Valour

  Cywen heard rather than saw the exchange, the staccato clack of wood striking wood. When her eyes caught up, Veradis had retreated a few steps, but Conall had not broken his guard. Conall attacked again, feinting high then spinning around Veradis and chopping at the man’s ribs. Veradis spun on his heel, sweeping Conall’s attack away and striking at Conall’s head and chest with two short, solid blows. Conall blocked one and stepped away from the second. They continued like this, neither gaining the upper hand, Conall like a storm-whipped sea, swirling fluidly around Veradis’ wall of stone, solid, impenetrable. Then, from nowhere, Conall’s blade-tip was at Veradis’ throat, Conall grinning wolfishly. Cywen scowled, wishing for some reason that Conall had lost. He needs some of his swagger chopped away.

  Veradis returned the smile, nodding down. Conall looked and saw Veradis’ weapon pressing against Conall’s groin.

  Cywen smiled; that was one of the kill points that Corban had taught her.

  Conall scowled then laughed, one emotion chasing the other as quick as a blink. Veradis stepped away and dipped his head to Conall.

  ‘Well, that was something to see,’ Rafe breathed. ‘I’ve never seen anyone except Conall’s brother touch wood to him while sparring.’

  ‘What’s going on today?’ Cywen asked him. ‘It feels different, somehow. Tense.’

  ‘Have you not heard?’ Rafe said. ‘Queen Rhin has broken out of the Darkwood into Ardan. She is marching on Owain. She is marching here.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CORBAN

  Dawn’s light was seeping through the trees. Corban’s eyes were fixed on Vonn’s back in front of him as they sped through the woods. He was sweating, tunic clinging to his back. It felt as if they had been running half the night, Camlin and Halion leading them in a twisting route back to their camp. The two warriors did not think their hunters would attempt to try and track them until the sun had risen, almost certainly not after they had found the torn body of Storm’s victim, but you could not be too careful, as Camlin had said. As exhaustion threatened to claim Corban, his world shrinking to Vonn’s back, to each step, each single drag of air into his lungs, one thought persisted in revolving around his mind. What had Vonn dropped in the woods, and risked his life to find?

  Gwenith greeted him with anxious eyes as they staggered into their camp; she didn’t look as if she’d slept any more than Corban had. Everyone was awake, horses saddled, the fire kicked out. His mam handed him and Gar a skin of water. Corban drank thirstily, and soon he was sitting in a saddle, his horse picking its way along a narrow track through thinning woods.

  They stopped at highsun beneath the last shade of the woods they had been passing through, an open meadow rolling away before them. Corban chewed on some cold meat as he told Dath and Farrell of what had happened in the night, of what Storm had done. His thoughts returned to Vonn and he stood and strode to the young warrior sitting close to Halion and Edana.

  ‘What did you drop?’ Corban asked him.

  Vonn looked up at him, appearing confused.

  ‘Last night in the woods, you dropped something. When you were being chased. What was it?’

  Vonn’s expression changed and momentarily his hand twitched up to his cloak. He didn’t respond.

  ‘It must be important to you, or you’d have left it. That warrior was right behind you.’

  Vonn glanced about, saw Halion and Edana looking at him, others as well.

  ‘It’s a book,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Why is it so important?’

  Vonn said nothing, but looked cornered, somehow, a child with his hand caught in the honey jar.

  ‘What’re you hiding?’ Dath said loudly.

  ‘Nothing. It’s no one’s business but mine,’ Vonn snapped, sitting straighter now, his hand resting defensively on something inside his cloak.

  ‘What is it, Vonn?’ Halion asked now.

  Vonn looked at him, then about at the other companions. All attention was on him. He sighed. ‘It is my father’s book. I took it the night Dun Carreg fell. I stole it to spite him – we’d argued about Bethan.’ His eyes darted to Dath. ‘I was angry with him. It was childish, but I knew he treasured it, so I just took it.’

  ‘What is this book?’ Brina said.

  ‘He kept it in a secret room, along with other things he treasured.’

  ‘I didn’t ask you where, I asked you what,’ Brina snapped.

