Malice

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CORBAN

Corban was sweating by the time he passed through Stonegate into the shadowed cold of Dun Carreg. He looked only at the ground before his feet, fearing accusing eyes were watching him.

What will Marrock say? Does everyone know already that I let the brigands escape?

Buddai loped at his heels, Storm tucked under his arm. He had been desperate to get back to the fortress and had run all of the way, although he was equally terrified of what he would discover upon his return.

His first reaction on hearing that Marrock lived had been a sharp joy, utter relief.

Braith had kept his word and released Marrock.

Or maybe Marrock had escaped.

So many questions.

Where should he go? Surely Marrock would have been taken straight to Brenin. But that would have been some time ago, by now. Time enough for word to have spread through the fortress of Marrock’s return, and also time enough for many to have heard Marrock’s account of all that had happened, including Corban’s part in it all.

He looked up and saw the grey stone of his home. So this was where his feet had taken him. The door was open, his mam standing there. A pressure began to build in his chest, as if his heart were expanding, becoming too large for his ribcage. He did not like the way his mam was looking at him — frowning, her mouth a straight edge, lines of worry around the corners of her eyes.

Storm wriggled under his arm. He put her down and she ran ahead with Buddai, both of them slipping past his mam’s legs.

She did not move when he reached the door. He stood still, his gaze slowly rising until their eyes met. Gwenith reached out and ran her long fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his forehead where it had stuck with sweat.

‘You have a visitor,’ she said.

‘Where?’ he stuttered, trying to peer past her into the kitchen.

Gwenith stepped out of his way, although he did not move. He felt as if he had stepped into one of the Baglun’s bogs.

‘Out back, in the garden,’ Gwenith said. With a wrench of will, he stepped into the kitchen, not even asking who was waiting for him, and strode to the back door. He pulled it open and walked through, passing under his da’s giant war-hammer that hung above the door. Storm squeezed through as he closed it behind him.

Marrock was sitting on a tree stump by the woodpile, looking his way, Cywen silent and still beside him. She had a knife in her hand, had probably been practising her throwing when Marrock arrived. Corban froze a moment, blinking in the sunshine, then walked towards the huntsman. Marrock rose as Corban drew close. He was pale, the scar on his face standing out pink and livid. A bandage was wound tight around his back and shoulder. They gazed at each other in silence, then Marrock gestured for Corban to sit.

‘He did his best for you, and for me,’ Cywen blurted. ‘You’d be dead if he’d done aught else.’

‘Hush, lass,’ said Marrock, raising a hand. He winced as he sat back down, facing them both.

Defending me still, even though she thinks me wrong, thought Corban, glancing gratefully at his sister.

A heavy silence fell on them as they sat there, Marrock looking at them, Cywen frowning in return, Corban’s eyes flitting between them both.

‘I am in your debt,’ Marrock said, intense blue eyes boring into Corban. ‘You saved my life.’

Surprise. An instant relief of pressure somewhere between his shoulder blades and the base of his skull. He does not blame me. Then worry descended again. Who else knows? Corban tore his eyes away from the huntsman, looking at the thick grass by his feet. He did not know what to do, what to say, so he stayed silent and did nothing.

‘How did you come to be there? At the pool?’ Marrock asked.

Corban shrugged, eyes darting to Cywen. They had argued about this as well. Cywen had thought they should go straight to Brenin, tell all, including the whereabouts of the secret door and tunnels beneath the fortress. Corban had thought otherwise.

He could not even explain why he felt so strongly about keeping the tunnels secret; he only knew that he did, and swore he would only ever know Cywen as ‘oathbreaker’ if she told.

‘Happenstance,’ he muttered.

Marrock exhaled, leaning back, looking between Corban and his sister. ‘Happenstance? Well, Elyon must have some great task saved for me, to bring you along at such an opportune moment.’

Corban shrugged again. He took a deep breath. Best to know, one way or the other. ‘Have you told anyone. Of our involvement?’

‘Aye, lad. I have.’

Corban tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. Suddenly his throat seemed to constrict, tightening, his pulse ringing in his ears. Well, so be it, he thought, trying to remember Gar’s counsel, breathing slow and deep through his nose.

