Valour

by John Gwynne

  She moved silently through the woodland, gliding from tree to tree, using the shadows, a lifetime’s worth of training just habit now, an automatic response bypassing conscious thought, like fighting. Without realizing, she found Conall hovering in her mind’s eye, the expression on his face a mixture of insolence and humour, daring the world to throw all it could at him. She felt a physical pain at the thought of him, a knife twisting in her gut. Con, betraying Halion. One thing she knew about Halion: he would do the right thing, or at least what he considered to be the right thing, no matter how hard it was to see it through. And he was a peacemaker. He would not have driven any dispute with Conall. No matter how she looked at it, she came back to the same conclusion. Corban had told her the truth.

  And I am grateful for that. He had treated her like an equal, not a bairn, which was what Halion had done. She knew now that Halion had kept the truth from her out of an effort to spare her pain and to save Conall’s name, his reputation, but she’d rather have the truth, no matter how unpleasant.

  Corban. Regarding her with his dark, serious eyes. Waiting for a kiss. Why did I ask him that? What an idiot I am. She liked him, she was coming to realize. He was certainly good to have around in a scrap, him and his wolven and Gar. Between them they could put the fear of Asroth into most that faced them, and she respected that. But it was more than that. She liked the way he spoke to her. Open, genuine, nothing hidden.

  Something caught her eye and she paused, squatting. She was close to the edge of the woodland now, where the slope suddenly dropped down to the camps far below.

  Spoor, scattered about, as if it had been kicked to hide it. From a big animal, not big enough for a wolven, but not deer or anything else she would expect to see up here. She lifted it and broke some off, sniffing.

  Hounds. No question. And more than one. But what are hounds doing up here, and where are they now? It was drying, but still moist at its centre. Half a day old, no more.

  There was a rustling to her left. She dropped the spoor and moved closer to a tree, merging with its shadow.

  A figure appeared, climbing the slope, breathing heavily. He staggered upright, looking about. A young man, fair haired, a warrior.

  She stepped out of the shadows.

  He stumbled back a pace, reaching for his sword hilt, then paused.

  ‘You’re only a girl,’ he said.

  Your first and last mistake. Do, don’t think.

  She exploded forwards, swatting a hand away, one hand grabbing his collar, the other pressing her knife to his gut.

  ‘I am,’ she said, ‘and if you don’t walk where I tell you, I’ll slit you from belly to throat.’

  He licked his lips. ‘Think I’ll choose the walking.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  CORBAN

  Corban sipped from a skin of ale, smiling at Dath and Farrell as they traded stories from the raid of the night before.

  ‘I saw you,’ Dath said to Farrell. ‘You slipped as you ran up the slope, flat on your face. Have you ever seen a clumsy wolven?’

  ‘It was steep, and the ground was loose,’ Farrell said, slurring his words a little. He’d had a lot of ale. He was smiling, though – they all were, celebrations sweeping their camp.

  ‘Good job Coralen didn’t see you slip. Don’t think she likes the clumsy type.’ Dath grinned.

  ‘She called me a bear,’ Farrell said, frowning.

  Dath and Corban laughed.

  ‘Do you think she likes bears? I’m hoping she does.’

  Their tents were set on the edge of the camp, close to the paddocks. Corban heard the creak of harness, saw the outlines of a few horsemen now. A group of figures followed them closely on foot, one falling and being dragged for a few paces before the riders stopped.

  Prisoners, tied to the horses, Corban realized. As the rider turned to look at the fallen man the campfire highlighted her face. It was Coralen.

  She should be celebrating with the rest of us.

  ‘Look, there’s your future wife,’ Dath said to Farrell.

  ‘I’m going to ask her if she likes bears,’ Farrell said, concentrating as he stood, but still managing to look unsteady.

  ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ Corban asked him as they walked towards Coralen.

  ‘Coralen,’ Farrell called out.

  ‘Too late,’ said Dath.

  ‘You should join us, for a drink. To celebrate,’ Farrell said, looking up at Coralen in her saddle.

  Other riders were there. Corban recognized Baird and nodded a greeting at the warrior.

  ‘There’s still a war going on and, besides, you fall over after a few drinks,’ Coralen said.

