Valour

CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

VERADIS

Veradis was calm now, though it had taken until the break of day for him finally to become so. Behind him the rising sun was a pale glow on the horizon. I have seen the Black Sun, come a hair’s breadth from crossing swords with him. And then his shield wall had closed about him, Bos standing silent, holding him in an unbreakable grip until Corban and his followers had fled.

In a way he was grateful, glad that he had been stopped from fighting. He had wanted to hate Corban, had stared at him and tried to muster some righteous anger, some hatred of Asroth and his dark ways, but all he had seen was Cywen staring back at him. Their resemblance was striking. Veradis would have known that it was Cywen’s brother, even without the wolven. The same dark eyes, the high cheekbones, the scruffy hair, even the expression. Corban had been angry, and he had seen that emotion writ across Cywen’s features more than once.

He felt guilty. For Nathair’s sake he should have fought him.

He heard footfalls behind him, stopping a few paces away. He turned to see Bos.

The big man sank to one knee. ‘I have come to speak for the eagle-guard, and myself. We disobeyed you. We are sorry, and will accept any punishment you judge fit.’ He looked at the ground.

‘Get up,’ Veradis said.

‘I have more to say.’

He sighed. ‘Go on then.’

‘You are our leader, have led us through many dangers. You are our lord, our general, our brother, and we love you. Any one of us would give our life for you, without thought. Last night you would have died. I, we, could not just watch. .’

‘It was the Black Sun, Bos; Asroth’s champion, right there, before us. I had the chance to slay him, to end the God-War.’

‘The one in the wolven pelt?’

‘Aye.’

‘It was not him that worried me; it was the other one, the warrior with him. He was Jehar. You are the first-sword of Tenebral, but I doubt even you could best one of them.’

‘I think he was the man who killed Rauca,’ Veradis said.

Bos frowned at that and seemed to think about it for a while. ‘The man who killed Rauca and then ten of our eagle-brothers. On his own.’ He looked at Veradis, letting his words sink in.

I would have died, most likely. He stepped forward and squeezed Bos’ shoulder.

‘Disobey me again and I shall dismiss you from the eagle-guard.’

Bos looked up at him and nodded.

‘Now get up.’

‘What happens now?’ Bos asked him.

‘Geraint will march soon, and there will be a battle. We shall watch and wait; be prepared to be called upon.’

‘There is much talk. Many have fled,’ Bos observed.

It was true, the night raid had set a fear coursing through Geraint’s warband like a disease on the wind. Talk of changelings and demons prowling the night had been one thing, but corpses bearing claw marks, and witnesses testifying to seeing wolven and changelings slaying warriors with tooth and claw had led to hundreds slipping away in the darkness. Veradis had spoken to Geraint, told him it had been men in wolven fur, but he was not sure if even Geraint believed him. There were a lot of dead with their throats torn out.

‘I know. But the battle will still happen. Geraint cannot just turn around and go home. Rhin scares him more than wolven in the night.’

‘Sensible man.’ Bos chuckled. ‘But his men, they will fight with fear already planted in their guts.’

‘That was the goal of last night’s raid, I think.’ Veradis shrugged. ‘We shall see what we shall see. And we shall also keep an eye on those hills — I don’t want any more surprises.’

Horns rang out and the warriors of Cambren began to move along the giants’ road, no songs of war rising up, only the tramp of many feet. Veradis could see Geraint at the front, surrounded by a knot of his shieldmen. In the distance he saw Eremon’s warband standing ready, iron glinting in the weak sunlight.

He was standing with Bos; a score of his eagle-guard were spread a little higher up the slope. They were a long way from the trees that gave cover at the hill’s crown, and out of bow shot. Any attack from above would be seen early on.

The warband juddered to a halt, only a few hundred paces from Eremon’s lines.

‘They’ll do some drinking now,’ Bos said quietly.

‘Aye.’

It was a hard thing, starting a war, and harder still for those in the front ranks, those who would have to put some will into their legs and go willingly to battle, and very possibly to their deaths. The first steps were always the hardest. A few mouthfuls of wine or mead often helped summon the courage that was needed and Veradis could see skins being handed about between warriors in Eremon’s warband, too. I doubt if they’re full of water. A dose of courage to face a charge.

A roar went up from Geraint’s warband, rising up from the front and rippling back through its masses, like the muscular contractions of a snake in motion. The front ranks moved quicker, breaking away, running at Eremon’s warband.

They too roared, clashing swords and spears on shields, then charged to meet their foe.

Veradis saw the impact of the front rows before he heard it, then there was a great crash, like thunder overhead, ringing along the ravine, echoing about the hills. The two warbands filtered into one another, a patch work of the green of Domhain and the black and gold of Cambren. The battle descended into a thousand duels, each warrior finding a foe to fight, the one left standing moving on to the next. And so it would go, until all the enemy were dead, or one side lost heart and ran.

Bos drew in a deep breath. ‘It’s going to be a long day.’