‘But only the King and my uncle know,’ Marrock continued. ‘In fact, Brenin had us swear that no one else should hear of your involvement.’

Silence, broken only by the small sounds of the garden, wind sighing through the branches of the apple trees.

Relief swept through him.

‘You were courageous — both of you,’ the huntsman said. ‘Far beyond many warriors I have seen. I would have your names lauded from the highest towers, but Brenin is of a different mind. He believes if word spread of your involvement it could be misunderstood. Brenin would not have your bravery rewarded with scorn, or worse. So.’ He smiled, his scar creasing. ‘It shall remain our secret. Have you told anyone?’

‘No,’ Corban and Cywen answered together.

‘Good. Then let it remain so.’

‘Did you escape?’ asked Cywen.

‘Escape? Nay, lass. Much as it pains me to say it, Braith kept his word. He let me go, at dawn, just as he said he would.’ Marrock lifted a hand, ran it through his hair. ‘Did you see Braith’s scar? Running from here to here.’ He placed a finger beside his left eye, tracing it slowly down to his jaw line.

‘I did,’ said Corban.

‘My father, Rhagor, gave him that scar, so Braith told me. He spoke of my da.’ He fell silent, closing his eyes. ‘They fought in the Darkwood. Braith said no man had ever so much as tickled him with a blade, until my da. Braith slew him that day, in the Darkwood.’ An expression of utter desolation swept Marrock’s face, quickly hidden.

‘Where did you learn to throw a knife like that, lass?’ he asked, blowing out a short breath, smiling again.

‘My mam,’ Cywen said, grinning shyly in return. ‘She taught me over there.’ She pointed at an old tree trunk back near the rosebushes. It was splintered and pitted from a thousand knife blades. ‘I don’t let many know I can do it. Most men don’t seem to like me being able to throw a knife. Makes them uncomfortable, Mam says.’

Marrock snorted. ‘Well, I for one am glad you’ve acquired the skill.’

Cywen smiled.

With a big sigh, Storm flopped down at Corban’s feet, her back leg coming up to itch her ear.

‘How do things go, with your cub?’ Marrock asked, looking at Storm.

‘Well, I think,’ said Corban. ‘We’re training her as my da did Buddai.’

‘And how goes that?’

‘She’s not eaten any chickens yet,’ said Corban with a grin. ‘That day, the day of the hunt, when I stood before Alona. You spoke for me. If you had said different I don’t think she would be here now.’ He ran fingers through the cub’s thickening fur. ‘Why?’

‘In truth, lad, I do not know. Keeping a wolven is not the most. . sensible. . decision. I just had a feeling. Sometimes you know, something speaks to you.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m mighty glad I did support your case. You might not have been as inclined to speak up for me, at the pool, if I hadn’t.’

‘Yes he would,’ snapped Cywen, ‘Ban’s not like that.’

Marrock held his hands up, smiling now. ‘I dare say you’re right, girl. There is certainly more to you than meets the eye, lad. You have stood before Braith, the most feared outlaw in Ardan, and had the courage to bargain with him. You have a wolven at your heel, and a warrior for a sister.’

Cywen grinned fiercely.

Marrock stood. ‘I must go, my wife is fretting about my health, and is most willing to tend me. Remember, I am in your debt. Both of you. You saved my life.’ He held out his hand to Cywen, gripping her forearm in the warrior’s embrace, which drew another huge grin.

‘Look after your cub, lad,’ he said to Corban as he gripped his arm. ‘Not all are happy about her being here. Evnis has many followers in the fortress.’

Corban stepped out of the shade of the rowans into the Field, paused and sucked in a deep breath before he walked on, striding towards Halion. He kept his eyes fixed on his weapons-master, nevertheless felt ripples of attention begin to flow around him, heard muttered whispers and gasps.

He had brought Storm to the Rowan Field.

