Malice

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

CORBAN

Corban blinked, staring at the man standing with Gar. ‘Meical, you say?’

‘Yes,’ Cywen grunted, turning her attentions back to the horse in her grip. ‘He’s only just ridden in. I’m in love with his mount — look at him. I wager he’s the fastest horse I’ve ever laid eyes on.’

Corban glanced at the stallion behind the dark-haired man: a dapple-grey, tall, fine boned, but almost immediately his eyes were drawn back to this Meical. Before he realized it, his feet were moving, taking him towards the stablemaster and his companion. Storm followed a pace behind.

Gar was saying something, but he trailed off as Corban approached them.

‘Ban?’ the stablemaster said to him.

Corban just stood there, unsure of what to say or do now that he was here. He could not quite understand why he had walked over in the first place.

‘Ban, you want something?’

‘I, uh, you have a fine horse,’ he mumbled, staring at Gar’s companion.

‘Thank you,’ the newcomer said. He was tall, very tall, the sun behind framing him as a dark silhouette. There was something familiar about this man, tickling Corban’s memory like a spider crawling across his neck. They stood there regarding each other, the silence growing.

‘This is Meical,’ Gar finally said, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

‘Well met,’ said Meical, a hint of a smile touching his lips.

Corban just nodded.

The silence grew again as they stared at each other. Meical’s eyes were dark, seeming to pin him to the spot; not just looking at him, but into him, measuring him somehow. But then he smiled.

‘You keep unusual company.’ Meical looked down to Storm.

The wolven was standing pressed tight to Corban’s hip and leg, as she often did when he was anxious or troubled. Her ears were pricked up, hackles standing as she stretched her head forward, sniffing. Meical squatted down, looking the wolven in the eyes, and offered his hand for her to smell. Her long canines, protruding at least a handspan from beneath her lip, touched his fingers, but he did not pull away. After a moment Storm snorted and scratched at the earth, then lay at Corban’s feet.

‘Her name is Storm,’ Corban said.

‘A good name.’ Meical rose quickly, then swayed on his feet.

‘Your pardon,’ he said. ‘I have ridden long and hard.’

‘Come,’ said Gar, ‘let’s stable your horse, he looks as weary as you.’

Gar glanced at Corban. ‘Are you to Brina’s?’

‘Aye.’

‘Best you be on your way, then, before I find work round the stable for you to do.’

‘Huh,’ grunted Corban, but stood where he was a little longer, that nagging memory again crawling across his skin.