Malice (5 page)

‘I tell no lies,’ the prisoner said, a hint of panic in his voice.

‘We shall see. Krelis, I am indebted to you, and to your father.’

‘We are glad to serve you, my lord,’ Krelis said, dipping his head. ‘We cannot guarantee the truth of what he says, but we thought it too important to ignore.’

‘Aye, right enough. I will have rooms prepared for you and your men. You must have ridden hard to reach us.’

‘That we have,’ Krelis said. ‘But my father has bid me return as soon as my task is done.’

Aquilus nodded. ‘We must all obey our fathers. Give Lamar my thanks. I shall make sure your packs and water skins are full, at least.’

‘There was one other matter,’ Krelis said, glancing at Veradis. ‘A request.’

‘If it is in my power.’

‘My father asks that you take my little brother, here, Veradis, into your warband for a time. To teach him, as you did me.’

For the first time Aquilus’ eyes rested fully on Veradis. He bowed low to the King, a little clumsily.

‘Of course,’ the King said with a smile. ‘It did you little harm. But perhaps not
my
warband. Peritus is away, and if I remember rightly, he was needed to keep you out of trouble on more than one occasion.’

Krelis grinned.

‘My son is gathering his own warriors. You have need of good men, do you not, Nathair?’

‘Aye, Father.’

‘It is settled then,’ said Aquilus. ‘Good. Welcome, Veradis ben Lamar, to my home. You are now the Prince’s man.’

‘Well met,’ Nathair said, stepping closer, gripping Veradis’ arm. Intelligent, bright blue eyes looked into his, and Veradis had the sense of being
measured
.

‘It will be an honour to ride with you, my lord,’ Veradis said, inclining his head.

‘Yes, it will,’ said Nathair with a grin. ‘But none of this “
my lord
” talk. If you are to fight beside me, for me, risk your life for me, then I am just Nathair. Now go and clean the dust of the road from you. I will send for you and we shall talk more, over some meat and wine.’ Krelis and Veradis bowed once more to Aquilus and Fidele, then turned and left the damp room.

‘Farewell, little brother,’ said Krelis as he grabbed Veradis and pulled him into an embrace. Veradis scowled as they parted.

‘I still don’t understand why I have to be here,’ he said as Krelis climbed into the saddle of his stallion.

‘Yes you do. Father wishes you to become a leader of men.’ Krelis smiled.

‘I know, but can’t I do that at Ripa?’

‘No,’ replied Krelis, his smile fading. ‘Here you will not be treated as the Baron’s son. It will be better in the end, you’ll see.’

‘He just wishes to be rid of me,’ Veradis muttered.

‘Probably,’ Krelis grinned. ‘That is what I would do. You cannot blame him.’

Veradis pulled a sour face, scuffed a toe on the stone floor.

‘Come,’ Krelis said, frowning, black bushy eyebrows knitting together. He leaned over in his saddle, speaking quieter. ‘There is value in this. It will make you a better man.’ He straightened, stretching his arms out wide. ‘Look what it did for me.’

‘Huh,’ Veradis grunted, not able to keep a smile twitching the corners of his mouth.

‘Good, that’s better,’ Krelis grinned. Behind them Krelis’ warriors were mounting up. The sun was high in the sky, now, a little past midday, the stables buzzing with activity. Krelis’ horse danced restlessly.

‘I would stay longer, see what this warband you are joining is like, but I must get back to Father. As it is, it will be over a ten-night before I reach the bay.’ He winked at Veradis. ‘We’ll meet again soon enough. Until then, make the most of your time here.’

Veradis stepped back as Krelis pulled his horse in a tight circle and cantered away, his warriors following close behind. The sound of hooves ringing on cobblestones hung in the air.

The young warrior stood there awhile, then turned and entered the large stable block, walking down a row of stalls until he found his grey. His horse whickered and nuzzled him as he entered the stall. Veradis found a brush and iron-toothed comb, began grooming his horse, though a quick glance told him the stablehands had already seen to him. He carried on regardless, finding a peace, a reassurance in the process, losing track of time.

