Valour

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

CORBAN

Corban sipped from a skin of ale, smiling at Dath and Farrell as they traded stories from the raid of the night before.

‘I saw you,’ Dath said to Farrell. ‘You slipped as you ran up the slope, flat on your face. Have you ever seen a clumsy wolven?’

‘It was steep, and the ground was loose,’ Farrell said, slurring his words a little. He’d had a lot of ale. He was smiling, though — they all were, celebrations sweeping their camp.

‘Good job Coralen didn’t see you slip. Don’t think she likes the clumsy type.’ Dath grinned.

‘She called me a bear,’ Farrell said, frowning.

Dath and Corban laughed.

‘Do you think she likes bears? I’m hoping she does.’

Their tents were set on the edge of the camp, close to the paddocks. Corban heard the creak of harness, saw the outlines of a few horsemen now. A group of figures followed them closely on foot, one falling and being dragged for a few paces before the riders stopped.

Prisoners, tied to the horses, Corban realized. As the rider turned to look at the fallen man the campfire highlighted her face. It was Coralen.

She should be celebrating with the rest of us.

‘Look, there’s your future wife,’ Dath said to Farrell.

‘I’m going to ask her if she likes bears,’ Farrell said, concentrating as he stood, but still managing to look unsteady.

‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ Corban asked him as they walked towards Coralen.

‘Coralen,’ Farrell called out.

‘Too late,’ said Dath.

‘You should join us, for a drink. To celebrate,’ Farrell said, looking up at Coralen in her saddle.

Other riders were there. Corban recognized Baird and nodded a greeting at the warrior.

‘There’s still a war going on and, besides, you fall over after a few drinks,’ Coralen said.

Farrell blinked at that. It was obviously not the answer he’d been expecting.

‘Do you like bears?’ he said instead.

‘What?’

‘Bears. Big furry animals. Do you like them?’

‘What’s going on here?’ Coralen said, looking at Dath and Corban. Her eyes fixed back on Farrell. ‘Are you dim-witted? Or are you mocking me?’

Farrell, you need to stop, before she stabs you.

‘I’m not mocking you,’ Farrell said, face twisting in shock. ‘I would never mock you.’

Please stop.

‘I love you.’

Oh no.

Dath laughed and staggered.

‘You’re drunk,’ Coralen said.

‘A little,’ Farrell muttered.

‘You must scare these lads,’ a voice said behind Coralen, ‘if they need a drink to muster the courage to talk to you.’ It was Baird, grinning from ear to ear.

‘Shut up,’ Coralen said over her shoulder.

‘I don’t need a drink to find my courage,’ Farrell said, scowling at Baird. He looked back to Coralen. ‘You haven’t answered my question. Do you like bears?’

‘What? Yes, I suppose. If they’re not trying to eat me. I’ve heard they make a good meal, and a good bearskin will always keep you warm.’

‘I think he’d like to keep you warm,’ Baird said, nodding at Farrell.

‘You see,’ said Farrell to Corban and Dath. ‘She does like bears.’ He grinned.

‘Well, if we’ve exhausted your conversation, perhaps we can get on,’ Coralen said. ‘We’re in the middle of something.’

‘Who are they?’ Dath said, pointing to the line of figures bound behind Coralen and her companions.

‘The enemy,’ Coralen said. ‘Found most of them up in the hills. Might be deserters, might be spies.’

Corban stared at them, a huddled mass in the darkness, firelight from the camp flickering across shapes and faces. There were warriors amongst them, but also women, even children.

‘I think the raid the other night sent a lot of them running to the hills,’ Baird said. ‘And for all the ones we’ve caught, there’ll be a score more still out there.’

Corban frowned, staring hard. There was something familiar about one of the figures. Standing hunched over, head down, but still. .

He stepped forwards.

‘Careful,’ Baird said. ‘They’ve been checked for weapons, but you never know.’

Corban ignored him, shouldering his way through the huddle of figures if they didn’t move quickly enough.

‘You,’ he said. ‘Look at me.’

The figure ignored him.

‘Look at me,’ Corban said, then drew his sword, a slow rasp.

A face appeared, fair haired, dirt stained and gaunt, but still one Corban would never forget.

It was Rafe.