A ten-night had passed since Marrock’s reappearance and life had almost gone back to normal. Vonn had recovered enough to return to his father’s hold, so Corban was free of Brina’s chores for a while. Something had happened to him when Marrock had returned. It had been strange, almost uncomfortable, hearing Marrock talk of him that day and using words such as ‘courage’ and ‘bravery’. All that he remembered of the night by the pool was utter terror, as if his guts had turned to water. But nonetheless, he had stood up to Braith, bargained with him even. That must count for something, even if he knew deep down he truly hadn’t acted out of any bravery.

And now he was tired of hiding Storm away. He had told his da as they broke their fast earlier that morning that he was going to take Storm to the Field. He had expected an explosion, or at least a flat ‘No,’ but neither had happened. Instead Thannon had just looked at him, frowning from under bushy eyebrows.

‘As you wish,’ was all his da had said, and then returned to the pile of oatcakes before him.

He looked down at Storm, padding beside him. She had grown already, just in the score or so of days since he had brought her out of the Baglun. She was taller, less fluffy, dark stripes marking her white fur. He knew that bringing her here would stir painful memories for some, but it was not her fault. She was his, and he was proud of her.

‘Get that Asroth-spawn out of the Field.’

Corban looked up. A handful of people had drifted between him and Halion. Some younger, not sat their Long Night yet, but there were others, older warriors. He recognized Rafe’s face walking amongst them.

Corban snatched a glance around him. Many were watching. ‘That does not belong here,’ said a faceless voice from the group growing before him. Beyond them he saw Halion begin to stride towards him.

Corban tried to move around the small crowd, but Rafe stepped forward, blocking his path.

‘Get out of my way,’ Corban muttered.

‘You heard, blacksmith’s boy,’ said Rafe. ‘Take that thing out of here. You’re fortunate Vonn is not returned to the Field yet.’

Deep breath, Corban told himself, feeling the familiar churning begin in his gut. He breathed out slowly.

‘No,’ he heard himself say, pleased that his voice did not tremble. He pushed forwards.

Rafe bunched a fist and swung, but Corban had been waiting for it. He ducked, stepped onto one of Rafe’s booted feet and pushed him hard, both hands, in the chest. Instinctively Rafe tried to right his balance, but his pinned foot betrayed him and he tumbled to the ground.

Before Corban could move on, a strong hand grabbed him, spun him around. It was a warrior this time, broad and squat, powerful arms, a sneer curling his lip. Glyn. He hefted Corban until he was standing on tip-toes. Storm growled and the warrior drew back his leg to kick the cub.

‘Put the lad down, Glyn.’

Halion stood at the edge of the crowd, appearing quite relaxed, apart from the lines around his mouth.

‘Stay out of this,’ the warrior grunted, glaring at Halion.

‘This is the Rowan Field, Glyn. Grudges come no further than the trees, remember.’

‘Not this time. You’re not from round here — you would’na understand. Walk away.’

‘No.’

Glyn released Corban, shoving him back a couple of paces and turned to face Halion. The tall warrior raised his hands, palms open.

‘No need for this to go further, Glyn. Our heart rules us all on occasion. Let’s leave it at that, eh?’

‘Do not seek to instruct me, outlander,’ said Glyn, taking a stride towards Halion, who did not move, other than a slight adjustment of his feet.

‘What’s all this?’ a deep voice called from beyond the group. Over the gathered heads Corban saw a tall, wide form striding towards them. It was Tull.

The crowd parted before Brenin’s champion until he stood towering over Corban. Rafe had scrambled to his feet and sidled a few steps away.

‘What’s all this?’ Tull repeated, glancing at Corban before his eyes rested on Halion and Glyn. Halion said nothing, returning Tull’s gaze.

‘Someone answer me, ’fore I feel the need to start cracking heads,’ the ageing champion growled.

A ring of people were formed around them now. Conall, Halion’s brother, was pushing to the front, a scowl on his face.

‘He’s brought that devil-dog into the Field,’ Rafe blurted from behind Glyn. Tull’s head snapped around, like a hunting bird sighting prey, fixing Helfach’s son. ‘He mocks us, mocks the warriors that fell in the hunt,’ Rafe stuttered, looking at the ground.

