Valour (47 page)

‘Aye. But it suits Nathair. Besides, we’re just soldiers; we go where we’re pointed.’

‘That we do.’

‘We’ll put the lads through some moves before we leave, though. Go make sure they’re on the field. I’ll be along soon.’

Veradis did not want his warband to miss any training in the shield wall. After the meeting with Nathair and Rhin he was sure they would be seeing battle again soon. Veradis walked towards the
ramshackle tents that had sprouted on the outskirts of the warband’s camp, containing all those who went hand-in-hand with a warband on the move. Wives, lovers, children, blacksmiths,
tanners, weapons-smiths, brewers, whores: all manner of trades made a living from an army. He made his way through the tents, weaving amongst the rope lines and makeshift walkways until he found
what he was looking for. The heat hit him first. A tall wiry man was working a bellows, each pull causing a fire to flare and crackle. He stood and watched the man work a little while, enjoying
it.

‘Here you go,’ the blacksmith said when he saw Veradis, throwing him a pair of boots. ‘How do they suit?’

Veradis inspected one closely. Long strips of iron, thin enough to keep the weight down but thick enough to turn a blade, were sewn in a half-circle about the front of the boot’s leg.

‘I think that’ll do the job,’ Veradis said. The leg wounds on his fallen warriors had troubled him for a while, and this seemed the obvious option. ‘I want two thousand
pairs like it.’

The smith’s eyes bulged. ‘That’s a lot of boots, and iron.’ He was silent, working things out. ‘You supply the boots, I’ll come up with the iron, for the
right price.’

That shouldn’t be a problem. Owain’s dead were all wearing good boots
. ‘And how long will it take you?’ Veradis said. ‘I need them all within a
ten-night.’

Veradis made his way to Nathair’s tent. They had been on the road for two days now, and Dun Carreg was a faint smudge on the horizon. He felt slow, tired, his sleep
disturbed by dreams.
More accurately: dream
. Always the same one, the dead King Mandros looking at him accusingly.
Murderer
, the man called him.

It was not murder
.

And always the accusations about Nathair, blaming him for Aquilus’ death. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

Nathair’s tent was situated in the shelter of a wooded cove, towards the paddocks and pen that had been erected for Nathair’s draig. N
ot close enough to smell it though, thank
Elyon
, thought Veradis.

It was early, so he was surprised to find the tent empty, although two Jehar still stood guard outside it.

‘Where is the King?’ Veradis asked, but they gave no response. Veradis began to pace, thinking of where Nathair could be, when the King of Tenebral appeared, Sumur walking a few
paces behind him.

‘You’re up early,’ Veradis said as Nathair ushered him into his tent. Nathair just grunted something unintelligible.

‘Something important?’

‘Yes,’ Nathair said.

Veradis looked at him inquiringly.

‘I’ve just come from Rhin’s tent,’ Nathair said.

‘It must be urgent for her to summon you so early.’

Nathair stared at Veradis. He looked embarrassed. ‘I’ve been in her tent all night, Veradis.’

‘Oh.’ A silence fell between them.
That’s disgusting
.

‘We were toasting our alliance,’ Nathair said, rubbing his temples. ‘And one thing led to another. She can be very persuasive.’

‘You don’t need to explain to me,’ Veradis said quickly.

Nathair looked up, blushing. ‘I’m never drinking that mead again. I don’t even like it.’

‘Never mind,’ Veradis said. ‘As you’re fond of saying, I’m sure it was for the greater good.’

Nathair laughed, a little sheepishly, Veradis thought.

‘What was it you wanted to see me about?’ Nathair asked.

‘I wanted to talk to you about things that have been on my mind.’

‘Sit, then,’ Nathair said, reclining and gesturing Veradis to a chair. ‘What things?’

Now that it came to it, Veradis was unsure. There were few specifics; it was more of a general feeling, a sense of foreboding that had settled upon him, ever since the battle in Forn Forest.

‘I’m worried,’ Veradis said.

