Malice

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

CORBAN

Branches whipped into Corban’s face, stinging and leaving red lines across his cheek. He cursed under his breath and rubbed sweat out of his eyes.

He was ploughing desperately through the forest, Marrock beside him, Storm a dozen paces ahead with her muzzle low to the ground.

Corban was not sure how long they had been going — the trees blocked the sun — but the muscles in his legs were burning, his back was slick with sweat and his throat was dry. He sent a prayer to Elyon that they would find their quarry soon, but fear came on its heels. What would happen then? Battle? He gritted his teeth. Cywen is out there. Fear will not rule me.

Marrock glanced at him and smiled reassuringly. ‘You’re doing well, lad,’ he muttered.

‘Huh,’ said Corban.

‘How is it that your wolven is here?’ Marrock asked.

‘She followed us, me, from Dun Carreg,’ Corban panted. ‘I found out.’ He wiped his face again. ‘I could not leave her alone, here in the Darkwood. .’ he trailed off, not knowing how else to put it into words.

Marrock nodded. ‘I thought it might happen,’ he said. ‘You’re her pack. Makes sense she’d seek you out.’

‘I just wanted to give her some food,’ Corban said.

‘She’s survived long enough without you feeding her,’ said Marrock. ‘It’s been, what, three moons now, since you left her in the Baglun?’

‘Aye.’

‘She’s learned to hunt well enough, then, for she’d not be here if she hadn’t eaten. Mind you,’ he added, glancing at Corban, ‘she’s had a bit of help, there.’

‘Help? What do you mean?’

‘I saw your friends, giving her meat.’

‘What? Who?’

‘Farrell was one of them. The other, from the village, I think. A small lad.’

Dath. ‘I didn’t know,’ Corban murmured.

‘You have good friends about you,’ Marrock said. ‘Loyal.’

Corban looked back over his shoulder, at Gar, who brought up the rear of their column. ‘I know it.’

‘You can tell much about a man by the company he keeps, by his friends, and his enemies,’ Marrock said.

Storm suddenly slowed ahead of them and crouched lower to the ground, ears flattening to her skull, tail flicking.

Marrock held a hand up and the column slowed. ‘Stay back, lad,’ he whispered. ‘If there is battle, find Gar.’

Corban nodded but kept moving forwards, wanting to reach Storm. He felt a rumbling growl beginning to grow inside her as he laid a hand on her back.

Warriors moved past on either side of him, a sudden tension upon them all, then Gar was there, a reassuring presence at his shoulder.

Marrock was about a dozen paces ahead, hand on his sword hilt, eyes scanning the forest. He froze a moment, then ran forwards. The others gathered round him, Corban and Gar last of all.

The ground was trampled here, several bodies lying in the undergrowth, two in red cloaks, one in grey. Marrock knelt beside another, solitary grey-cloaked body, a gash across his throat.

Corban stared and felt his stomach lurch.

It was Ronan.

The warriors began searching the surrounding area. Nearby Conall bent, picked something up and showed a knife to Marrock.

‘That’s Cywen’s,’ Corban said.

‘Are you sure, lad?’ Halion asked him.

‘It’s hers, all right, one of her throwing knives.’

‘Search the area,’ Marrock ordered.

While the dozen men spread out, Corban knelt next to Ronan’s body, remembered him laughing with them all, teasing Cywen, always guarding Edana. Tears blurred his vision. He saw Ronan’s sword on the ground and picked it up, placed the hilt in the young warrior’s hand and closed the stiffening fingers about it.

Gar’s hand rested on Corban’s shoulder. Corban rubbed his eyes and stood.

‘They still live,’ Marrock said as the warriors gathered about him. ‘Of that I am certain. Though they were captured here, I think. The trail turns away from their previous course and heads east. We must press on.’ He looked at Corban, who whispered to Storm, the wolven setting off again, nose to the ground.

They travelled fast, Storm setting a quick pace, a growing tension rising amongst them, knowing they were close.

Nevertheless, after what seemed an age to Corban, the forest began to grow dark and they had seen no further sign of their quarry. Marrock called a halt, Corban reaching for his water skin.

