Valour

CHAPTER FIVE

CORBAN

Corban gripped the boat’s rail as he stared back into the distance. Dun Carreg had long since disappeared and in all directions a grey, foam-flecked sea stretched as far as he could see.

It was late in the day now, well past highsun, and Corban’s stomach was rumbling. He had not eaten since the evening before — nor had anyone else on this boat. No one had given food much thought in their desperate bid to escape.

Dun Carreg, he thought, wishing that he could still see the fortress, still see Ardan, still see his home. Home no more. Everything had changed so quickly. And Thannon and Cywen were both still in Dun Carreg. His da and sister, both dead, both needing a cairn to be raised over them. It wasn’t right. Tears filled his eyes.

His mam lay sleeping upon a heaped pile of nets. She looked older, the lines in her face deeper, dark hollows about her eyes. Gar sat beside her, chin resting on his chest, sleeping too. Most of this band of runaways were in the same state. It had been a long, hard night, in more ways than one.

Footsteps drew Corban’s eyes up to Halion, his weapons-master from the Rowan Field, making his way along the fisher-boat towards him. The warrior nodded grimly as he walked to where Mordwyr, Dath’s da, stood guiding the boat’s steering oar.

‘We need to find land. Somewhere to get food and water.’

‘Uh,’ Mordwyr acknowledged. His eyes were red rimmed, his face lined with grief. He had left Bethan, his daughter, amongst the dead in Dun Carreg.

I was not the only one that lost kin last night, Corban thought.

Mordwyr pointed into the distance, northwards, and Corban saw a dark line on the horizon. Land.

‘We’ll have to risk it,’ Halion said. He patted Mordwyr’s shoulder and made his way back along the boat, to where Edana sat with her head bowed.

The Princess of Ardan, now heir to its throne, had said nothing since they had climbed aboard the fisher-boat. The last sound Corban had heard from her was screaming as she witnessed the death of her father.

She’ lost both her mam and da, now. At least I still have my mam, someone to share my grief with.

Storm’s muzzle touched his hand. Corban tugged on one of her ears, grimacing as the movement sent a ripple of pain through his shoulder. Brina had tended the wound where he had been stabbed during the battle in the feast-hall. Helfach had done it. The man’s life-blood still stained the fur around the wolven’s protruding canines. Brina had assured him the wound was not deep and was clean, but it still hurt.

He looked for the healer and she caught his eye, beckoning him over. Craf, the healer’s unkempt crow, clung to the boat’s rail above Brina’s head.

‘Cor-ban,’ it squawked as he squatted down before Brina.

‘What was that about?’ she asked. ‘Between Halion and Mordwyr?’

‘Time to find some land. For food and water.’

‘Ah. Out of the cook-pot and into the flames,’ Brina muttered.

‘What do you mean?’

She looked over the boat’s side at the growing line of land. ‘That’s not Ardan. Not that Ardan’s the safest place to be right now. Still, that’s Cambren. Rhin rules there.’

‘Oh.’ Corban frowned, remembering the kidnapping of Edana’s mother, Queen Alona, back in the Darkwood, where Alona and so many others had died. All because of Rhin. ‘But what choice do we have?’

‘None, I suppose.’ Brina sighed, wiping rain from the tip of her pointed nose.

‘Wet,’ muttered Craf.

‘Why should you care?’ Brina snapped at the bedraggled bird. ‘You’re a crow.’

‘Cold,’ it grumbled. ‘Fire.’

‘I’ve spoilt you,’ Brina said.

The rain was falling heavier now, a cold wind throwing it stinging into Corban’s face. In the distance the black smudge of land had grown closer, blurred by rain. The sea was an impenetrable iron grey, the waves about the boat higher, white-flecked with foam, whipped by the wind. Corban grabbed the rail and steadied himself as the fisher-boat rode a huge swell then sped down the other side. The boat’s only sail was straining, thick ropes creaking. Corban felt a flutter of panic in his gut, then he saw Dath climbing amidst the ropes and sailcloth. His friend flashed him a weak smile.

He doesn’t look so worried, thought Corban.

