Valour (51 page)

Cywen was riding in a sprawling column. Behind her Rhin’s warband stretched all the way to the sea, the slate-grey waters merging with the horizon. The ships they had
arrived on were just a mass of small dots bobbing upon the white-flecked waves. A little way ahead of her Nathair rode atop his lumbering draig, its head low to the ground, tail swaying from side
to side. Beyond him Rhin’s warriors marched northward into undulating foothills.

Cywen leaned forward in her saddle and ran her hand down Shield’s shoulder, her fingers searching out the smooth circle of scar tissue. It was all that was left of the horse’s arrow
wound. From his movement you would never know he had been injured at all.

Those Jehar are gifted – cursed but gifted
, she thought, looking about instinctively to catch a glance of them.
Amazing riders
. She had been shocked to see that so many of
them were women, and remembered them on the night Dun Carreg had fallen, how she had thrown knife after knife at them, seen the way they fought. She remembered their leader, Sumur, asking her
questions about Gar.
Why is he so interested in Gar?

Surrounding Nathair was a circle of the Jehar, all mounted, a substantial space between them and the draig. She had seen Nathair feeding it earlier, but it seemed very fond of horse, so the
Jehar were wise to keep their distance.

The rest of the Jehar, and there were many of them, thousands, Cywen had noted, were riding out on the wings of this disordered column, appearing fleetingly between rolling hills and stretches
of woodland. No one was likely to ambush Rhin’s warband in Cambren, her own realm, but the Jehar, apparently, were not inclined to leave such things to chance.

The sound of hooves grew behind her, out of time with the rest of them – faster. It was Veradis, the giant with the black axe striding easily next to him. Veradis pulled up beside her and
glanced at her wrists. They bore red marks where she had been bound, though the ropes were cut now.

‘Bos, is she behaving?’ he asked the warrior who rode close to Cywen, her guard since the night she had tried to kill Morcant. He was a big man, bald though young and not as dim as
she had first thought.

‘So far,’ Bos said. ‘Biding her time, maybe.’ He said it with the flicker of a smile.

‘Can you be trusted to not cause any trouble?’ Veradis asked her.

‘There’s a sea between me and Morcant now,’ she said, scowling. She had hated seeing him standing on the beach at Dun Carreg – her home – as she had sailed away.
Just another thing to put on the long list of
wrong
in her recent past.

‘I know. But now that he’s not here for you to obsess over, I am thinking you might turn your attentions onto someone else.’

‘Starting to regret cutting my bonds?’

‘A little. Should I?’

‘I hate you all,’ she said with conviction, ‘but there’s no one here I’d pick out above the rest to try and kill.’

The giant chuckled at that, a rumbling sound, like stones rattling down a hill.

‘Except perhaps Rhin,’ she added.
Or Nathair. He played a part in opening Stonegate to Owain
.

‘What about that lad, Rafe? I’ve seen the way you look at him. I think you might be tempted to try sticking a knife in him. I can’t have that.’

Is it that obvious?
‘It’s fair to say I don’t like him, but he’s not worth being tied all the way to wherever we are going. Domhain, I am guessing.’

‘You guess right. I think perhaps I should bind your wrists again.’

‘Please, no,’ Cywen said with feeling.

Veradis looked at her long and hard. ‘I’m going to trust you, against my better judgement, and leave you unbound. For now.’

‘My thanks. I will not cause any more trouble. Besides, if that friend of yours – Calidus?’

‘Aye.’

‘If he was right, then I am moving closer to my family – to Corban at least.’ She chewed her lip. ‘How could Calidus tell that Corban was across the water, in Cambren,
just by touching Ban’s old smith’s apron?’
If you don’t ask, you don’t get
.

‘I don’t know,’ Veradis said uncomfortably. ‘He is . . . gifted.’

The giant snorted. Veradis looked at him.

‘That was nothing compared to what he can do,’ the giant said. ‘If Calidus had a lock of hair, he could do much more.’

