’s feet. Why she was here she did not know. Obviously it was to do with Corban, somehow. He was why everyone seemed so interested in her – Evnis, Nathair, his counsellor, Calidus – all their questions coming back to the constant that was her brother. What is it about Corban? And now she was about to view a battle. Her main pleasure was that she considered virtually everyone who would be fighting here as her enemy, at one level or another, so, whoever died, there would be some degree of satisfaction.

  She was situated amongst Evnis’ warriors, about three score of them mounted around their lord. Conall was close to her, his attention rarely leaving her for more than a few moments. She swore under her breath. ‘Don’t you have anything better to do than babysit me?’ she asked him.

  ‘Shut up,’ he said, glancing at her irritably. He’d searched her before they’d left and removed four knives that she had secreted in various parts of her clothing. She resisted a smile; he had missed two, and with them she planned to kill Evnis.

  ‘Weren’t you Edana’s babysitter, too? You’re going down in the world.’

  He glared at her, but did not answer, his eyes scanning the battleground before them.

  The giantsway ran through the centre of it all, through a wide, flat-bottomed vale where Rhin’s warband was spread to meet them. Her banners rippled everywhere – Cambren’s broken branch on a black field – a host of black and gold, thousands of them. Yet it was obvious, even to Cywen’s untrained eye, that Owain had more men – significantly more.

  There was a tension in the air, so strong that she could almost see it, like a heavy mist, and it was contagious. Horses neighed, her own mount dancing skittishly. She searched for Shield again. She had tried to take him as her own mount, but the red-haired warrior Drust had been having none of that and had taken Shield as his warhorse.

  She muttered a prayer to Elyon under her breath, begging for the horse to survive the coming battle. Not that you’ve ever listened to me before.

  She nudged her horse closer to Conall.

  ‘Why is Rhin down in the valley?’ she asked him. ‘She was here first, but she’s given Owain the high ground.’

  ‘I was wondering that myself,’ Conall said.

  Twisting in her saddle, she looked behind and saw Nathair on his great draig. She wrinkled her nose, smelling it from here. It smelt of death, of rotting things, and its dung – its smell got into your skin, so badly you could almost taste it. Nathair’s Jehar warriors were spread in a thick line behind him, near the hill’s ridge. Further along were more of Nathair’s warriors, these all on foot in orderly lines, holding great round shields. She recognized at their forefront the man who had sparred with Conall: Veradis. Behind them all was Owain’s rearguard, men held in reserve for the coming battle, she presumed.

  Cywen saw a handful of riders canter out from the rearguard ranks, Owain at their head. Nathair’s warriors parted for him and he rode to the King of Tenebral, spoke to him a while. Then Owain led his shieldmen towards Evnis and his warriors. Cywen’s heart jumped as she recognized Shield, Drust upon his back. He must be shieldman to Owain.

  Owain rode to Evnis, speaking loud enough for Cywen to hear.

  ‘I have chosen to give you great honour, as reward for your service at Dun Carreg,’ Owain said. ‘You will lead my warriors into the battle.’

  ‘Sneaky piece of dung,’ Conall muttered.

  Evnis was silent a moment, then bowed his head. ‘As you wish.’ He looked about, his eyes finding Conall, and signalled for Cywen to be taken to Nathair.

  As they rode up the hill, Buddai following her, Calidus raised a hand, beckoning Conall.

  ‘Keep a close eye on her,’ Calidus said. Conall nodded curtly. They settled to the rear of the Jehar warriors, Cywen marvelling at the black-clothed warriors’ mounts. They were beautiful to the last one, all fine boned and sleekly muscled.

  They watched as Evnis and his warriors rode down the slope towards the main host of Owain’s warband, the ranks parting to allow Evnis and his men passage.

  ‘Not going to do much fighting back here,’ Cywen said to Conall, watching him keenly. At the very least she could see how far she could push his famous temper.

  ‘You never know,’ he replied.

  ‘At least you won’t get to die as quickl
y as Evnis and your other friends, standing here at the back.’

  ‘This is a battle; death can come swift enough wherever we stand. And they’re not my friends.’

  Then horns blasted out, causing Cywen to snap her head around.

  Rhin’s warband was moving.

