Valour (41 page)

People stood about the glade, panting, confused. The surviving attackers scrambled back down the mountain path; only a handful of them were left. Craf came fluttering out of the dark, perched on
the shoulder of a dead wolven and started pecking at its eye.

‘Where is Edana?’ Marrock called, blood soaking the bandages that bound his wrist.

‘I am here,’ a voice said.

‘We must leave, now,’ Camlin ordered.

‘The dead?’ Corban asked.

‘They must stay where they lie. Those wolven won’t be gone for long.’

‘But the fire?’ Edana said.

‘It will go out. We move. Now,’ Camlin grabbed Edana by the wrist and strode away.

The others stood a moment, frozen, then Halion was shoving them on.

Corban touched Farrell on the shoulder, his friend still sitting with Anwarth’s head on his lap. The warrior’s eyes stared sightlessly, his body still.

‘Come, Farrell. He’s gone,’ Corban said.

Farrell looked up at him. ‘He saved my life.’

‘Aye. Don’t throw it away now.’

‘Corban’s right,’ Halion said. ‘Come on, lad.’

Farrell stood and lifted his da into his arms.

‘Lay him down, lad,’ Halion said gently. ‘You’ll break an ankle soon enough.’

‘No,’ Farrell snarled. The look on his face silenced any response. With that they hurried from the dell, picking their way through the bodies that littered the ground, men and wolven
and horses. Corban felt sick at the sight and smell of it.
Will death follow us wherever we go?

Camlin was already some way ahead. He had lit a branch from a smouldering tree and Halion did the same. The path narrowed and steepened immediately, the ground quickly becoming treacherous. Soon
they had caught up with their companions.

They trudged on, ever upward, stumbling, supporting one another. Corban’s lungs were burning, his eyes stinging from sweat when Camlin dropped back to them. He shared some whispered words
with Halion, who sped up and took the lead.

Camlin’s eyes roamed the steep ridges about them, searching the shadows.

‘Do you think the wolven will attack again?’ Corban asked him, his voice a croak.

‘Probably. It’s not as if we’d be hard to find. And we’re still in their territory. Judging by their behaviour in the dell they’re none too happy about that.’
He stopped, looking up high as a stone rattled down the cliff side. Corban froze as well, then saw the shadow of a mountain goat, leaping nimbly between ledges. They started walking again.

‘Craf should know if they come back – he tried to warn us last time,’ Corban said.

‘Did he? Well, that’s good t’know. Though he probably can’t see as well in the dark. And those wolven could sniff us out with their eyes closed.’

That’s comforting
.

Camlin was limping, using his bow as a staff. His face was grime streaked, blood caking a cut on his scalp. Corban remembered the first time he’d seen him in Dun Carreg, King
Brenin’s prisoner. Then again in the Darkwood, an outlaw working for Braith, part of the attempt on Queen Alona’s life. But something had made Camlin turn then, and Corban had seen him
protecting Cywen, standing against Morcant, Rhin’s own champion. S
o much has changed since then
. They would have been dead a dozen times over if not for Camlin, probably more.

‘Thank you,’ Corban said, not realizing he’d spoken out loud.

‘What?’ Camlin said.

‘I was just thinking,’ Corban stuttered. ‘You’ve saved my life, our lives. Much more than once. We wouldn’t be here if not for you.’

Camlin looked at him a few moments, looking as if he thought Corban was mocking him. ‘This isn’t the best place to be, y’know.’

‘I mean we wouldn’t have made it this far.’

Camlin’s face softened. He smiled. ‘You’re welcome, lad. Though I think I may have used all my luck up, now.’

‘That doesn’t matter. I don’t believe in luck,’ Corban said.

‘Do you not? What do you believe in, lad.’

Corban thought about that. ‘This.’ He touched the hilt of his sword. ‘Him,’ pointing to Dath. ‘Her,’ a hand ruffling Storm’s fur. ‘Us,’ a
gesture taking them all in.

‘Good answer,’ Camlin said.