The sun was sinking, only a diffuse glow behind thick cloud, when they reached the coastline. Mordwyr steered the small skiff into a narrow steep-cliffed cove sheltering a strip of empty beach. Craf exploded into the air with a noisy squawk. Everyone disembarked — Storm needing a little encouragement from Corban — and the skiff was beached safely.

Marrock, Camlin and Dath set off to scout the area and to try and hunt something to eat.

Brina and Heb, King Brenin’s old loremaster, led Edana off the narrow beach and settled her in a sheltered dell under a dense stand of rowan and yew, an icy stream bubbling through its middle.

Storm lapped at the stream, then padded off into the deepening gloom.

Halion set two men on watch. The rest of the small band set to chopping wood, clearing space for sleeping, digging out a small pit for a fire. Soon flames were crackling greedily in the dell and the rain-soaked band crowded round for some heat, even the crow.

It was dark when Marrock and the others returned, Dath carrying two hares over his shoulder. In short time the animals were skinned, gutted and boned, chopped into little pieces and dropped into a pot of boiling water.

Craf made disgusting noises as he helped himself to the hare’s entrails.

That bird makes me feel sick.

It didn’t stop Corban eating, though. The stew tasted like the finest meal to him, even as his mind told him it was watery, the meat stringy.

Two men were sent to relieve those on watch, Vonn being one of them. Dath glowered at his back as Vonn trudged into the gloom.

‘His da betrayed us all. Can he be trusted to guard us?’ he muttered to Corban.

‘None of that,’ Halion said, overhearing. ‘He’s suffered, lost people, same as the rest of us.’

‘She was my sister,’ Dath grumbled.

‘And my daughter,’ Mordwyr said. ‘He loved her. Leave him be.’

Dath’s mouth became a hard line but he said nothing more.

The small group sat around the fire, full dark settling about them, the trees sheltering them from the worst of the rain. Grief hovered amongst them like a heavy mist. Corban sat in silence, just listening, feeling exhausted, numb. His da and sister’s faces danced in his memory every time he closed his eyes.

‘So, Halion. Tell us of this plan to take Edana to Domhain.’ It was Marrock who spoke. All other conversation stopped as everyone waited Halion’s answer. ‘Domhain is a long, dangerous journey,’ Marrock continued. ‘We could still sail from here to Dun Crin and the marshlands in the south of Ardan.’

‘We could,’ Halion said, glancing at Edana. She sat staring at the fire, giving no sign of interest in the conversation.

Edana should be leading us, but she can’t. Marrock is her kin, so has the right, but Halion is her guardian, was given the task to protect her with Brenin’s dying words, as most of us here heard.

‘Eremon rules in Domhain, and he is distant kin to Edana. I know him, and he will not turn her away, or betray her.’

‘He turned you away,’ Marrock said.

Halion stared at Marrock a long, silent moment.

Heb spoke up now. ‘Tell us of your father. Will he give aid against Owain?’

Halion grimaced. ‘My father is old, beyond his seventieth year now. When I last saw him he was still sharp of mind. I am his bastard son, you understand, not his heir, but he always treated me well enough.’

‘Then why did you leave Domhain?’ Marrock asked.

Halion looked about them all, then took a deep breath. ‘Conall, my brother, he has, had. .’ He paused a moment. ‘He had a temper, and a lot of pride. It got him into trouble more than once. Growing up, we were fine; my mam was looked after by my da — she was his mistress, one of many. But in his old age he took a wife because he had no heir. Roisin. She was young, beautiful, and she treated us and my mam well enough, when we saw her, which was rare. Then she fell with child, birthed a boy — Lorcan. Things changed then. She became jealous, fearful that Conall and I had eyes for the throne of Domhain. And not just us — we were not Eremon’s only bastards. Accidents began to happen; people died. My mam was one.’ He threw a twig on the fire. ‘Of course, Conall didn’t take that well: he thought that our mam had been murdered. He confronted Roisin, said things he shouldn’t have. Soon after that my da came to see us, told us he would arrange sanctuary with King Brenin of Ardan.’ He shrugged. ‘We left.’

‘So how can you take us there, when your own life is at risk? Surely your enemies will become Edana’s enemies,’ Marrock said.