‘The boy speaks true,’ muttered Glyn, and other voices in the crowd echoed him.

Tull held his hand up, looking around, his eyes eventually falling on Corban and the cub at his feet. A heavy silence descended as the King’s champion appraised him, and Corban was acutely aware of eyes on him. Almost certainly most of the Field would be watching this exchange. He cursed himself for a fool. What have I done?

‘Lad, did you not claim King’s Justice and stand before our Queen Alona?’ Tull said loudly, for all to hear.

‘A-aye,’ Corban said.

‘Speak up. If you’re bold enough t’talk in front of our Queen, surely you’re bold enough t’talk in front of this rabble.’

‘Aye,’ said Corban, louder.

‘And did she not pass judgement on you?’

‘She did.’

‘What was her judgement?’

‘That, that I was not responsible for the harm done in the Baglun. And that I could keep the cub.’

Tull grunted. ‘Did any not hear?’ he boomed.

Silence.

‘King’s Justice says this cub stays with the lad, and he can take it wheresoever he pleases. Any man, anyone,’ Tull said, his eyes sweeping the crowd and coming to rest upon Rafe. ‘Anyone here fault our Queen’s judgement?’

Again, silence.

‘Good. As it should be. I’ll be reminding you, I am the King’s sword. I’ll disregard the insult that’s been made here. But only this once.’ He stood in silence, glowering at the group that had waylaid Corban. One by one they sidled away, until none was left.

Tull turned his eyes to Corban, frowning. ‘I’ll be watching you,’ he said, then marched away.

‘You all right, lad?’ Halion asked. Corban was watching Tull’s back.

‘I. . I’m fine,’ Corban mumbled.

‘Good. Come, then.’

They walked to a weapons rack, both searching for a practice sword to their liking. Something made Corban glance over his shoulder. Two figures stood in the shadows of the rowan trees: one a hulking mass, the other not quite so tall, slimmer. They moved away, and Corban blinked, then they were gone.

‘Are you sure that you are well?’ Halion asked him again as they found a space to begin their training. ‘You look pale.’

Corban blew out a hard breath. He did feel a little light-headed.

‘I didn’t expect that,’ he said.

‘No?’ Halion raised an eyebrow.

‘No. I’m accustomed to staring, harsh words. But that. .’

‘Strong feelings, lad, oft are displayed in strong actions.’

‘Aye. So I see.’

‘Why did you do it? Bring the cub here?’

Corban looked down, watching Storm as she lay in the grass, her copper eyes considering him in return.

‘Because it doesn’t feel right, hiding her away as if she’s done something wrong,’ he said. ‘She deserves better. And I’ve done nothing wrong either, and will not act as if I have.’ He smiled at Halion. ‘My thanks.’

‘What for?’

‘For speaking for me. No one else did.’

‘You’re welcome, lad. Come, let us begin.’ The tall warrior raised his weapon, then lunged at Corban, striking at his head and chest. Stepping quickly backwards, Corban managed to block the blows, then there was a flurry of movement and Halion fell back, crying out. He was hoping on one leg, shaking the other frantically.

For a moment Corban could not tell what was happening, then he saw a bundle of fur attached to Halion’s calf. Storm had latched on and was refusing to let go. Halion stopped jumping about and Storm planted her feet on the ground, jaws still clamped around Halion’s leg. Only her copper eyes moved, looking up at the tall warrior. She growled, deep in the back of her throat.

There was a moment’s silence as Corban rushed forwards, then Halion began to laugh.

‘Storm. Here,’ Corban said sharply, and the cub stepped back to him.

‘Can’t blame her, I suppose,’ said Halion as his laughter calmed. ‘She thought I was attacking you. Mind you.’ He wagged a finger at Corban. ‘It might be funny now, but she’s going to grow as big as a pony. I would not find that amusing.’

Corban began laughing too, picturing the thought.

‘We’ve taught her not to bite chickens,’ he said, ‘so I’ll just teach her not to bite you.’

‘I’d appreciate that. But don’t stop her protecting you. It could prove to be quite advantageous.’