Veradis walked along the hill, the sinking sun sending a long shadow stretching far behind. He was checking the line of bodies that lay before him. Twelve of his men, slain in
the battle. It was a good number by any standard, but still it upset him. They had been good men, brave and loyal. Three he recognized from having been with him since the beginning – from the
battle in distant Tarbesh against giants who rode draigs. He did not doubt that somewhere on their bodies they would have a draig’s tooth. He stroked the one Nathair had presented to him,
embedded now in his sword hilt. And something else gnawed at him. Their wounds. All of them had injuries on their lower legs – cuts and gashes on ankles and shins. Not killing wounds,
obviously, but nevertheless, it bothered him. Any chain was only as strong as its weakest link, and if this weak link was getting his men killed, then he needed to do something about it. He looked
down at his own feet, bound in leather sandals, the soles iron shod, cords of leather wrapped about his calves. An idea began to form in his mind.

Owain had not been found yet, but the battle was over. The defeated dead had been stripped of their precious things – weapons and armour, torcs and rings, any silver or gold – and
been piled high and soon their bodies would be burned. The victorious dead were laid out separately, ready to have a cairn raised over them. Rhin had set up a tent at the top of the hill, and was
sitting on a huge wooden chair draped with furs, celebrating. Veradis turned and looked over the woodland to the west, rolling away in shades of green into the twilight as night crept upon them. He
strained his ears, listening, and thought he heard something on the breeze – shouting?
Perhaps they’ve found Owain
. Woodland was not a place he would choose for battle – he
had had enough of trees in Forn. Just stepping into these woods earlier had brought those memories flooding back. He hadn’t been in these woods long, though. Just long enough to find the
girl, Cywen, and bring her back.
And only just in time
. Veradis had taken command of watching the girl, given her to Bos with a stern warning to watch her closely. Even though Conall had
beaten her bloody she had been more worried about her horse, and how to get that arrow out of it. So the first thing he had done upon their return was to take her to the paddocks in search of
Rhin’s horsemasters. He had bumped into Akar, who was overseeing the care given to the Jehar’s mounts, and to Veradis’ surprise Akar had said that he would help. Together they had
tied the stallion to a series of posts, securing him as tightly as they could. Akar had called other Jehar to help, one of them attaching something to the soft flesh around the horse’s
nostrils, tightening it until the stallion’s head had drooped, had seemed beyond calm, close to sleep even. Then a poultice had been placed around the wound – Akar said it would open
the flesh a little and numb it – then with a sharp tug he had pulled the arrow out. The horse had jumped, eyes rolling, but it was over so quickly it settled almost immediately. Veradis had
left them tending the wound, Cywen looking with interest over their shoulders despite her obvious mistrust of them all.

And now he was looking at his dead warriors, wondering what he could do to save lives in the next battle.
And there will be many more, as we walk ever deeper into this God-War
.

He went in search of Nathair, found him seated in a wide ring of warriors, hidden in shadow and watching Rhin as she rewarded her chieftains with plunder. A fire-pit had been dug; the carcass of
a great boar was turning above it, fat crackling as it dripped into the flames. Veradis’ gaze was drawn to Rhin where she was sitting upon an ornate chair, thick with furs, clothed in black
sable, a cloak of the same material edged with gold about her shoulders, her silver hair spilling across it. A gold torc wrapped her neck, and the firelight flickering across her face cast it one
moment in shadow, the other in light. Her hand was extended, draped with gold and silver that she was offering to a warrior who stood before her. It was an older man, with streaks of white in his
red hair and silver torcs curled around broad arms.

‘Who’s that?’ Veradis asked Nathair.

‘That’s her battlechief, Geraint.’

‘You should be seated with her,’ Veradis whispered to Nathair. ‘You won this battle for her and, besides, you are high king.’

‘Let her enjoy her moment,’ Nathair said with a smile. ‘She might well have won this battle without our help, even outnumbered. She’s a sly one.’