  Farrell blinked at that. It was obviously not the answer he’d been expecting.

  ‘Do you like bears?’ he said instead.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Bears. Big furry animals. Do you like them?’

  ‘What’s going on here?’ Coralen said, looking at Dath and Corban. Her eyes fixed back on Farrell. ‘Are you dim-witted? Or are you mocking me?’

  Farrell, you need to stop, before she stabs you.

  ‘I’m not mocking you,’ Farrell said, face twisting in shock. ‘I would never mock you.’

  Please stop.

  ‘I love you.’

  Oh no.

  Dath laughed and staggered.

  ‘You’re drunk,’ Coralen said.

  ‘A little,’ Farrell muttered.

  ‘You must scare these lads,’ a voice said behind Coralen, ‘if they need a drink to muster the courage to talk to you.’ It was Baird, grinning from ear to ear.

  ‘Shut up,’ Coralen said over her shoulder.

  ‘I don’t need a drink to find my courage,’ Farrell said, scowling at Baird. He looked back to Coralen. ‘You haven’t answered my question. Do you like bears?’

  ‘What? Yes, I suppose. If they’re not trying to eat me. I’ve heard they make a good meal, and a good bearskin will always keep you warm.’

  ‘I think he’d like to keep you warm,’ Baird said, nodding at Farrell.

  ‘You see,’ said Farrell to Corban and Dath. ‘She does like bears.’ He grinned.

  ‘Well, if we’ve exhausted your conversation, perhaps we can get on,’ Coralen said. ‘We’re in the middle of something.’

  ‘Who are they?’ Dath said, pointing to the line of figures bound behind Coralen and her companions.

  ‘The enemy,’ Coralen said. ‘Found most of them up in the hills. Might be deserters, might be spies.’

  Corban stared at them, a huddled mass in the darkness, firelight from the camp flickering across shapes and faces. There were warriors amongst them, but also women, even children.

  ‘I think the raid the other night sent a lot of them running to the hills,’ Baird said. ‘And for all the ones we’ve caught, there’ll be a score more still out there.’

  Corban frowned, staring hard. There was something familiar about one of the figures. Standing hunched over, head down, but still . . .

  He stepped forwards.

  ‘Careful,’ Baird said. ‘They’ve been checked for weapons, but you never know.’

  Corban ignored him, shouldering his way through the huddle of figures if they didn’t move quickly enough.

  ‘You,’ he said. ‘Look at me.’

  The figure ignored him.

  ‘Look at me,’ Corban said, then drew his sword, a slow rasp.

  A face appeared, fair haired, dirt stained and gaunt, but still one Corban would never forget.

  It was Rafe.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  LYKOS

  Lykos leaped from the boat into the foaming surf and waded to shore. He stood upon a long strip of beach, a wide river flowing out into the sea behind him. On the horizon he could see a dark strip of forest.

  Tenebral, it is good to see you again.

  He had been away from here far too long. This place was too important to his plans.

  Can a god read my mind? Even a falle
n one? I hope not, even though he can speak into it.

  His hand reached inside his cloak, fingertips touching his gift from Calidus.

  Calidus had given it to him at Dun Carreg. ‘Help Jael take the realm of Isiltir for his own, then you must return to Tenebral. Fidele cannot be left unwatched. She is changeable, and Tenebral is important. She will need to be steered. Use diplomacy if you can, but if all else fails, use this.’ Calidus had given him a box, in it something wrapped in linen, no bigger than his thumb.

  It had been good to return to the Three Islands, to Panos, Nerin and Pelset, and see that old oaths were renewed, but he had taken too long in his visiting, he knew. It was the eve of winter now. He should have been back sooner.

  On the beach still reared the bones of ships, hulls half-fitted with long strakes of oak supported by timber scaffolding.

  He frowned. They should be finished, ready for the ocean.

  He looked about, saw Alazon the old shipwright striding towards him with his rolling gait. He didn’t look happy. Behind him, at the beach’s edge, stood a knot of warriors. Men of Tenebral, dressed in leather kilts and black cuirasses embossed with a white eagle. They started making their way towards him.

  Something’s wrong. Deinon and his other shieldmen splashed ashore behind him. He heard Deinon draw his sword.