‘It will be dark soon,’ Marrock said to his gathered warriors. ‘Those we follow will make camp and settle for the night, but we have a choice, gifted us by this wolven’s nose. We either do as they do, make camp and continue at sun up, or we follow the wolven’s nose through the night. I am for marching on,’ he said, ‘as long as we can move quietly, to close the gap between us and them.’

Heads nodded around him and he smiled grimly, his scar twisting his mouth.

‘Good, then. Corban, lead us on.’

With that they set off into the deepening twilight, slower now, Storm loping ahead.

Corban stumbled, not for the first time, his boot catching in the vines that coated the ground. Marrock reached out and steadied him.

They had been walking a long time in darkness now, and Storm was a white streak about ten paces up ahead. Suddenly Storm stopped, Corban almost bumping into her before he realized. The line of warriors behind him rippled to a halt.

‘What is it?’ Marrock whispered.

Storm stood completely still, half-crouched, ears forward, looking fixedly into the darkness. Her lips twitched into a silent snarl, hackles standing as a crest between her shoulders.

‘I think someone is there,’ Corban said quietly. ‘Up ahead.’

Marrock crept down the line, returning soon with Conall and Halion behind him. Without a word the two men slipped into the undergrowth to either side of the wolven and disappeared into the darkness.

Corban crouched beside Storm and strained to hear something, but for what seemed like the longest time all he heard was the beating of his own heart, the rustle of leaves and branches high above and the slow breathing of Marrock behind him. Then he did hear something else, or thought he did. A thud. He strained again, but there was no more.

Eventually a figure appeared up ahead, a deeper shadow in the darkness: Conall creeping towards them.

‘That wolven’s handy to have around,’ he said quietly to Marrock.

‘You found someone, then?’

‘Aye. Man in a red cloak standing watch. Got a red smile to match his cloak now. Halion’s hiding the body.’

Marrock called the other warriors up. ‘Their camp cannot be far,’ he said to them all. ‘We have killed a guard.’ Halion then crept out of the darkness to join them and nodded to Marrock. ‘We shall wait here, until sunrise. It is not far off, now, and I do not want to stumble into their camp in the dark.’

With that they all settled into the undergrowth, Corban leaning against Storm, who pressed her muzzle into his hand.

‘Good girl,’ he whispered to her, tugging her ear.

Gar sat beside him. ‘When the fighting starts, stay by me,’ he said.

‘Cywen is there,’ Corban said.

‘They will not be using wooden sticks, Corban. Come sunrise men are going to die. You stay by me.’

Corban did not answer, just sat there thinking of the bodies in the glade, of Tull, of Ronan in the forest. He shuddered, eyes drooping, and nestled his head against Storm’s flank.

Corban woke with a start, as Gar gently shook his shoulder. Storm licked his face, her protruding canines pressing into his cheek.

There was a grey edge to the forest about him, a pale nimbus of light seeping through the canopy above.

‘It is time to go,’ Gar whispered and pointed at Marrock, who was gathered with the other warriors.

Corban rose stiffly and joined the hunters, feeling another burst of fear. He replayed Gar’s words. Men are going to die. He swallowed, suddenly wishing he was anywhere else, then felt a rush of shame — Cywen was out there.

Conall returned, lifting a bloodied knife. ‘Their next watch will not be seeing much,’ he said to Marrock.

‘We are splitting into two groups,’ Marrock said to Corban. ‘I will lead one, Halion shall lead the other. I am thinking that you should stay here and wait for us.’

‘What? But Cywen is out there,’ Corban blurted.

‘We would not be here if not for him,’ Halion said. ‘He’s earned more than being left behind like a bairn.’

‘Aye, he has,’ agreed Marrock reluctantly.

‘And that wolven of his may help us yet,’ Halion added.

Marrock assessed Corban a moment, then nodded. ‘All right, then. You come with me, Corban.’

They set off immediately. ‘Wait for my signal,’ Marrock said in parting to Halion, who led his band to the left, Marrock heading to the right of the track they’d followed. Corban stayed near to the last warrior. Storm padded close to him, Gar immediately behind.

