Malice

CHAPTER SIXTY

CAMLIN

Camlin shuffled his feet, forest litter clumping under his boots. He was cold, cold to the bone. No chance of that changing any time soon, he thought sourly, looking up at the snowflakes filtering erratically through a latticework of leafless branches high above.

For over a moon now they had been tramping around the Darkwood, Braith and the remnants of his crew. There had been more of them, after that day when they had finally stopped the cat-and-mouse game and faced the warband from Ardan: some had died of wounds or fever, others crept away in the night. He shrugged to himself, didn’t blame them, in a way. That was not for him, though. He’d been here too long, the thought of walking away from the Darkwood, from Braith, an impossibility.

He heard something in the undergrowth beside the trail. Quickly he drew his sword and stabbed it into the soft earth at his feet, strung his bow, nocked an arrow and waited.

He heard it again and saw tendrils of ivy tremble slightly. He breathed in slow, and pulled the arrow back to his ear.

‘Don’t shoot, Cam, s’only me,’ a familiar voice called. Braith stepped out from the undergrowth, arms raised, smiling faintly. ‘Never have been able to sneak up on you, eh?’

‘You should’na do that,’ Camlin muttered, wiping his sword clean and resheathing it, ‘I could’ve stuck you. Then who’d I have to blame for this mess we’re in?’

Braith’s smile grew broader, though Camlin noticed a new gauntness to his features that he’d never seen before, no matter how spare the winter had been or how little sleep they had had.

‘It’s cold, right enough,’ Braith said, wiping a snowflake from his nose. ‘We’ll head for the hills on the morrow, Cam, leave the trees behind for a while. One more night in the cold, and then it’s warm beds, a roof and a fire. All of us will go — too few of us left to worry about going in shifts.’

‘Ah,’ exclaimed Camlin with pleasure. Every winter Braith’s crew took it in turns to shelter in a village up in the high hills. The hills began half a day’s walk from the Darkwood’s north-west edge, the village being less than a day from there.

‘Would’ve been welcome sooner,’ Camlin said, not quite managing to keep a smile from his face at the thought.

‘Couldn’t risk it, Cam; you know that. Had to be sure we’d no unwanted guests.’

‘Well, that’s a certainty,’ he muttered. ‘Anyone following us’d either be froze to death by now, or bored to it, the time we’ve spent wandering these woods since. .’ He trailed off. None of them liked talking about that day.

‘Aye,’ Braith murmured, absently touching a raw scar across his forehead.

Camlin remembered seeing Braith earn that scar, seeing two warriors bearing down on his chief, backing him away from Pendathran, who had leaned pale-faced against a tree, blood pouring from a gash in his arm.

He remembered shouting, launching himself at the Dun Carreg enemy, heard others gathering behind him. He blinked and wiped his eyes, banishing the memory.

‘Going to the hills. That’ll be good, Braith,’ he said, reaching out to squeeze Braith’s shoulder.

‘Go get some rest, Cam, warm your feet by the fire,’ Braith said, smiling his famous smile. ‘I’ll take the next watch.’

Camlin turned and made his way down the trail to their camp, unstringing his bow as he went.

They set off before the sun came up, with an eagerness that had been missing for days. Even cold feet did not dampen Camlin’s spirits.

Usually Camlin was one of the few that preferred to winter in the Darkwood, but even he would be glad to have a roof over his head and a bed. But more than that, he would feel safe.

The Darkwood had been his home for more years than he could remember, and it had always felt safer than a fortress. Yet ever since returning from Dun Carreg he had felt anxious, as if someone was following him. He’d scolded himself enough times about it, cursing himself for a fool.

He’d told himself things would be different back in the Darkwood, but he had not been able to shake a sense of doom, right up to that fateful day. They could have led Pendathran’s warband a merry dance around the forest, or just disappeared. But Braith had been tired of running, and they had not sensed Gethin and his warband sneaking up behind them.

They walked for hours through the forest, until Braith stepped cautiously forwards, his bow loosely nocked. Camlin and the others, about a score in all, moved out of the forest into open land and then down to a river’s edge. Once there, they pulled at a mass of reeds and bracken blocking the path, revealing a dozen or so coracles neatly stacked against the riverbank.

They rooted around for paddles. Braith pushed the first boat, with two men in it, off into the water. The coracle moved with the current, then began to cut a line across the river as the two passengers began paddling.

‘Next,’ Braith said.

Before long the whole band were crossing the river, Camlin sitting behind Braith, paddling steadily for the north bank.

Soon they were across, the coracles stowed and they were heading for the foothills. The small party climbed, steadily, the land turning soon to steep-sided hills and wooded, stream-filled vales. Nestled in one vale, between two fast-flowing streams, was the village at last. Smoke rose in a ragged line from a roundhouse, a score of smaller sod-and-turf buildings nearby.

