Valour (82 page)

Eremon was white, his skin almost translucent. Life flickered in his eyes and then vanished. Roisin screamed and fell across his body, hugging him and keening. Eremon’s head flopped.

‘Why?’ Rath said, clutching Maeve tight.

‘Because he would let so many die. Because he was old and close to death, anyway. Because I hate Roisin and her spawn. Because I want Conall to be king.’ She glared at him
unflinchingly.

Rath drew his own knife and plunged it into her chest, then embraced her as her life fluttered away. He lowered her gently to the ground. Tears filled his eyes as he turned back to them.

Roisin stood slowly and stepped away from Eremon, blood staining her gown.

‘I think this changes things,’ she said.

‘This way,’ Baird said, leading his horse through a hole in the stable wall that hadn’t been there short moments ago.

Those giants were a mistrustful lot
, Camlin thought, remembering the tunnels beneath Dun Carreg,
always with their bolt holes.

They were in the stableblock of Dun Taras, Edana and her shieldmen alongside Roisin, Lorcan, Quinn and about two score shieldmen whom Rath had gathered, their loyalty beyond doubt.

‘It’s the only way out of here,’ Roisin had said of the tunnel that they were now descending – a shallow path sloping down into darkness, tall and wide enough for men and
horses alike. Hooves thudded, muffled with cloth for when they reached the open road. The tunnel stretched for a league or so before it spilt back above ground, taking them beyond the ring of
Rhin’s warriors, they hoped.

Rath had refused to leave, saying that his presence in the fortress would mask Eremon’s death and buy them vital time in making their escape. There had been no changing his mind. Halion
had hugged the old warrior tight.

They walked a long while in the dark, following a flickering light ahead, then Camlin emerged into the night. It was still dark, the sky perforated by a thousand stars.

Edana walked just in front of Camlin, Fech perched on her saddle. Camlin saw her hold out an arm for the bird and it hopped onto it and rubbed its beak against her face.

‘I would ask a great favour of you,’ Edana said to the bird. ‘Find Corban for me, and tell him of what has happened. Tell him that I am sailing to Dun Crin. And that I hope to
see him again.’

The raven protested at first, but Edana asked again, and with a flapping of wings the bird lifted into the air and faded into the night.

Edana looked back and saw Camlin watching her. Tears glistened in her eyes. ‘Looks like we’re running away again, Camlin.’

‘Like old times,’ he said, and with a smile tried to give her some courage that he didn’t feel.

They made camp beside a fast-flowing stream, the water clear and icy cold, seventy-one people strong, plus Storm and Craf. They had passed through the mountains back into
Domhain, and then Coralen had led them north, their pace fast and ground-eating. Over a moon had passed since they had left Dun Vaner, the weather changing, snow turning to sleet turning to rain.
It was still cold here in the north, but each day there was a growing hint of spring in the air. Corban could smell it. New life, rebirth.

It will be my nameday soon. It’s been almost a year since we sailed away from Dun Carreg.

Coralen had said that they would soon be crossing the northern border of Domhain into Benoth. From there it would be less than a ten-night until they reached Murias.

And Cywen.

He had had a lot of time to think. The reality of his time in the Otherworld had not faded. And even if it had, he had a physical reminder riding close to him every day.

Meical.

The man had seemed cold and aloof at first, unapproachable, but as the days of the journey had passed, conversation had begun to flow between them. It was mostly Corban asking questions and
Meical answering. Corban had for the most part asked about Nathair and the political circumstances of the Banished Lands, of kings and queens, of where they would stand in the scheme of things.
Meical seemed to know everyone, or if not know them, at least know of them. For the most part Corban steered away from anything that navigated close to what he thought of as spiritual – the
Otherworld, Asroth, Elyon, the Ben-Elim and Kadoshim – even though he had a thousand questions bubbling away in his mind. But once he started asking them, he knew he would have to acknowledge
the truth of it. It was one thing to acknowledge it to himself, or to his mam. It was another thing entirely to admit it to this band of fanatics who would willingly cut someone’s head from
their body at his mere suggestion. Besides, once he admitted it to Meical and the Jehar, the consequences of that were staggering.
Where to go from there?

No, he could not walk down that path yet. It scared him, like standing on the edge of a cliff and looking down, waves of giddiness sweeping up, consuming him. He had decided to focus on the task
at hand. To find Cywen and take her from Nathair. That was task enough. If they lived through that, then there would be plenty of time to consider the bigger questions.

Just the thought of seeing Cywen again sent a swell of emotion coursing through him – hope, worry, fear.
Elyon in heaven, let us save her.
He smiled to himself as he realized what
he was doing.
Strange how we pray in these times. Even to an absent god. A shred of hope is better than no hope at all, I suppose.

Corban saw Coralen a little way off, standing on a ridge of rock, looking at the horizon.

‘What are you looking at?’ Corban said as he drew near.

‘Benoth,’ Coralen said. She pointed. ‘Between those peaks is a wide vale – and on its far side is Benoth. Murias will not be much further, if we do not run into a band of
the Benothi patrolling their borders.’

‘Is that likely?’

‘Perhaps.’ Coralen shrugged. ‘You never know with the Benothi. They can stay locked in their halls for years, and then they will raid a dozen times over a few moons.’

She was wearing her wolven pelt. Corban had taken to wearing his too; it was warmer than his cloak. They both stood gazing at the gap between the mountains, the sky a deep blue. Stars winked
into life.

‘I wanted to thank you,’ Corban said into the silence.

An in-drawn breath. ‘For what?’

