They were all silent at that.
‘Indeed, well, on that cheerful note,’ Roisin said.
There was a flapping from above and a black speck dropped out of the sky.
‘Men, boats, spears,’ the crow squawked, alighting in the branches of a willow. They all stared at him.
I’m glad Edana talked him into sticking around, now.
‘CLOSE,’ Craf squawked, giving his wings an extra flap to emphasize his point, making them all jump, even Pendathran, who swore.
‘This is it, then,’ Edana said, looking at them all. ‘You all know what to do.’
‘Aye,’ Pendathran said. He looked in their eyes, then grinned.
‘For Ardan and Domhain, for kin and friends, for our Queens.’
They parted, Camlin walking back to his bank of reeds.
‘Camlin,’ a voice called after him, Halion striding after him. ‘I’ll see you again,’ the warrior said. He held his arm out and Camlin took it in the warrior grip.
‘Aye, brother,’ Camlin said. ‘This side or the other.’
Again, the waiting.
Camlin checked his bow, his string, lifted his blade in its scabbard to check it wasn’t sticking, let it slide back with a click. Checked his arrows, the tips wrapped with foul-smelling linen. Flint and a pile of tinder and kindling set neatly to one side, not damp, not spoiled.
Good.
The reeds rustled and a head poked through them, scruffy red hair and a dirty face.
‘Hello, Meg,’ Camlin said. ‘You shouldn’t be wandering around at a time like this.’ There was no force in his reprimand, though – he’d learned by now that the girl would damn well do as she pleased, no matter what he said about it.
‘Don’t need to worry about me,’ she said.
He frowned. ‘You happy with what you’ve got to do?’
Camlin had adopted a new strategy with Meg. He’d learned that if he kept her out of things in an effort to keep her safe she’d just follow him and get involved anyway. So now he was finding tasks for her to do, even in the most dangerous of situations. That was what he had done with the hunt for Braith.
And thank the stars it turned out about as well as it could.
Every night he put his head on his pillow he felt a sense of relief that Braith was no longer out there, hunting him.
‘I am,’ she said. ‘I just came to see that you were all right.’ She looked at him intently, then smiled. ‘And you are.’ With that she spun around and disappeared into the reeds.
Strange child. P’raps that’s why she fits in so well around us. Around me.
Then he heard the creak of wooden boats, weight shifting within them, the sound of oars and paddles in water, quite but not silent.
Here we go, then.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
EVNIS
Evnis sat at the head of his boat and blinked as the lake opened up before him. Beside him Glyn swore.
Whoever would have thought that such a place existed?
The lake was vast, its waters dark and still, and at its centre stone walls and towers reared, as if the lake were a black field about a broken fortress. Except that green algae and creeping vines grew upon this fortress, silent, sinuous things swirling in the waters about the walls. Birds clustered upon crumbling towers, taking flight and squawking their protests at the arrival of Evnis and his warband.
Rafe was in the first boat leading the way, his two grey hounds sitting in it as still as stone, like figureheads. Warriors behind Evnis rowed them deeper into the lake, more boats following, others filtering from a series of streams and rivers along the north-eastern bank of the lake. Before half of them had emerged from the marshland streams a boat appeared from between two towers that loomed out of the lake. It rowed towards them.
‘Hold,’ Evnis said, raising a hand, his men backing water, the motion continuing through the boats behind him.
The lone boat rowed closer, four or five figures within it, the first with long fair hair.
Surely not . . .
Oars backed water and the boat stopped, drifting for a moment until it was side-on to Evnis’ boat, maybe fifty paces away. Half of Evnis’ fleet were spread behind him, the other half still backed up in the streams and rivers.
Edana stood in her boat. Evnis smiled to see her. She was dressed plainly, looking more like a woodsman than a queen, in woollen breeches, a linen shirt and black leather vest, though she wore the grey cloak of Ardan around her shoulders, something that Evnis hadn’t seen for a while. And she wore a sword at her hip.
He almost laughed at that.
