Valour

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHT

CORBAN

Corban found Coralen alone amidst the trees, strapping on her wolven claws with sharp, jerking movements. Tears stained her cheeks.

She heard his footsteps and looked up.

‘What do you want?’

‘I am sorry,’ he said.

‘You? You’ve nothing to be sorry for,’ Coralen said. ‘What have you done?’

‘I mean, I wish I could help, and I’m sorry that I can’t. I’m sorry that I can’t make you feel better, that I can’t take your pain away.’

‘No one can,’ she snapped. ‘Don’t concern yourself.’

‘But he was your da.’

‘Yes, he was my da,’ she murmured, sorrow coating each word. ‘Not that he ever acted like it.’ Her eyes were unfocused now, seeing something other than Corban and the trees about them. With a shiver she came back. ‘You should go now.’

‘Come with me. You’re amongst friends now.’

‘I’ll be along after.’ She wiped the tears from her cheeks. Corban understood her meaning — she did not want anyone to see the evidence of her grief. She held her emotions hidden deep and secure, a wall of her own making. He turned to go.

‘Corban,’ she said, the word stopping him dead. He stood, waiting.

‘You asked me before, why I have come on this journey.’

‘I did.’

He turned to face her then, and for a long, timeless moment they just looked at one another. She smiled, a vulnerable, tenuous twist of her lips. ‘The reason-

Then horns blew in the distance, harsh and long. They kept ringing.

‘That sounds serious.’ Coralen strode past him, back to the others, no sign of the previous moment’s fragility left about her.

All were mounted when they returned, waiting for him. The horn blasts were still ringing, whether from Nathair’s host or from the walls of Murias he could not tell. It did not matter — the purpose was clear. Battle was about to begin. He climbed into his saddle and looked to his mam.

‘Cywen,’ he said, and they set off.

They rode across the heather-clad moor, the sun melting into the horizon. Fech flew above, quickly outpacing them, blending with the darkness that was Murias. No one spoke, all eyes on the dark slopes ahead. Then Corban saw something, a movement in the heather. Something coming towards them, fast.

It was a hound, running hard.

Have we been spotted by Nathair’s scouts?

Before he could say anything, Storm was outpacing him, moving from her ground-eating lope into a run. Corban scanned the shadows for scouts. He had no doubt that Storm would deal with the hound.

Then wolven and hound were clashing together, bodies intertwining, rolling, Storm’s bone-white fur contrasting with the hound’s darkness. They separated, came together again. Corban squinted.

Something’s wrong.

There was no snarling or growling, no teeth baring, no blood. Then Storm was rolling on her back, the hound bouncing around her in great excited leaps.

Then he realized.

‘It’s Buddai.’

Together he and his mam slid from their saddles and ran to the wolven and hound. Buddai was jumping around Storm like a pup, licking her face, nipping at her ears as Storm rolled on her back, paws swatting at the hound. Buddai saw Corban and Gwenith, paused long enough to take a great sniff, then he was leaping on them, bowling them over, snuffling and licking at their faces.

Corban looked up and saw seventy faces staring back at him, the Jehar all wearing the same mildly confused expressions. All except Gar, who was grinning at them.

‘Wolven, crows, ravens, hounds,’ Tukul said. ‘What will it be next?’

‘Cywen is there, Ban,’ his mam said. ‘There’s no doubting it now.’

‘I know. Let’s go and get her.’

With that they mounted back up and headed for Murias. A noise rose up before them, drifting from the mountain stronghold, sounding like a great wind. It was followed by distant screams.