Valour

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CORBAN

Corban shouted a warning, seeing wolven everywhere, leaping into the hollow. Instantly all was madness. The wolven were not on a side, did not care who was from Ardan or Cambren; they were here to feast, and they were taking meat where they found it. Horses screamed from where they had been hobbled, wild and terror stricken, the sound echoing around the rock walls. Craf exploded upwards in a burst of feathers and squawks as a wolven snapped at him. Corban saw men wrenched from battle, mauled in slavering jaws, saw hounds scattered like flotsam and two wolven rolling in savage battle. One dark, one white. Storm. He felt a rush of fear, the thought of Storm dying launching him into movement. The two wolven were a mass of fur and teeth and claws. For a moment they separated. Corban saw blood on Storm’s white fur. He lunged at the other wolven, burying his sword in its belly. It yelped and writhed, a claw slicing his shoulder. He pushed harder, deeper, his sword-point piercing the creature’s heart. It sagged, its heart’s blood a hot flood.

Storm limped up, her side matted with blood, claw marks raking one side of her muzzle. Corban buried his fingers in her fur and she stepped closer to him, pressing her head against his chest. ‘Good girl,’ he said quietly, felt an echo of the fear that had consumed him, that she would be slain. So loyal, fighting for us, for me, even to death. And it’s not over yet.

Where’s Mam and Gar? He scanned the dell desperately, but could make little of the nightmare visions set against the flickering light of the burning branch that Heb and Brina had just ignited.

There was a snarl behind him and he twisted on his heel to see another wolven, muscles bunching, about to spring. Then his mam was beside him, thrusting her spear. Gar spun past them, sword flashing and suddenly the wolven was whining, scrabbling away from the double attack.

Everywhere, forms were silhouetted by flames. Corban saw two figures side by side, firing arrow after arrow into a mass of wolven and warriors. Camlin and Dath. A wolven jumped at the two archers and they scattered, leaping different ways. Dath rolled on the ground, tangled in his bow as the wolven surged towards him. Then Anwarth dashed between them, screaming at the wolven, trying to distract it from Dath. It worked. The creature sprang, all teeth and muscle, as Anwarth tried to block it with his battered shield. But the wolven knocked aside the shield as if it were a child’s plaything and, jaws clamping about Anwarth’s waist, heaved him from the ground. Corban heard the sound of ribs snapping.

Farrell screamed and charged the beast; Dath loosed arrow after arrow into the wolven as it shook Anwarth. Corban ran forwards, sword raised high. Arrows pin-cushioned the beast as Camlin joined Dath. The wolven dropped Anwarth, took an unsteady step, then Corban and Farrell were there, sword and hammer a series of flashes in the firelight. The wolven stumbled and fell.

There was still chaos everywhere, figures fighting, running, screaming, wolven snarling, leaping, tearing at anything that moved. Farrell cradled Anwarth’s head in his lap. The warrior coughed blood, his breathing shallow.

Then Brina and Heb were beside them, Heb blood-soaked, his arm hanging limp. They joined hands and shouted into the chaos, their voices a thunderclap. There was a cracking sound; the trees that ringed the bowl about them swayed, rippling, although there was no wind. Then there were sparks everywhere, wood splintering and the trees were bursting into flame. Instantly the dell was transformed, as bright as highsun, a wave of heat searing Corban’s face, flames arching high from the treetops, the smell of scorched sap and woodsmoke thick in the air.

The wolven scattered in all directions, whining, howling as they went. Only Storm stayed, pushing in close to Corban, snarling at the flaming trees and the retreating wolven.

People stood about the glade, panting, confused. The surviving attackers scrambled back down the mountain path; only a handful of them were left. Craf came fluttering out of the dark, perched on the shoulder of a dead wolven and started pecking at its eye.

‘Where is Edana?’ Marrock called, blood soaking the bandages that bound his wrist.

‘I am here,’ a voice said.

‘We must leave, now,’ Camlin ordered.

‘The dead?’ Corban asked.

‘They must stay where they lie. Those wolven won’t be gone for long.’

‘But the fire?’ Edana said.

‘It will go out. We move. Now,’ Camlin grabbed Edana by the wrist and strode away.

The others stood a moment, frozen, then Halion was shoving them on.

Corban touched Farrell on the shoulder, his friend still sitting with Anwarth’s head on his lap. The warrior’s eyes stared sightlessly, his body still.

‘Come, Farrell. He’s gone,’ Corban said.

Farrell looked up at him. ‘He saved my life.’

‘Aye. Don’t throw it away now.’

‘Corban’s right,’ Halion said. ‘Come on, lad.’

Farrell stood and lifted his da into his arms.

‘Lay him down, lad,’ Halion said gently. ‘You’ll break an ankle soon enough.’

‘No,’ Farrell snarled. The look on his face silenced any response. With that they hurried from the dell, picking their way through the bodies that littered the ground, men and wolven and horses. Corban felt sick at the sight and smell of it. Will death follow us wherever we go?

Camlin was already some way ahead. He had lit a branch from a smouldering tree and Halion did the same. The path narrowed and steepened immediately, the ground quickly becoming treacherous. Soon they had caught up with their companions.

They trudged on, ever upward, stumbling, supporting one another. Corban’s lungs were burning, his eyes stinging from sweat when Camlin dropped back to them. He shared some whispered words with Halion, who sped up and took the lead.

Camlin’s eyes roamed the steep ridges about them, searching the shadows.

‘Do you think the wolven will attack again?’ Corban asked him, his voice a croak.

‘Probably. It’s not as if we’d be hard to find. And we’re still in their territory. Judging by their behaviour in the dell they’re none too happy about that.’ He stopped, looking up high as a stone rattled down the cliff side. Corban froze as well, then saw the shadow of a mountain goat, leaping nimbly between ledges. They started walking again.

‘Craf should know if they come back — he tried to warn us last time,’ Corban said.

‘Did he? Well, that’s good t’know. Though he probably can’t see as well in the dark. And those wolven could sniff us out with their eyes closed.’

That’s comforting.

Camlin was limping, using his bow as a staff. His face was grime streaked, blood caking a cut on his scalp. Corban remembered the first time he’d seen him in Dun Carreg, King Brenin’s prisoner. Then again in the Darkwood, an outlaw working for Braith, part of the attempt on Queen Alona’s life. But something had made Camlin turn then, and Corban had seen him protecting Cywen, standing against Morcant, Rhin’s own champion. So much has changed since then. They would have been dead a dozen times over if not for Camlin, probably more.

‘Thank you,’ Corban said, not realizing he’d spoken out loud.

‘What?’ Camlin said.

‘I was just thinking,’ Corban stuttered. ‘You’ve saved my life, our lives. Much more than once. We wouldn’t be here if not for you.’

Camlin looked at him a few moments, looking as if he thought Corban was mocking him. ‘This isn’t the best place to be, y’know.’

‘I mean we wouldn’t have made it this far.’

Camlin’s face softened. He smiled. ‘You’re welcome, lad. Though I think I may have used all my luck up, now.’

‘That doesn’t matter. I don’t believe in luck,’ Corban said.

‘Do you not? What do you believe in, lad.’

Corban thought about that. ‘This.’ He touched the hilt of his sword. ‘Him,’ pointing to Dath. ‘Her,’ a hand ruffling Storm’s fur. ‘Us,’ a gesture taking them all in.

‘Good answer,’ Camlin said.