A new sound mingled with those they had become accustomed, growing louder. Running water. Soon they came to a wide dark stream and turned to follow its bank. Slowly, almost soundlessly, they crept along the stream’s bank, through thick, spiky sedge and tall reeds. Something splashed into the water, a vole or rat startled by their presence, and for long moments they all froze, Corban holding his breath.

He was suddenly terrified, his palms sweating. Men are going to die. He sucked in a slow, shuddering breath, and whispered a prayer to Elyon.

Then they were moving again. Corban could see figures moving around the glow of a small fire, hear the chink of metal, and muted conversation as the camp started to wake. Instinctively he reached for the sword at his waist but Gar grabbed his wrist and shook his head.

Louder voices drifted across to them, from beyond the fire. After a moment of staring, searching the camp, Corban saw a group of red-cloaked men gathered before a wide tree, other figures sitting about the tree’s trunk. He saw Alona, Edana beside her, then Cywen. He felt Storm tense beside him and wrapped a hand in her fur.

The light from above was growing now, details in the camp becoming clearer. Half a dozen men stood before the bound women, one of them talking to the women, it seemed. Then he heard Cywen’s voice, sharp and clear. She was angry, furious, he could not mistake that tone. His heart lurched with joy.

Suddenly there was a flurry of movement, one of the red-cloaked men lifting his spear and lunging towards Cywen. Then another brought his sword across the spear, splintering the weapon, before stepping in front of the women. Was he defending them? And there was something familiar about the man.

Then another was drawing his sword.

He recognized them. Morcant, Rhin’s champion, drawing his sword on Camlin, the brigand. But that made no sense.

‘Be ready,’ Marrock hissed. There was a loud shout from amongst the trees and Conall came hurtling out of the undergrowth, sword in one hand, knife in the other, and buried its blade up to the hilt in a red-cloaked warrior. Halion and his handful of men were close behind him, carving into the men in the camp.

Marrock cursed and launched himself over the stream’s bank, his men following.

Then the world went mad.

Corban scrambled up the bank, stood staring, one hand on his sword’s hilt, the other still gripping a tight fistful of Storm’s fur. With a hiss Gar’s sword left its scabbard, and he stood a pace before Corban.

Everywhere was a whirlwind of combat, men screaming, yelling battle cries, dying. The women were completely hidden from view, now, a seething mass of flesh and iron and leather and blood filling the space between Corban and the captives.

There were several red-cloaks on the ground, caught by the first rush of combat, but they were rallying quickly, fighting back with the ferocity of the cornered. There were still more red-cloaks than grey, or so it seemed to Corban as he tried to make sense of the chaos before him. As he watched he saw one of Marrock’s men — he could not tell who — fall with a spear in his gut. Marrock smashed the spear-holder in the face with his sword’s hilt, but then two red-cloaks were hacking at him and he was swept from view.

Corban tugged at his sword, felt its heavy, unfamiliar weight in his hand, and just stood there a moment, unsure what to do. He took a hesitant step towards the tumult.

‘No,’ Gar barked.

‘But, Cywen. .’ Corban stopped, feeling he should do something, but part of him glad to just watch, his courage balancing on a knife’s edge. He hesitated, then the decision was taken from him.

A cluster of bandits had seen him and Gar, came hurtling towards them, four at least, maybe five.

Gar took a few paces forwards, held his sword high in a two-handed grip, then they were on him. He deflected a spear-point aimed at his chest, knocked the tip into the ground, the man holding it grunting as Gar’s sword opened his throat, then the stablemaster was ducking, chopping two-handed into the next man’s ribs and in that moment Corban knew that everything he had seen of Gar in practice had been but a glimmer, the poorest reflection of what he was truly capable of. Watching him was almost beautiful.

Storm’s muscles bunched and she flew away from Corban, leaping within a warrior’s guard too fast for him to strike, her claws slashing at his torso even as her jaws ripped into his face.