‘There is no safe place, now,’ Halion said. ‘But my father will give Edana sanctuary, of that I am certain. He thought well of Brenin. Maybe he will give other aid. I cannot promise men, but at least it will be a safer place than most, and far from Owain’s reach.’

Marrock frowned, thinking over Halion’s words. ‘I see the sense of it. But I’d rather be doing something, fighting rather than running away. And I know we’ve all lost people, but there are still others that we’ve left behind in Dun Carreg, others that still live. More warriors to join our cause, and others. Defenceless others, like my Fion. .’

He dropped his gaze, staring into the fire.

Fion, his wife, Corban thought. That must be hard on him.

‘My troubles are my own,’ Marrock said, lifting his head, ‘and my duty is to protect Edana, but still, running away, allowing Owain to just hunt down and kill any that would stand against him in Edana’s name; it does not sit well with me. And the thought of Owain sitting in Brenin’s feast-hall. .’ His lip curled in a snarl and others around the fire muttered their agreement.

Corban looked between Halion and Marrock, could see the sense in both arguments. He leaned towards Halion; he knew from hard lessons in the Rowan Field that Halion had a strategic mind, and patience. He believes there is more chance of success if we retreat now, plan to fight another day. Marrock’s argument stirred his passion, though. Part of him did not want to run.

‘It angers me too,’ another voice said, Edana’s finally. She was still staring at the flames. There were scars on her cheeks where she had clawed them in her grief at Alona’s death. They gave her a feral, inhuman quality. ‘And I will take it back from him. But for now Halion’s plan is a good one. I need time.’ She looked at Halion and nodded curtly to him. Slowly a silence draped itself over them all.

Twigs snapped and there was a scuffling sound in the darkness beyond the firelight’s reach, a hulking figure taking shape out of the shadows. It was Storm, the carcass of a deer hanging from her jaws.

She padded through the group and dropped the deer at Corban’s feet, nudged it towards him and waited.

‘Seems you’re pack leader,’ Halion said.

‘She thinks so.’ Corban placed a hand on the deer, accepting Storm’s gift. He drew his knife and began to skin the carcass.

Not long after, Corban was licking hot fat off his fingers and wiping it from his chin. Storm was curled at his feet, cracking one of the leg bones between her teeth, gnawing at the marrow.

Gwenith leaned over and squeezed Corban’s hand. ‘It is time to talk,’ she said quietly. Without looking at him, she stood and walked away, to the edge of the firelight. Gar rose with Corban and followed.

When he reached her, Gwenith took Corban’s hand and led him beyond the firelight. She sat down beside a smooth-barked rowan, patting the grass in front of her.

Hesitantly he sat, feeling anxious. It was not as dark here as it appeared from beside the fire. Moonlight silvered his mam’s hair and played on her face. Much was still in shadow, but he could see enough to know that she was troubled. She chewed her bottom lip. Gar sat next to her, watching Corban with an intensity that was unsettling.

‘There is much to tell you, Ban,’ his mam said, a tremor in her voice. ‘Almost too much. Now that we are here, I hardly know where to start. .’ she trailed off.

‘Whatever it is, can’t it wait?’ Corban said. ‘We are all half-blind with grief and exhaustion?’

‘I know,’ his mam said, ‘but-’

‘It cannot wait,’ Gar interrupted. ‘With each day we are travelling further from our true destination.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘First,’ his mam said fiercely, ‘remember this. I love you. We love you. And know that whatever we have done, and will do, it has come from trying to do right. To protect you, and to serve Elyon.’

‘Elyon?’ said Corban.

His mam nodded.

Elyon, the All-Father, had always seemed just a distant name to Corban, someone or something that he knew about but that never directly affected him. He remembered Brina telling him about the All-Father, how he had given authority to mankind over all creation, and that after the War of Treasures and the Scourging Elyon had turned from mankind, forsaken all he had made. He remembered too what she had said about Asroth, dark angel of the Otherworld: how he yearned to become flesh so as to destroy all Elyon had created.

He shivered. ‘But Elyon has abandoned us. Why serve him?’

‘Why?’ Gar blinked, looking shocked at the question. ‘Because he is our creator. Because he will return. Because it is right.’

Corban shrugged. ‘Why are we sitting in the dark talking about this now? What’s all this got to do with me?’