‘There does not need to be bloodshed here today,’ she called out, her voice carrying across the still waters of the lake.
It’s unlikely to be our blood, Evnis thought. Perhaps you mean your own.
Edana looked at the warriors in their boats, taking her time to meet their eyes. Men behind Evnis fidgeted.
‘There are men of Ardan amongst you, true-born warriors of Ardan who fought for my father.’
Aye, there are, and now they fight for me. Most of them have always fought for me.
‘Men of Narvon, maybe, Owain’s men. And warriors from Domhain, perhaps, who once served Eremon.’
Tw o figures stood in Edana’s boat, one dressed as a warrior, dark-haired, though Evnis could see he was little more than a lad, beside him a woman, tall and dark-haired, her chin lifted proudly.
A rare beauty, Evnis thought.
‘This is Roisin of Domhain, wife of Eremon, and her son Lorcan, rightful King of Domhain.’
Excellent. This is most helpful of you, Edana, gathering all of the rats into one boat. You are making my life so much easier.
‘You are fighting as pawns for a woman with a black heart, a manipulator, deceiver, a betrayer. Rhin is not a queen; she is a tyrant, a disease that must be cut out.’
Much to his surprise Evnis found himself listening, as if Edana actually had something to say. He pulled his eyes away from her, looked at the others in her boat, sitting at the oars. One of them was Halion, the warrior sitting calmly, his eyes scanning the boats behind Evnis. He looked to the other rower and started.
It was Vonn.
His son was staring straight at him.
A long silence passed between them, something unspoken communicated, and then, finally, Evnis nodded to Vonn, a small incline of the head, nothing more. Vonn saw and looked away.
Edana was still talking, something about peace and good men banding together.
‘Can someone please kill her,’ a voice shouted from behind Evnis.
Morcant, of course.
And I think I should oblige.
Evnis roared an order, oars and paddles splashing into water and they were moving again.
Edana, Roisin and Lorcan were all sitting down in their boat now, Halion and Vonn rowing hard, a sprint for the sunken fortress. From gaps in walls and towers other boats appeared, men in them, but for each boat with people in there was one that they towed by rope, empty. Evnis noticed it but did not have time to think too hard about it. He was closing on Edana.
Then he heard a huge tearing whooosh behind him, followed closely by screaming. He twisted around, rocking his boat, to see a wall of flames igniting along the lake shore, crackling through reed banks and somehow spreading across the streams and rivers that they had travelled upon.
How the hell have they done that? We’re in a marsh, with more water than land.
Some of his boats were on fire, men jumping overboard, human torches, and separated behind them, on the far side of the flames were roughly half of his warband.
He cursed himself for a fool and set his mind on killing Edana.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
CAMLIN
Camlin watched as Meg tugged on a long rope, dragging a rolled mat of dried rushes and reeds across a stream between two boat-loads of warriors.
Camlin touched his arrow-tip into the small fire he had crackling, the linen soaked in fish oil catching
alight with a hiss. He raised his bow, drew and released, his arrow arcing and dropping into the mat of reeds. That, too, had been doused in fish oil and so the whole thing ignited in a heartbeat, flames roaring, men screaming, leaping from the boat, flames searing the flesh from warriors before and behind it.
Meg appeared at another spot on the bank, alongside the forms of other men hidden in the reeds. Clay pots filled with fish oil flew through the air to smash into boats. Camlin released another flaming arrow and a boat went up in flames. Along the bank other huntsmen fired flaming arrows and more fires were igniting, roaring into the air, more men screaming.
Camlin heard screaming all about him, the same happening on a dozen inlets.
He glanced out to the lake, saw Evnis leading over a score of boats towards Dun Crin, Edana a dot before them. Other boats were appearing from the walls, moving towards Evnis’ splintered fleet.
Going to plan, then. That’s a pleasant surprise.
