Valour (21 page)

‘Looking won’t make you any quieter, or quicker,’ Pendathran croaked. He picked up a discarded axe leaning against the wall and tried to help her.

Cywen shot him a scowl and set to the last board. With a creak it pulled free.

Cywen pulled a fresh torch from her bag and sparked it with tinder and flint. ‘Come on,’ she said and led Pendathran into the darkness of the tunnels.

When they finally emerged from the cave onto the beach Pendathran sank to the sand. It was still dark but the moon was fading, pale and wan as dawn greyed the land.

Cywen could not believe they had made it this far. Pendathran had staggered through the tunnels, at times semi-conscious. When alert he asked for news, information about what was happening in
Dun Carreg. In return she discovered that it was Evnis who had imprisoned him. Evnis who knew about the tunnels, had access to them.

The worst of their passage through the tunnels had been when they’d come upon the well, where the path spiralled around the deep hole. Cywen still did not know how Pendathran had managed
to avoid toppling into the dark emptiness. But somehow he had. The rest of the journey had passed into terror-filled nightmare, Cywen constantly pausing to listen for the pursuit she expected at
any moment: the baying of Evnis’ hounds catching her scent, the sound of running feet, the shouts of her trackers as they saw her. But it had not happened, and now they were here, on the
beach of Havan, just before the sun rose and betrayed them to the world.

Frantically she looked around. She had given little thought to what they would do if they made it this far. She scanned the shore, eyes drawn again to where Dath’s boat was usually
beached. Then an idea sparked. ‘We cannot rest here,’ she said, looping an arm under Pendathran’s. He groaned but struggled to his feet.

They splashed through shallow pools, crabs scuttling out of their way, then along the path to the village, past the smokehouses, until Cywen saw a small house.

Dath’s house.

The door was open. The smell that greeted them was stale and musty. The place had been ransacked: tables and chairs overturned, cupboards open, emptied.
Probably Owain’s men when they
occupied the town during the siege, before they moved into Dun Carreg.

There was a barrel with cold fresh rainwater by the back door. Cywen fetched some for Pendathran, who had collapsed onto a sagging cot. He drank and drank, water spilling over his face, soaking
his beard. Cywen had to pull the jug from his lips, worrying that he would vomit.

‘I will bring you food when I can,’ she said to Pendathran. ‘I will try tonight, though Evnis has had me watched.’

‘Why, girl?’ Pendathran mumbled.

‘I’m not sure – maybe he thinks I can lead him to Corban, and Edana.’ She shrugged. ‘You must stay out of sight. Stay here until I return.’

‘No chance of me going far,’ Pendathran said.

Cywen stood there, worrying, then turned on her heel and sped to the door.

‘Girl,’ Pendathran called after her. She stopped and looked back.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

She flashed him a quick smile and ran.

After a brief hesitation she turned towards the village. With every passing moment it was more likely that Evnis would discover Pendathran had escaped. Surely he would have men search the
tunnels for him.

As the sun rose she mingled with labourers from the village who were making their way up to the fortress. She pulled her hood up and slipped across the bridge and through Stonegate unnoticed.
Once back in Dun Carreg she ran through the stone-paved backstreets, skirting her house to climb alley walls and slip in through her garden. Buddai greeted her with a wagging tail as she strode
across the kitchen and peered out of her window. A shadow still occupied a doorway across the street, though now it was slumped on the floor, sleeping. She felt exhausted, but knew that if she lay
down she would probably sleep half the day. That she must not do.
Give the spy no reason to report to Evnis, nothing to raise his suspicions
. So she broke her fast with some bacon and
honey-cakes, half of which she fed to a drooling Buddai, and then set about her usual daily tasks. She made her way to the stables, where she harnessed up selected horses for warriors to train with
in the Rowan Field. One of the horses was Shield. She took her time with him, gave him an extra apple and scowled at the man that climbed into his saddle. It was Drust, the red-haired warrior from
Narvon, the one in the feast-hall who had told her to take Buddai, the day after Dun Carreg had fallen.

As the day wore on she felt a tension growing in her gut. There was something she must do.

Evnis must surely know Pendathran had escaped by now. He would scour the tunnels searching for him, but he would not risk baying hounds during the day – Pendathran was clearly a closely
guarded secret, one that King Owain knew nothing about, and Evnis was not fool enough to draw attention with a full hunt in broad daylight. He would not risk his hounds beyond the tunnels until
nightfall, surely. That meant Cywen had some time to do what was necessary. She steeled herself, then set about the task.

The sun was sinking towards the ocean when she left her home, her bag slung over her back. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder, knowing that someone would be
shadowing her, and made her way to the stables.

Once there she slipped inside an empty stall. Quickly, she tied her hair back tight to her head, stuffed straw inside her tunic until it was near bursting, then drew a cloak from her bag,
pulling the hood up. She emptied the contents of her bag into a saddlebag. Finally she shouldered a saddle and tack as well as the saddlebag. Taking a deep breath, she stepped from the stables and
walked purposefully across the yard. She noticed Conall leaning beside a water barrel, eyes fixed on the stable door. She smiled as she walked away from him into the streets of the fortress.

As soon as she was out of sight she dumped the saddle and tack, heading with speed towards her quarry: Evnis’ tower. She paused, stepped into deep shadows caused by the sinking sun, then
made her way furtively along Evnis’ wall. When she judged she was in the right place she stopped, testing the mortar between the wall’s stones with a finger. It was soft and crumbling,
succumbing to years of salt in the air. She looked about once more, the street empty, silent, then drew two of her knives, stabbed them into gaps in the stone and began hauling herself up the wall.
Dath had taught her how to do this – if he couldn’t climb a wall, then it couldn’t be climbed, though she’d never tell him that.