  First the front lines, then all those behind, appearing to ripple like a great beast rousing from sleep. Slowly at first, they moved across the flat plain of the valley, then gathering speed. The bulk of the host was on foot; Cywen could spy lines of mounted warriors gathered at the rear of the field, thickest around a great banner that was planted in the ground. Rhin must be there.

  Owain raised a hand and horns blew out. His war-host moved to meet Rhin.

  Evnis led the charge. The front ranks of Rhin’s warband picked up their own speed, many running now, yelling battle-cries, the thud of feet setting the earth to trembling.

  Cywen held her breath as Evnis hurtled towards Rhin’s front lines, knew that she was about to watch him die. She grinned fiercely.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  EVNIS

  Evnis yelled wordlessly as the first ranks of Rhin’s warband loomed closer. Everywhere he could see faces twisted with battle-cries, weapons glinting, hear feet pounding, the drumming of his own horse’s hooves, the riders behind him. He risked a glance over his shoulder, saw a large gap growing between his men and Owain’s charging warriors. Owain is cunning, thinking to remove me and slay a fair number of Rhin’s warband along the way. Except that Rhin could give lessons in cunning to a fox. Time for her first surprise.

  He sheathed his sword, reached down to his saddle and drew out a rolled banner. Rhin’s sigil of black and gold unfurled above him, snapping in the wake of his gallop. He yanked on his reins, saw the warriors before him parting as his shieldmen slowed behind him, drawing into a double column, and like that they cantered through the ranks of Rhin’s warband, shouting greetings to Rhin’s warriors as they passed them.

  Unluckily for Owain, Rhin and I have ways of communicating that he would not dream of. She had foreseen him attempting something like this, and they had plotted against every conceivable eventuality.

  His warriors filtered through Rhin’s warband, moving to the eastern edges. They regrouped around him. For an instant he focused on Rafe, the son of Helfach, his dead huntsman, and his thoughts drifted to Vonn, who had been a friend to Rafe. Where is my son? Is he still in Ardan? Then Rhin and Owain’s charging warriors met, the sound like a concussive crack of thunder.

  The warbands poured into one another, and almost instantly battle-cries were joined by death cries. The battle fell into a thousand individual duels, no strategy, no tactics, just kill the man in front, then move on to the next one.

  Evnis surveyed the battleground, saw Owain still mounted with his shieldmen about him; further up the slope Nathair and his warriors were spread near the ridge. For a moment he thought he glimpsed Conall. Could have done with his sword beside me. Too late to change his mind now, though. He had judged that Cywen was important to Nathair and did not want to be excluded from any developments there, so Conall was her guardian.

  I’ll see them both when this is done, anyway.

  He dropped Rhin’s banner and drew his sword. ‘This is it,’ he called out above the din of battle. ‘The future of Ardan will be decided this day. Ride with me now, fight with me now, and your place in it will be assured.’ A cheer went up from the men as they drew their swords, hefted spears and shields. ‘And a hundred gold pieces to whoever brings me Owain’s head.’ There was a louder cheer at that.

  Then he was spurring his horse on, picking up speed as he looped out from the fringe of the battleground. There was an explosion of bodies; his horse reared as he slashed from side to side, his sword hacking, cutting, breaking bones, denting helms, great fountains of blood spraying in his wake. His warriors crashed into the battle behind him, spreading like the cutting edges of an arrowhead. He burst clear into the open. The battle was raging. The marshes to the west stopped the combatants spreading that way, and Evnis was on the east side, a wide stretch of open valley. Owain’s warriors were using their great numbers here to curve around the edges of Rhin’s warband, flanking them. Evnis had seen Owain use the same tactic at Dun Carreg. If Owain’s men were allowed to continue with this strategy again the battle would soon be over.

  ‘With me,’ Evnis yelled and kicked his horse on. This time he and his warriors raked the edges of Owain’s men, striking fast, killing and then veering away before they could be ensnared in the crush of bodies. They did this time and time again, defending Rhin’s flank.

  Then there was a thundering in his ears, overwhelming the din of battle. Riders were pouring down the slope, charging straight at him and his shieldmen. He recognized the man at their fore.

  Owain.

  Desperately he dragged on his horse’s reins, ordering his men to pull clear or Owain and his warriors would catch them in the flank. Snarling, Evnis realized he was not going to pull free in time. He hefted his shield and screamed his frustration. Then Owain’s horsemen were crashing into his shieldmen.