‘Like what?’ Veradis said.

The giant shook his head. ‘Better that you do not know,’ he muttered.

‘It’s all right,’ Veradis warned with a smile. ‘Best not let Calidus close with a knife, then, lest he take a lock of your hair.’

‘He already has some of mine,’ the giant said. Something crossed his face, sadness, anger? He slowed down and dropped behind Cywen and Veradis.

‘What does he mean by that?’ Cywen asked. Veradis didn’t answer; he was looking over at the giant, a troubled expression on his face.

Slowly the warband crept through the densely green and fertile countryside of Cambren. The landscape was beautiful: sweeping hills of meadows filled with wildflowers, sparkling
streams and dark, still lakes. Much of the land was covered in swathes of dense woodland, the leaves turning to red and gold as the days passed.

Cywen’s guards were always close by, mainly Bos, although Veradis also spent much of his time riding alongside her. So there was never any opportunity for her to attempt an escape. Her two
guards were far more vigilant than Conall had ever been. It was frustrating. When their duties took them elsewhere – such as each morning when Veradis would spar and drill his warband before
the day’s marching began – Cywen would be bound hand and foot and left to watch them going about their training. She had seen Veradis spar against Conall, back in Dun Carreg, but he
seemed different now: faster, more aggressive. She doubted that he would draw against Conall if they faced each other again.

Part of her resentfully enjoyed the journey. It was a joy to be upon Shield’s back. She could feel the power of him; he was quick to follow any command and he was a part of Corban,
somehow, as Buddai was a part of her da. One night she was sitting in front of a crackling fire with Bos and a handful of eagle-guards, a thousand similar tiny beacons in the darkness clustered all
around. Buddai was curled at her feet, gnawing on a bone that Bos had thrown him, when Veradis appeared out of the darkness and sat with them. Bos passed him a skin of mead.

‘What news?’ Bos asked.

‘A band of Rhin’s warriors joined us today,’ Veradis said, ‘come from the north. They brought a strange tale. It’s probably not worth the telling – just
superstitious faery tales.’ He paused and drank from the skin of mead.

‘Just tell us,’ Bos said. ‘We’ll hear it anyway, soon enough.’

‘True enough,’ Veradis said. ‘All right then, they said they had chased a small group across these very hills, thought they were spies of Owain. Said they ran with wolven, that
they were attacked at night with tooth and claw.’

There was a silence then, a twig popping in the fire making Cywen jump.

‘Wolven don’t run with men,’ someone said.

‘Changelings,’ another whispered.

‘What happened?’ Cywen said, feeling a shiver of excitement, of kindled hope.

‘They caught up with them in the mountains that border Domhain,’ Veradis said, waving his hand into the darkness. ‘They said they’d cornered them, were leading a final
attack, and then they were set upon. By more wolven; a pack of them.’

‘How many of Rhin’s men were tracking these people?’ Bos asked.

‘Fifty of Rhin’s warriors, or thereabouts. Only three have returned.’

‘What about the ones they were chasing? How many of them survived?’ Cywen asked, trying to sound only mildly interested.

‘From the sound of it no one was counting – they were too busy running.’ Veradis shrugged. ‘I don’t believe the half of it,’ he continued, ‘we all know
how tales grow in the telling. Perhaps there’s a stone of truth at the heart of it. When we reach the mountains we’ll have a look at the place where this is supposed to have happened.
See what we see.’

‘It’s nothing to worry about, anyway,’ Bos said. ‘Not for us. We’ve faced worse than wolven. Draig-slayers and giant-killers, we are.’

‘That we are,’ Veradis said. His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword and absently stroked it. ‘I’ll drink to that.’

Cheers and laughter rang out, all of them lifting skins of mead.

Cywen had stopped listening, only one thought swirling around her mind.
Storm
, she thought.
It must have been Storm and Corban
.

