Malice

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

CYWEN

Cywen leaned against the wall and looked out into the darkness that surrounded the fortress. Rain lashed her, winds swirling and pulling. She didn’t care; at least it meant she was alone, away from others that didn’t understand.

She was standing on the battlements above Stonegate, the night hiding the warband below from view. In the courtyard warriors were huddled about a guttering fire, four score men or so trying to keep the chill at bay. Others, little more than shadows, stood by the gates.

Cywen sighed, a deep, mournful thing, and wiped moisture from her face.

‘Chin firm, lass, it could be worse,’ a voice said behind her. She started at a warrior standing close by, stepping out of the shadows.

It was Marrock. ‘Least you’re not still in the Darkwood,’ he continued. ‘And you’re on the right side of this wall.’ He looked out into the darkness.

She knew the truth of his words but could find nothing to say in response that didn’t sound petulant, so she just nodded and turned away. He looked at her a moment, then walked on.

Absently she stroked the cold handle of a throwing knife, one of seven, strapped in a line along her belt. She was never without them now, not after realizing their worth in the Darkwood. Camlin, the woodsman, had returned one of them to her, saying it had ended up in his shield somehow.

Every day since her return she had practised with them, imagining Morcant was her target. Unlike Corban, or Brenin, she had no outlet for her vengeance, was not permitted to fight. It was unjust, and made her feel so useless, with a battle-host camped in Havan.

She glared over the walls, into the darkness and was about to turn away when she saw something. A movement, right on the very edge of her vision, where the darkness became complete. Leaning over the wall, she stared, strained, wiping rain from her eyes. Was that the drum of feet?

Then there were voices behind her, in the courtyard. She turned and glimpsed Marrock further along the wall, now looking in the same direction as she was.

A handful of warriors had strode into the courtyard and marched towards the fire, calling a loud greeting to warriors gathered there. She saw Evnis at their head, behind him a clutch of warriors from his hold, as well as Conall, Halion’s brother. That one walked with a swagger, all confidence.

Maybe he felt her eyes on him, for he looked up at the walls, almost straight at her. He did not smile this time, though, as he was wont to do. She never made more of that than it was, having seen him behave the same with most women in the fortress, and no doubt all of Ardan beyond. This time he just stared at her, eyes narrowing, and began to walk up towards her.

Then Cywen spotted men, issuing from the street behind Evnis, spreading silently around the edges of the courtyard, clinging to the shadows beyond the firelight’s reach.

Cywen opened her mouth to shout a warning, and heard Marrock’s voice call out. Men about the fire looked to Marrock, then to the shadows, becoming aware of the creeping warriors.

Suddenly Evnis had a knife in his hand, and was shockingly plunging it into the chest of the nearest man. Then the shadows burst into life, warriors charging forwards with sharp iron in their hands.

All became chaos.

Many were cut down in that first rush, not even having time to draw their swords. Those that did manage to pull blades free of scabbards didn’t do much better, the dark warriors carving through them with frightening ease. In moments almost two score men were dead about the fire as the warriors before the gate milled in shock, unsure whether to rush to their comrades’ aid or stay and guard the gate.

Someone thought to sound a warning but the storm snatched the sound away as soon as it was made. It couldn’t have carried much further than the courtyard. Men of Ardan stumbled from buildings around the open space, clutching swords and spears. Many of these fell quickly as they were still unprepared, thinking Owain had sent a sortie against the gates, but soon the courtyard was a seething hive of battle.

Marrock had gathered a handful of men about him from the wall, and was leading them down a stairwell, to aid those guarding the gate. The gate-guards were fighting with the desperation of the cornered, but the greater skill of the black-clad warriors was telling. If help did not come soon, the gates would be lost.

Cywen remembered her knives, and hurled one at the warriors attacking the gate-guards. A man fell backwards with her blade in his chest. She aimed another into the massed enemy and another fell. The next blade was for one of those blocking Marrock’s way down the stairwell and the next saw another enemy on the stairwell collapsing. Then she snatched another blade from her belt and was cursing under her breath, scanning the crowd for a clear target.

She became aware of noise behind her and turned, to witness the beginning of the end.

Men were streaming across the bridge, weapons in hand, hundreds of them, and behind them more than she could count, their lines fading into the sheeting rain. Owain’s host had somehow crept up to the fortress in the darkness, and waited for this moment.

She screamed, but no one paid any heed, either not hearing or too busy fighting for their lives. None except Marrock, who was being forced step by step back up the stairwell by a dozen black-clad warriors.

With horror Cywen realized the gate was lost. Even as she looked, the enemy were shouldering the great iron-bound bar from its seating. She sent a knife into them, but it didn’t stop the bar from tumbling to the ground and the gates swinging open with a crash.

All in the courtyard seemed to pause for an eye-blink, staring at the gaping gateway. Then, with a huge roar, Owain’s warriors poured through the open arch.

‘Get to Brenin, along the wall — he must know,’ Marrock shouted to her. Cywen stared, numbed by the shock of what she was seeing. Then Marrock was looking past her, shouting a warning.

She recognized Conall striding towards her, sword in hand, his face dark with menace.

Without thinking she hurled her knife at him. But he flicked his wrist, his sword sending the iron blade spinning away into the night. Cywen tripped as she tried to run.

‘Get back, lass, out of my way,’ she heard someone yell behind her, Marrock, trying to get at Conall.

She took a step but suddenly she did not want to get away, let others fight in her stead, again. She sprang at Conall, trying to avoid his sword hand. He was so surprised that his infamous speed failed him, just for a moment, and then she was inside his guard, kicking, punching, scratching, biting. Conall stumbled backwards, and tried to grab her, but she ducked and rammed her head into his belly. He w hoofed, but one hand managed to grab her hair, hold her close. Instead of pulling away she pushed, with all of her strength and weight. Conall was already off-balance, so he staggered backwards, a heel slipping out over the wall’s edge. He teetered there a moment, still gripping a handful of Cywen’s hair, flailed an arm, then fell, dragging Cywen with him.

Together they hurtled towards the stone courtyard, towards a sea of warriors locked in combat. Cywen heard Marrock shout her name, somewhere behind and above, then, suddenly, all was darkness and she knew no more.