Valour

by John Gwynne

My friend. My last friend. How can I put a knife in your flesh, watch your life spill on the mud? But kill you I must, it is my only way out of here. An anger filled him then, churning inside, focusing sharply on Lykos. You have done this to us. Taken everything away, even our humanity. Made us animals. For what? Entertainment?

  For Jael – that is why I have done this, become what I have become. For a chance to see Jael again. I must see this through, else all I’ve done, the lives I’ve taken, would be for nothing.

  He grimaced, knowing what he must do, the finality of it settling upon him like a heavy cloak. I must kill you, sword-brother.

  Orgull was tiring now, his mouth hanging open as he fought for the breath to drive his body; Maquin could see him withering, the signs of it in the wildness of the big man’s swings, the control fading with each move, each contraction of muscle, the fibres pushed beyond the point of obedience to the will. In short moments the facade would be undone. If Maquin was going to do this, he would have to do it now.

  He snarled, more at himself and what he had become than for any other reason, ducked a high blow, shuffled back, swayed to the right, then pushed forwards, dropping into a roll, slashing a knife across Orgull’s leg as he rolled past him.

  He heard the grunt and the impact of Orgull’s fall before he had finished his roll.

  He stood and turned slowly, saw Orgull lying face down in the mud, his axe slipped from his grasp, hands reaching blindly for it. There was a gash in one of his legs, blood pumping from the wound, and Maquin felt a stab of guilt at inflicting more pain on this man. His sword-brother, his captain, his friend.

  I will make it quick.

  The crowd roared as Maquin bore down on Orgull, at the last instant the big man flipping over onto his back to look into Maquin’s face. That made him pause, just for a heartbeat as they locked eyes, sharing that comradeship that can only be crafted from fighting side by side, from saving each other’s lives, from sharing the same cause.

  Orgull smiled at him, just a twitch of his scarred lips, and nodded. I am ready, the smile said, and thank you.

  Maquin raised a knife, paused as he looked down at Orgull.

  Kill him. Else all you’ve sacrificed is for nothing.

  The moment stretched, utter silence in the arena. With a snarl Maquin stood straight and dropped his knives.

  ‘I’ll not be killing you, my brother. Not this day; not ever.’

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWELVE

  CORBAN

  The land around Corban changed from rolling heather to rocky scree. They had talked long and hard about plans of approach, how exactly they were going to take Cywen from among close to two thousand Jehar.

  ‘She is bait to trap you, so she will be kept close to Nathair,’ Meical had said. ‘So all we need to do is find Nathair.’

  ‘That looks like a big fortress,’ Corban had commented.

  ‘Nathair is here for the cauldron. Find the cauldron and we find Nathair. Find Nathair and we find Cywen. How we shall then take her from him is another matter.’

  In the end the plan was a simple one. They would abandon stealth for speed. A battle would be going on, between the giants of Murias and Nathair and his Jehar. It would be chaotic. This was their best and only opportunity. They were riding quickly at a ground-eating canter, the cliffs of Murias looming high above now, night upon them. The moon was a pale glow behind streaks of cloud. Corban glanced to either side, saw Gar and his mam, Tukul and Meical, Dath, Brina, Farrell and Coralen; Storm and Buddai loped in the shadows. Behind them spread three score Jehar warriors. His kin, his friends, others, all come to this place because of him. Their lives, their deaths – all his responsibility because of his decision.

  Focus, now, as Gar’ taught me a thousand times. There is only now, this moment, and the one that follows . . .

  Then he was passing the first bodies, horses and men fallen together, their flesh torn in strips, raked down to their bones. They slowed to a trot, picking their way through the human and equine detritus. Black feathers sprinkled it all, sticking to blood, floating on the breeze.

  They moved past the concentration of bodies, the open gates looming closer. Corban saw movement to the left of the gates, amongst the rocks. It was a big black raven on a granite boulder, hunched by a corpse and pecking at itself, muttering.

  ‘Fech, is that you?’

  ‘Yes, I am Fech. Fech Fech Fech. I am a selfish, disloyal bird. Selfish, selfish.’ The raven resumed pecking himself. Corban saw blood welling through his charcoal feathers.