  ‘WHAT,’ Craf squawked from the branches above. Dath jumped.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Vonn said, ‘I think it’s old, ancient. I think my da found it in the tunnels beneath Dun Carreg.’

  ‘Show me,’ Heb said, stepping forwards.

  Vonn clutched a hand to his chest, making no move to hand over the book.

  ‘Go on, Vonn, do as Heb asks,’ said Edana.

  All eyes turned to the Princess. Or is it Queen, now? I suppose it is, as Brenin is dead. She was speaking more often now, certainly much more than in those first days when they had sailed away from Dun Carreg.

  Slowly, seemingly reluctant, Vonn reached into his cloak, fumbled about and then pulled out a thick, leather-bound book.

  Heb took it gingerly, Brina peering over his shoulder. He opened the cover.

  ‘By Asroth’s teeth,’ Brina said, eyes growing wide.

  ‘What is it?’ Marrock asked.

  ‘It’s a book,’ Brina said. ‘When we’ve read it we’ll tell you what’s in it, which is what I think you meant to ask.’

  ‘Aye, it is,’ Marrock said, looking abashed.

  ‘We will inspect it, see what we can make of it,’ Heb said more politely. ‘No need to be so rude,’ he said to Brina.

  ‘Oh, shut up and give me the book. I need a closer look.’

  ‘You’ll have to do it as we ride,’ Halion said. ‘We’d best move on.’

  They rode hard all afternoon and into the evening, an increased sense of tension about them all. They were travelling through open meadows, and more than once had had to change their course to avoid small hamlets and cultivated fields. Once they had seen people poling coracles on a wide, glistening lake. Corban was not sure if those on the lake had seen them, but it was likely.

  As the sun was sinking, Brina and Heb cantered up either side of him.

  ‘Heb and I want to talk to you now about the book,’ Brina said.

  ‘The book?’

  ‘Yes. The book that we took from Vonn, that he brought with him from Dun Carreg.’

  ‘Ah. That book.’

  ‘It is very old, ancient,’ said Heb. ‘Written by the Benothi giants that built Dun Carreg.’

  Corban raised an eyebrow at that, his interest rising. ‘And you can read it? You can read giantish?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Heb, as if Corban had just insulted him.

  ‘It’s amazing,’ Brina said, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. She leaned closer. ‘It teaches the earth power.’

  Corban blinked at her. ‘Teaches the earth power?’

  ‘Yes,’ she snapped, appearing irritated. ‘The question you asked me, about how we summoned that mist, the night we left Dun Carreg. Heb and I know something of the earth power – very little, you understand, but enough to do small things.’

  Corban looked at them both, wide-eyed, almost falling off his horse.

  ‘Heb and I have spoken,’ Brina continued, ‘and we’d like to teach you.’

  ‘Teach me?’

  ‘Corban, if you repeat what I say one more time, I swear I will use the earth power on you.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘So, would you like to learn how to use the earth power?’

  ‘Would I li—’ He stopped himself. ‘Yes, I would.’ Why me?

  ‘Now that is more like it,’ Brina said.

  Halion called out from up ahead, halting them to make camp.

  ‘We’ll talk again. Soon,’ said Brina.

  Not long after they had stopped and made camp, Corban sat with his mam and Gar, sipping hot flavourso
me stew as the small company sat in a ring around a small fire. Halion joined them.

  ‘Will we take Storm back again tonight,’ Corban asked him, ‘back to our hunters.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Halion said. ‘We’ll see what Camlin tells us when he returns. I suspect they will not be as close behind us. Last night would have taught them to move cautiously.’ He glanced at Storm, who was spread at Corban’s feet, making short work of the bones and leftovers from the game that had gone into the stew. Craf was sat on a branch nearby, still as stone, eyeing Storm jealously.

  ‘Besides, they will be on their guard tonight. It would be best to spread our attacks out, give them no pattern to plan against.’

  Gar grunted approvingly.

  ‘And you must be tired; I know I am. Best to sleep tonight, restore our strength.’

  Most of them were asleep when Camlin returned, though Marrock was quick to rise and greet the woodsman. Corban, though exhausted, had found sleep elusive. He sat up and nodded a greeting to Camlin.