‘Are you all right, lad?’ said a voice behind him. He turned to see a man looking over the partition door at him, the stablemaster who had organized the settling of their horses when they had arrived.

‘Aye. I’m well,’ he answered. ‘Just . . .’ he shrugged, unsure what to say.

‘Never fear, lad, your grey’s in good hands here. I am Valyn.’

‘Veradis.’

‘I saw your brother leave. A good man.’

‘That he is,’ Veradis replied, not trusting his voice to say any more.

‘I remember well his stay with us. He was missed when he left, by more than one lass, if I remember right.’ He grinned. ‘I hear you’re to join Nathair’s warband.’

‘Huh,’ Veradis grunted. ‘I am honoured,’ he added, feeling that he should, although right now he just felt very alone.

The stablemaster looked at him for a long moment. ‘I am about to take my evening meal. I often sit on the outer wall. It’s quite a view – care to join me?’

‘Evening meal?’ Veradis said, ‘but . . .’ His stomach suddenly growled.

‘Sundown is not far off, lad. You’ve been in here a fair while.’

Veradis raised an eyebrow, his belly rumbling again. ‘I’d be happy to join you,’ he said.

Valyn led him to the feast-hall, where they quickly filled plates with bread and cheese and slices of hot meat, Valyn grabbing a jug of wine as well. Climbing a stairwell of wide, black steps, they found a spot on the battlement wall.

Jerolin sat upon a gentle hill overlooking a wide plain and lake, fisher-boats dotting its shimmering surface. Veradis looked to the east, following the line of the river as it curled into the distance, searching for a glimpse of Krelis, but he was long gone. To the north and west the peaks of the Agullas jutted, jagged and white-tipped, glowing bright in the light of the sinking sun.

They sat there in silence awhile, watching the sun dip behind the mountains, and then Valyn began to speak, telling tales of Aquilus and the fortress. In return, Veradis told of his home, his father and brothers, and of life in Ripa, the fortress on the bay.

‘Do you have a wife, children?’ Veradis asked suddenly. Valyn was silent a long time.

‘I had a wife and son, once,’ he eventually said. ‘It feels like another lifetime now. They died. The Vin Thalun raided the fortress, many years ago. You have probably heard the tale, though you would have been clinging to your mother’s skirts at the time.’

Veradis coughed. He had never clung to his mother’s skirts; she had died birthing him. He blinked, putting the thought quickly away. ‘I have heard tell of that,’ he said. ‘They were bolder in those days.’

Valyn suddenly jumped to his feet and stared out over the plain below.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Veradis, coming to stand beside him, following the stablemaster’s gaze out over the battlements. Approaching the fortress was a lone horseman, riding a large dapple-grey horse. Veradis could make little out from this distance, other than that the rider’s mount moved with a rare elegance.

Valyn passed a hand over his eyes. He stood there in silence a while, watching the rider draw nearer to the fortress.

‘Do you know him?’ Veradis asked.

‘Aye,’ Valyn muttered. ‘His name is Meical. He is counsellor to our King, and the last time I saw him was the night my wife and son died.’

CHAPTER THREE

CORBAN

‘Oh no,’ muttered Dath as the two boys scrambled to their feet.

A group of lads were watching them. Vonn stood at their head. He was son of Evnis, who was counsellor to the King, and so considered himself of some importance in and around Dun Carreg. He was a few years older than Corban, had recently passed his warrior trial and sat the Long Night, so had passed from boy to man. By all accounts he was an exceptional swordsman.

Another lad stepped forward, tall and blond haired. ‘Well?’ he repeated. ‘What are you doing?’

Not Rafe
, thought Corban. Rafe was part of Evnis’ hold, a year or so older than Corban, son of Helfach the huntsman. He was cruel, boastful and someone that Corban made a point of avoiding.

‘Nothing, Rafe,’ said Corban.

‘Didn’t look like nothing to me.’ Rafe took another step closer. ‘Looked like you two were having a good time, rolling in the mud together.’ Some of his companions sniggered. ‘What have you got there?’

‘Practice swords,’ answered Dath. ‘We just saw Tull fight, did you see him . . .?’

