Valour

CHAPTER EIGHT

EVNIS

Evnis absently plucked at the petal of a rose, let it drift onto the stones at his feet. ‘Everything is turning to ash, Fain,’ he whispered.

He was standing before a stone cairn, weak sunlight streaming across the walls of Dun Carreg into the courtyard. The sounds of his hold waking stirred about him. Dogs were barking in the kennels, children teasing them with scraps from the tower kitchen. The smell of baking bread and ham frying wafted about on the breeze. The sun had not risen long enough to burn the chill of night away and Evnis shivered, pulling his cloak tighter about him. He took a deep breath, an attempt to steady himself for the coming day, but no matter how he tried to calm himself, to focus on what he must do, all his swirling thoughts returned to one thing.

Vonn.

Where was his son?

They had argued, in the keep before the fortress fell, after he had told Vonn something of his plans. All Vonn had wanted to talk about was the girl from Havan, Bethan the drunkard’s daughter. Evnis had told Vonn to put her out of his mind, to focus on what was important, but that had only made Vonn worse. He had stormed out into the night. And now he was gone, disappeared in the chaos of Dun Carreg’s fall, before Evnis could talk to him and put things right.

Please, Fallen One, do not let him be dead. Evnis had spent most of a day searching, checking every corpse that had been piled in the streets, questioning survivors. Some had spoken of seeing Vonn with Edana and her handful of protectors.

He blew out a long breath. His son with Edana, with Brenin’s daughter. In other circumstances the irony of it would have made him smile.

It was two nights since Dun Carreg had fallen, since Owain’s boar of Narvon had replaced Brenin’s wolf. He remembered little of his fight with Brenin: it had been a red haze, over a year’s worth of pent-up rage and grief spilling out in a few moments. Until his knife had pierced Brenin’s chest, anyway. He remembered that clearly enough, could never forget it; the brief resistance of cloth, skin and bone, then the hot pulse of blood, Brenin’s strength fading so quickly, like a bird taking flight. There was a flutter of something in his gut. Shame? Perhaps. Certainly Fain, his gentle-hearted wife, would not have approved. But she was not here now, her corpse rotting beneath the cairn he was standing before. Brenin’s choices had sealed her death. If Brenin had allowed him to leave Dun Carreg, to take Fain away, to the cauldron, things would have been different. Fain had deserved a blood-price. There was some kind of justice in the way things had turned out — Brenin dying by his hand.

‘My lord.’ A voice pierced his thoughts. Conall was limping towards him, a few of his warriors following.

‘It is time,’ Conall said.

Evnis nodded curtly, crushed the rose in his hand and scattered it over the cairn. He stalked through the grounds of his hold, past the kennels where Helfach’s boy was feeding the hounds, through the wide gates. Conall and the other warriors settled about him, a tension amongst them all. They knew the stakes as well as he. The fortress may have fallen but it was far from safe, with many on both sides who would like Evnis dead. He glanced at the buildings either side, searching the shadows for assassins. I have rolled the dice, he thought. No going back now.

He glanced at Conall, who still walked with a limp. The warrior had fallen from the wall above Stonegate and had only survived because the crush of those fighting about the gates had broken his fall.

The warrior was all confidence and swagger, quick to laugh and quick to anger. Beyond the arrogance there was a keen intelligence. Conall saw much. It had been a wise choice, winning him over, though he had needed a little help. He was learning the power of the earth, extracting secrets from the book he had discovered in the tunnels beneath the fortress. There were ways to influence a man, even control him. He felt like a novice, struggling in the dark, but he had learned enough to add an edge of power, of persuasion to his voice, especially when the target’s will was wavering. And so he had won Conall’s loyalty.

‘You have no regrets leaving your brother, Halion, opposing him?’

Conall looked surprised and his mouth twisted, a haunted look sweeping his face. ‘No. I am glad to be out from under his shadow. He was turning from me, in deeds if not in words. It was clear he’d chosen Brenin and flattery over me.’ He grimaced. ‘We all live with the consequences of our choices, eh?’

‘That we do,’ Evnis muttered, glancing at an old scar on the palm of his hand, a reminder of a glade in the Darkwood, of a pact made years ago to Asroth, his master, to whom he had pledged his life, his soul. And Asroth had told him to aid Nathair, of that he was certain. So aid the young King of Tenebral he would. And if somehow that turned out to his benefit, then all the better.

Figures burst from an alleyway and Conall half drew his sword, but they were only children, running and laughing as they goaded a skinny hound with a bone.

‘Jumping at shadows,’ Evnis said.

