Valour (6 page)

Maquin walked into the side tunnel, his torch held high. Darkness retreated before the light, revealing nothing but empty space.

‘Nothing there now,’ Tahir pointed out.

‘Come on,’ Orgull said. ‘Tahir, guard our backs.’

‘Aye, chief.’

They walked on, their pace quicker, now, the tunnel rising steeply.
A good sign
, thought Maquin, sweat trickling down his back.
Up is far better than down
. The tunnel was also
getting narrower, the roof lower.
Not such a good sign. Will it just end? What then?
Soon after, Orgull called a halt. He raised a hand to the tunnel’s roof, fingers tracing a tree
root poking through the stone, twisted and knotted.

‘Must be near the surface,’ Maquin said.

‘We must have walked more than a league by now,’ Tahir commented.

‘Aye. We’re out past Haldis, I’d guess, but not much further,’ Maquin said.

‘Is all well back there, Tahir?’ asked Orgull.

‘Nothing to see,’ the warrior replied.

‘Good. Onwards,’ their leader said and set off.

It was not long before Orgull stopped again. The tunnel came to an abrupt end, a dozen wide steps leading sharply up to the roof, where it met a round, flat-bottomed stone. Orgull climbed the
steps and tapped the stone with his axe. He climbed higher, braced his shoulder against the stone and heaved. With a grating sound the stone shifted, minutely, earth falling from about its rim.

‘Help,’ grunted Orgull.

The steps were wide enough for two abreast so Maquin climbed up beside Orgull, adding his weight and strength. Together they strained and Maquin felt the stone shift, dirt falling into his face,
then there was a wash of fresh air, a glimpse of moonlight.

‘Keep pushing,’ Orgull muttered. ‘Nearly there.’

Then Tahir screamed. Maquin and Orgull dropped the stone back in place and turned.

Something had hold of Tahir: a many-legged, chitinous creature, all bristle, eyes and fangs, as wide as an adult boar, but far longer, its segmented body swallowed by shadow. Tahir was screaming
as he hammered futilely at the creature with his spear.

Maquin darted forwards, jabbing his own weapon. It slid off a hard, shiny carapace. He thrust his torch at the beast, but a sharp-spined leg smashed it out of his hand, the blue light sputtering
out. He launched forwards with his spear again; the blade scraped along the creature’s hard shell, then sank into a gap between segments. It let out a high-pitched squeal, dropped Tahir and
reared up, fangs and forelegs waving, almost filling the tunnel. Maquin grabbed Tahir’s wrist and dragged him back. The creature scuttled after them, a green, jelly-like substance oozing from
the wound in its side. It sank a fang into Tahir’s leg, just below the knee. Tahir screamed and thrashed.

Then Orgull was there, bellowing for Maquin to get back, for Tahir to stay down. He swung his new war-axe, smashed it with all of his prodigious strength into the creature’s head. There
was a sickening crack. The thing’s legs jerked, twitching furiously, its mandibles clacking. With a sigh it sank to the floor, spasmed once more and then was still.

‘Get it off me,’ Tahir hissed, a fang still buried in his leg. Maquin heaved and wrenched the fang out. Tahir gasped with pain, blood running down his leg.

Orgull ripped Tahir’s breeches up to the knee, poured water over the wound and tied a strip of the torn breeches above it.

‘How is it?’ Tahir asked, a touch of panic in his voice.

‘As good as it can be down here,’ Orgull muttered, ‘though I’d like something stronger than water to flush it with. Can you stand?’

‘I’ll stand to walk out of this place,’ Tahir breathed, steadying himself with his spear.

Orgull gripped his axe haft and with a wrench pulled the blade free of the creature. He threw one of their torches back down the tunnel, where it wavered but stayed alight. ‘Maquin, best
get that stone shifted. Who knows what else we’re sharing these tunnels with.’

Maquin ran up the steps and put his shoulder to the stone. Nothing happened. He tried again, grunting and straining.

‘What’s keeping you?’ Orgull called.

‘It’s heavy,’ Maquin muttered. ‘Could do with you here, chief.’