  ‘Stop that,’ Brina snapped as she slid from her horse and picked her way through rocks to the raven. Craf fluttered out of the sky and alighted on a boulder close by.

  Tukul and the Jehar fanned out before them, protecting against any attack.

  ‘Don’t do that to yourself,’ Brina said, grasping the raven.

  ‘Deserve it, deserve it, deserve it,’ the bird muttered.

  If it is possible for a bird’s voice to express an emotion then I am hearing abject misery, thought Corban.

  Meical followed Brina and stared at the body on the ground. From its size it was clearly a giant, probably female from the long black hair, though otherwise it was hard to tell. It was lying with limbs splayed at unnatural angles, most of its features a pulped ruin.

  ‘Is that Nemain?’ Meical said.

  ‘Yes,’ wailed the bird. ‘Nemain, Nemain, Nemain.’

  Meical looked up. Corban followed his eyes and saw a balcony high above, the curved shadow of a doorway or window behind it.

  ‘Nemain would not just fall,’ Meical said. ‘And someone opened the gates of Murias.’

  ‘Uthas,’ Fech spat. ‘Uthas killed her. Uthas the betrayer. Peck his eyes out and eat them. Should have returned sooner. Sooner, sooner.’ He tried to peck himself again, but Brina gripped his beak. Craf flew over, landing on the same boulder as Fech. He peered at the raven, then shuffled closer and began running his beak through Fech’s ruffled feathers.

  Is Craf grooming him? Is he being nice?

  ‘Will you help us?’ Corban said.

  ‘How?’ Fech asked when Brina let go, cocking his head to one side.

  ‘We need to find the cauldron,’ he said. ‘Take us to it.’

  ‘Cauldron is bad,’ Fech said. ‘Why go there?’

  ‘Because that is where Nathair will be, and he has my sister. We have come to save her.’

  ‘I know,’ Fech muttered. ‘Save Cywen. Fech remembers.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Will you help us?’

  ‘Help me kill Uthas.’

  ‘He will probably be with Nathair,’ Meical said.

  ‘Nathair’s at cauldron,’ Fech croaked. ‘I take you to cauldron, you find sister, we kill Uthas.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Corban. He didn’t want to become embroiled in hunting and killing anyone right now, but if it meant finding Cywen quickly, then it was worth doing.

  ‘Come,’ Fech squawked and flapped into the air, flying towards the open gates of Murias.

  They followed Fech through the open gateway. A wall of sound hit them. Battle was raging, though mostly at the far end of a cavernous chamber. Clearly many had fallen. Closer to them, bodies littered the floor, men and giants and horses, all bleeding into the dark stone. Corban saw Gar and Tukul tense as they saw Jehar locked in battle with giants.

  ‘Too many. Can’t go that way,’ squawked Fech as he flew back from the far end of the hall. Follow me, come, come,’ and he winged away towards the edges of the room. He took them to a wide stairwell that spiralled up. No one made a move towards them; if any saw Corban and his followers they were too busy to do anything about it. In seconds they were all dismounted and running up the stairs, trying to keep up with the bird. Corban drew his sword and flexed the wolven claws strapped to his other arm.

  Cywen, we are coming.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN

  CAMLIN

  Camlin reined in his horse.

  ‘There
it is,’ Roisin cried, pointing.

  The sail of a ship had come into view, poking above a ridge in the road. The sea churned behind it, an undulating blanket melting into the horizon. Camlin was glad to see it; a ten-night of hard riding south-west to the coast had set muscles aching that he didn’t know he had. Their column set off again, fifty or so riders. Camlin hung back a little, saw Edana’s fair hair up ahead, flanked by Marrock and Vonn. Though this is no end. Just the beginning of the next race. At least it will give us some breathing space, though. He glanced over his shoulder, looking for the tell-tale signs of their pursuers.

  For three days now he had glimpsed riders following them, a cloud of dust marking them that suggested many more than their fifty horses. Now though, green hills behind hid anyone from view, and the clouds were low and thick, masking any dust trail.

  They’re back there somewhere, but we just need long enough to jump onto a ship and row away. He dipped his body low against his horse’s neck and willed it to gallop faster.