His mam took a deep breath. ‘You know that things are happening. Strange things — day turned to night on Midwinter, white wyrms roaming the dark places.’

‘I know that,’ Corban said, remembering the wyrm that had attacked them in the tunnels beneath Dun Carreg.

‘They are signs that something is coming. The God-War.’

Corban’s skin prickled, the hairs on his arms standing up. The God-War. He had heard rumours, talk, mostly from Edana, spying on King Brenin after his return from the council in Tenebral. It had made him feel strange, even then, but now, in the dark, leagues from home. .

‘You are a special child, Corban,’ his mam continued. ‘And I do not mean that in the way that all mothers think of their children. You are different. Chosen.’

She paused, looking deep into his face, searching for something. He just felt confused.

‘Chosen? Mam, what’s this all about? By who? For what?’

‘By Elyon. You have a part to play in the God-War. Because of this you have also been hunted, since the day you were born.’

‘Hunted? Who by?’

Gwenith looked about, as if to check that no one was creeping up on them. ‘Asroth,’ she whispered.

‘Chosen, hunted?’ A smile died on Corban’s lips as he saw her expression. She really believes this. Grief and exhaustion have confused her, he thought.

His mam shook her head. ‘It should be Thannon doing the telling. I do not know how to say this,’ she muttered, eyes flickering to Gar. A tear rolled down her cheek.

The warrior frowned, eyebrows bunching. ‘Your mother speaks the truth. The important thing for you to know, Ban, is that you are part of this. Part of the God-War. What happened at Dun Carreg is only the beginning. The Banished Lands are falling into chaos.’

Questions were erupting in Corban’s mind, one after another. One fought clear of the rest. ‘How do you know this?’

Gar waved a hand. ‘There is a lot to tell you, too much for now, for here. But I will answer all your questions during our journey, if I can.’

‘Journey? You mean to Domhain?’

‘No, Ban. We must go to Drassil.’

‘What? Drassil?’ The fabled city in the heart of Forn Forest? Corban shook his head. None of this was making sense. He remembered overhearing his mam and Gar talking, back in Dun Carreg. About the arrival of Nathair and his guard, Sumur. They had mentioned leaving then, spoken of Drassil. But it had felt different. Everything had felt different. Cywen and his da had been alive, then.

‘Yes, the giant stronghold. It is vital that you — we — go to Drassil.’ Something flashed across Gar’s face. Longing? ‘You will be safe there.’

‘But. . what about the others?’ He looked over his shoulder, saw the flicker of their campfire, dark figures around it.

‘We must leave them.’

Corban rocked back, recoiling as if slapped. Leave them. The thought seemed ridiculous to him, unimaginable. This group was all that was left of Dun Carreg, all that was left of home. And his mam and Gar were asking him just to walk away from them. Abandon them, abandon Edana. Suddenly he could see the Rowan Field, smell the sea air. A crowd was gathered about him as he took his warrior trials. He glanced at the palm of his hand, the scar where he had sworn his blood-oath in the Field a silver line. He had pledged his life to king and kin. His king was dead, but Edana was Brenin’s heir. Walking away would make him an oathbreaker.

‘No,’ he heard himself say.

‘Ban,’ his mam said.

‘We must,’ Gar said.

‘No. Everything, everyone has been broken, killed, destroyed.’ He kneaded his temples. ‘Da, Cywen. .’ He looked up and locked eyes with his mam. Tears streaked her cheeks. ‘They are all that’s left of home,’ he said, waving his arm towards the campfire. ‘They are our family now.’

‘Ban, this is beyond all kin, beyond all friendship,’ Gar said, an inflection in his voice hinting at some hidden emotion, a lake of it, buried deep beneath the surface. ‘This is about doing what is right, doing what must be done, despite the cost. Please, trust us. We must leave.’

‘I have sworn an oath to Edana. I’ll not become an oathbreaker.’ He stood, feeling dizzy, not wanting to hear any more, not another word; not this madness about Elyon and Asroth, not about Forn, and Drassil, and not about leaving. He felt as if he was a dam full to bursting. His mam reached for his hand, but he snatched it away and stumbled into the darkness.