‘Go on.’

Veradis looked at Sumur, a silent shadow behind Nathair’s shoulder.

‘Sumur, wait for me outside.’

Sumur did not move.

‘Veradis is my oldest friend. My most loyal companion. There is more chance of my mother assassinating me than of Veradis turning against me. Please – outside.’

Sumur left quietly, looking back once at Veradis.

‘You can trust Sumur,’ Nathair said, ‘but sometimes I long for the old days, before my father . . .’ he trailed off, his hand searching out the draig’s tooth about
his neck. Veradis instinctively touched the tooth in his own sword hilt.

‘Aye,’ Veradis agreed. ‘Everything seemed simpler then. You, I, your warband on a noble cause.’

‘It is still a noble cause, Veradis.’

‘I know that, up here,’ Veradis tapped his head. ‘But sometimes it does not feel it.’

‘Go on.’

‘In Forn, things were done. By Calidus. Betrayals. What you and I would once have called dark deeds. Dishonourable.’

‘You speak of Romar?’

‘In part.’

‘Romar was setting himself up in opposition to me. Becoming my enemy. In the coming war realms will either join me or fight me. There will be no middle ground.’ He looked enquiringly
at Veradis. ‘Do you know what happened in the catacombs beneath Haldis?’

‘Only that Romar went in and never came out again. And that Calidus and Alcyon were part of that.’
And that my friend Kastell died as a result
. He remembered Maquin’s
words to him –
be careful whose side you choose
.

‘I see. Calidus has told me that Romar took the starstone axe, refused to give it up. He would have used it against me, and we have both heard of its power. That could not be
allowed.’

Veradis sighed. Maybe.
But it still does not feel right
.

‘There is more you have to say.’ It was not a question.

‘Jael. I do not like him. You have told me to leave the politicking to Calidus, which I am more than happy to do, believe me . . .’

‘But?’

‘Aye. But, his choices in allies.’ He shook his head.

Nathair leaned back in his chair, nodding. Something in his face changed then – a glimmer of Veradis’ friend before the weight of kingship and prophecy had fallen upon him.

‘I agree with you. Have worried over these issues – and many others besides – for countless nights. But let me tell you that every single time I come back to the same point:
Calidus is one of the Ben-Elim, a servant of Elyon. We both
saw him change
. I will never forget it. There are other arguments, convincing arguments – the alliance is fragile, and at
present I do not hold the power to forge an empire. I hope that will change, but until it does, the future is the alliance and politics, and politics is compromise. I do not like Jael, I do not
approve of some of the things that have been done to further my cause, but they have all been done for the greater good.’

The greater good – how many times have I told myself that?

Nathair paused and smiled. ‘I can see from your face that you have had the same thoughts. And they would be troubling indeed, if we did not have Calidus. Remember what we saw in Telassar;
remember what we witnessed. He is a servant of Elyon. It is that memory that strengthens my will, that keeps me on my course. Let it do the same for you.’

He did remember, could still feel the shock, the awe of seeing Calidus transform before his eyes from an old man into a winged warrior. ‘It does,’ Veradis said. ‘I just . .
.’

‘I know. War places a burden on us all, Veradis. The lives we have taken or ordered taken in the furtherance of our cause. The choices made.’

Veradis had no words for that, his thoughts spiralling.

‘Thank you, my friend,’ Nathair said, leaning forward and gripping Veradis’ wrist.

‘For what?’

‘For being honest. There is no one in all the earth that I can talk to as freely as you. Talking helps, eh? Crystallizes the problems and solutions.’

‘Aye.’ And it had helped, talking to Nathair. Discovering that his friend shared the same doubts and worries eased the sense of foreboding that had haunted him for so long.

‘So let us continue our war, in the knowledge that our cause is just and our goal vital.’

‘Aye, onwards.’

