Storm was beside him again, snarling at the dead man, teeth dripping blood.
‘Are you hurt?’ a voice filtered through the fog, but all Corban could do was stare at the figure in the dirt before him. So still.
‘Ban, are you hurt?’ the voice said again, louder, more urgently. A hand grabbed his shoulder, turned him and he was looking at Gar, something fierce in the stablemaster’s gaze.
‘N-no…’ he said, and shook his head.
‘Good,’ Gar grunted.
Corban stared past the stablemaster and saw the rest of their attackers dead, one’s throat ripped out by Storm, three others cut down by Gar. Beyond them the battle still raged, though fewer men were standing. Corban could see glimpses of the women now, still bound to the tree, a small knot of warriors trading blows about them.
‘Cywen,’ Corban said and set off before Gar could respond, skirting the clumps of fighting men and moving quickly through the trees.
Halion and Conall fought before the bound women, bodies littering the ground about their feet. A man fought beside them–Camlin. The brigand chopped at a spear thrust, then, raising his sword, he slashed the rope binding the women to the tree. For a moment they sat there shocked, then they were on their feet.
Halion was trading blows with a tall, wide-shouldered warrior. Corban gasped as he suddenly saw who Halion was fighting.
Braith.
The woodsman took a step back, out of Halion’s reach, glanced about the camp, then at his bleeding arm. He shouted something, the words lost in the din of battle.
Corban darted forwards, with Gar and Storm a pace behind, and slipped through to Cywen and Edana. The girls were wide eyed, staring at the carnage about them as Corban sawed at the bonds binding their hands. Cywen threw herself upon him, hugging him tight.
Shouting drew his attention back and he saw a handful of bandits running from the camp, Braith and Morcant amongst them. Marrock was nearby with Halion and Conall, as they clustered around the women.
Marrock held Alona and grinned at her. She smiled back, hugged him and kissed his cheek.
Of the twelve warriors of Ardan that Marrock had picked, only four were still breathing. Halion signalled to Conall and they moved to the edge of the camp, scanning the trees in the direction of the fugitives.
Corban suddenly realized Camlin was still there, looking confused. Marrock raised his sword.
‘No!’ Alona cried. ‘This man saved us. They were going to kill Cywen. He protected her, protected us.’
Marrock frowned, sword still raised. ‘Why?’
Camlin shrugged. ‘Still asking myself that one,’ he said. ‘It just happened.’
‘I am in his debt,’ Alona said firmly.
‘So, what do we do with him?’ Marrock asked.
‘They’re coming back!’ Halion shouted from amongst the trees. There was a whirring sound, Alona staggered and fell against a tree, an arrow sprouting from her back. Edana screamed.
‘Out of here!’ Marrock yelled. He grabbed Alona, put her over his shoulder and ran into the forest.
Edana and Cywen stumbled after them. Camlin stood for a moment, then followed Conall as he ran back towards his brother. Corban hesitated, staring back at the sounds of battle, and caught a glimpse of Halion amongst the trees. Then he followed the girls into the shadows, with Gar and Storm close behind.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
CORBAN
Figures flitted ahead of Corban, moving through the trees, and soon he was close behind Cywen. For a long time they just kept moving, the sounds of battle behind them long since faded into nothing. Marrock set their pace, carrying Alona and refusing to let anyone else take her from him. Eventually he staggered and almost dropped her and so they stopped, gasping for breath, Corban flopping to the ground beside Cywen. He reached out and squeezed her hand.
She looked at him, face dirty, eyes red-rimmed. ‘I did not think I would see you again,’ she said, smiling weakly.
‘Storm led us to you,’ he said, the wolven nudging Cywen with her muzzle.
‘How is she here?’ Cywen asked, tugging at one of Storm’s ears.
‘She followed us, from the Baglun. Are you hurt?’
‘Me? No,’ Cywen muttered, then her eyes filled, tears rolling down her cheek. ‘Ronan…’ she whispered.
‘I know. We found him…’ Corban said, but could find no more words.
‘We must keep moving,’ Marrock said, cradling Alona in his lap. She was white faced and unconscious, with hair plastered to her face. Edana sat beside her, stroking Alona’s brow, face almost as pale as her mother’s.
