Malice: The Faithful and the Fallen Series Book 1

  Kastell frowned and craned to see better.

  The angry figure suddenly broke away, others following. It was Romar, his face flushed and his posture stiff with rage.

  Calidus was watching Romar’s departure, then turned to another figure to murmur an aside. Kastell squinted and saw that the man was Jael.

  Sunset had come and gone, and there were small campfires flickering between trees as far as Kastell could see. He was sitting staring at the flames as great moths flapped around them, sending shadows dancing across his fellow warriors gathered about the fire.

  A twig snapped in the darkness and a figure stepped into the firelight. Vandil nodded to them all and crouched down, Orgull offering him the wine skin. ‘We’re all set,’ he said, wiping his mouth. ‘Tomorrow’s the last dawn the Hunen will ever see.’

  ‘A big day for the Gadrai,’ Maquin said.

  ‘Aye,’ said Vandil, looking into the flames. ‘One I never thought to see.’ He grinned, teeth flashing red in the firelight. ‘A good time to be alive.’

  ‘What is next?’ Kastell asked, pausing the rhythm of his whetstone.

  ‘Next?’

  ‘After the Hunen.’

  ‘Let’s see if we live through the morrow, first,’ Vandil shrugged. ‘Have this conversation then, eh?’

  ‘What about Drassil?’ Suddenly all eyes were on Kastell.

  ‘It probably doesn’t exist. Men have tried to find it, searched for the treasure rumoured to be there. None ever came back. Shouldn’t be filling your head with thoughts of that fool’s gold,’ Vandil warned. ‘’Specially when you’ll need all your wits to keep your head from parting with your shoulders on the morrow.’ He stood, took another draught of the wine and handed it to Orgull. ‘Sharp swords ’n’ clear heads, lads.’

  ‘Aye,’ the men around the fire assented as Vandil walked away, disappearing quickly into the gloom.

  Soon after, Veradis found his way to their circle.

  ‘Come, sit,’ Maquin said. ‘Share some wine with us.’

  ‘No, I cannot,’ said Veradis. ‘I would speak with you both, though.’

  Kastell sheathed his sword and pocketed the whetstone he’d been using to sharpen it. Veradis turned and led them into the darkness. They followed into the shadows, where Veradis’ features were silver-edged with moon-glow.

  ‘Are you well?’ Maquin asked.

  ‘Me? Aye,’ Veradis muttered, not meeting their gaze. He seemed uneasy, then finally looked at them. ‘We are friends, you and I, are we not?’

  ‘Aye,’ Maquin said slowly. Kastell just nodded.

  ‘That is rare,’ Veradis murmured, almost to himself. ‘Something of value.’

  ‘What is troubling you?’ Maquin said, softly but firmly.

  ‘Your oath, first–that my words stay between us.’

  ‘Aye,’ they both said, Maquin frowning.

  ‘Be careful who, or what, you trust, over the coming days,’ Veradis said. ‘Be on your guard, and not just from giants,’ he added, almost a whisper.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Kastell asked.

  Veradis looked at them both. ‘Romar–he is making an enemy of Nathair. You would be wise to find a new lord.’

  ‘Romar is my kin,’ Kastell said. ‘He took me in. Is there more that you are not saying, Veradis?’

  ‘Just watch your backs,’ Veradis said. ‘That is all I can say, more than I should have,’ then he turned and slipped into the night, before Kastell or Maquin managed to speak.

  ‘What do you make of that?’ Kastell said.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Maquin murmured, ‘but it sounds like trouble to me.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  CYWEN

  Grass tickled Cywen’s neck as she lay near the cliff’s edge, looking down into the bay, watching the newly arrived ship. She was supposed to be helping Gar in the stables and knew she would get a tongue-lashing for her absence, but she didn’t care.

  Ever since the Darkwood, since she had held Ronan as he died, nothing felt important. The only thought that sparked a reaction was that of using her knives on Rhin’s champion. She hated him, spent her time dreaming of revenge, then wept bitter, frustrated tears as the unlikelihood of that revenge consumed her.

  Warriors were now disembarking from the ship, still flying its eagle banner. She was suddenly restless to be gone, running back to the fortress to join the growing crowd of those eager to greet the newcomers.

  Then Storm was padding towards her, followed by Corban, with Dath and Farrell only just managing to keep up.

