Valour (7 page)

‘Eremon rules in Domhain, and he is distant kin to Edana. I know him, and he will not turn her away, or betray her.’

‘He turned you away,’ Marrock said.

Halion stared at Marrock a long, silent moment.

Heb spoke up now. ‘Tell us of your father. Will he give aid against Owain?’

Halion grimaced. ‘My father is old, beyond his seventieth year now. When I last saw him he was still sharp of mind. I am his bastard son, you understand, not his heir, but he always
treated me well enough.’

‘Then why did you leave Domhain?’ Marrock asked.

Halion looked about them all, then took a deep breath. ‘Conall, my brother, he has,
had
. . .’ He paused a moment. ‘He had a temper, and a lot of pride. It got him into
trouble more than once. Growing up, we were fine; my mam was looked after by my da – she was his mistress, one of many. But in his old age he took a wife because he had no heir. Roisin. She
was young, beautiful, and she treated us and my mam well enough, when we saw her, which was rare. Then she fell with child, birthed a boy – Lorcan. Things changed then. She became jealous,
fearful that Conall and I had eyes for the throne of Domhain. And not just us – we were not Eremon’s only bastards. Accidents began to happen; people died. My mam was one.’ He
threw a twig on the fire. ‘Of course, Conall didn’t take that well: he thought that our mam had been murdered. He confronted Roisin, said things he shouldn’t have. Soon after that
my da came to see us, told us he would arrange sanctuary with King Brenin of Ardan.’ He shrugged. ‘We left.’

‘So how can you take us there, when your own life is at risk? Surely your enemies will become Edana’s enemies,’ Marrock said.

‘There is no safe place, now,’ Halion said. ‘But my father will give Edana sanctuary, of that I am certain. He thought well of Brenin. Maybe he will give other aid. I cannot
promise men, but at least it will be a safer place than most, and far from Owain’s reach.’

Marrock frowned, thinking over Halion’s words. ‘I see the sense of it. But I’d rather be doing something, fighting rather than running away. And I know we’ve all lost
people, but there are still others that we’ve left behind in Dun Carreg, others that still live. More warriors to join our cause, and others. Defenceless others, like my Fion . . .’

He dropped his gaze, staring into the fire.

Fion, his wife
, Corban thought.
That must be hard on him.

‘My troubles are my own,’ Marrock said, lifting his head, ‘and my duty is to protect Edana, but still, running away, allowing Owain to just hunt down and kill any that would
stand against him in Edana’s name; it does not sit well with me. And the thought of Owain sitting in Brenin’s feast-hall . . .’ His lip curled in a snarl and others around the
fire muttered their agreement.

Corban looked between Halion and Marrock, could see the sense in both arguments. He leaned towards Halion; he knew from hard lessons in the Rowan Field that Halion had a strategic mind, and
patience.
He believes there is more chance of success if we retreat now, plan to fight another day
. Marrock’s argument stirred his passion, though. Part of him did not want to run.

‘It angers me too,’ another voice said, Edana’s finally. She was still staring at the flames. There were scars on her cheeks where she had clawed them in her grief at
Alona’s death. They gave her a feral, inhuman quality. ‘And I will take it back from him. But for now Halion’s plan is a good one. I need time.’ She looked at Halion and
nodded curtly to him. Slowly a silence draped itself over them all.

Twigs snapped and there was a scuffling sound in the darkness beyond the firelight’s reach, a hulking figure taking shape out of the shadows. It was Storm, the carcass of a deer hanging
from her jaws.

She padded through the group and dropped the deer at Corban’s feet, nudged it towards him and waited.

‘Seems you’re pack leader,’ Halion said.

‘She thinks so.’ Corban placed a hand on the deer, accepting Storm’s gift. He drew his knife and began to skin the carcass.

Not long after, Corban was licking hot fat off his fingers and wiping it from his chin. Storm was curled at his feet, cracking one of the leg bones between her teeth, gnawing at the marrow.

Gwenith leaned over and squeezed Corban’s hand. ‘It is time to talk,’ she said quietly. Without looking at him, she stood and walked away, to the edge of the firelight. Gar
rose with Corban and followed.

