Valour

CHAPTER NINETY

CORALEN

Coralen glared through swirling snow at the walls of Dun Vaner.

After the desperate chase yesterday, the fight in the woods and slopes, coming so close to reaching Corban, only to see him carried away through the fortress gates, she felt drained. Exhausted.

And angry.

She had not wanted to run, so close were they to rescuing Corban. Most of the enemy were down, bleeding into the snow, when the riders appeared, a relief force hurrying from Dun Vaner. It would have been foolishness and fatal to stand and face them in the open. So they had run when the riders came at them, scattering into the woodland. Storm had killed one horse and rider, Dath picked off a couple with his bow, Gar another, and she had leaped onto one more, dragging him from his saddle and opening his throat with her wolven claws. She was wearing them still, blood crusting about the iron blades.

Why am I here? She had volunteered to guide them north as soon as Rath had told her of Corban’s plan to go after his sister. Why? Even now she felt herself avoiding that question. Others were moving about her, Gwenith and Brina whispering together, Farrell and Dath talking quietly. Gar stood beside her, staring at the walls. She could feel the worry leaking from him, through the cracks in his cold face. Storm was pacing amongst them, like a wounded bear, restless, crouched, the occasional growl rumbling deep from her belly. Coralen empathized with her — she felt frustrated, scared, angry. There was something about this group of people, similar to the camaraderie she had felt amongst Rath and his giant-killers, but more, somehow. Something deeper. She just knew that each and every one of them would die for the other, and Corban was somehow at the centre of that. She felt his absence keenly, as she knew they all did. And he was gone, inside those thick walls, perhaps even already dead. She felt a wave of feeling, white-hot rage, and she clenched a fist, her wolven claws chinking.

It had all happened so fast, waking to find Corban gone, then hearing Storm howling, all of them running from the camp to find the wolven dripping wet, standing over Ventos’ corpse. They had searched the area and Coralen had found the tracks of those who had taken Corban. The rest had been one long run, blood in the snow at the end of it.

And what now?

Something fluttered above her; a dark smudge emerged from the swirling whiteness. Craf, the healer’s crow.

It landed on a tree branch and began hopping about.

‘Cor-ban,’ it squawked. ‘Found him, found him, found him.’

‘Where? How is he?’ Gwenith blurted.

‘Alive,’ the crow said. ‘Craf take you.’

‘ How are we going to get over those walls?’ Farrell said.

‘This might help,’ Dath said, lifting a long rope that was tied to the saddle of a horse they’d found wandering the wooded slopes.

Gar smiled, a grim flash of his teeth.