  ‘Put it away,’ Lykos said.

  Alazon drew close. ‘They have found the fighting pits, have slain men, taken prisoners, freed our slaves,’ Alazon blurted. That was all he had a chance to say before the warriors of Tenebral reached them.

  ‘Lykos of the Vin Thalun,’ one of them said.

  ‘Aye, you know I am.’

  ‘You will come with us. The Lady Fidele orders your presence.’

  ‘Of course. I’d like that.’ He grinned. ‘We’ve got a lot to talk about.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTY EIGHT

  CORBAN

  Rafe lunged at him, but, surprised as Corban was, he managed to step to the side and club Rafe with the pommel of his sword.

  Dath and Farrell dragged Rafe to his feet.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Baird said as he rode close.

  ‘We know him,’ Corban said. ‘From home.’

  It felt strange to say those words, to hear them spoken aloud.

  ‘Not a friend?’ Baird said.

  ‘No.’ Corban remembered the night Dun Carreg had fallen, how Rafe and his da, Helfach, had attacked him, separated him from his own da as he fought Nathair’s eagle-guard.

  ‘Your wolven killed my da,’ Rafe said.

  ‘She did,’ Corban said. ‘And I am glad.’

  ‘Let’s kill him,’ Dath said.

  ‘No.’ Corban said it, but it was echoed by Farrell. ‘We’ll take him to Halion and Edana. I think they’ll have much to talk to him about.’

  Edana’s tent was simply furnished – a table, a few chairs, a curtain to separate her sleeping area. She just stared at Rafe as Corban led him before her, his hands still bound. Halion stood to one side of her, Marrock and Vonn to the other. Fech sat on the back of a chair, his head cocked to one side.

  Dath and Farrell filed silently in. They had not told anyone else, just marched straight to Edana’s tent. Corban heard the tent flap rustle, saw Coralen slip inside.

  Rafe looked nervous, his eyes darting from one person to the next.

  ‘How is it that you are here?’ Edana said to him coldly.

  Rafe looked at the ground.

  ‘Answer your Queen,’ Vonn said.

  Rafe’s head snapped up at Vonn’s voice. ‘She’s not my Queen. Evnis rules in Ardan now. That’s right, Evnis – your da. It was him that told me to come,’ he said, staring hard at Vonn. ‘He’ll be pleased to know you’re alive – he tore Dun Carreg apart looking for you. And he’ll be angry as hell to know you’re fighting against Rhin, and him.’

  ‘My father is a traitor and a murderer,’ Vonn said. ‘He is dead to me.’ Vonn’s face turned a darker shade.

  Rafe shrugged. ‘Have it your way.’

  How does he really feel about his da? Can he just cut him off, be his enemy? I don’t think I could ever have done that to my da, but then, my da wasn’t Evnis.

  ‘You haven’t answered the question,’ Corban said. ‘Why did Evnis send you here?’

  ‘I suppose because they were hunting you, and Evnis wanted someone with them who would recognize you. All of you, but Corban most of all.’

  Evnis. Corban felt a pulse of anger at the name. ‘They?’ Edana asked.

  ‘Nathair. Rhin.’

  What do Nathair and Rhin want with me?

  Edana took a deep breath and sipped from a cup. Corban didn’t think it was water. This ghost from the past was unsettling her, too.

  ‘Tell me of what has happened in Ardan, since . . .’ she trailed off.

  ‘Since you turned traitor and helped Owain take Dun Carreg,’ Marrock said, his voice cold as frost-touched iron.

  ‘Why should I?’ Rafe said.

  ‘Because we’ll kill you if you don’t,’ Marrock said. ‘Painfully.’ Corban believed him.

  It seemed that Rafe did, too, because he began to talk.

  Corban stood in shock as he listened to the tale of Owain’s defeat and Rhin’s victory. He had known, of course, that Rhin had conquered Owain and ruled Ardan, because it was Rhin’s warband they were fighting now. But to hear it told, to hear the details, it brought it home, somehow: the depth of scheming and planning, the cold malice that had fed Rhin’s ambitions.

  ‘And you’ll all taste soon enough what Rhin is like in war,’ Rafe said. ‘You won’t be sitting around a campfire singing, then.’

