Valour

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CAMLIN

Camlin drew an arrow back to his ear, held his breath, and released it as the arrow sped from his bowstring. Beside him he heard the thrum of Dath’s arrow, then a succession of screams and the two of them slid back down the ridge.

‘Must’ve hit something,’ he muttered to Dath, who grinned back at him. Then they were slipping through the undergrowth. Camlin grunted approvingly as he noted how Dath moved lightly, quick on his feet, looking ahead to avoid snagging branches. He’ll make a good woodsman. Hounds barked behind them, close, from the ridge they had just left. If he lives long enough.

They ran through the woods, Camlin leading the way back to their horses, always twisting and turning, his path never straight. They mounted quickly and set off, both of them too winded to speak.

Leaving the cover of trees, they had to ride across open meadows for at least a league. Camlin glanced up, saw it was well past highsun. They had been at their deadly cat-and-mouse game in the woods since mid-morning, striking at their pursuers four times — enough to make them think there’s more’n two of us lurking in the shadows. Camlin was under no illusions, knew that they could not stop their trackers, only hope to slow them a while. They had just slipped under the shadow of a stand of pines when Camlin heard the baying of hounds rising faint on the wind.

‘They’ve found our trail,’ he called to Dath, who looked nervously back.

They spurred their horses on.

They rode all day, not stopping to rest, periodically allowing the horses to walk instead of canter. As the sun was sinking behind the mountains on the western horizon Camlin spied their companions. They were gathered in an open space of green and purple heather.

‘Why aren’t they riding?’ Dath called to him. Camlin just shook his head, wondering the same question. They should be riding on until nightfall, making the most of every daylight moment.

Close by a fire had been lit, flames crackling hungrily as the cold wind snatched at it. Camlin scowled. They are out in the open. As the dark settles, that fire will draw our trackers like flies to dung. Then he reached them and saw a figure on the ground.

Marrock.

Halion and Anwarth moved out to meet them as they slid from their saddles.

‘Marrock has a fever; he collapsed from his saddle. Brina says his wounds are rotting.’

Camlin felt a twist in his gut, like a knife turning. Did everyone he came to think something of have to die?

‘What is Brina going to do?’ Dath asked.

‘She says there is nothing left, except to take his hand. If the rot has not spread to his blood he may live.’

Camlin strode to where Edana knelt by Marrock, wiping his feverish face with a damp cloth.

They are kin, cousins, he remembered.

Brina stood by the fire, holding a knife blade in the flames. Corban hovered close to her, stirring a pot. Frequently Brina snapped orders at him, the young warrior rummaging through a large pack, pulling out stoppered jars, a roll of linen, a handful of small tools.

Is that a filing iron?

‘I don’t have the strength to do the cutting,’ Brina said. ‘Not here, without all my tools. Who will do it for me? It needs a strong arm, a sharp blade and a good aim.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Heb said. Brina looked him up and down and snorted. ‘You don’t have the strength, and if you did your eyes are so bad you’d probably take his head off, not his hand.’

Heb scowled at her.

‘I will do it,’ a voice said. Gar stepped forwards, drawing the sword from his back.

Brina strode up to him, her knife glowing red in her hand. She nodded to Farrell, who pulled taut Marrock’s arm with a leather cord. Gar swung his sword once and Marrock screamed, his body jerking, blood spraying from his wrist. Brina stepped close.

‘Hold him,’ the healer ordered. Camlin and Halion gripped the thrashing man, then Brina was holding the knife blade to Marrock’s wrist, the flesh sizzling, the stench of cooking meat filing Camlin’s nose. He held his breath, felt Marrock tense and then go limp.

‘He’s fainted,’ Halion said.

‘Best thing for him,’ Brina said as she held Marrock’s arm up, examining his wound. She looked at Gar. ‘A fine cut.’

She barked an order to Corban, who passed her the tool that resembled a filing iron, then she began rasping it across Marrock’s wrist bone.

‘What’s she doing to him,’ Dath said beside Camlin, looking as if he was about to vomit.

‘She’s taking the bone down, getting rid of any sharp edges, so the skin can be stitched over it.’

‘I don’t like that noise,’ Dath said.

When Brina had finished, Corban passed her another tool, long and thin. This time she picked around in the flesh of the wound. Blood began to seep from it.

‘She’s digging out dirt and bits of bone,’ Camlin whispered to Dath.

Dath swallowed.

After that Brina poured a skin of water over the wound and stuck her reheated knife against it, sizzling again.

‘Finish off for me,’ she said to Corban.

Corban smeared a salve over Marrock’s wound, with Brina watching over his shoulder. Then he unbound a cloth from Brina’s pack, took out what looked like a leaf, placed it over the stump of Marrock’s wrist and then bound it with linen. His hands moved deftly, his face taut with concentration.