Rain dripped off Cywen’s nose. It had been raining since she woke, a soft, gentle drizzle that slowly seeped into everything, and now it was highsun, though it was hard to judge from the
faint glow leaking through the low clouds. She was soaked through. A mist shrouded the land, reducing visibility to a score of paces all around. Veradis and the giant were on one side of her, Bos
the other. She was not really paying them any attention, or the rain for that matter. She was consumed by a bubbling excitement mixed with worry, last night’s conversation still fresh in her
mind.
Storm, Corban, Mam, Gar, somewhere out there, and – best of all – these people, her enemy, were taking her to them. But were they still alive?

‘Why is your King so interested in Ban?’ she asked suddenly.

‘Eh?’ said Veradis, looking at her sharply.

‘Ban – Corban, my brother. Why is
he
the subject of a king’s attention?’

‘I am not going to discuss Nathair’s thoughts with you,’ Veradis said. ‘He is the High King of the Banished Lands.’

‘So?’ Cywen said. ‘He’s not my King, high or otherwise, and Ban’s my brother. What does he want with him?’

‘Tell me about your brother,’ Veradis said, and she noticed the giant walk a little closer.

‘Ban? What’s there to tell? He can work in the forge – our da was a blacksmith; he asks more questions than there are answers. He’s annoying. He could beat even you with
a sword, given half the chance.’

Bos laughed at that.
So everyone’s listening now
.

‘He can make a poultice and cure an illness, he is loyal to the point of stupidity, his friends love him, I love him . . .’ She felt sudden hot tears blur her vision.
I’ve
never told Ban that. Why am I telling Veradis?
She looked at the warrior beside her and felt a sudden swell of suspicion –
Is he trying to trick me? To give something away about
Ban?
– but he was looking at her so openly, no deceit or cunning written upon his face.
He is not so old himself, and first-sword to a king. Such responsibility for one so young
.
She felt her misgiving melt and sighed. ‘He’s just
Ban
. My brother.’

Veradis nodded thoughtfully.

A mounted figure suddenly appeared – Calidus. He spoke quietly to Veradis and the giant, then turned and rode away, back into the mist.

Veradis and Bos followed after him, Bos snapping a short command back to Cywen to keep up with them.

‘What’s going on?’ Cywen asked.

He ignored her and rode after Veradis and the giant, a group of warriors peeling from the warband to join him. Cywen touched her heels to Shield and cantered after them.

Calidus stood beside Nathair on his draig with a handful of the Jehar surrounding them, and Rhin, accompanied by Conall, watching close by. They were all looking in the same direction. Then
Cywen saw something out in the mist as three big figures appeared, wrapped in fur and leather. Giants. She saw some of the eagle-guard reach for their weapons.

‘Hold,’ Nathair snapped, raising a hand.

The giants came nearer, approaching Rhin and Nathair. Their leader held a long spear, whilst one of the two behind had an axe slung across his back. With shock Cywen realized that the third one
was female, although really the only difference was that she did not have a long, drooping moustache like the other two. Cywen glanced between these newcomers and the giant with Veradis, saw that
he regarded these arrivals with narrow eyes, ridges furrowing his broad forehead.

Then Rhin spoke.

‘Greetings, Uthas of the Benothi; you and your kin are welcome here.’

Tukul the Jehar blinked as he looked up. Light was breaking through the canopy above, more than he had seen in many moons.

They were almost out of Forn.

Meical’s arrival at Drassil and its resulting lurch into action had lit a spark in his slumbering heart: tension, excitement growing, the promise of resolution to a lifetime of
waiting.

It felt strange, but he had grown fond of Drassil, and even of Forn Forest, and the thought of leaving, of moving into a world of open spaces and a sky that went on forever felt almost
uncomfortable. He laughed at himself – this from a man who had been raised in an oasis in the desert.

He put the thoughts aside and marched on, following the tall frame of Meical, while inwardly complaining at the stiffness in his knees.
The damp. I hate the damp here. All else I can cope
with, but the damp
. . .