‘I won’t. I’m teaching her “Friend” and “Foe”.’

‘What do you mean?’

Corban walked over to Halion and knelt beside him, then called Storm.

‘Hold your hand out,’ Corban said to Halion, who squatted and did as instructed. Storm sniffed the warrior’s palm with her long muzzle, then growled.

‘Friend,’ said Corban. The growling stopped.

Halion snorted. ‘Come, lad. She’s not that clever.’

‘My da says she is. He teaches his hounds this, though he said it takes them much longer to pick it up. Even Buddai. Said she’s very bright, and can pick out a scent better than any hound he’s come across.’

Halion raised his eyebrows, but the disbelief in his face faded a little.

Suddenly he looked beyond the cub, eyes narrowing, then stood, strode quickly towards the warrior weapons court. Corban hesitated a moment, then followed him.

The weapons court was really just a square expanse of stone in the Field. It was the place where warriors sparred. Only those that had sat their Long Night were allowed to set foot on the stone.

As Corban hurried after Halion he saw Tull standing out on the Field, like an old oak amidst saplings, two smaller figures before him. He blinked as he recognized Dath standing beside his da, Mordwyr.

Of course, he thought, feeling a flush of joy. Dath’s nameday. His friend’s face was tight with excitement and concentration. Corban saw him grin as Tull took his wrist in the warrior embrace. At least I’ll have one friend in the Field.

Halion reached the weapons court and stopped, folded his arms and stared.

Two men were sparring, if you could call it that. One man was a whirling blur, in constant motion, the other clearly outclassed, struggling desperately just to defend himself. It was Glyn.

The blur of motion around him stopped, the warrior laughing. It was Conall, Halion’s brother.

‘Guard your head, man,’ Conall said, smiling as he struck at Glyn. ‘That’s it. Now, right thigh,’ he shouted, ‘gut, left shoulder, throat.’ A split second after he spoke, his practice sword would whip out, slashing exactly where he had called. Warriors around the court began to chuckle, although others were frowning.

‘Left knee,’ Conall called, but this time his weapon caught Glyn on the wrist with a loud crack. Glyn’s practice sword dropped from numb fingers and the tip of Conall’s weapon was suddenly at Glyn’s throat, pressing upwards, under the chin. Conall sneered, took a step forwards, pushing Glyn back.

‘Next time you speak to my brother,’ Conall snarled, ‘you should be more polite.’ He pushed forwards again, and Glyn tripped as he stepped back, falling heavily on his backside.

Conall hawked and spat at the man’s feet, then turned and stalked away. He grinned as he saw Halion, changing his course to approach his brother.

Corban watched Glyn rise slowly, rubbing his throat, cheeks flushed, giving Conall’s back a murderous look.

‘Do you think he enjoyed the lesson, Hal?’ Conall said, breathing deeply, but still grinning broadly. Halion just watched him approach, until Conall reached him, wrapping an arm around his brother’s shoulder. ‘He’ll treat you better, next time you meet.’

‘I can fight my own battles, Con,’ said Halion.

‘You are too soft, big brother,’ Conall said, steering Halion away from the court. Corban and Storm followed them.

‘He insulted you, called you “outlander”.’ Anger flashed across Conall’s face, then the grin returned. ‘He’ll not be doing that again, I’d wager.’

‘Maybe not,’ Halion said, ‘but you’ve made no friends out there today.’

‘Friends? I care not for friends. You are all I care about. My brother. Just the two of us, remember?’

Halion’s face relaxed. ‘I know, Con, but do not forget, we are here by Brenin’s grace. Do not abuse that.’

Conall looked grim. ‘I will brook no insult, to myself or my kin, regardless of whose favour I jeopardize.’

‘Have a care, Con. I, at least, have a mind to stay here. Your tongue and temper. .’ Halion looked around, taking a deep breath. ‘As I said. I can fight my own battles.’

Conall pulled his arm away from his brother, then left abruptly with a glare, heading for the arch of rowan trees.

Halion stood and watched until his brother had disappeared from view. He sighed, looking down at Corban.

‘Come, lad. Let’s finish your training.’