  He had told Marrock and Halion of the pursuit, and they had in turn told Edana and Roisin, the word spreading through the warriors. A bleakness had settled over them that night, the knowledge of pursuit suggesting that Dun Taras had fallen. Baird had picked a fight with one of Quinn’s men, knocking the man cold for little more than a lingering glance. Halion had had to step in before Baird had taken on a dozen others. Quinn had challenged Baird, of course, but Halion had forbidden it, saying they were all on the same side, and to save their anger for the enemy, if they ever caught up. Camlin suspected that Quinn had not really meant the challenge, anyway; he had backed down too easily, although he had glowered at Halion’s back afterwards. Camlin had not liked that. He’d heard the man was proud and arrogant, and nothing he’d witnessed during their journey had dissuaded him of the notion. Besides that, anyone with the title of first-sword didn’t take well to being told what to do by another warrior.

  Later that night Camlin had watched Quinn as he’d cleaned and sharpened his blades – a longsword and two knives laid out before him. At the end he had poured a dark liquid over them, working it into the iron.

  ‘What’s that?’ Camlin had asked.

  ‘Just an extra bite,’ Quinn had said. ‘Something to slow a man down a little.’ He’d smiled.

  Camlin hadn’t liked that either. A memory rose in his mind of the night Farrell had arm-wrestled Quinn in the feast-hall, a cut on the back of Farrell’s hand. ‘Best be careful not to cut yourself by accident, then,’ he’d said.

  ‘I never cut anyone by accident.’

  ‘Doesn’t look exactly honourable,’ Vonn said, who had been sitting close by, silent as usual.

  ‘Honourable’s for bairns’ bedtime tales,’ Quinn said. ‘Me, I’m all for winning and living.’

  ‘My da used to say something similar,’ Vonn said. ‘I used to think he was wrong. That people were honourable, that good should stand against wrong.’

  ‘And you’re right to think so,’ Marrock had said.

  ‘Am I? I’m not so sure any more.’

  They powered over a ridge and the ocean opened up before them, the trail they were following winding down a lush green slope. They were upon the crest of a hill, beneath them a sharp rocky drop leading to a quay that jutted out into the water, a larger ship moored to it.

  Our ship. Our safety.

  The road they were on wound down the slope, curling away from the quay and then looping back, turning to sand as it spilt onto a narrow strip of beach. A few huts were scattered about, nets hanging along the beach, ridges in the sand where fisher-boats had been beached. They rode onto the beach, sand and surf spraying, and after a last gallop were finally at the quay, a milling chaos of people dismounting, pulling provisions from saddles, climbing narrow wooden stairs to reach the quay.

  Camlin shouldered a bag, mostly full of arrows, his bow gripped in his other hand, and then he was running along the quay, past Halion, who stood rearguard by the stairs, sword in hand, eyes fixed on the approach to the beach. Half a dozen warriors stood with him, the rest hastening to the ship. Waves churned beneath the timber boards as Camlin ran fast, the waiting vessel further along than he’d realized, fifty, sixty paces.

  Roisin had already boarded, holding her hands out for Lorcan. Edana was aboard, Vonn and Marrock beside her. Marrock saw Camlin and waved him on. Quinn stood close to Lorcan on the quay, waiting his turn to climb aboard. Other warriors were milling about, only a few being able to board at a time. To Camlin’s eye there was no way they were all going to fit on this ship; there were just too many of them.

  Then a cry was rising up behind them, a warning.

  Camlin looked back and saw a row of dark silhouettes lining the slope above the quay, more and more swelling the line as every moment passed. One of them kicked his horse closer, moving to the edge of the slope, stones skittering down to rattle on the quay.

  Conall.

  ‘Give the boy up,’ he yelled.

  ‘Never,’ screeched Roisin.

  ‘Give up the boy and Eremon’s bitch, and I will grant you pardon. More – I’ll reward you. I’m regent of Domhain now, and I have power and riches to spare. You’ll not have this chance again. Join me now, or I’m coming down there to kill every last one of you.’

  A buzz of muttering spread through the warriors massed on the quay. That bothered Camlin – if he could work out that the ship was too small to take them all, then so could others. Men faced with being left behind and dying made rash choices. Roisin screamed for Lorcan to board the ship. Camlin took a few steps away from the crowd, back towards the beach. He saw a figure climb the stairs on the quay and step into Conall’s view.