Rafe held up his hand. ‘I see him every day in the Rowan Field,’ he said, ‘where
real
warriors use
real
swords, not sticks.’

‘We’ll be there soon,’ blurted Corban. ‘My fourteenth nameday is this Eagle Moon, and Dath’s is not long after. Besides, you
do
use practice swords in the Rowan Field, my da told me . . .’ he trailed off, realizing that all eyes were on him.

‘Tull won’t let you two take the warrior trial,’ Rafe said. ‘Not once he knows you were rutting in the mud together like hogs.’

‘We weren’t “
rutting
”, we were practising our sword skills,’ said Corban slowly, as if explaining to a child. There was a moment of silence, then the group of lads erupted in laughter.

‘Come on, Rafe,’ said Vonn when they had all recovered, ‘the stone-throwing starts at high-sun and I want to see it.’

Rafe looked at Corban and Dath. ‘I’m not finished with these two yet.’

‘They’re just bairns, I’d rather spend my time in other company,’ Vonn said, pulling Rafe’s arm.

‘C’mon, Dath,’ Corban whispered, turning and walking quickly away. ‘Come
on
,’ he repeated with a hiss. Dath stood there a moment, then snatched up his leather bag and followed.

They walked in a straight line, their route taking them out of the meadow towards the village, trying to put as much distance between themselves and Rafe as possible.

‘Are they following?’ muttered Corban.

‘Don’t think so,’ replied Dath, but moments later they heard the thud of running feet. Rafe sped past them and pulled up in front of Corban.

‘You didn’t ask permission to leave,’ he said, jabbing a finger in Corban’s chest.

Corban took a deep breath, his heart beginning to pulse in his ears. He looked up at Rafe, who was a head taller and considerably broader than him. ‘Leave us alone Rafe. Please. It’s the Spring Fair.’

‘Don’t you have anything better to do?’ added Dath.

‘
Leave us alone
,’ mimicked Crain, who accompanied Rafe. Vonn and the others were nowhere to be seen. ‘Listen to him. Don’t let him talk to you like that, Rafe.’

‘Shut up, Crain,’ said Rafe. ‘I think these bairns need a lesson in courtesy.’ He grabbed Corban’s arm and half steered, half pulled him towards the first buildings of the village. Frantically Corban looked around, but they were quite a distance from the crowds now, and he saw Dath had been grabbed by Crain and was being herded along after him.

Within seconds the two boys were bustled behind a building, Corban thrown against a wall, knocking the wind out of him. His fingers went limp and he dropped his wooden practice sword.

Rafe slammed a fist into Corban’s stomach, doubling him over. Slowly he straightened.

‘Come on, blacksmith’s boy,’ snarled Rafe, fists raised. Corban just looked at him. He wanted to answer, wanted to raise his fists, but just – didn’t. His guts churned with a cold weightlessness. When he tried to speak, only a croak came out. He retched, feeling sick, and shook his head.

Rafe hit him again and he staggered, blood spurting from his lip.
Fight back
! a voice screamed in his head, but he only reached out an arm, steadied himself against the wall, feeling weak, scared. He looked at Dath, saw his friend launch himself forwards, punching and kicking, but Crain was older, stronger and Dath was small-framed even for his age. Crain clubbed him to the ground.

‘Nothing like your da, are you,’ spat Rafe.

Corban wiped blood from his lip. ‘What?’ he mumbled.

‘Your da would put up a fight, make it more interesting. You’re just a coward.’

For the briefest moment Corban felt something hot flicker within him, a spark of fire deep in the pit of his stomach, like when his da opened the door to his forge and the flames flared. He felt his fists clench and arms begin to rise, but then Rafe’s fist slammed into his jaw and the sensation disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Then he was falling, crashing to the ground with a thud.

‘Get up,’ jeered Rafe, but Corban just lay there, hoping it would all end soon, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth.

Rafe kicked Corban in the ribs, then a voice shouted. A figure rounded the building and was moving quickly towards them.

‘I think I’ll have this,’ said Rafe, grinning fiercely as he bent and picked up Corban’s practice sword. Then he was running, his companion following quickly down an alley.