‘Can’t be in two places at once,’ Orgull said. ‘And you’d best get a move on. Light’s fading.’

Even as he spoke, the torch he had thrown back down the tunnel guttered and then winked out. The darkness surged forwards, held in check by Tahir tightly clutching the last torch.

Maquin renewed his efforts, fear of being trapped in the dark giving him an extra strength; the stone shifted, grinding against rock and earth. Maquin dug his spear butt into the gap, levered
and shoved as he strained, veins bulging with the effort, and finally the stone lifted clear. Pale moonlight greeted him.

He reached up through the hole, savouring the sensation of air on his face and grass under his fingertips; he grabbed a tree root and pulled himself up. He could hear the sighing of a breeze
amongst branches, the distant murmur of voices, faint song, could see the pinpricks of many campfires.

Back in Forn, then. Must be the survivors of the battle
. For a moment the thought of Jael filled his mind, sitting beside a campfire, eating, drinking, celebrating. Without realizing, he
stood and took a step forwards, hand reaching for his sword hilt.

‘Could do with some help down here,’ a voice whispered to him. He froze, remembering Orgull’s words to him, their pact in the burial chamber.
Soon, Jael.

The moon slipped behind ragged clouds and all was in darkness.

Maquin set to pulling the others out of the tunnel and, as quietly as hunting wolves, the three warriors slipped into the forest, the last surviving remnant of the Gadrai. Maquin looked back
once and then followed his sword-brothers into the trees.

Corban gripped the boat’s rail as he stared back into the distance. Dun Carreg had long since disappeared and in all directions a grey, foam-flecked sea stretched as far
as he could see.

It was late in the day now, well past highsun, and Corban’s stomach was rumbling. He had not eaten since the evening before – nor had anyone else on this boat. No one had given food
much thought in their desperate bid to escape.

Dun Carreg
, he thought, wishing that he could still see the fortress, still see Ardan, still see his home.
Home no more
. Everything had changed so quickly. And Thannon and Cywen
were both still in Dun Carreg. His da and sister, both dead, both needing a cairn to be raised over them. It wasn’t right. Tears filled his eyes.

His mam lay sleeping upon a heaped pile of nets. She looked older, the lines in her face deeper, dark hollows about her eyes. Gar sat beside her, chin resting on his chest, sleeping too. Most of
this band of runaways were in the same state. It had been a long, hard night, in more ways than one.

Footsteps drew Corban’s eyes up to Halion, his weapons-master from the Rowan Field, making his way along the fisher-boat towards him. The warrior nodded grimly as he walked to where
Mordwyr, Dath’s da, stood guiding the boat’s steering oar.

‘We need to find land. Somewhere to get food and water.’

‘Uh,’ Mordwyr acknowledged. His eyes were red rimmed, his face lined with grief. He had left Bethan, his daughter, amongst the dead in Dun Carreg.

I was not the only one that lost kin last night
, Corban thought.

Mordwyr pointed into the distance, northwards, and Corban saw a dark line on the horizon. Land.

‘We’ll have to risk it,’ Halion said. He patted Mordwyr’s shoulder and made his way back along the boat, to where Edana sat with her head bowed.

The Princess of Ardan, now heir to its throne, had said nothing since they had climbed aboard the fisher-boat. The last sound Corban had heard from her was screaming as she witnessed the death
of her father.

She’ lost both her mam and da, now. At least I still have my mam, someone to share my grief with.

Storm’s muzzle touched his hand. Corban tugged on one of her ears, grimacing as the movement sent a ripple of pain through his shoulder. Brina had tended the wound where he had been
stabbed during the battle in the feast-hall. Helfach had done it. The man’s life-blood still stained the fur around the wolven’s protruding canines. Brina had assured him the wound was
not deep and was clean, but it still hurt.

He looked for the healer and she caught his eye, beckoning him over. Craf, the healer’s unkempt crow, clung to the boat’s rail above Brina’s head.

‘
Cor-ban
,’ it squawked as he squatted down before Brina.

‘What was that about?’ she asked. ‘Between Halion and Mordwyr?’

‘Time to find some land. For food and water.’

