Valour

CHAPTER SEVENTY

CAMLIN

Camlin warmed his hands over the fire. It had stopped raining now, stabs of sunshine piercing the emptied clouds, but he was still cold and wet. He was sitting in a sprawling camp, staring at the mountains that he had struggled across not that long ago. Marrock and Dath were sat either side him. Marrock was adjusting the straps of the buckler that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his left arm now. It was a small, round piece of iron, a spike sticking a handspan from the central boss.

Gotta hand it to him — he’s adaptable. If I’d have lost a hand an’ couldn’t draw a bow ever again I think I’d still be weeping into my cups.

Volunteering to join the warband that had marched from Dun Taras to fight Queen Rhin had seemed brave and noble at first, the right thing to do. There had been a lot of singing and drinking on the night before the warband left Dun Taras. The next morning there were a lot of sore heads, and a few bloody noses as well, but that was all part of it. Since then, though, things had gone steadily downhill. So far this war had involved a lot of walking and holding your head down in the face of wind and rain. In fact, in many ways, it was not too distant an experience to thieving in the Darkwood, but with more men and guaranteed food and drink at the end of each march. And that was nothing to be sniffed at. Still, the rain had stopped, and so had the walking, so things were looking up. On the downside, Camlin was fairly sure that a warband would be marching through the mountains in the near future, full of men with cold iron in their hands, looking to stop his heart from beating.

You can always leave.

‘Shut up,’ he muttered.

‘What was that?’ Dath said beside him.

‘Nothing.’

I might moan, but I’ll not be leaving this crew anytime soon. I’m not going to turn my back on the first true friends I’ve ever had.

They had all come in the end, every last one of those who had survived the journey from Dun Carreg. Even the crow and the raven. Somehow Edana had talked her way into coming; Halion said that King Eremon’s wife had supported Edana’s efforts to come — probably in the hope that Edana would meet a tragic end and remove herself from the political throw-board. She was camped elsewhere, though, close to Rath, who was Eremon’s battlechief.

I suppose it is fitting. Meet Rhin here — win or lose — at least there’ll be an end to it. And this is as good a chance as we’re likely to get.

Eremon’s warband had grown to about ten thousand strong over the journey to the mountains. Camlin had never seen so many men in his life. In fact he didn’t like it; sometimes he even found himself having to stare up at the sky and take deep lungfuls of air, just to escape the sensation of being crushed.

Footsteps sounded and Corban and Farrell came and sat by the fire, Gar hovering behind them. They both had bulky sacks slung over their shoulders.

‘What’ve you got there?’ Camlin asked him.

Corban looked to the hills they were camped before, at a few riders disappearing into the wooded slopes.

‘Are they scouts?’ Corban asked.

‘Aye. Rath will put his men in the hills, I’d imagine. Make sure that Rhin’s warband doesn’t try anything sneaky as they march into Domhain.’

‘Do you remember what Halion said back in Cambren, about teaching our enemy to fear the night?’

‘Aye. What of it.’

‘I think there’s more to that lesson. I’m going to go find Rath, see what he thinks of it. I thought you and Dath might want to come along.’

Camlin looked at Dath. The lad smiled at him, a nervous twitch to it. ‘Something tells me we’d best string our bows, then,’ Camlin said as he stood.