‘Well, you’re not the most popular man in the fortress right now. Most of Dun Carreg must want you dead,’ Conall said, glaring at the children.

‘I’m more concerned over the quality of my enemies than their quantity,’ Evnis murmured, thinking of Owain.

‘I’ve heard something similar, though usually from the ladies.’

Evnis snorted, almost smiled. Laughter rippled through the warriors behind him.

‘Enemies in high places. I’ve had that problem myself,’ Conall said.

‘Really? And what did you do?’

‘I ran away.’

‘I see.’ He regarded Conall silently, wondering about his new shieldman’s hidden past. ‘Perhaps I have a less drastic remedy.’ Friends in high places. Or in this case friend. Nathair. The young King had come to him asking questions about the Benothi, Dun Carreg’s ancient giant masters and their treasures, and that was a subject that Evnis knew much about, possibly even more than old Heb or Brina. Evnis had hinted at his knowledge, given snippets of information, whispered promises of more, and it was those promises that he hoped would keep him alive until Rhin arrived. Nathair would protect him, at least while it was in his interest to do so. Or so Evnis hoped. Owain was unpredictable. It had been a gamble, helping the King of Narvon gain entrance to the fortress, but Nathair had asked him for help, and so he had given it. The act of opening Stonegate had won much favour with Owain, but Evnis was not sure how much the act of slaying a king had compromised that favour. Nobody liked that, especially not another king.

‘Time will be the judge,’ he muttered.

‘Aye. It usually is,’ Conall replied.

The rest of their journey passed in silence. Evnis hardly spared a glance at the charred pile of ash that marked all that was left of Dun Carreg’s fallen defenders, the stench of their burning still lingering in the air. He swept into the keep and marched through it into the corridors beyond until he reached Nathair’s chambers.

One of the black-clad warriors that he had spirited into the fortress to such devastating effect was standing guard. The man ushered him into the chamber but blocked Conall as he made to follow.

‘Only you,’ the man said to Evnis.

Evnis nodded to Conall and those behind him as the guard closed the door.

Nathair sat within, sipping a cup of wine. His bodyguard, Sumur, was standing beside an unshuttered window, sword hilt jutting over his shoulder. A handful of Nathair’s eagle-guard were lounging at a table in the far end of the chamber, gathered about a half-eaten round of cheese and a leg of pork. They eyed Evnis suspiciously, then went back to their food. Evnis stared at them, remembering their comrades in the keep the night Dun Carreg fell, arrayed about him and Brenin and Nathair in a wall of shields. They were all dead now, most of them cut down by Gar, the crippled stablemaster. That night had left more than one mystery in his mind that begged to be solved.

‘Welcome, Evnis,’ the King of Tenebral said, standing and gripping Evnis’ wrist. ‘Thank you for coming so promptly. Are you hungry? Thirsty?’ He gestured to the food and wine.

‘I have already broken my fast. Though perhaps some wine.’

‘Of course.’ Nathair filled a cup for him. ‘I was hoping that you might help me.’

‘If I may be of service, my lord.’

‘I am certain that you can. When I came here it was as part of a bigger journey: I planned to travel north. I still do. The issue is when to leave. Much has happened here that I think has bearing on my alliance, on the future, but the situation here is fluid, prone to change. Dramatically. Would you agree?’

‘Your summary is quite correct, to my mind,’ Evnis said.

‘I am torn, Evnis. My errand in the north is pressing, but I feel that perhaps I should linger here a while longer, as these events play out. To ensure that the results are favourable to me and my alliance.’

‘Most prudent, my lord.’ This is a man who thinks before he speaks. Where is he leading this conversation?

‘You are probably wondering why I am telling you this.’

Evnis smiled and dipped his head in acknowledgement.

‘I believe that you are pivotal to this situation. And certain that you know more than you have told me.’

‘Do any of us tell all that we know, my lord?’ Evnis replied. ‘After all, knowledge is power.’ This is dangerous.

‘Wise words,’ Nathair said with a smile, ‘and words that I have heard before. But let me be frank with you. We are both in a position to help each other. I am in a strange land, surrounded by war, a history guiding it that is unfamiliar to me. I need to make decisions, but I lack the knowledge to be confident that I am choosing the right course. You are familiar with the politics of this realm, this conflict, well placed to see much. I need that knowledge. But you are surrounded by enemies — Owain, the man that took your own brother’s head, rules here, so you need a friend, someone in power who has some influence. You need me.’ Nathair took a deep breath, fixing Evnis with intense blue eyes. ‘Tell me, Evnis, what is your heart’s desire?’