  ‘What news?’ Marrock asked.

  ‘They are a long way behind, looks like the wolven’s put some fear in their bones,’ Camlin said, teeth glinting in the firelight. ‘No need to go after them again tonight, an’ if we did, I don’t think we’d make it to their camp and back before dawn.’

  ‘You’ve done well, Cam,’ Marrock said. ‘Get some sleep.’

  Corban laid his head down and this time found sleep quickly.

  Something prodded Corban. ‘Wake up,’ a voice whispered in his ear.

  He wanted to tell Gar to leave him alone, but he knew the stablemaster would just prod him harder. Grumbling, he sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

  Dawn was a suggestion in the air, a grey light invading, pushing back the darkness. Others were stirring: his mam, holding the spear Halion had given to him on his warrior trial, Marrock and Halion, Farrell and his da, Anwarth. Corban stretched and followed Gar to a space on the dew-soaked grass. The others began sparring, Halion talked to Gwenith about different grips for the spear and Corban and Gar began the sword dance. Soon they were sparring too, others rising from their beds to join in – Dath, Camlin and Vonn. Even Edana was there, setting her feet, practising drawing a sword at her hip, making the move smooth. Most times it stuck in the scabbard. Brina and Heb were lighting a fire, preparing some food for them all to break their fasts with.

  Corban was sweating when Gar stepped away, signalling the end of their sparring.

  Halion was waiting for them, Marrock with him.

  ‘It’s time we talked,’ Halion said to Gar. ‘About who you are. We’ve waited long enough.’

  The bustle around the camp paused as Gar stood before Halion and Marrock.

  ‘Know that you are trusted, Gar,’ said Marrock. ‘We do not doubt your loyalty. But you have knowledge of our enemies – of Edana’s enemies. That is clear, and it is not right that you keep it from us. Someday soon Edana’s life, and ours, may depend on that knowledge.’

  Gar looked to Corban.

  The consequences of this conversation played through Corban’s mind. Refuse to talk and Gar would earn a measure of anger and distrust, probably from everyone in their small group. Or answer Halion and Marrock’s questions. Corban was as intrigued as any to find out more about Gar’s background but, sure as day followed night, Gar would repeat some of what he had told Corban, about Asroth and Elyon, about him being chosen. The thought of everyone knowing – his friends – made him cringe. He looked between his mam and Gar, pleadingly, and realized that Gar was waiting for him. The stablemaster would not say a word without Corban’s agreement; he would suffer the anger and suspicion of their companions and friends, all on Corban’s decision. Emotions swept him, love and respect for this man who had guarded him his whole life. Even if he was a mad man. He gritted his teeth and nodded.

  ‘I will answer your questions,’ Gar said to Halion and Marrock.

  ‘Good,’ Marrock said.

  ‘How do you know Sumur?’ asked Halion.

  ‘How do you fight the way you do?’ Marrock asked.

  Others called out more questions. Gar held a hand up. ‘I’ll tell you who I am, something of myself and where I am from, then you can ask the questions I haven’t answered.’ He looked around, and no one disagreed, so he continued. ‘My name is Garisan ben Tukul, and I come from Telassar, a city in the land of Tarbesh, far to the east. Sumur, who served Nathair, is also from there. We are a warrior caste, a holy order, called the Jehar.’

  A silence filled the glade. Corban looked around at the faces of his companions, all processing the information Gar had just given them. Brina stepped forward.

  ‘Then why are you here? A member of a holy order, so far from your home?’ she asked.

  Trust her to ask that question, Corban thought.

  Gar looked at him, waiting for his permission, and Brina gave Corban a sharp look. Corban nodded.

  ‘You have all heard something of Brenin’s journey to Tenebral, of the council he attended?’

  There were murmurs of assent. Corban noticed Edana stand straighter, looking as intent, as focused as he had seen her since they had left Dun Carreg.

  ‘And you all know something of the subject of that council, the God-War?’

  More murmurs, coupled with frowns this time.

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ Dath muttered.

  ‘Some here know more than others about these things,’ Heb said, moving to stand beside Brina. ‘Why don’t you tell what you think is necessary for all to know, to understand what you are saying.’