‘You cannot carry her all the way to Ardan,’ Gar said.
‘I can and I will,’ Marrock said.
‘No. You will slow us. If we are being tracked we will outrun no one.’
Marrock glared at Gar but said nothing.
‘Let us make a litter from our cloaks,’ Gar said. ‘Two can carry her easier than one, and she will be more comfortable.’
Marrock was silent a moment, then nodded curtly.
Quickly they made a rough litter. Marrock snapped the arrow in Alona’s back and positioned her as well as he could, then they set off again. Corban led with Storm, with Marrock and Gar carrying Alona. They continued like this a long while. Gar was at the back of the small column again when he called out.
‘Someone is coming, behind us.’
They picked up their pace, Corban feeling fear return in stomach-churning force.
‘They are gaining,’ Gar called out again. Marrock cursed, called a halt, and they turned to face their pursuers, lined protectively before Alona and the girls. Corban drew his sword and swallowed.
The sound of running feet grew louder, fast-moving figures glimpsed amongst the trees, then suddenly Conall was there, grinning between gasping breaths, Camlin behind him, Halion last of all. There had been two other warriors of Ardan still standing when Corban had run from the glade, but they were nowhere to be seen now.
‘For… a bunch of… women, bairns and… cripples, you can… set a fair… pace,’ Conall said, resting his hands on his knees. Despite himself, Corban grinned.
‘Are you followed?’ Marrock barked.
Halion shook his head. ‘I think not. We fought long and hard. Two of our number fell. I only saw a few of our enemy that fled.’ He grimaced. ‘I don’t think they’ll be back again.’
‘Good,’ said Marrock, and slapped Halion’s arm.
They rested a while, then, passing round water skins and strips of dried meat, Corban felt the fear of moments before melting away, exhaustion taking its place.
‘Rhin shall pay for this,’ Edana said, sitting and holding her mother’s hand. The queen’s breathing was ragged, blood at the corner of her mouth.
‘What do you mean, Rhin?’ Corban said. ‘It is Owain that has done…’ he trailed off, looking at Alona. ‘I saw Morcant, Rhin’s champion, back there.’
‘That’s right,’ Edana said. ‘Rhin is behind this. The red cloaks were to cast the blame on Owain. Why, I do not know, but it is Rhin’s work.’
‘She speaks true,’ Camlin said. He had been silent until now, sipping slowly from a water skin, sitting apart from them.
‘Why?’ asked Marrock.
‘She wants Narvon and Ardan,’ the woodsman said. ‘Thinks if Brenin and Owain try an’ kill each other she’ll have an easier time taking their torcs come the end of it.’
‘So why have you joined us?’ Marrock said, looking suspiciously at the woodsman.
Camlin shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t exactly put it like that.’ He scratched his chin. ‘Same as you, I’ve just found out Rhin was pulling the strings here. Somethin’ I don’t like ’bout that.’ He paused. ‘An’ that Morcant, Rhin’s champion–just couldn’t stomach takin’ orders from him.’
Conall chuckled.
‘And that’s why you changed sides?’ Marrock pressed, still frowning.
‘I’m not on any side,’ the woodsman said. ‘’Cept my
own. But, aye, that’s why I did what I did. That an’ her.’ He pointed at Cywen. ‘Morcant was going to kill her,’ he said, holding Marrock’s gaze. ‘I don’t take with killing women and bairns. And you’ve got a mouth on you, girl. Might be an idea t’think before you speak, in future.’
‘As if she’s never heard that before,’ Corban said to Gar.
Alona moaned.
‘We must get her back to Ardan. As soon as possible,’ Halion said.
‘Why not Uthandun?’ Conall asked. ‘It’s nearer, and now we know it’s not Owain that’s betrayed us.’
‘We don’t know what happened when Pendathran went back there,’ Marrock said. ‘My uncle is not diplomatic. Owain may have new cause to bear us a grudge.’
‘Uthandun would be unwise,’ Camlin muttered.
‘Why?’ growled Marrock.
‘Just something Braith said. Rhin had more’n one trick up her sleeve, I think.’