  ‘If you believe that, why were you running?’ Edana said. ‘You were caught in the hills, trying to get back to Cambren.’

  Rafe shrugged. ‘That raid of yours, the other night, it reminded me of how my da died.’ He looked to Corban. ‘Didn’t like that much. Just wanted to get away.’

  ‘If Rhin is so cunning in battle, why has she not been victorious today?’ Marrock said.

  ‘Because she’s not here. Her battlechief’s leading. She’s off in Cambren somewhere, with Nathair. A fortress – Dun Van something.’

  ‘Dun Vaner, her capital.’

  ‘That’s right. I imagine she and Conall will be back soon enough. She wouldn’t want to miss the fall of Domhain.’

  ‘Conall?’ Halion and Coralen said together.

  ‘That’s right. Conall’s her first-sword now. He challenged and beat Morcant the night of the battle with Owain. I imagine he’ll be pleased to see you.’

  ‘Conall’s dead,’ Halion said, the colour draining from his face. ‘He fell.’ He looked to Marrock. ‘You said he fell, from Stonegate with Cywen.’

  ‘They did. I saw it clearly,’ Marrock said.

  ‘Aye, they did fall; I saw their bruises,’ Rafe said. He looked around at the group, a vicious smile creeping across his face at their stunned expressions. ‘Did you not know? Conall and Cywen are alive.’’

  Corban just stared at Rafe. Cywen’s alive. The words rang around his head, echoing, growing louder, filling his senses. He felt unsteady and reached out a hand, supporting himself on a tent pole.

  ‘Cywen’s alive.’ His voice, strangely detached.

  ‘She was, the last I saw her, half a ten-night gone.’

  ‘What do you mean? You’re lying. Dun Carreg is moons from here.’

  ‘She’s not in Dun Carreg, is she? She’s the other side of those mountains, going north with Nathair and Rhin.’

  ‘And Conall’s with them?’ Halion spoke now, looking much like Corban felt.

  ‘Why?’ Corban said. ‘Why would Cywen be Nathair and Rhin’s prisoner? She’s of no consequence to them.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Rafe shrugged.

  Corban grabbed Rafe and spun him round, slammed his back against a tent pole. ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Rafe said, his smirk gone, fear in his eyes. ‘Why would I lie?’

  ‘
As a last spite from you, when you can do nothing else.’

  ‘I swear, she’s alive, and Conall. Ask anyone.’

  ‘I will,’ Edana said. ‘And if you are lying I shall let Corban feed you to Storm.’

  Corban walked through the camp, avoiding the celebrations.

  Coralen had questioned a handful of prisoners: a mixture of people, some warriors, others tradesmen, smiths, tanners, a few women. All had given similar information, that a girl, a captive, had travelled from Ardan with Rhin’s warband. Each description sounded like Cywen, dark haired, fiery, though none had known her name. It was easier still with Conall – all had known his name, told of how he had bested Morcant.

  Corban felt sick. Cywen was alive, and he had left her, run away. Abandoned her. How must she have felt. Tears stung his eyes. Then he smiled. Cywen’s alive.

  He reached their part of the camp, saw some of his friends around the fire – Brina with Craf perched on her knee, Camlin and Ventos sharing a skin. Then he spotted who he was looking for. His mam, sat with Gar. They were talking quietly, smiling. He stood in the shadows and watched them, not wanting to break this moment. Then his mam looked up and saw him. Her smile withered as he stepped out of the darkness and she saw his expression.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked him.

  ‘It cannot be. Tell me again.’

  ‘Mam, I’ve told you twice already.’

  ‘My poor Cywen – alone through all of this.’ She started to sob, trying not to. Gar squeezed her shoulder and she turned and pummelled his chest. ‘You said you’d go back, that you’d go back and get her!’

  Gar let her. ‘But she was dead,’ he said.

  ‘I’m going to go and find her,’ Corban said. ‘Bring her back.’

  ‘Ban, you can’t,’ Gar said.

  ‘Yes, he can,’ Gwenith said, standing and putting her arm around Corban’s shoulder. ‘We can. I’m going with him.’

  Gar sighed, holding back his objections as he looked from one to the other.