Veradis stood on a shingle ridge that overlooked the bay at Dun Carreg. The Vin Thalun transport ships were almost loaded, over three thousand warriors filling their decks.
There was not room enough to take all in one crossing, so the ships would have to return for the rest of them. It would not take long – a day’s journey to the shores of Cambren, a day
to unload, and a day back. It would still be much quicker than walking.

The call came for him to board. Most of his men were already on the ships, only a handful standing with him. They walked down the ridge onto the beach, along a wooden pier towards a wide
boarding-plank, his new boots thudding heavily. They would take some getting used to, and his men were already grumbling, but they would save lives. Beside him walked Bos, and next to him one of
Evnis’ warriors, a young lad, Rafe, from Dun Carreg. Calidus had asked Evnis for someone who would recognize this Corban if ever they met him. Cywen walked next to him, her hands bound, and
it was obvious there was little love lost between the pair of them. But at least she hadn’t tried to kill him yet. Or anyone else.

Veradis put that down to the fact that he’d offered her the now-healed horse she seemed to care so much about, in return for her good behaviour, and he had even committed to bringing it
with them to Cambren. It was no great inconvenience, as she would need a mount to ride. She had actually smiled at him when he had offered it to her, and he had asked only in return that she stop
trying to escape, which she had attempted four times in the first day and night after Owain’s defeat. It was tiring, always keeping an eye on her, or making sure that someone with wits enough
not to be fooled by her was watching her. Her fine mood had lasted until this morning, when she had discovered that Morcant was staying in Ardan as Evnis’ battlechief. Now she was sullen and
brooding, no doubt devising imaginative ways to carve more holes into Morcant’s hide.

‘It’s not going to happen,’ Veradis said to her as they walked up the boarding-plank. ‘You should let it go.’

She knew instantly what he was talking about. ‘He killed the man I was to be handbound to,’ she said. ‘I’ll never let it go.’

Veradis believed her.
I’m glad I have not wronged her
, he thought.
I would not sleep well at night
.

They stood at the railing and looked back as the fleet slowly moved out of the bay, banks of oars sweeping into the water. Veradis could make out Rhin on the ridge he had recently been standing
on. Conall stood close to her, Evnis and Morcant a little further along.

Farewell
,
Ardan
, he thought, and deliberately turned to look ahead, through the ranks of sailors, masts and ropes to the open sea beyond the bay.

And now to Cambren; to more bloodshed in the name of righteousness, to claim my destiny as the most trusted servant of Elyon’s Bright Star
.

Fidele followed Ektor down the staircase, torchlight shining off the balding patch on the crown of his head. He was leading her into the tower at Ripa, down to the library in
the depths of the tower’s foundations. It was quiet, almost stifling, the deeper they went, with only the crackle of torches and the slap of their feet on stone breaking the silence.
Orcus’ footfalls were heavy behind her.

Eventually Ektor stopped before a door, fumbled with some keys and ushered Fidele inside.

It was dark. As Ektor bustled around with a candle, opening lanterns and lighting more candles, Fidele made out the outline of a bed, a table, some scattered chairs.

As the candlelight filled the room, Fidele almost gasped. The first half of the room looked like a ruin, bed sheets strewn on the floor, mouldy fruit and rotting trenchers of half-eaten food.
Beyond the detritus was a marvel. The library, as Ektor called it, was one great curved stone wall with a thousand alcoves carved into it, ladders leaning against it at intervals. Box-like alcoves
were dug into the wall, becoming clearer as Ektor lit more lanterns. There were regimented rows of them curling around the chamber, retreating into the shadows, all with the ends of scrolls
protruding from the square holes.

It was impressive indeed. She had been looking forward to this moment, ever since Lamar and Ektor had spoken of this library during their council, but a pile of endless tasks had filled her days
since then, most of them concerned with the rooting-out of the Vin Thalun fighting pits. And she had stayed in Ripa far longer than she had originally intended. The truth was that she liked it
here. The sea air held a freshness that Jerolin lacked, and going home meant a return to the weight of memory. She could put it off only a little longer, though.