When she reached the top she wriggled forwards, hooked one arm over the wall, and smiled grimly to herself. A low-roofed building stretched before her. Evnis’ kennels. She unslung her
saddlebag, undoing the buckle with her teeth and spare hand.

A hound walked out of the kennel, tall and scar-eared. It stretched and sniffed, its head snapping round, catching her scent. Then it saw her and let out a great, baying howl. Other dogs flowed
from the kennel, began barking and jumping at the wall. Panicking now, she emptied the contents of the saddlebag, lumps of meat showering the area. The dogs immediately began to wolf them down,
snapping and snarling at one another.

A voice called out; a blond-haired figure appeared – Rafe.

Cywen ducked from view, half slid, half fell from the wall, then sprinted into the shadows. She wiped tears from her eyes. Evnis’ hounds would not be hunting Pendathran tonight.

Cywen led the stallion through the tree-lined path into the Rowan Field. She had tried not to bring him, had used every excuse besides actually making him lame, but Drust had
stepped in, examined Shield himself and declared him fit for use. He had looked at Cywen suspiciously, so she had ceased any more protests, knowing that Drust could stop her working in the stables
if he wished.

He was waiting for her, in the Field. He strode over, smiling at Shield.

‘He’s a fine animal,’ he said, his eyes fixed on Shield. He ran a hand down a foreleg, lifted it to examine the hoof. ‘See, I told you, girl, there’s nothing wrong
with him.’

‘I was mistaken,’ Cywen muttered, handing him the reins.

‘That you were,’ Drust said, swinging into the saddle. ‘Best not get too attached to this one,’ he said, pulling Shield in a tight circle, ‘he’s a warhorse,
if ever I saw one. Was made for battle.’ He kicked his heels and Shield leaped away with a spray of turf.

Cywen watched as Drust urged Shield into a gallop, charging at the straw targets at the far end of the Field. With a battle-cry he left his spear quivering in one of them.

She skirted the edge of the Field, making for the outer wall that ringed the whole fortress. It was early but the sun was already hot, spring sliding steadily into summer. As she passed the
weapons court she caught a glimpse of Rafe sparring. He was fighting an older, heavier man and seemed to be holding his own. Even as she watched, he swung a hard blow that whistled through his
opponent’s defence, cracking him on the shoulder.

She felt a pang of guilt at seeing Rafe, her thoughts turning instantly to the hounds that she had poisoned. Most had died, only a couple surviving, though they were still weak and emaciated two
ten-nights later. Cywen was surprised any had lived – she had mixed a concoction that her da used to give his whelping bitches, both as a painkiller and a sedative, though she had made it ten
times as potent as her da had.

Rafe was walking towards her from the weapons court. He had a slight limp, a reminder of the wound her brother had given him on the night Dun Carreg had fallen.

‘No girls on the Field,’ Rafe said to her as he drew near.

She ignored him and strode on, passing a huge pen on her path to the wall. A horrible smell came from it – rotting flesh and something worse. It was where Nathair kept his pet draig. Wide
stone steps were hewn into the wall, made for giant strides. She looked back into the draig’s pen as she climbed higher, caught a glimpse of it spilling from the burrow it had dug in the
ground. She was sweating when she reached the top of the wall; the breeze up here was fresh and welcome. She leaned on the battlements and looked out beyond the fortress. It felt as if she could
see the whole world. To the west the sea was a bright shimmering blanket in the summer sun, the sky and horizon so clear she could almost see the coast of Cambren, a smudge at the edge of her
vision. She turned west and south, the river Tarin a bright line twisting through the landscape, through the dark of Baglun Forest.
I hope Pendathran still lives,
she thought.

King Brenin’s old battlechief had stayed just one night in Dath’s abandoned cottage; Cywen had brought him food and water the night she had poisoned the hounds. He had stayed there
the next day, sleeping, then set out the following night. Cywen had told him all that she knew, of Queen Rhin’s invasion of Narvon, the imminent battle looming between her and Owain. Of how
rumour said that a resistance against Owain was growing in Ardan, based around the swamps and marshes in the west. That had been enough for Pendathran – he hadn’t told her where he was
going, but the look in his eyes had been enough.

‘Come with me,’ he had said. ‘There’s nothing for you here now.’

She had been tempted, but something held her back. Dun Carreg was her home. Buddai would be able to come with her, but not Shield. Who would look after him?
I could steal Shield, take him
with me.
But she’d be followed. She was already being watched by Conall. If her kin were hiding in the west she could end up leading Evnis straight to them.
No. Not yet. Best let
Pendathran find safety, and maybe I’ll follow.

‘If you see my mam and brother, tell them . . .’ she had said, then fell silent. She did not know what to tell them. That she missed them, that she wanted them to come back,
what?

‘I will, lass,’ Pendathran had said, cupping her hand in his. ‘And I will not forget what you have done for me.’

Then he had left, slipping into the night. As far as she knew, Evnis had not mounted any large search for him. How could he, under Owain’s nose? He must be raging. She smiled at that
thought.

Something caught her eye, a movement to the west, out on the sea. As she watched, it became clearer. Ships, lots of them, sleek and black-sailed, like the one already anchored in the bay. Closer
and closer they came, horn blasts rising along the walls of Dun Carreg as they were spotted. Cywen counted ten, twenty ships, more – all sailing into the bay. Banners snapped from the mast of
the first ship – a white eagle on a black field. Nathair’s fleet had come.

Camlin led them through the woods to where the horses were hobbled.

They were still there, four of them.

Quickly, Marrock split the group. Edana and Halion mounted one horse, Heb and Brina another, though the old lady complained about having to hold on to Heb.

‘You can squeeze me as tight as you like,’ Heb said, ‘only admit that you like it.’ Brina slapped him across the back of the head.