  ‘Cywen, Cywen, you won’t believe what’s happened to me,’ he said as he reached her, his words almost falling over themselves.

  ‘What?’ He seemed very excited about something, so she tried to appear interested.

  ‘I am to take my warrior trial on the morrow–sit my Long Night.’

  ‘What?’ That did get her attention. ‘Are you ready?’ she said and saw his face drop, excitement melting into doubt.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said honestly.

  ‘What I meant to say,’ she interrupted, ‘is do you feel prepared? Of course you are ready–we’ve the bruises to prove it, haven’t we, Dath?’ She nudged their friend.

  ‘Oh aye,’ he nodded enthusiastically.

  Amongst the crowd now surrounding them, Cywen saw Gar. She tried to duck behind the bulk of Farrell, but too late, and a frown formed on Gar’s brow as he limped over to them.

  ‘Where have you been? You’ve been needed at the stables.’

  She just looked at him and tried to think of something to say, but couldn’t.

  Gar’s frown deepened. He opened his mouth–to say something unpleasant, no doubt–when the crowd about them suddenly grew louder. The new arrivals were entering the courtyard now, their horses’ hooves clattering on stone. Cywen just stared, and promptly forgot about Gar.

  A dozen or so warriors rode into the courtyard, looking fine in chainmail and black-polished leather, silver-edged eagles carved on their breastplates. But Cywen’s eyes were drawn to the two who rode at their head. They both sat tall in their saddles, one dressed similarly to the other warriors, riding a spirited white stallion, two swords hanging from his belt. He was a young man with dark, curly hair framing a weathered, handsome face, bright blue eyes scanning the crowd. He smiled, at no one and everyone; Cywen felt suddenly as if he was looking at her alone.

  She pulled her gaze away with an effort to look at the man riding beside him. She gasped as she saw his horse, a palomino of such quality as she had never seen before. It was lighter boned than the other horses, longer in the leg, almost dancing as it crossed the courtyard, a picture of grace and power. The man on its back was older, also dressed as a warrior, but this man was clearly not like the others. He had long, jet-black hair, bound with a strip of leather at the nape and a long, curved sword strapped across his back. There was something about him that reminded Cywen of Storm. He sat gracefully in his saddle, exuding a sense of strength and barely contained violence, a wildness about him.

  She went to say something to Corban and noticed Gar disappearing into the crowd. Corban himself was pale faced, staring intensely at the curly-haired warrior.

  ‘Corban,’ she said and squeezed his arm. ‘Corban, are you well?’

  Her brother started but nodded, his colour returning a little. ‘Aye, it’s nothing,’ he said.

  Then King Brenin stepped out of the crowd with Pendathran, Halion behind them, looking uneasy in his new role.

  ‘Well met, Nathair,’ Brenin said, gripping the curly-haired man’s arm as he leaned in the saddle. The noise of the crowd obscured the rest of what was said and soon after the party headed for the keep.

  Much later Cywen was on her own in the hall after the feasting. Corban had been swept out by Thannon, eager to talk through the final details of the morrow. Edana slumped down in an adjacent chair, the outline of a warrior beyond her. Cywen expected to see Ronan for a moment, but it was Conall.

  ‘Hal
lo,’ Edana said, still gaunt from their recent experiences.

  Cywen nodded. ‘Haven’t seen you, for a while,’ she said.

  ‘No.’ Edana shook her head. ‘Since my mam…’ She looked away. ‘Father worries for me. More so since the news of Uthan. He fears reprisals,’ she sighed.

  Word had reached Dun Carreg about a ten-night ago of Owain’s son’s death, rumour following the news like crows following blood. All that could be agreed upon was that Uthan was dead and that Owain held Brenin responsible.

  ‘So Conall is your guard now?’ Cywen said, wanting to break the growing silence.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How is your da?’

  ‘Grieving. Angry. Very angry. The thought of revenge consumes him.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Me?’ Edana said. ‘I cannot believe my mam is gone…’ She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I miss her. I want her back, wish that I had said things to her. And I want to be strong, for Da, but he doesn’t seem to notice.’

  ‘Have you spoken to your da? Told him how you feel?’

  ‘No. He has been so inconstant–sometimes so sad, others, so angry. He scares me.’

  ‘But he loves you, and if he knew how you felt he’d be sorry.’