  Horses neighed and screamed, warriors yelled, swords clanged, a multitude of impacts set Evnis’ ears ringing. He felt fear churning in his gut, slithering like a restless snake, slowing his limbs, as if he were moving through water.

  I will not die here, not now. See it through, see it through, see it through.

  Something whispered, in his ear or in his mind, he could not tell. You are mine, and I have work for you to do. Kill Owain. He felt the fear drain away, his limbs loosen, and he gritted his teeth, raised his sword and spurred his mount at Owain.

  Many of his shieldmen were down, horses spitted on spears, caught by Owain’s charge. But others were rallying, Rafe’s face appearing amongst them, following Evnis as he struck at Owain’s men. He crushed a skull with an overhand blow, backhanded another across the face, stabbed another in the armpit, turned a blade on his shield, punched the wielder with the hilt of his sword, teeth spraying. Then he could see Owain, sitting tall in his saddle, hacking at one of Evnis’ shieldmen.

  Owain’s sword chopped into the warrior, almost severing the man’s head. Evnis watched as Owain pulled his sword free, looked about, eyes searching. Then they saw him and narrowed to slits. ‘Traitor!’ Owain yelled and kicked his horse on.

  There was a great noise from the hill behind them, a frantic blowing of horns from the ridge. Men were milling at the hill’s crest, turning to stare at something hidden by a dip in the land. A cloud of dust hovered in the distance.

  Evnis smiled. Rhin’s second surprise.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  VERADIS

  Veradis stared into the distance, shading his eyes with one hand. Behind Owain’s rearguard a thick column of warriors was marching towards them.

  ‘How many?’ Bos asked beside him.

  ‘About a thousand. They are Rhin’s.’

  ‘I guessed that,’ his big companion said.

  Owain’s rearguard, mostly mounted, were milling around, some turning to face the newcomers, others still facing towards the battle in the vale. Many amongst them were blowing horns in warning. A rider cantered out towards the warband hurrying along the giantsway. He hefted a spear and pointed it at the approaching enemy, began trotting towards them. Ranks behind him followed, raggedly at first; slowly, the whole of Owain’s rearguard followed his lead.

  They have a good captain, Veradis thought. That is what I would do. Strike quickly, though the odds are still against them. They are too few.

  ‘Keep your sword loose in its scabbard; things are about to get bloody.’

  ‘It looks bloody enough already, down there,’ Bos said, pointing into the valley where Owain’s and Rhin’s warbands were engaged in battle.

  ‘That is only the beginning,’ Veradis said, pulling his helmet on.

  ‘Owain’s going to want to reinforce his rearguard,’ Bos said to Veradis. ‘To help them before Rhin’s men
scatter them.’

  ‘I know,’ Veradis said. ‘And it is our job to stop him. Best get to it.’ He held a fist high and his own messenger blew a horn, his warband spreading along the ridge, forming the shield wall. Two hundred warriors long it stretched, five rows deep, an impenetrable barrier as the shields came up. The thunder of hooves drew his attention as a large force of the Jehar rode past the shield wall. Akar, the warrior who had commanded the Jehar throughout the campaign to Haldis was leading them. They pulled up on the far side of his shield wall, blocking any passage for Owain between the hill and the first fringes of woodland down in the valley. For Owain, the only way to his rearguard now was through Nathair’s warriors. Veradis watched as Owain began drawing troops out from the rear of his warband, men that were not fully committed to combat; soon he had a few hundred gathered about him, more joining.

  Behind them, Rhin’s reinforcements and Owain’s rearguard clashed on the giantsway. Veradis saw that Rhin’s men were huddled tight, shields and spears bristling as Owain’s horsemen tried to split them apart. Men were falling on both sides, screams drifting on the breeze.

  ‘Here they come,’ Bos said.

  ‘Remember, we will not attack, only defend ourselves.’ Those had been Nathair’s orders. They would aid Rhin indirectly, by thwarting Owain’s movement on the field, by keeping his forces separated. Veradis drew his short sword and braced his feet.

  Owain’s men were coming up the hill, a little hesitantly. The shield wall had never been seen by these warriors before, and it was not the traditional method of battle. Veradis saw Owain and his mounted shieldmen behind them. The King of Ardan was grim faced. He is no fool – can see he has been betrayed. Defeat is a knife-edge away for him now. Veradis felt a moment of sympathy for the man, a flash of guilt for the part he was playing here. He buried it.