Shouts and battle-cries drew his eyes back to the river before him. About a dozen of Edana’s warriors were spread along this side of the bank with him, some doing the same as him. Others ran forward as Evnis’ men began to reach the banks, some leaping, others swimming, not every boat on fire – some further back were not touched at all.
Damn, but there’s a lot of them. Five hundred at least is my guess. Those weren’t good odds, as Edana’s warband numbered less than two hundred swords.
Mind you, we’re evening the odds a little, now.
Spears began to fly, going both ways, and Camlin ducked as one hissed a handspan over his head.
He started aiming at men now, planting flaming arrows in chests, throats, backs, thighs, at least a dozen men falling to his aim before a handful of warriors reached the bank and charged at his clump of reeds.
Time to leave.
He grabbed his quiver of arrows, half-empty now, slung it over his back, waited a few moments as his enemy drew nearer, until he heard them crunching into the reeds, and then he grabbed a clay pot and threw it as he ran the other way, heard it smash down upon the small fire he had set, then the sucking in of air, like an indrawn breath before flames exploded, ripping through the reeds and scorching the onrushing warriors.
More screaming.
He flew out of the reeds, hearing flames rushing up behind him, and hurled himself out onto the lakeshore, rolling amongst abandoned huts. He came to his feet alone, the sounds of battle raging along the various streams and rivers behind him, and more dimly from the drowned fortress in the lake. He took a moment to stare, worry for Edana gnawing at him.
Fires dotted the lake, like bobbing candles on the water.
I bet it’s not so pretty right close, though. As he watched, he saw one of the empty boats that they’d packed with jars of fish oil and dried rushes shoved with long poles into an enemy rowing boat, hulls crunching together, a torch thrown in after it. The vessel went up in flames, quickly setting the enemy boat on fire.
More screaming.
Think there’s going to be a lot of that today.
Many of Evnis’ boats were aflame, and Camlin could see shapes in the water – men swimming for land. Some of Evnis’ vessels had made it to Dun Crin’s walls and warriors were scrambling onto the cold stone. Camlin heard the clash of iron drifting across the lake.
There were only sixty warriors of Edana’s warband on the sunken walls, the other hundred or so ranging the rivers and stream banks, where they’d hoped to contain the bulk of the enemy warband, and where they thought the fiercest fighting would be.
And talking of fighting . . .
Camlin looked between Dun Crin and the lakeshore, decided there was nothing he could do for Edana now except kill those enemies of hers that were closest to him.
He nocked an arrow and ran at a crouch towards the streams, veering around the wall of flames.
He burst into chaos, the world rapidly constricting to a score of paces at most in any direction. The blockade was still burning, but even if it hadn’t been, no boats were getting into the lake now, as the first two this side of the firewall were roaring infernos, blocking the stream completely, dark shapes twisted within them. Further along the stream more fires raged. Some of the enemy were splashing in the stream, being skewered like fish with spears by Camlin’s companions from solid ground. A few boats had managed to make it to the stream bank and their cargoes of flesh and iron and harmful intentions were unloading rapidly. Fifteen, twenty men, more on another boat behind them. Camlin recognized one dressed in black leather and wool, cloak of sable and a silver helm.
Morcant.
The old first-sword of Rhin led his men along the bank, cutting down two of Edana’s warriors before they even realized the enemy were ashore.
Camlin ran to higher ground and started to loose arrows into them, knowing their strength of numbers could still sweep him and his dozen or so warriors from this side of the stream in short order.
Morcant was lost from view for a moment, so Camlin settled for winnowing their numbers.
One warrior spun and fell back into the stream with an arrow through his heart, another collapsing onto the ground, hands around the shaft through his throat. Then men spotted him and changed their direction to cut him off. He released another arrow, saw it punch into a thigh, then he was moving, pushing through a thick curtain of willow branches, circling right, into thicker reeds, pushing on to reappear on the stream bank, but behind the warriors who had been running at him. They were cautiously moving through the willow curtain. He put an arrow into a warrior’s back, close enough for its iron head to punch through a leather cuirass and deep into flesh, nocked another, drew and released into a face as the enemy turned, teeth flying as the arrowhead tore through his mouth and into his brain. Then Camlin was running again, his fingertips brushing his quiver as he ran.