Another warrior was trading blows with Gar, now, one who knew his trade, though he was still only just managing to keep himself alive, frantically blocking Gar’s remorseless barrage of blows, each parried sweep turning effortlessly into another attack.

Then someone was past Gar and Storm, a warrior with sword held high, charging straight at Corban.

Corban took a step back and instinctively blocked an overhead blow, his arm numbing from the power of it. At the same time he stepped to the side and pivoted on his heel, the warrior hurtling past him. Too late, he thought to backswing, as the warrior turned, coming at him again. He blocked once, twice, three times, stepping back with each blow, feeling clumsy, panic flooding his mind, sparks flying from their grating swords. Storm snarled from somewhere behind him, the warrior’s eyes leaving his to spot the wolven over his shoulder. In that moment Corban lunged forwards and felt his blade punch through boiled leather into the man’s belly. Then he was yanking back, blood sluicing over his hand, his arm. The warrior was sinking to his knees, clutching at the gaping wound. Dimly Corban heard something, a scream, and realized it was his own voice, shouting some incoherent cry.

Storm was beside him again, snarling at the dead man, teeth dripping blood.

‘Are you hurt?’ a voice filtered through the fog, but all Corban could do was stare at the figure in the dirt before him. So still.

‘Ban, are you hurt?’ the voice said again, louder, more urgently. A hand grabbed his shoulder, turned him and he was looking at Gar, something fierce in the stablemaster’s gaze.

‘N-no. .’ he said, and shook his head.

‘Good,’ Gar grunted.

Corban stared past the stablemaster and saw the rest of their attackers dead, one’s throat ripped out by Storm, three others cut down by Gar. Beyond them the battle still raged, though fewer men were standing. Corban could see glimpses of the women now, still bound to the tree, a small knot of warriors trading blows about them.

‘Cywen,’ Corban said and set off before Gar could respond, skirting the clumps of fighting men and moving quickly through the trees.

Halion and Conall fought before the bound women, bodies littering the ground about their feet. A man fought beside them — Camlin. The brigand chopped at a spear thrust, then, raising his sword, he slashed the rope binding the women to the tree. For a moment they sat there shocked, then they were on their feet.

Halion was trading blows with a tall, wide-shouldered warrior. Corban gasped as he suddenly saw who Halion was fighting.

Braith.

The woodsman took a step back, out of Halion’s reach, glanced about the camp, then at his bleeding arm. He shouted something, the words lost in the din of battle.

Corban darted forwards, with Gar and Storm a pace behind, and slipped through to Cywen and Edana. The girls were wide eyed, staring at the carnage about them as Corban sawed at the bonds binding their hands. Cywen threw herself upon him, hugging him tight.

Shouting drew his attention back and he saw a handful of bandits running from the camp, Braith and Morcant amongst them. Marrock was nearby with Halion and Conall, as they clustered around the women.

Marrock held Alona and grinned at her. She smiled back, hugged him and kissed his cheek.

Of the twelve warriors of Ardan that Marrock had picked, only four were still breathing. Halion signalled to Conall and they moved to the edge of the camp, scanning the trees in the direction of the fugitives.

Corban suddenly realized Camlin was still there, looking confused. Marrock raised his sword.

‘No!’ Alona cried. ‘This man saved us. They were going to kill Cywen. He protected her, protected us.’

Marrock frowned, sword still raised. ‘Why?’

Camlin shrugged. ‘Still asking myself that one,’ he said. ‘It just happened.’

‘I am in his debt,’ Alona said firmly.

‘So, what do we do with him?’ Marrock asked.

‘They’re coming back!’ Halion shouted from amongst the trees. There was a whirring sound, Alona staggered and fell against a tree, an arrow sprouting from her back. Edana screamed.

‘Out of here!’ Marrock yelled. He grabbed Alona, put her over his shoulder and ran into the forest.

Edana and Cywen stumbled after them. Camlin stood for a moment, then followed Conall as he ran back towards his brother. Corban hesitated, staring back at the sounds of battle, and caught a glimpse of Halion amongst the trees. Then he followed the girls into the shadows, with Gar and Storm close behind.