Brina grunted with something like approval. ‘Time will be the judge, now,’ she said.

‘We need to get off this open ground,’ Camlin said, kicking the fire out. ‘Or we won’t have much time left to any of us.’

The sky was a deep blue, the last glow of the sun lingering there. Quickly they mounted up, with Marrock hoisted in front of Halion. They rode as long as they could, found a straggly stand of pines to shelter them and made camp for the night.

‘No fire,’ Camlin ordered, knowing their pursuers were gaining, and the beacon of firelight would most likely bring enemies down on them before sunrise. He set about cutting branches and making a litter to carry Marrock in the morning. If he has lived through the night.

The next morning was cold and damp, a mist veiling the sun. Marrock was shivering. Brina knelt beside him, checking his pulse at throat and wrist, listening to the breath in his chest. Then she unwound the bandage on his wrist and sniffed.

‘Clean and bind it,’ she said to Corban.

‘He’s not safe yet; the fever still has him. Beating that is his first battle.’ She shrugged. ‘His flesh does not smell of rot, and he’s still alive, which is a good sign.’

When Corban was done they strapped Marrock tight to the litter, one end of it harnessed to his horse, and set off into the mist.

It was slow going at first, Camlin riding as rearguard, constantly looking over his shoulder, ears straining for any warning. The mist limited his vision and muffled all sound. Anwarth rode next to him.

‘Back at Dun Carreg Dath and my boy Farrell were friends,’ Anwarth said, nodding forward to Dath, who was riding with Corban and Farrell. ‘He’s a good lad — had it hard, I heard, when his mam died. His da took to the usque jug, was quick with his fists.’

‘Was he, now?’ Camlin asked, remembering Dath’s father, seeing his hands trembling for no obvious reason. ‘Maybe Dath’s better off without him, then.’

Anwarth shrugged. ‘Don’t know if he’d agree with that. But I’ve seen the way you’ve looked out for him. Just wanted you to know, I’m grateful.’

Before Camlin could answer, the gangly warrior had kicked his horse on and ridden further up the column.

They climbed higher, the mist slowly burning off as the day approached highsun. Camlin reined in, staring back into the distance. They were following a shallow valley through a region of rolling foothills blanketed in swathes of red and purple heather. Camlin could see no sign of their pursuers, but the valley they were in had twisted and turned, so the distance he could see was limited. Safe for now. But not for much longer if we can’t change this pace.

He heard a horse approaching, looked around to see Brina, her black crow perched on her saddle pommel.

‘You look worried,’ she said.

‘I’d be happier if I could see further.’

‘Maybe I can help you there,’ she said, one finger scratching the neck of her crow.

‘Tired,’ the bird squawked.

‘Get on with you,’ Brina snapped, lifting the crow and hoisting it into the air. ‘Try and earn some of the food I keep giving you.’ The bird circled once over their heads and then flapped back along the way they had travelled.

‘My thanks,’ Camlin said.

‘A bit of exercise will do him good,’ Brina replied as she rode back to the column. She settled alongside Corban and his wolven, the great beast keeping pace easily. The company I keep these days. Braith would laugh t’see it. Brina and the other old one, Heb, had spent much of the night with Corban. Camlin had seen them move a little way from the rest of the group and sit huddled in deep conversation long into the night. They were an odd company indeed, and that Gar was one of the strangest. Camlin had thought over what the grim-faced warrior had said the other morning, about Corban being chosen.

Extraordinary things had been happening, of late, but there was no doubt that would be the strangest of all. Still, he’d learned not to judge. He was happier to sit back and watch, and that is what he would do with this Corban. There was something about him. .

Camlin stayed where he was a while longer, watching the crow fade to a pinprick. Then he spurred his horse to the head of the column, pulling close to Halion.

‘Any sign?’ the first-sword asked.

‘No, but I can only see about a league behind us. Wanted to ask you — what’s the ground like ahead of us.’

‘Much like this until we reach the mountains. The pass into Domhain is two, three days’ ride. There’s a road the giants built cutting through them.’

‘Is the pass guarded?’

‘It used to be — only a token guard — although there are more villages and holds all about the giants’ road.’ Halion shrugged. ‘I’m hoping Rhin has taken most of her fighting men with her to Ardan. We’ve travelled through the wild, but I still would have expected to see more people than we have.’

‘We’ve been lucky,’ Camlin said.

‘I don’t trust to luck.’

There was a squawking up above and Camlin looked up, saw Brina’s crow. It swooped in and circled low over their heads, landing on Brina’s outstretched arm.

‘Hunters,’ the bird croaked. ‘Close, close, close.’

Faintly on the breeze the sound of hounds baying drifted up to them.

‘So much for luck,’ Camlin muttered.