‘So we must head for Ardan, then,’ Gar said.
‘That’s a long walk,’ Camlin said grimly. ‘I’ll take you, though. If you’ll trust me.’
‘How long will it take us?’ Marrock asked.
‘Depends. We could cut to the giantsway, then we’d make good time, but Owain may be watching it, or Rhin. If we march as the crow flies to Badun, carrying her all the way, maybe five, six nights.’
‘That’s too long,’ Marrock said.
Camlin shrugged. ‘Risk the road, cut it down to three nights.’
Just then Storm looked up, and whined. Corban saw movement in the branches above, then flapping heralded the arrival of an old, ragged crow. It landed on a branch just above Corban’s head and began squawking.
‘Craf…?’ Corban whispered.
‘Cor-ban,’ the crow squawked. ‘Cor-ban.’
‘Asroth’s teeth,’ hissed Camlin, going pale. ‘Did that mangy crow just speak?’
‘Aye,’ said Corban, suddenly grinning. ‘It is Craf. Brina’s crow.’
‘Brina, Brina, Brina…’ Craf stuttered and began hoping from one foot to the other.
‘She must have sent him to find us.’
‘Follow, follow, follow, follow…’ the crow squawked, then flapped its wings and flew off, landing on another branch about thirty paces ahead of them. ‘FOLLOW,’ Craf screeched.
‘He has Brina’s patience,’ Corban said.
Quickly the small band organized themselves and set off after Craf.
The rest of the day followed this pattern, following the crow as he flapped in front of them, stopping regularly on branches to let them catch up. Corban lost all track of time, direction and distance, but as dusk was beginning to settle about them Camlin announced that they had covered a lot of ground and that they were nearing the giantsway.
‘That old crow’s not stopping,’ Marrock said, watching Craf disappear into the gloom. They carried on walking, Camlin taking the lead, and soon they stepped onto the road. There were glimpses of the sky above, dotted with the first stars of evening. Picking up their pace, they carried on in the darkness, but soon heard the sound of riders ahead. Quickly they moved off the road, then Edana was running, calling out to Brenin, at the front of the column, with Pendathran tall and wide beside him.
Corban and the rest stepped out of the trees, Marrock and Halion carrying Alona. A score of mounted warriors swept past them, forming a line in the road. Others circled them, jumping from horses and calling out. Corban suddenly felt weary to the bone and dizzy. Then Thannon was there, pulling him and Cywen into a tight embrace. There were tears on the blacksmith’s cheeks when Corban looked up, tears in his own eyes and streaks on Cywen’s face. Thannon pulled them close again, almost cracking bones, kissing them and ruffling their hair.
When they parted again Thannon grabbed Gar’s arm in the warrior grip, pulled the stablemaster into an embrace and pounded his back.
Looking round, Corban saw Brina crouching beside Alona, Craf on the pommel of her saddle. Then warriors quickly lashed a stronger litter together and soon they were mounting up.
Their rescue party had brought horses, and soon they were heading down the giantsway to refuge.
Brina dropped back and rode alongside Corban and Cywen, smiling when she saw Storm loping along beside Shield.
‘Will Alona be all right?’ Corban asked.
Brina’s smile vanished. ‘It is bad,’ the healer said, then she shrugged. ‘Maybe. If we were back at my cottage I would have more hope. We shall see. But I am glad to see you still on your feet. You seem to be developing a distinct talent for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
Corban pulled a face and filled her in on events.
‘Rhin, eh?’ Brina mused when he’d finished. ‘Well, there is more than one dice being rolled here, I think.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘When we left–in a rush, I can tell you–there was something afoot within Uthandun. Lots of horn blowing. And then we were chased. Pendathran led a band that fought them off, of course, but I suspect they will come again, when King Owain has been able to gather more warriors.’
‘Craf helped us,’ Corban said suddenly.
Brina smiled and scratched the crow’s neck. ‘He can be useful, occasionally.’
With that they settled into silence, and rode into the night.
Later, much later, Corban saw pinpricks up ahead–torches–they had caught up with the rest of Brenin’s entourage. Gwenith wept when she saw Corban and Cywen and hugged then almost as tight as Thannon had.