Evnis blinked, thrown by the question, the sudden change of direction. ‘I. .’ What is happening here? Be careful. Nathair’s eyes pinned him, became the whole world. Is he bewitching me? Using the earth power?

‘To find my son,’ he heard himself say, surprised to hear the tremor in his voice.

‘Yes. Escaped with Edana, or so rumours are saying.’ Nathair waved a hand. ‘I am not completely without information, even here. I could help you find him. I look after those that serve me.’

‘Serve you?’

‘Yes. I am looking for men: powerful men, brave enough to take risks, brave enough to follow me into a new order, a new world. I think that you are such a man. Follow me and you will gain more than you can imagine. But in return I must have your loyalty. Unquestioning, unfailing.’

I serve you already, Evnis thought. He opened his mouth to speak but then froze, pinned by Nathair’s unblinking stare. There was something in Nathair’s words that stirred his blood, that would have made him want to follow this man, to believe in a cause again, even if Asroth had not already commanded it. Your only cause is yourself, a voice whispered in his mind. ‘I will serve you, if I can,’ he said.

‘Good. That is very good.’ Nathair grinned, refilled their cups of wine and together they drank.

‘Now, tell me,’ Nathair said. ‘Does Rhin play a part in this business between Owain and Brenin?’

‘Yes. She manipulated this war,’ Evnis said. How much to tell? That is the question. Rhin will not look kindly on me if she thinks I have betrayed her. He returned Nathair’s unflinching gaze and made a decision. ‘Rhin tricked Owain into marching against Brenin, her design was that they would weaken one another. She will move against Owain soon. She is the real power now in the west — Brenin was her greatest rival, but now that he is gone Owain cannot match her — he does not have the strength of will nor the wit to outmanoeuvre her. Brenin was the only one who stood that chance. And King Eremon of Domhain is too old, uninterested in affairs beyond his borders. Before long she will rule all the realms of the west.’

‘She was always the one to watch,’ Nathair murmured. ‘A sharp tongue, a sharper mind.’

‘Indeed.’

‘And what is your relationship with her, Evnis?’

Lovers, once. Conspirators, always. ‘We have communicated, in the past, helped one another in small matters.’

‘I see.’ Nathair paced to the open window, sharing a look with Sumur. ‘I would like to communicate with her, too. Can you arrange that?’

‘I think so.’

‘Excellent.’

Sumur whispered something, too low for Evnis to hear.

‘There is another matter that I am interested in. The night Dun Carreg fell, there was a boy in the keep. With a wolven. .’

‘Yes. Corban.’

‘You know him, then?’

‘Not really. I have had some dealings with him. An insolent, disobedient child.’

‘His kin?’

‘Thannon, his da, was slain in the great hall. His mother cannot be found, is thought to have escaped along with him and Edana. His sister, though, she is still here.’

‘What of Gar,’ Sumur interrupted, his voice guttural, coarse. ‘What is his relationship to the boy?’

Evnis remembered Sumur and Gar fighting in the keep, swords a blur, with such skill as he had never seen before. Hadn’t Gar used a blade similar to the one Sumur had strapped across his back. This mystery deepens.

‘Gar was Brenin’s stablemaster. He has always been close to the boy and his family. I am not sure why — they were living here long before I came to Dun Carreg. I will see what I can find out about them.’

‘Yes, do. His sister,’ Nathair said, ‘I would speak with her. Soon.’

‘I will arrange it.’

‘Good.’ Nathair poured himself some more wine, tugging at something on a chain about his neck — was it a huge tooth? ‘One last thing, for now. The errand in the north that I mentioned. It is to find something. You recall I have spoken of the Benothi giants.’

‘Yes.’

‘It is my belief that they have something in their possession that I need. A cauldron, I have been told. One of the Seven Treasures.’

Evnis felt the blood drain from his face and coughed to hide his surprise. The cauldron — how he had longed to see it for himself, to take Fain to it, while she still had time, to call on its powers. To save her.

‘I have heard of it,’ he said.

‘Really?’ Nathair stared at him, eyes hard now, all warmth stripped from them. ‘What, exactly, have you heard?’

Roll the dice, Evnis thought. ‘That it is an artefact of great power.’ He paused, swallowed. ‘I know where it is.’

‘Where?’

‘To the north, in Benoth. In the fortress of Murias.’

Nathair slammed a fist into his palm. ‘Calidus was right,’ he said, then focused back on Evnis. ‘How do you know this?’

‘I have had dealings with the Benothi, on occasion.’ Well, one of them.

Nathair’s expression changed, became thoughtful. ‘You are of more value than I guessed.’ He patted Evnis’ shoulder.