Three arrows left.
He weaved through long grass, jumped and squeezed through a coppice of alders, circled slowly around to his left, hoping to do the same thing to his pursuers.
He saw the willow tree he’d ran past earlier and headed for it, cautiously peered through the dangling branches, but could see no enemy warriors. The stream bank was hidden from view here, but the din of battle seemed less, now.
Is it nearly over?
Then something crashed into his back and he was falling, tumbling, his bow spinning from his grip. He rolled to a stop and saw Morcant emerging from the willow branches, grinning, sword in hand.
‘I could have killed you then, but I didn’t,’ Morcant said, the smile still on his face. Other warriors appeared behind him, four, six, seven, more in the shadows.
‘I remember you from the Darkwood,’ Morcant said, still smiling, ‘so thought it would be a shame to stab you in the back.’
‘Very noble of you,’ Camlin said as he climbed to one knee, his eyes flitting, looking for his bow. Morcant took a step and was beside it, kicked it away.
‘Perhaps you should draw your sword,’ he said as he advanced on Camlin.
Not that he thought it would do him much good, but Camlin did so, stood and set his feet.
‘Excellent,’ Morcant said.
His sword blurred, Camlin saw the tip lunge forward, spiralling somehow to curve around his attempted parry to scrape along his ribs. He grunted with pain, retreated, blocked an overhead chop and a slash at his belly, missed the thrust that pierced his thigh. Blood sluiced his leg and he stumbled back, realized that Morcant must have cut muscle as his leg gave way beneath him and he was crashing to the ground.
‘Well, that was fun,’ Morcant said as he stood over Camlin, sword rising.
Then an arrow punched into the meat of Morcant’s arm, making him stagger back a step. He snarled, looked about.
‘There,’ a small, high-pitched voice cried, ‘over there.’
Camlin rolled, concentrating on getting as far out of reach of Morcant’s blade as he could, no matter how many arrows the man had poking out of him, caught a glimpse of Meg stand
ing with the half-bow he’d made her, out of boredom more than anything else, certainly not expecting it to save his life one day. Meg was calling to someone behind her, hidden in trees and rushes, then Pendathran’s bearded face appeared, blood-spattered and furious, a score of men at his back.
Morcant took one look at Pendathran and fled, his handful of warriors with him.
Boots thundered past Camlin’s head as Pendathran charged past him, his men close behind, and then Meg was helping him to stand, tying a ripped piece of cloth around his leg.
‘That’s two you owe me,’ she said with a smile.
‘I’ll not argue with that, lassie,’ he said. ‘How are things going out there?’ he asked as he retrieved his bow.
‘We are winning,’ she said. ‘In fact, I think we’ve won. They’re mostly all running away, Pendathran, Drust and some of the others chasing them for the fun of it.’
‘How about those on the lake?’ He was thinking of Edana.
Meg shrugged.
They went to see.
Fires were still blazing out on the lake; along the shore a few of Evnis’ men were staggering from the lake, those who had worn leather, not chainmail. Camlin listened and there was no sound of battle drifting over from the fortress. Then he saw two boats rowing for the shore, a little to the south, away from the battle. He and Meg stood in the shadows of an abandoned hut and watched.
The first boat crunched onto the sand, Edana getting out and stumbling off along the bank of a stream, quickly hidden by reedbeds.
The second boat was not far behind, beaching smoothly.
Two warriors climbed out, Cian and Brogan, Cian offering a hand to help Roisin ashore.
She glanced quickly about, then took long strides after Edana, Cian and Brogan following.
So. Camlin nodded to himself, looked at Meg and put a finger to his lips, then followed them.
He caught up with them soon enough, not making a sound even though his leg thumped as if a horse had kicked it and his ribs were on fire where Morcant had cut him. He and Meg stayed within the shadow of trees and watched.