  Halion.

  Conall saw him. The colour drained from his face.

  ‘I thought you were dead, Con,’ Halion called up to him.

  ‘Me? I’m hard to kill, you should know that.’

  ‘What are you doing, Con?’ Halion said.

  ‘What we should have done together, years ago. I’m righting the wrongs of our father, and of that murdering bitch.’ He jabbed a finger towards Roisin. ‘The question is what are you doing, Hal? Protecting her and her spawn, when our mam died because of them, and we’ve lived a life on the run longer than I can remember because of them. Join me; together we can have our vengeance and rule Domhain into the bargain.’ He grinned. ‘A good day’s work, if you ask me.’ He held a hand out to his brother, his eyes pleading.

  Camlin froze, waiting on Halion’s answer. It felt as if everyone was doing the same; even the wind and waves were momentarily calm.

  ‘I swore an oath to Brenin. I’ll not be breaking it, Con. Not for you, not for anyone. But you don’t have to do this. Just let us go. We’ll sail away, never to trouble you again. For Elyon’s sake, man, they’re women and children.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen, Hal. You’re either with me or against me.’

  ‘Then I’m against you,’ Halion said and raised his sword.

  Conall snarled and yanked on his reins. He rode away, following the trail towards the entrance to the beach, his warband moving behind him.

  Shouts and screams rang out behind Camlin, close to the ship. He turned to see Quinn surrounded by a knot of warriors pushing back along the quay, towards the beach. Quinn was carrying Lorcan over his shoulder, the lad flopping senseless. Roisin was screaming, trying to climb from the ship, hands pulling her back. Weapons were drawn, clashing. Camlin saw Baird chop one man down, then set upon another. He glimpsed Marrock leaping from the ship’s rails back onto the quay. Quinn was running now, away from the main huddle of bodies, four or five warriors with him, another score at least forming a crude barrier holding Marrock, Baird and his men at bay.

  Camlin reached for an arrow, nocked it, let fly; one of the warriors with Quinn staggered and fell, rolling off the quay into the churning sea. He fired again, another man dropping to the ground.

  Then Halion and the men with him were mixed with them, iron sparking.
Quinn dropped Lorcan, drawing both sword and knife. Camlin saw him open a wound on a warrior’s bicep. Their weapons clashed again in a long flurry of blows, then the man was staggering away, legs unsteady, as if he were drunk.

  Poison on Quinn’s blade.

  Quinn stepped after him and with a slash of his sword opened the man’s guts.

  Camlin shouldered his bow and ran, drawing his sword.

  In slow motion he saw Halion step in front of Quinn. Camlin opened his mouth to scream, to warn Halion of the poisoned blades, but then they were at each other, the harsh ring of iron drowning out all other sound. There was a succession of blows, Halion shuffling forwards, then Quinn’s knife was spinning through the air, landing with a thunk in the wooden boards, just a few handspans from Lorcan’s prostrate body.

  Camlin was closer now, twenty paces, fifteen. He hurdled over Lorcan, part of him noticing that the lad was still breathing. Ten paces. He saw Halion duck a sword swing, step in close and smash his sword hilt into Quinn’s mouth, blood and teeth spraying. Quinn staggered back, arms flailing, then the tip of Halion’s sword exploded through his back, blood showering Camlin as he reached them.

  Halion ripped his blade free and Quinn sank to his knees, then toppled forwards onto his face.

  Relief swept Camlin and he called to Halion. ‘Come on, time to leave.’

  Then he saw the red gash across Halion’s shoulder.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN

  CYWEN

  Cywen dismounted from Shield and was almost dragged into the chamber behind Alcyon.

  At first she could not understand what was going on; images were swarming her in a fragmented rush. The chamber was vast, at its centre a stepped dais – a cauldron hulking upon it. It seemed to pulse, somehow, a black halo radiating from it. And all around were giants, horses, men, all clashing, with blood streaming in great crimson arcs. But there was more, something else, another presence in the room. Huge coils rippled around the floor, grey skinned like a corpse, but scaled. Then Cywen saw one rear up, a massive flat-snouted face, small eyes, a flickering tongue. Teeth – huge, long, curved.