Waves of heat rolled out from the firepit, washing over Camlin, slowly seeping through the cold that had leached all warmth from his body. The usque he was drinking had helped speed the process, warming him from the gut outwards.

The rest of Braith’s crew rimmed the firepit, drinking and eating with the somewhat uneasy villagers, the hunted look that had edged all of their faces over recent days slowly disappearing.

‘What now, Braith?’ Camlin said at last.

There was a silence. Camlin thought he should have kept his mouth shut, not asked the question, then Braith spoke.

‘We’ll winter here, get our strength and spirit back.’

Camlin took a deep breath, deciding to plough on. ‘I mean, after that. What’s next, Braith? Will things in the Darkwood ever be. .?’ he trailed off, not able to put his feelings into words.

‘The same?’ Braith said, staring at Camlin. He shrugged. ‘All things change. But we will survive. That is what men such as us do. He fell silent awhile. ‘More men will come to the Darkwood to join us,’ he said eventually. ‘They always have, eh? And then, who knows?’ His face became severe, mouth tightening beneath his fair beard. ‘Vengeance, Cam. That is what is in my heart, at least. All of us — we’ve one thing in common. The world’s done us wrong: our kin, our lords, our betters. But a man can only do so much running, hiding. Time we gave some back, I’m thinking.’ He suddenly smiled, the hard man of a moment ago gone, or veiled. ‘Besides, for men such as us, we’ve no place left to go that’s better, safer, than the Darkwood.’

Camlin nodded. Braith was right. The battle in the Darkwood had been an eye-opener, and no mistake, but there was still nowhere safer for men such as they.

He took another gulp from his jug of usque. Brenin had been a surprise, seeming almost good, fair. It was a shame more of Ardan’s lords were not like their King. He spat onto the fire.

‘You well, Cam?’ asked Braith.

‘Well? Aye, I suppose. As you say, I have survived.’ He smiled humourlessly. ‘I was thinking on Evnis,’ he said slowly. ‘You told me he would aid us, yet at the Baglun he betrayed us, had Goran slain and tried to kill me. And if he had not appeared with his brother’s warband behind us in the Darkwood that day, things would have turned out different, Braith.’

‘Aye, Cam, I know it.’ The chieftain snorted.‘That one’s got it coming, for sure. No matter whose toes I step on.’

‘What d’you mean, Braith? Whose toes?’

‘Nothing.’ Braith drank deep from his jug. ‘Sometimes it can all get complicated, what we’re doing, why we’re doing it. Confusing. .’ He took another gulp. ‘But vengeance is simple, eh? And Asroth knows, between us all we’ve got plenty to take revenge for. Vengeance, Cam. Vengeance shall drive us now.’ He reached out and offered his arm to Camlin, who grasped it tight.

‘Aye,’ Camlin assented, holding Braith’s gaze.

‘What’s your tale, Braith?’ Camlin suddenly asked. ‘What drove you to the Darkwood?’

He knew all the others’ tales, but no one knew Braith’s reasons. He had just appeared, and was well known for not wanting to discuss his own background.

Braith stared, then smiled. ‘Now, that is complicated,’ he said. ‘Another time, Cam, I think. It’s not a short tale, and I’m for my bed.’ He suddenly turned serious. ‘I’m up and leaving before the sun on the morrow. Be away two, maybe three days. You’ll be chief while I’m gone, Cam.’

‘Wha-? Going? Where?’

‘Whisht, Cam, hold your breath now. No more questions. You’ll know soon enough when I return. But you’ll be chief till I’m back, Cam, you hear?’

‘Aye, Braith. If that’s what you want.’

‘It is.’

Braith stood, smiled again and walked away into the shadows.

Camlin didn’t think much of chiefhood. It might have been different if he’d been leading a raid, but nothing seemed to happen here. The first day after Braith had left things had been fine enough. Come the second day he started to feel restive, bored, and he had not been the only one. By the third day he was almost continually mediating between his edgy and increasingly unruly companions.

On the fourth day he rose with the sun and walked restlessly to the edge of the village. There a noise drew his attention, his hand reaching instinctively for his sword.

A line of men crested the hill: ten, twelve, more. He was about to turn and run for the roundhouse when he saw Braith with them. Steadily they filed down to the village, Braith at their fore, in deep conversation. There were a score of them, grim, hard-looking men bearing weapons. Camlin saw the glint of mail in one of the packs as the men splashed through the stream and strode past him.

Braith stopped. The man he was speaking to — dark haired, handsome apart from a scar beneath one eye — walked on towards the roundhouse.

‘What goes?’ Camlin said.

‘Recruits,’ Braith answered, eyes following the new arrivals.

‘Recruits? I’d wager they’re not woodsmen, Braith. What is this about?’

‘It’s complicated, remember. But for you and the other lads, you need recall only one word,’ Camlin’s chief said grimly.

‘Vengeance.’