‘For everything. For guiding us. For risking your life at Dun Vaner. For coming to save me. For leading us north. For what you’re about to do, taking us to Murias. We wouldn’t
be here, if not for you.’ There was more that he wanted to say, more that he’d thought about, every day, but he couldn’t find the words.

‘It must have been hard for you, seeing Conall like that,’ he eventually managed.

‘It was,’ she said. The silence lengthened and he thought she would say no more about it. Then she spoke. ‘Con was always my favourite. I shouldn’t say that. Halion was
always kind, thoughtful, always looked out for me; but Con was so much
fun
. He was always exciting to be around. Maybe not good, but exciting . . .’

Corban could understand that. Conall had the ability to make you hate him and love him, sometimes at the same time. ‘I thought you would have gone south, when Conall fled with Rhin. They
probably went to Domhain. To join her warband.’

‘They probably did,’ Coralen breathed.

‘I thought that’s where you’d want to be,’ he said.

She turned to look at him then, her gaze straight and firm. She had green eyes.

He thought she was about to say something, then he heard footsteps behind him, and voices.

Dath and Farrell joined them.

‘Those Jehar, I don’t like them,’ Dath said.

‘They saved our lives,’ Corban said.

‘I like them,’ Coralen said.

‘Didn’t think you’d like meeting women tougher than you,’ Dath said.

‘I admire them,’ Coralen replied.

‘Well, so do I, but they still scare me, and . . .’

‘Everything scares you,’ said Farrell.

‘And Gar’s one of them,’ Corban pointed out.

‘Aye, but he’s one of us, as well.’

‘And he doesn’t look at you as if you’re made of gold, like the rest of them do,’ Farrell said to Corban.

He couldn’t deny that, and the fact of it made him uncomfortable, every day.

‘No, they don’t,’ he said weakly.

‘You know they do,’ Dath said, smiling now. ‘They think you’re this Seven Disgraces.’

‘Seren Disglair,’ Corban corrected automatically.

‘Maybe you are made of gold. Is there any gold under all that fur?’ Dath said, pulling at Corban’s wolven pelt.

‘Get off.’ He slapped at Dath’s hand.

The next thing he knew, Farrell was grabbing him, Dath trying to lift his shirt. The three of them fell wrestling to the ground.

‘Idiots,’ Coralen snorted and Corban glimpsed her heels walking away.

Corban woke before dawn, Gar prodding him awake. He didn’t protest, was used to it by now. Besides, these days he was far from alone in training. All of the Jehar were
up, some already sparring.

The first morning after the rescue at Dun Vaner had been strange. Corban had felt like a stage performer, every single one of the Jehar gathering to watch him train with Gar. He had even felt
tension radiating from Gar.

The faces of the Jehar had been unreadable, but after an unsteady start Corban had forgotten they were there, losing himself in the sword dance. Afterwards Tukul had patted Gar on the shoulder
and whispered a few words in his son’s ear. Whatever those words were they made Gar stand straighter, his face glowing with pride.

It was still strange, seeing Gar with his people. In many ways he was just like them – the composure, the cold face, even the way he walked, all grace and coiled strength. But after
travelling with them a while Corban began to see differences. There was an openness about Gar, a softening, like a sheathed sword. And Gar smiled more. Corban thought he’d never say that
about the stablemaster. The only Jehar who smiled as much or more than Gar was Tukul. Corban liked him – a fiery man, he guessed, despite the veneer of control. A man of great warmth and
great anger. He reminded him of his own da, Thannon, somehow. And Tukul and Gar clearly adored each other. Corban had felt a surge of jealousy, seeing them laughing and talking together. He wished
he still had his da to talk to.

The Jehar were not the only ones up. Brina was doing something with a pot over the fire. Closer by he saw his mam and Coralen going through some moves with one of the Jehar – a woman named
Enkara. She was blocking his mam’s and Coralen’s strikes, turning each block into a smooth attack, all in slow motion.

Then Corban had no more time to watch; Gar was prodding him, stepping into stooping falcon, ready to begin.

They set off soon after the sun had risen, a column riding steadily towards the gap in the mountains. Corban rode beside his mam.

‘Cywen’s through there, Mam,’ he said.

‘We’ve come so far, eh?’

‘That we have.’

‘And we are only here because of you.’

‘That’s not true, Mam. You would have set off straight after Cywen the moment you found out she was still alive.’

‘Me? Yes, probably. But no one else. And I don’t think I would have made it this far without them, do you?’

‘I wouldn’t have got very far, either. Without all of you I’d still be in a cell in Dun Vaner.’
Or lying in a grave, my heart cut from my body.

She smiled at him then. ‘You’re growing into a good man, Ban, with a good head on your shoulders. A man who I’m willing to trust, son or not. I’d follow you, put my faith
in you, and I’m not alone. I just have to look at everyone – they love you, Corban, would follow you anywhere.’

‘I think your judgement’s biased, Mam. You are my mam, after all.’

‘Well, there is that,’ she said, and laughed. The sound of it made him smile; it was warm and genuine.

‘But still . . .’ Her expression changed then, moving from playful to clouded faster than a storm sweeping in from the sea. ‘I wish your da was here to see you. He’d be
so proud of you, Ban. I think his heart would just about melt.’

He felt a pressure in his chest, the flush of tears rising to his eyes.
Strange how a memory can do that to you
, he thought,
catch you unawares, like one of Gar’s blows.

‘I wish he was here, too,’ Corban said, emotion catching his voice. He smiled at his mam and she smiled back. ‘At least we’ll have Cywen back soon.’
Or die in
the trying.