Then a savage cry pierced the night. Corban looked down the column and saw Brina crouched by Alona’s litter, King Brenin cradling his wife. Edana was holding her mother’s hand again, lost in grief and sobbing.
Alona was dead.
The journey back to Ardan was very different from the one to Uthandun, a sense of dread and tension hovering over them all.
No more attacks from Owain came on the road and in just over a day’s hard riding they left the Darkwood and saw the giants’ circle of standing stones, with Badun’s walls in the distance.
Brenin took council here. Gethin pressed for reconciliation with King Owain, still hoping Kyla and his son Uthan’s handbinding could be salvaged. Brenin and Pendathran were more intent upon Queen Rhin, but agreed that Owain would be better as an ally than an enemy, so Brenin inked a scroll to Narvon’s King, detailing Alona’s death and Rhin’s part in it, then a messenger was sent back down the giantsway, into the Darkwood.
‘Begin mustering for war,’ Brenin commanded Gethin in parting. ‘Whether there is war or peace with Owain I will be marching on Rhin. Soon.’ Then they left for Dun Carreg.
Spring had arrived with the Birth Moon and new life was evident everywhere, a stark contrast to the procession’s black mood.
Corban was weary and sad when Dun Carreg came into view, high on its hill, with Havan nestled at its foot. The welcome cheers of the villagers quickly turned to mourning as news of Alona’s death spread. Corban saw Dath in the crowd, nodded a grim greeting to him and noticed eyes following Storm.
Nothing had been said of the wolven’s return; there were more important matters filling everyone’s thoughts, but Corban expected some kind of reckoning now that they were back at Dun Carreg. Rafe and Helfach, at least, would not let the matter rest. Corban hoped Storm’s part in the finding of the captives would be enough to allow her back to the fortress, though with Brenin’s black mood nothing was certain.
I’ll not give her up again, he thought. With a heavy heart he rode back inside the walls of Dun Carreg.
Corban ducked under the sweep of Gar’s practice sword, pivoted on his heel and spun away, swinging a backslash at the same time. Gar effortlessly deflected it, pressing his attack. Corban parried one, two, three, four strikes, each one shivering up his arm, then he slipped on some hay and the tip of Gar’s weapon was at his throat.
He wanted to say something, ask why Gar was pressing him so hard, but did not have the breath to form words. He wiped sw
eat from his eyes, walked to the water barrel and stuck his whole head in, spraying water as he pulled away.
He leaned against the barrel, watching Gar a moment. The stable master was putting their practice blades away in an old box beneath a pile of harness and tack. He had been different since their return from the Darkwood, less reserved, more driven, as if something had woken in him.
Corban blinked, thinking of the Darkwood. It was only two ten-nights ago that he had been crawling along the stream’s bank. He looked at his hand, remembered the sensation of hot blood pouring over it, and shivered.
‘Are you well?’ Gar asked, coming over to the barrel and sipping from a ladle.
‘Aye,’ Corban muttered. ‘Just remembering. The Darkwood.’
Gar nodded slowly. ‘That’s something a man never forgets–the first time he takes another’s life in battle.’
‘I still see his face,’ Corban said. ‘I can even smell him, sometimes.’
‘Aye,’ said Gar. ‘The memory will fade, but never leave you–and it shouldn’t. Not completely. It is no small thing, to take a life.’ He sighed, ‘You did well, Ban. I was proud of you.’
Corban blinked and flushed. He had never heard Gar talk like this.
The stablemaster gave Corban a long, measuring look. ‘You are not the same lad that lost his practice sword at the Spring Fair.’
Corban could not meet Gar’s gaze. ‘I feel the same, in here,’ he said, tapping his chest. ‘I was scared, at the Darkwood. Terrified. It all happened so fast. I was not brave. He was trying to kill me, what else could I do?’
‘What else could you do? Plenty. Let me tell you, every man in that camp felt the same fear you did. I certainly did. Both the brave man and the coward feel the same. The only difference between them is that the brave man faces his fear, does not run.’ He stared at Corban with an intensity he had never shown before.