‘Ah. Out of the cook-pot and into the flames,’ Brina muttered.

‘What do you mean?’

She looked over the boat’s side at the growing line of land. ‘That’s not Ardan. Not that Ardan’s the safest place to be right now. Still, that’s Cambren. Rhin rules
there.’

‘Oh.’ Corban frowned, remembering the kidnapping of Edana’s mother, Queen Alona, back in the Darkwood, where Alona and so many others had died. All because of Rhin. ‘But
what choice do we have?’

‘None, I suppose.’ Brina sighed, wiping rain from the tip of her pointed nose.

‘
Wet
,’ muttered Craf.

‘Why should you care?’ Brina snapped at the bedraggled bird. ‘You’re a crow.’

‘
Cold
,’ it grumbled. ‘
Fire
.’

‘I’ve spoilt you,’ Brina said.

The rain was falling heavier now, a cold wind throwing it stinging into Corban’s face. In the distance the black smudge of land had grown closer, blurred by rain. The sea was an
impenetrable iron grey, the waves about the boat higher, white-flecked with foam, whipped by the wind. Corban grabbed the rail and steadied himself as the fisher-boat rode a huge swell then sped
down the other side. The boat’s only sail was straining, thick ropes creaking. Corban felt a flutter of panic in his gut, then he saw Dath climbing amidst the ropes and sailcloth. His friend
flashed him a weak smile.

He doesn’t look so worried
, thought Corban.

The sun was sinking, only a diffuse glow behind thick cloud, when they reached the coastline. Mordwyr steered the small skiff into a narrow steep-cliffed cove sheltering a
strip of empty beach. Craf exploded into the air with a noisy squawk. Everyone disembarked – Storm needing a little encouragement from Corban – and the skiff was beached safely.

Marrock, Camlin and Dath set off to scout the area and to try and hunt something to eat.

Brina and Heb, King Brenin’s old loremaster, led Edana off the narrow beach and settled her in a sheltered dell under a dense stand of rowan and yew, an icy stream bubbling through its
middle.

Storm lapped at the stream, then padded off into the deepening gloom.

Halion set two men on watch. The rest of the small band set to chopping wood, clearing space for sleeping, digging out a small pit for a fire. Soon flames were crackling greedily in the dell and
the rain-soaked band crowded round for some heat, even the crow.

It was dark when Marrock and the others returned, Dath carrying two hares over his shoulder. In short time the animals were skinned, gutted and boned, chopped into little pieces and dropped into
a pot of boiling water.

Craf made disgusting noises as he helped himself to the hare’s entrails.

That bird makes me feel sick
.

It didn’t stop Corban eating, though. The stew tasted like the finest meal to him, even as his mind told him it was watery, the meat stringy.

Two men were sent to relieve those on watch, Vonn being one of them. Dath glowered at his back as Vonn trudged into the gloom.

‘His da betrayed us all. Can he be trusted to guard us?’ he muttered to Corban.

‘None of that,’ Halion said, overhearing. ‘He’s suffered, lost people, same as the rest of us.’

‘She was
my
sister,’ Dath grumbled.

‘And
my
daughter,’ Mordwyr said. ‘He loved her. Leave him be.’

Dath’s mouth became a hard line but he said nothing more.

The small group sat around the fire, full dark settling about them, the trees sheltering them from the worst of the rain. Grief hovered amongst them like a heavy mist. Corban sat in silence,
just listening, feeling exhausted, numb. His da and sister’s faces danced in his memory every time he closed his eyes.

‘So, Halion. Tell us of this plan to take Edana to Domhain.’ It was Marrock who spoke. All other conversation stopped as everyone waited Halion’s answer. ‘Domhain is a
long, dangerous journey,’ Marrock continued. ‘We could still sail from here to Dun Crin and the marshlands in the south of Ardan.’

‘We could,’ Halion said, glancing at Edana. She sat staring at the fire, giving no sign of interest in the conversation.

Edana should be leading us, but she can’t. Marrock is her kin, so has the right, but Halion is her guardian, was given the task to protect her with Brenin’s dying words, as most
of us here heard.