There was a knock at the door, the Jehar guard peered in. ‘Owain has sent a messenger. He is in the great hall and would speak with you.’

‘Of course,’ Nathair said. ‘We shall speak more, and soon, Evnis. For now, though, accompany me.’

Nathair and his entourage passed through high-roofed corridors, Evnis and his shieldmen following behind. Their numbers grew as more of the Jehar appeared, silently joining them from side corridors as they moved towards the great hall.

Owain was standing by one of the fire-pits, a dark-haired, sharp-featured man. He looked haggard, drawn. You have grasped beyond your reach, Evnis thought. Owain was in deep conversation with a mud-splattered warrior, a handful of red-cloaked shieldmen hovering about them.

‘Greetings, Nathair,’ the King of Narvon said, his eyes taking in Nathair’s followers. He frowned when he saw Evnis.

‘Well met.’ Nathair smiled broadly. ‘How goes your campaign?’

‘It goes well,’ Owain said. ‘I have just received news of Dun Maen. Its strength was broken here when Dalgar fell and his warband was scattered. Dun Maen’s walls were filled with little more than old men, women and their bairns.’

‘So Ardan is yours,’ Nathair said.

‘It would seem so.’ Owain sighed. ‘There are still skirmishes between here and the western marshes, but of little consequence, I think.’

‘You have succeeded in your task, then.’

‘Aye, but there is little joy in it. Uthan is still dead.’ He grimaced. ‘All that was best in me seemed to live in him, and now he is gone.’

‘But at least your son is avenged.’

‘Not quite. Edana still lives.’ Owain looked up, his mouth a straight line. ‘I will not rest while she draws breath. Brenin’s stain will be wiped from the earth.’

‘Is there any sign of her, any clue as to where she has fled?’

Owain shrugged. ‘No, none. I cannot even discover how she escaped the fortress. She could still be here, in hiding.’

‘I doubt that,’ Evnis said. ‘I have searched Dun Carreg stone by stone for them.’

Owain considered Evnis. ‘There must be other ways out of this fortress, other than Stonegate. How did you sneak these warriors in?’ He gestured to the Jehar spread about Nathair.

Of course, the tunnels. The thought hit Evnis like a blacksmith’s hammer. They must have escaped by the tunnels. Maybe even still be down there. ‘There are many unguarded portions of the wall, especially on the north side,’ he said to Owain, concentrating on keeping his face calm, blank. ‘Brenin was too sure of his defences, but a strong rope and strong arms were all that was needed. Maybe Edana left by the same means.’ Nathair looked at him, but said nothing.

‘Perhaps,’ Owain muttered, ‘though I find the word of someone who would betray his own king hard to accept.’

‘Evnis has given us great aid,’ Nathair said, taking a step closer to Evnis. ‘Without him you would still be camped beyond Stonegate.’

‘Even so. .’ Owain scowled at Evnis.

He looked down at the flagstone floor. Is my Vonn hiding in the tunnels beneath my feet. .

He shook his head, with an effort concentrated on Owain’s words.

‘On your own head be it if you choose to favour him,’ the King of Narvon was saying, ‘but keep a close eye on him. Once a betrayer. .’

Evnis felt a surge of anger, with effort pushed it down and painted a smile on his face. Owain is not long for this earth, he told himself. The trick is to outlive him — that will be revenge enough. Rhin is coming, and then his head shall be parted from his shoulders.

‘And what of your plans, Nathair?’ Owain asked. ‘Will you be staying or going?’

‘I will stay a little while longer. I have summoned men to me here, my counsellors. I must speak with them before I depart.’

‘As you wish.’

‘I have a request, though. An unusual one.’

‘If it is in my power.’

‘I have something on my ship in the bay, something rare, special to me.’

‘What is it? Treasure that needs guarding?’

‘In a way. It is a draig, not yet full grown. It needs to come ashore, to be stabled, fed.’

‘A draig. Why. .?’ Owain trailed off.

‘It is an experiment of mine — ’ Nathair smiled — ‘and I would be grateful of your assistance, your cooperation.’

‘Of course.’ Owain frowned, then tried to smile. ‘You have helped me more than I can repay. Stables shall be prepared, an auroch slaughtered.’

‘My thanks.’

The clatter of hooves on stone drifted in from the courtyard, there was the scuff of booted feet running, and a man burst into the hall. He hurried to Owain and fell to one knee before him.

‘Rise, man,’ Owain said. ‘What news? Is Edana caught?’

‘No, my lord.’ The man gulped a deep lung-full of air. ‘Dire news from Narvon. Rhin has invaded. It is overrun, Uthandun is fallen.’