When he reached her, Gwenith took Corban’s hand and led him beyond the firelight. She sat down beside a smooth-barked rowan, patting the grass in front of her.

Hesitantly he sat, feeling anxious. It was not as dark here as it appeared from beside the fire. Moonlight silvered his mam’s hair and played on her face. Much was still in shadow, but he
could see enough to know that she was troubled. She chewed her bottom lip. Gar sat next to her, watching Corban with an intensity that was unsettling.

‘There is much to tell you, Ban,’ his mam said, a tremor in her voice. ‘Almost too much. Now that we are here, I hardly know where to start . . .’ she trailed off.

‘Whatever it is, can’t it wait?’ Corban said. ‘We are all half-blind with grief and exhaustion?’

‘I know,’ his mam said, ‘but—’

‘It cannot wait,’ Gar interrupted. ‘With each day we are travelling further from our true destination.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘First,’ his mam said fiercely, ‘remember this. I love you. We love you. And know that whatever we have done, and will do, it has come from trying to do right. To protect you,
and to serve Elyon.’

‘Elyon?’ said Corban.

His mam nodded.

Elyon, the All-Father, had always seemed just a distant name to Corban, someone or something that he knew about but that never directly affected him. He remembered Brina telling him about the
All-Father, how he had given authority to mankind over all creation, and that after the War of Treasures and the Scourging Elyon had turned from mankind, forsaken all he had made. He remembered too
what she had said about Asroth, dark angel of the Otherworld: how he yearned to become flesh so as to destroy all Elyon had created.

He shivered. ‘But Elyon has abandoned us. Why serve him?’

‘Why?’ Gar blinked, looking shocked at the question. ‘Because he is our creator. Because he will return. Because it is
right
.’

Corban shrugged. ‘Why are we sitting in the dark talking about this now? What’s all this got to do with me?’

His mam took a deep breath. ‘You know that things are happening. Strange things – day turned to night on Midwinter, white wyrms roaming the dark places.’

‘I know that,’ Corban said, remembering the wyrm that had attacked them in the tunnels beneath Dun Carreg.

‘They are signs that something is coming. The God-War.’

Corban’s skin prickled, the hairs on his arms standing up.
The God-War
. He had heard rumours, talk, mostly from Edana, spying on King Brenin after his return from the council in
Tenebral. It had made him feel strange, even then, but now, in the dark, leagues from home . . .

‘You are a special child, Corban,’ his mam continued. ‘And I do not mean that in the way that all mothers think of their children. You are different. Chosen.’

She paused, looking deep into his face, searching for something. He just felt confused.

‘Chosen? Mam, what’s this all about? By who? For what?’

‘By Elyon. You have a part to play in the God-War. Because of this you have also been hunted, since the day you were born.’

‘Hunted? Who by?’

Gwenith looked about, as if to check that no one was creeping up on them. ‘Asroth,’ she whispered.

‘Chosen, hunted?’ A smile died on Corban’s lips as he saw her expression.
She really believes this. Grief and exhaustion have confused her
, he thought.

His mam shook her head. ‘It should be Thannon doing the telling. I do not know how to say this,’ she muttered, eyes flickering to Gar. A tear rolled down her cheek.

The warrior frowned, eyebrows bunching. ‘Your mother speaks the truth. The important thing for you to know, Ban, is that you are part of this. Part of the God-War. What happened at Dun
Carreg is only the beginning. The Banished Lands are falling into chaos.’

Questions were erupting in Corban’s mind, one after another. One fought clear of the rest. ‘How do you know this?’

Gar waved a hand. ‘There is a lot to tell you, too much for now, for here. But I will answer all your questions during our journey, if I can.’

‘Journey? You mean to Domhain?’

‘No, Ban. We must go to Drassil.’

‘What? Drassil?’
The fabled city in the heart of Forn Forest?
Corban shook his head. None of this was making sense. He remembered overhearing his mam and Gar talking, back in
Dun Carreg. About the arrival of Nathair and his guard, Sumur. They had mentioned leaving then, spoken of Drassil. But it had felt different. Everything had felt different. Cywen and his da had
been alive, then.