  Edana looked weary, then nodded. ‘You’re right. I will talk to him. But it would help if I had you near.’

  Cywen sat there, wanted to say no, but Edana looked so pleading that she rose and followed the Princess through the keep.

  Edana knocked at a familiar door and swept in, not waiting for a reply. King Brenin was sitting in his high-backed chair, discussing something with Evnis and Heb. Halion stood behind the King, hand on his sword hilt. Cywen’s eyes flickered across the empty chair beside Brenin, where Alona had sat.

  ‘Father, I…’ Edana began, then halted, the stern faces of those in the room daunting her.

  ‘What is it?’ Brenin asked, looking annoyed at the interruption.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you, Father. About…’

  ‘Well, Edana?’ Brenin said with a wave of his hand. ‘Quickly now, I am busy.’

  Then there was a knock at the door and three visitors from Tenebral were presented. Two had led the column, Nathair, Tenebral’s King, and Sumur–a lord, Cywen had since discovered. The third was one of their honour guard, a young warrior with an easy smile, his raptor-like helm under one arm.

  ‘Nathair, welcome,’ said Brenin. ‘Heb you know, and this is my counsellor, Evnis.’

  ‘Well met,’ the King of Tenebral said warmly, smiling at Evnis. ‘My thanks for your hospitality–we are well fed, and rested now, so I thought to speak with you of why I have come.’

  Cywen and Edana sidled to the back of the room, lest they be banished.

  ‘As you have most likely heard, my father was murdered.’

  ‘Aye. You have my sympathies,’ Brenin said, inclining his head, ‘Aquilus was a good man, a great man.’

  ‘My thanks. His killer has since been brought to justice.’

  ‘I have heard,’ Brenin said, frowning. ‘I would talk to you more about that, but now is not the time.’

  Nathair continued, ‘I have much to live up to, wearing my father’s crown. And I am aware of his ambitions and his commitments. That is my first reason for coming here. I know that my father was committed to help you with your troubles–with lawless men on your borders. I have a small warband with me, still upon the ship. I would aid you in your endeavour and help you rid your borders of these outlaws. It would honour my father’s wishes, and the alliance between us, which I hope you still hold to.’

  ‘Ah,’ Brenin said, humourlessly. ‘I am afraid you are a little late to aid us in the struggle against the brigands of the Darkwood. We have dealt with them.’

  ‘Oh.’ Nathair looked downcast. ‘That brings me shame,’ he said. ‘My father’s other commitments, to Rahim, to Braster and Romar, have all been honoured.’

  ‘No matter,’ Brenin said. ‘You have travelled far, and that speaks loudly of your commitment, and I did not tell Aquilus when my campaign would begin. You have undertaken much to come here. That I will not forget.’

  ‘Is the matter resolved?’ Nathair asked. ‘Or can we provide other assistance, as recompense?’

  ‘The brigands of the Darkwood are no more, though at great cost,’ Brenin said. ‘New and darker troubles have fallen upon my land of late. I find myself at war with my neighbour, Rhin. Even as we speak, I am mustering to ride against her.’

  ‘What? How is this so?’

  ‘You remember Queen Rhin?’

  ‘Aye. A sharp tongue, a sharper mind,’ Nathair said.

  ‘It would appear Cambren is not enough for her appetites. She covets both Ardan and Narvon.’

  ‘How could she hope to defeat you both? That does not strike me as wisdom.’

  ‘Ah, she is cleverer than that, the old spider. There have been complications, with Owain. Rhin has brought about the death of my wife…’ Brenin stopped and glanced at the torc on the empty chair beside him. ‘And also the death of Uthan, Owain’s boy. Somehow, she made it appear that Owain and I were the culprits, to set us at each other’s throats. Thank Elyon, I have unmasked her plan, though Owain has not yet recognized it. He still holds me responsible for the death of his son. This is a conflict I will not ask you to join in, Nathair, though, in truth, I am certainly outnumbered.’ His face reflected little, but his pain was clear.

  ‘I am sorry for your loss,’ Nathair said.

  ‘She is sorely missed. And not only her.’

  Just then the warrior with Nathair and Sumur took a half-step forward. ‘My pardon,’ he said, ‘but I expected to see someone. A warrior I befriended, during Aquilus’ council. Tull, your first-sword?’