  ‘All right,’ said Gar. ‘There was a prophecy spoken of at the council, discovered in the city of Drassil, the heart of Forn Forest. It was written by Haldor, a giant from the time of the Scourging.’

  Now everyone in the camp was silent, fixed on Gar.

  ‘The prophecy spoke of the God-War, spoke of signs of its coming: the giant-stones weeping blood, white wyrms roaming the land, the awakening of the Seven Treasures, of Midwinter’s Day, when day became night. Those portents have all occurred. It said that the gods Asroth and Elyon, and their angels and demons, would make the Banished Lands their battleground, and that each god would be championed by a chosen avatar: the Black Sun and the Bright Star.’ Gar took a deep breath, shoulders straightening. ‘I am Garisan ben Tukul of the Jehar, and my life from the moment I first drew breath until now has been dedicated to Elyon. I have been given a great honour, chosen to protect the Bright Star, to defend him with my life.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Dath whispered to Farrell.

  ‘Shut up and listen,’ Farrell hissed, jabbing Dath with his elbow.

  ‘So, again,’ Brina said, eyes narrowed to slits now. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘Because Corban is the Bright Star, the Seren Disglair, avatar of Elyon.’

  There was a long silence, then Dath laughed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  FIDELE

  Fidele rode through the wooden gates of Ripa, Peritus at her side, two score of her eagle-guard behind them. Things had escalated since the discovery of the body in the lake. The discovery of Jace – give the dead a name. He had obviously been murdered for his part in informing her about the Vin Thalun fighting pits. Peritus had had a fire lit in his bones, then, and had set about rooting out every scrap of information in Tenebral about the Vin Thalun. Word had reached them from Lamar, Baron of Ripa, that had been worth investigating in person.

  It was late in the day, the sun low but still warm. The smell of salt filled Fidele’s lungs, the calling of gulls and the murmur of the sea underpinning all else.

  They were met by a group of mounted men, Krelis ben Lamar at their head.

  ‘My lady,’ he said to her. ‘You would be best served by staying here. There may be hard words and bloodshed ahead of us. My father is looking forward to the pleasure of your company.’

  ‘Well, he will have to wait a little longer for it. I did not ride over a hundred leagues to sit in a t
ower and wait for others to tell me of events,’ she said, less politely than she intended.

  ‘But—’ Krelis began.

  ‘No. I am coming. There will be no discussion on it. I have my guards.’

  Krelis frowned but said no more.

  Not as brainless as he looks, Fidele thought.

  He led them out of the fortress, turning north once they had left all buildings behind. They skirted Sarva, last great forest of the south, travelling steadily north as the sun sank into an ocean of green boughs. Fidele saw the outline of a fortress on a hill, ringed by trees. Its towers and walls were jagged in their ruin, framed by the dying sun.

  Balara, once-great fortress of the Kurgan giants.

  They rode up the hill, shadows stretching far behind them, through a thin scattering of trees and up to the walls of Balara.

  ‘The gates have been cleared,’ Krelis said to her and Peritus, pointing to where fallen rubble was piled high to either side of a wide stone archway.

  ‘You see,’ Peritus said to her, ‘the reports are true.’

  ‘Let’s go and see why they have gone to all this hard work,’ Fidele said. As they rode forward a horn call rang out, high and ululating.

  ‘They’ve seen us,’ Krelis called, spurring his horse to greater speed.

  He clattered onto the stone, Fidele and their mingled warriors close behind. They passed through a wide stone street, then Fidele saw faces, saw figures running in all directions, others standing, just staring. As she sped closer she could see the iron in their beards.

  Vin Thalun.

  Some realized what was happening and drew their weapons. Krelis’ broadsword swept out of its scabbard; Peritus drew his own blade. Krelis sent a head spinning through the air with the first swing of his sword, Peritus trampled another with his horse, and then Fidele’s warriors were sweeping past her as she pulled on her reins, watching in silent horror.

  A handful of the Vin Thalun resisted, pulling men from horses and hacking at them, but they were overwhelmed in moments, both by numbers and the ferocity of her men’s attack. Are we so very different from the Vin Thalun?