‘Yes, the giant stronghold. It is vital that you – we – go to Drassil.’ Something flashed across Gar’s face.
Longing?
‘You will be safe
there.’

‘But . . . what about the others?’ He looked over his shoulder, saw the flicker of their campfire, dark figures around it.

‘We must leave them.’

Corban rocked back, recoiling as if slapped.
Leave them
. The thought seemed ridiculous to him, unimaginable. This group was all that was left of Dun Carreg, all that was left of
home
. And his mam and Gar were asking him just to walk away from them. Abandon them, abandon Edana. Suddenly he could see the Rowan Field, smell the sea air. A crowd was gathered about him
as he took his warrior trials. He glanced at the palm of his hand, the scar where he had sworn his blood-oath in the Field a silver line. He had pledged his life to king and kin. His king was dead,
but Edana was Brenin’s heir. Walking away would make him an oathbreaker.

‘No,’ he heard himself say.

‘Ban,’ his mam said.

‘We must,’ Gar said.

‘
No
. Everything,
everyone
has been broken, killed, destroyed.’ He kneaded his temples. ‘Da, Cywen . . .’ He looked up and locked eyes with his mam. Tears
streaked her cheeks. ‘They are all that’s left of home,’ he said, waving his arm towards the campfire. ‘They are our family now.’

‘Ban, this is beyond all kin, beyond all friendship,’ Gar said, an inflection in his voice hinting at some hidden emotion, a lake of it, buried deep beneath the surface. ‘This
is about doing what is right, doing what must be done, despite the cost. Please, trust us. We must leave.’

‘I have sworn an oath to Edana. I’ll not become an oathbreaker.’ He stood, feeling dizzy, not wanting to hear any more, not another word; not this madness about Elyon and
Asroth, not about Forn, and Drassil, and not about
leaving
. He felt as if he was a dam full to bursting. His mam reached for his hand, but he snatched it away and stumbled into the
darkness.

Maquin followed Tahir into the forest, almost colliding with the young warrior when he stopped abruptly behind Orgull.

‘What’s wrong?’ Maquin hissed, looking about for any hint of danger.

Orgull was muttering unintelligibly, only the odd curse recognizable. He was looking back at the campfires that flickered distantly behind them.

‘What’s wrong, chief?’ Tahir said.

‘Can’t go yet,’ the big man said, looking as if he’d rather not be saying the words.

‘Why not?’ the other two chimed.

Orgull grimaced. ‘I have to speak to King Braster.’

‘Why?’ Tahir asked. ‘We don’t even know if he’s still alive.’

Orgull sucked in a deep breath. ‘I have been part of the Gadrai near half my life, but I am also bound to another brotherhood.’ He gave them a long, measuring look. ‘Braster is
part of that brotherhood. If there is a chance he still lives, I must tell him what has happened. We all know there are no guarantees that we’re going to make it out of Forn. Got a long walk
ahead of us with enemies right behind, most likely. If we don’t get word back to Isiltir and Romar’s kin, that’ll be the end of it. Jael will have won. Don’t know about you,
but that doesn’t sit too well with me.’

Maquin agreed; the thought of Jael getting away with his betrayal filled him with a white anger.

‘What
brotherhood
?’ Tahir asked.

‘It is more a cause,’ Orgull said. ‘The God-War is coming, and we’ll all be sucked into it, whether we want to or not. We already have been, if I’m right.
There’s more to this than dealing with Hunen raiders. That black axe . . .’

Maquin thought of Veradis, of his talk of the prophecy, of Nathair, of the Bright Star and Black Sun . . .

Orgull rubbed a hand over his eyes. ‘I met a man, a long time ago. He told me of what was coming, of what is happening now. Said he would need my help one day, to fight Asroth’s
avatar. I pledged myself to him, to his cause.’

‘What, just like that?’ Tahir said.

‘No, not just like that,’ Orgull snapped. ‘There was a lot more to it, but I’m not inclined to repeat it word for word right now. Just believe me when I say I was
convinced, and I’m not an easy man to convince. So I must find Braster and tell him, or know for certain that he is dead. I’ll understand if you’d rather keep walking. I feel like
a mad man listening to myself say it.’