‘Yes,’ said Veradis. He remembered her well from Aquilus’ council. Clever, cunning and with a clear predilection for younger men, if the way she had looked at her first-sword
had been anything to go by.

Bos pushed through the crowd, heading towards them, grasping Cywen’s wrist. She had washed the blood from her face, but it was still patched with bruises.

‘I hear you have taken on a new ward,’ Nathair said, looking at the girl.

‘Thought you’d be upset if she was found with her throat slit. I don’t think that Conall has the temperament for guard duty.’

‘You are right. And Calidus would most likely explode if she was killed. He is convinced the girl is important, perhaps a route to finding her brother.’ Nathair’s expression
turned serious. ‘The Black Sun. He is out there . . .’ He looked out across the marshes, just a glimmer now as darkness fell, the sea beyond a murmur.

‘So what now,’ Veradis said.

‘Tomorrow we shall meet with Rhin, make more plans and continue the serious business before us. But tonight. Tonight we shall celebrate our victory and the fact that we are still
alive.’ He raised a jug, poured from it and offered Veradis a cup. Veradis took a sip.
Mead
. He winced at the sweet taste of honey, but still managed a twisted grin.

Bos led Cywen over, freeing her when they reached Veradis. She scowled at the big warrior, rubbing her wrist.

‘How is your horse?’ Veradis asked her.

A smile touched her face, hesitant, for an instant transforming her.
There’s actually a pretty girl beneath all those bruises and scowling
.

‘I think he will be fine,’ she said. ‘Your friend, he is an amazing horseman.’

For a moment Veradis did not know what, or who, she meant, then realized she was talking about Akar. ‘The Jehar are skilled horsemen. I have never seen their like on horseback . . .’
He blew out a long breath. ‘I think they care more for their horses than people.’

She smiled again at that. ‘I know how that feels.’

Veradis heard a blowing of horns, looked in the direction of the sound and saw men spilling from the woods, many holding torches aloft, a constellation of firelight in the growing darkness. At
their front three men marched. One walked – a woodsman by the look of the long bow slung across his back. Beside him a warrior rode a fine horse, sitting tall, teeth glinting in the
torchlight. Before them both stumbled another man, his hands bound behind his back.

Owain.

Veradis saw Evnis further back amongst the warriors emerging from the woods, his shieldmen riding close about him.

Owain’s captors marched him up the hill and pushed him stumbling before Rhin. The rider with them raised a hand in greeting to Rhin, gave a wide smile and dismounted, handing his reins to
a warrior.

Cywen was still standing beside Veradis, and he heard her hiss, saw that her eyes were fixed venomously on the warrior.

‘
Morcant
, Rhin’s first-sword and paid killer,’ Cywen said bitterly.

Veradis blinked.
Of course
.

Owain was cut and bruised, his lips and one eye swollen, but somehow he managed to stand straight.

‘Welcome, cousin.’ Rhin smiled. ‘You have arrived just in time. We were about to eat.’ She gestured to the boar turning above the fire. ‘I am celebrating, you
see.’

Owain stared at her, rage surfacing through the ruin of his face. ‘Cambren not enough for you?’ he said.

‘Not when I am surrounded by realms ruled by idiots,’ Rhin replied.

‘You are a tyrant, a liar, a thief. I hope you rot in hell for what you have done.’ He spat on the ground. Angry murmurs rippled the crowd, but Rhin merely laughed.

‘A tyrant? Surely it’s a little too early to tell. I have only been Queen of Narvon and Ardan for half a day.’

Owain lunged at her but Morcant clubbed him across the shoulders, sending him sprawling.

‘You started the war between Brenin and me,’ Owain snarled.

‘Yes, I did. Which is why you accuse me of being a thief, I suspect. Stealing your realm from you. To be fair, you did have a choice in the matter. And Brenin did try to explain my part in
things to you. He was always the brighter of you two. Besides, I have not stolen your realm; I have taken it from you. There is a big difference.’

‘But . . .’

‘Now, the real question left is what to do with you. You could serve me, you know. Be my vassal, govern part of my realm for me.’