Malice

  With that they all settled into the undergrowth, Corban leaning against Storm, who pressed her muzzle into his hand.

  ‘Good girl,’ he whispered to her, tugging her ear.

  Gar sat beside him. ‘When the fighting starts, stay by me,’ he said.

  ‘Cywen is there,’ Corban said.

  ‘They will not be using wooden sticks, Corban. Come sunrise men are going to die. You stay by me.’

  Corban did not answer, just sat there thinking of the bodies in the glade, of Tull, of Ronan in the forest. He shuddered, eyes drooping, and nestled his head against Storm’s flank.

  Corban woke with a start, as Gar gently shook his shoulder. Storm licked his face, her protruding canines pressing into his cheek.

  There was a grey edge to the forest about him, a pale nimbus of light seeping through the canopy above.

  ‘It is time to go,’ Gar whispered and pointed at Marrock, who was gathered with the other warriors.

  Corban rose stiffly and joined the hunters, feeling another burst of fear. He replayed Gar’s words. Men are going to die. He swallowed, suddenly wishing he was anywhere else, then felt a rush of shame – Cywen was out there.

  Conall returned, lifting a bloodied knife. ‘Their next watch will not be seeing much,’ he said to Marrock.

  ‘We are splitting into two groups,’ Marrock said to Corban. ‘I will lead one, Halion shall lead the other. I am thinking that you should stay here and wait for us.’

  ‘What? But Cywen is out there,’ Corban blurted.

  ‘We would not be here if not for him,’ Halion said. ‘He’s earned more than being left behind like a bairn.’

  ‘Aye, he has,’ agreed Marrock reluctantly.

  ‘And that wolven of his may help us yet,’ Halion added.

  Marrock assessed Corban a moment, then nodded. ‘All right, then. You come with me, Corban.’

  They set off immediately. ‘Wait for my signal,’ Marrock said in parting to Halion, who led his band to the left, Marrock heading to the right of the track they’d followed. Corban stayed near to the last warrior. Storm padded close to him, Gar immediately behind.

  A new sound mingled with those they had become accustomed, growing louder. Running water. Soon they came to a wide dark stream and turned to follow its bank. Slowly, almost soundlessly, they crept along the stream’s bank, through thick, spiky sedge and tall reeds. Something splashed into the water, a vole or rat startled by their presence, and for long moments they all froze, Corban holding his breath.

  He was suddenly terrified, his palms sweating. Men are going to die. He sucked in a slow, shuddering breath, and whispered a prayer to Elyon.

  Then they were moving again. Corban could see figures moving around the glow of a small fire, hear the chink of metal, and muted conversation as the camp started to wake. Instinctively he reached for the sword at his waist but Gar grabbed his wrist and shook his head.

  Louder voices drifted across to them, from beyond the fire. After a moment of staring, searching the camp, Corban saw a group of red-cloaked men gathered before a wide tree, other figures sitting about the tree’s trunk. He saw Alona, Edana beside her, then Cywen. He felt Storm tense beside him and wrapped a hand in her fur.

  The light from above was growing now, details in the camp becoming clearer. Half a dozen men stood before the bound women, one of them talking to the women, it seemed. Then he heard Cywen’s voice, sharp and clear. She was angry, furious, he could not mistake that tone. His heart lurched with joy.

  Suddenly there was a flurry of movement, one of the red-cloaked men lifting his spear and lunging towards Cywen. Then another brought his sword across the spear, splintering the weapon, before stepping in front of the women. Was he defending them? And there was something familiar about the man.

  Then another was drawing his sword.

  He recognized them. Morcant, Rhin’s champion, drawing his sword on Camlin, the brigand. But that made no sense.

  ‘Be ready,’ Marrock hissed. There was a loud shout from amongst the trees and Conall came hurtling out of the undergrowth, sword in one hand, knife in the other, and buried its blade up to the hilt in a red-cloaked warrior. Halion and his handful of men were close behind him, carving into the men in the camp.

  Marrock cursed and launched himself over the stream’s bank, his men following.

  Then the world went mad.

  Corban scrambled up the bank, stood staring, one hand on his sword’s hilt, the other still gripping a tight fistful of Storm’s fur. With a hiss Gar’s sword left its scabbard, and he stood a pace before Corban.

  Everywhere was a whirlwind of combat, men screaming, yelling battle cries, dying. The women were completely hidden from view, now, a seething mass of flesh and iron and leather and blood filling the space between Corban and the captives.

  There were several red-cloaks on the ground, caught by the first rush of combat, but they were rallying quickly, fighting back with the ferocity of the cornered. There were still more red-cloaks than grey, or so it seemed to Corban as he tried to make sense of the chaos before him. As he watched he saw one of Marrock’s men – he could not tell who – fall with a spear in his gut. Marrock smashed the spear-holder in the face with his sword’s hilt, but then two red-cloaks were hacking at him and he was swept from view.

  Corban tugged at his sword, felt its heavy, unfamiliar weight in his hand, and just stood there a moment, unsure what to do. He took a hesitant step towards the tumult.

  ‘No,’ Gar barked.

  ‘But, Cywen . . .’ Corban stopped, feeling he should do something, but part of him glad to just watch, his courage balancing on a knife’s edge. He hesitated, then the decision was taken from him.

  A cluster of bandits had seen him and Gar, came hurtling towards them, four at least, maybe five.

  Gar took a few paces forwards, held his sword high in a two-handed grip, then they were on him. He deflected a spear-point aimed at his chest, knocked the tip into the ground, the man holding it grunting as Gar’s sword opened his throat, then the stablemaster was ducking, chopping two-handed into the next man’s ribs and in that moment Corban knew that everything he had seen of Gar in practice had been but a glimmer, the poorest reflection of what he was truly capable of. Watching him was almost beautiful.

  Storm’s muscles bunched and she flew away from Corban, leaping within a warrior’s guard too fast for him to strike, her claws slashing at his torso even as her jaws ripped into his face.

  Another warrior was trading blows with Gar, now, one who knew his trade, though he was still only just managing to keep himself alive, frantically blocking Gar’s remorseless barrage of blows, each parried sweep turning effortlessly into another attack.

  Then someone was past Gar and Storm, a warrior with sword held high, charging straight at Corban.

  Corban took a step back and instinctively blocked an overhead blow, his arm numbing from the power of it. At the same time he stepped to the side and pivoted on his heel, the warrior hurtling past him. Too late, he thought to backswing, as the warrior turned, coming at him again. He blocked once, twice, three times, stepping back with each blow, feeling clumsy, panic flooding his mind, sparks flying from their grating swords. Storm snarled from somewhere behind him, the warrior’s eyes leaving his to spot the wolven over his shoulder. In that moment Corban lunged forwards and felt his blade punch through boiled leather into the man’s belly. Then he was yanking back, blood sluicing over his hand, his arm. The warrior was sinking to his knees, clutching at the gaping wound. Dimly Corban heard something, a scream, and realized it was his own voice, shouting some incoherent cry.

  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.