  ‘He was,’ Brenin said. ‘But he fell, defending my wife. Not that his sacrifice helped her, in the end.’

  ‘That is a grievous loss,’ the warrior said. ‘I crossed blades with him on the weapons court. He taught me a few things.’

  Halion chuckled.

  ‘That was Tull,’ Brenin said, the briefest of smiles crossing his face. ‘My thanks for your words…?’

  ‘Rauca,’ the warrior said. ‘My name is Rauca.’

  ‘I will think on what part I may play in this,’ Nathair said. ‘There were few enough that stood by my father and his alliance. You honoured him, and I was yet hoping for Owain and Rhin’s support.’

  ‘There will be no peace between Rhin and I,’ Brenin warned. ‘Do not try and walk that path, Nathair. Things have gone too far. As for Owain–I would hope for peace with him, though if he stands between Rhin and me, he shall come to regret it.’

  Nathair nodded thoughtfully.

  Cywen thought his companion, Sumur, stiffened at Brenin’s words. Here were people not used to instruction.

  ‘As I said, I will think on the part I might play. I feel indebted to you, until my father’s commitment is fulfilled.’

  ‘As you will,’ Brenin said with a wave of his hand.

  ‘There was another reason for my journey,’ Nathair said.

  ‘Speak on.’

  ‘I seek knowledge, information, on two accounts.’

  ‘Aye. Well, I will help you, if I can,’ said Brenin.

  ‘The first is regarding giant lore, specifically the Benothi clan. This was a stronghold of theirs once, I believe. I am trying to unravel parts of the prophecy spoken of at my father’s council.’

  ‘Of course. Heb here is my loremaster, and Evnis too has no small store of knowledge regarding the previous residents of Dun Carreg.’

  ‘Good,’ Nathair said. ‘My thanks.’

  ‘And the second count?’ said Brenin.

  ‘Ah, yes. There were unusual circumstances around my father’s death. One is that his longest, most trusted adviser just disappeared. He was seen leaving Jerolin just after my father died.’

  Brenin’s face registered some emotion, too fast for Cywen to read, then it was gone. ‘That is unusual,’ he murmured.

>   ‘My thoughts exactly. You know of whom I speak? Meical. Who read from the prophecy at the council.’

  ‘Aye, I know of whom you speak.’

  ‘Have you any news of him, of his whereabouts?’

  A silence grew, and Brenin was the first to look away.

  ‘He came here, briefly,’ Brenin admitted, ‘though I can tell you little more than that. He did not stay even a night. I know not why he came, nor where he went.’ The King lifted his eyes, and this time did not look away.

  Nathair was silent, expressionless. Until eventually he sighed. ‘If you could enquire, of whom he spoke to while he was here, I would be most grateful.’

  ‘Aye. Of course,’ Brenin said.

  Cywen’s mind was racing. In her head she could see the man they were speaking of, sitting in her kitchen, like it was yesterday. And now a king had come searching for him. Was this linked to Ban as well? This Meical’s visit certainly seemed to have been.

  Nathair thanked Brenin, then took his leave, claiming tiredness from their journey.

  A silence hung in the air long after the door had closed.

  ‘What do you make of that?’ Heb eventually said, his voice loud after the silence.

  Brenin looked weary. ‘Change,’ he said, almost to himself.

  ‘This alliance,’ Evnis said, ‘we would do well to court it.’

  Brenin frowned. ‘Once, maybe,’ he said quietly, then, louder, ‘I shall do as I deem right, Evnis.’

  ‘Be careful, my King,’ Evnis said. ‘He was young, but there was a fire in him; and there is an alliance, realms joining together, with or without you. They could become a formidable strength. Something to keep close, or at least watch, I would say. Else one day they may be uniting to deal with troublesome Ardan.’

  ‘Nathair is certainly ambitious,’ Brenin said. ‘But I do not trust him. Aquilus he is not.’

  ‘This Sumur–what do we know of him?’ Evnis pressed.

  ‘The talkative one…’ Heb said wryly.

  Brenin shrugged. ‘Only Nathair’s introduction: that he is lord of some distant fortress, and now Nathair’s personal guardian.’

  ‘He knows how to use that sword on his back,’ Halion interrupted.

  ‘How do you know?’ Evnis said, ‘I didn’t think he’d visited the weapons court.’