Malice

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

CAMLIN

Camlin gulped a last mouthful of mead from his cup, and shook his head when Tarben offered him more.

The feast-hall was quieter now, many having left for their own hearths and beds. There were still more than a few score, though, Camlin noted as he glanced around the room — mostly warriors, others in small clumps dotted elsewhere. The flames from the firepit were slowly sinking, sending flickering ripples of light and shade around the room. Camlin thought he could just make out that healer’s crow, who led them out of the Darkwood, gripping a beam in the far corner. He could almost feel its strange beady eyes staring at him.

He glanced at Brina, sitting hunched in conversation with old Heb. As much as she scolded the loremaster at every opportunity, he could see there was an ease in their relationship. Torin and many from the village were also still here. And further away, in a dark corner, laughing, were Corban and his friends. They had been quick to support him, those two, when Corban had been threatened. Something about that scene had touched him. Friends that would guard your back in a fight were rare.

Something still lingered in the air after that Court of Swords, a tension, an excitement. There was certainly something about that Corban.

He chuckled to himself, looking at his own companions. He had gone from prisoner to warrior, most of those sitting with him now having served time as his guard. And even Marrock was one — he’d just left the hall to stand his watch on the wall — a good man, a good friend, a bitter enemy. Friend. He was still amazed by the turn his life had taken. Much as he preferred wood and sky to stone walls, he was glad he was here. It felt good, as if he were doing something right, instead of just what was right for him. Even though a good end to this siege was beginning to look more and more unlikely, he didn’t care.

Suddenly the main doors banged open, rain and cold air sweeping in.

Evnis stood on the threshold, breathing heavily, his face glistening with sweat or rain. Shadowed figures hovered behind him.

‘We are under attack,’ he announced. ‘Stonegate is breached.’

There was a moment of silence, then noise erupted. Some were shouting, questioning, as others leaped to their feet, benches scraping and falling over. Brenin just blinked owlishly and strained to focus on Evnis.

Camlin reached for his bowstring, wrapped in a leather pouch and began calmly stringing his bow.

Evnis rushed through the hall, towards Brenin, and shared a quick glance with Nathair, a handful of warriors and men from his hold behind him.

The sound of a horn blowing drifted in through the open doors, the wind swirling it around the hall.

Brenin stood, swayed and stepped out from behind his table. ‘What do you mean?’ he stuttered, a hush falling over the room as all waited to hear Evnis’ words.

‘Owain. Somehow the gates are open,’ Evnis said, drawing close to Brenin. The King rubbed a hand over his eyes, and tried to stand straighter. Pendathran moved to steady him.

‘Take Edana to her rooms,’ Brenin said to Halion, and Halion managed to steer her a dozen paces towards the hall’s back before she pulled indignantly out of his grip, and stopped to listen to Evnis.

Camlin realized that Nathair was somehow now standing beside Evnis. About a dozen of his guards, plus the dark-clothed warrior with the curved sword, were spread in a half-circle about Nathair and Evnis, mingling with others from the fortress and village. Camlin nudged Tarben’s arm, not liking something about what he was seeing.

‘How. . how has this happened?’ Brenin said, shock starting to sober him up.

A small group burst through the main doors. Camlin glanced over to see Marrock, a handful of warriors at his back. His sword was in his hand and dark with blood. ‘Evnis is a traitor,’ Marrock roared, ‘he has opened the gates to Owain.’

The sound of swords being drawn filled the hall. Camlin looked back to Brenin, and saw one of Nathair’s eagle-guards standing with his sword-tip levelled at the King’s chest. Slowly, so as not to draw attention, he reached down beside his chair for his quiver, and reached for a black-feathered arrow.