Malice

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

CORBAN

Corban gulped back the last of a cup of his mam’s mead, and smiled at Thannon, who winked at him as he stood to leave.

‘Where are you going?’ Thannon asked him.

‘To see Dath.’

‘Wait a moment,’ his da said, shifting in his chair. ‘It is a big day, the morrow, for you.’

‘I know,’ Corban said, ‘which you’ve told me more than once today, already.’

Thannon shifted in his chair again. ‘Please, sit with me a little longer.’

Corban sat back down.

‘I remember the day you were born,’ he smiled. ‘I held you in one of my hands, you were so small. And now look at you. .’ He sniffed. ‘I hope you know this already, but now’s a good time for saying it. You are my greatest hope, my joy.’ He reached out and gripped Corban’s hand. ‘No one could have made me prouder, Ban.’ He tapped his chest. ‘You make my heart swell.’

Corban swallowed, wanted to say something, but there was a lump in his throat that swallowing didn’t move.

Thannon stood suddenly. ‘Go see your friends. But not too late, mind — you’ll need your strength for the morrow.’ He grinned. ‘Listen to me, I’m starting to sound like your mam.’ He chuckled.

Corban smiled at him, then his da left the room, and Corban set off. The wide stone streets were mostly empty, dusk settling like a blanket upon the fortress. His da had never spoken to him like that before. He smiled, and felt a surge of love for the big man. But there was another face, amongst those childhood memories, in fact in almost every single one: always there, and a whole host of others, besides.

Gar.

In his own bluff way the stablemaster had been like a second father to him. Helping him, teaching him, rescuing him in the Baglun, following him into the Darkwood. Protecting him, with his own life, if need be. Without realizing it his course changed, and he found himself making for the stables.

He hadn’t seen Gar since the arrival of the Tenebral party. One moment he was with them in the courtyard, then he had vanished. Corban remembered again how he’d felt when he saw the newcomers’ leader — Nathair, Tenebral’s King. Somehow this Nathair had seemed familiar, a memory tugging at the edges of his awareness. He had felt sick, suddenly, and thought he’d seen a dark shadow marring Nathair’s face. Just the memory of it chilled him.

He looked up and saw the stables before him, a light flickering high up in an unshuttered window — Gar’s stable loft chamber. He’d lived there as long as Corban could remember, saying that if there was any trouble with the horses he needed to be nearby.

The stables were empty now, and Corban stepped through, the familiar smells of horse and hay greeting him. He climbed the hayloft stairway that also led to Gar’s chamber. Storm followed him, silently as a wraith, as he made his way past stacks of tied hay. He paused before reaching Gar’s half-open door.

Gar was sitting on his cot in the flickering torchlight, giving all his attention to a long, gently curved blade. The stablemaster worked oil into the blade with a cloth, then skilfully rasped a whetstone down its edge.

Corban stared. He didn’t even know Gar possessed a sword, let alone one such as this. Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairwell, and without thinking, he slipped into the hayloft shadows with Storm.

A figure appeared and Corban’s eyes widened to see his mam.

She rapped on Gar’s door and strode through without waiting for a response.

‘I got your message,’ he heard his mam’s voice, clear through the thin partition walls. ‘What’s wrong?’

Gar did not answer at first, and Corban heard only the rasp of his whetstone along the length of his blade. Suddenly even that stopped, the cot creaking as Gar stood.

‘We must go. Leave Dun Carreg,’ the stablemaster said.

‘What?’ his mam stuttered. ‘That’s not possible. Why?’

‘You saw who arrived, this day?’

‘Yes, but, it need change nothing.’

‘You do not understand, Gwenith. The man with Nathair, I know him.’

‘The man with. . But how? Who is he?’

‘His name is Sumur, and he is Jehar.’

‘Gar, I do not understand. How can that be?’

‘I do not know,’ Gar said.

‘Could you not speak to him, if you know him? Find out what this means? Maybe. .’

‘No,’ Gar snapped. ‘You remember what Meical said: speak to no one, not even if Aquilus’ kin rides through Stonegate. I have not spent sixteen years obeying to stop now, when we are so close. And, besides, something is wrong. Very wrong.’ Gar paused, the silence suddenly heavy. ‘Sumur did not see me, of that I am sure. But for how long? We cannot stay here. Corban cannot stay here. We must leave, I am certain.’

‘But where? This is too soon. We are not ready — Ban is not ready.’

Corban could hear Gar pacing. ‘Plans rarely run to course, Gwenith. As to where: Drassil, of course. Where else?’

Moments dragged by. ‘Very well. But not the morrow. He takes his warrior trial, sits his Long Night. Meical said he must do that, before. .’ her voice trailed off.

‘Aye, all right then,’ Gar agreed reluctantly. ‘The morrow we prepare. The day after, we leave.’

Footsteps sounded as his mam left, Corban hugging Storm tight until they had long since faded from hearing.

Not until he heard the rasp of Gar’s whetstone again did he dare move. He crept out from behind the hay-pile, holding his breath, then down the stairwell. Storm shadowed him into the darkness.