Valour

CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR

CORBAN

Corban ran through the corridors of Dun Vaner, past a trail of the dead. He hurt in a dozen places — his wrists, ankles, ribs, jaw, too many pains to recognize — but it felt so good to be free, to be reunited with his mam and friends. And more. He had been certain his death was at hand, bound, with a knife at his throat and no way to fight it off. To be saved from that, to still live and draw breath. He felt euphoric. He felt reborn.

And so much had happened. Not least Gar’s father joining them. Even as they ran through the halls and stairwells, more of these strange warriors were joining them. The Jehar. Four at the entrance to the first stairwell, corpses piled about them, then another three, then five, another two, until Corban felt as if he was part of a small warband rather than an escaping prisoner.

The sound of combat drifted from ahead, growing louder. Then they were in a feast-hall, a pitched battle raging through it.

There were at least a hundred warriors in the room, most of them Rhin’s men. Amongst them swirled the dark shapes of Jehar warriors, fast, graceful and deadly, leaving only the dead or dying in their wake. Force of numbers threatened to overwhelm them, though. Corban could see a pile of corpses in a half-circle about the doorway, but the battle had been pushed back from there, with more of Rhin’s men crowding the entrance.

All about Corban warriors surged forwards, Tukul and Meical at their head. They crashed into the battle, an unstoppable force. Gar hesitated, lingering close to Corban, his familiar position. His mam, Farrell and Coralen did the same, pulling close about him, an unbidden, instinctive reaction in them.

In moments the battle was all but done in the hall. Meical, Tukul and forty or so Jehar warriors at his back turned the conflict in heartbeats. The remnants of Rhin’s warriors fled through the doors, the Jehar following them, their battle spilling out into the courtyard.

Corban and the others followed.

All was chaos out here. Fresh snow had fallen, coating the flagstones, more was swirling down. As Corban looked, he saw Tukul storming into a knot of warriors. A severed arm spun through the air, jetting a trail of blood, startlingly red on the fresh snow.

Gar was dancing on his toes, desperate to join the battle, then the battle joined them, a handful of men rushing them.

Gar took the first one’s head; the warrior’s body ran on a few paces before the legs gave way. Another fell with one of Gwenith’s knives in his chest, then Farrell and Coralen were wading in. Corban hefted the sword which had been returned to him by Gar in the dungeon and joined the fray.

He blocked a wild swing, twisted his wrist and stabbed the man through the throat, blood spraying his face as he ripped his blade free. He moved forwards, ducked another slash, chopped three, four blows in retaliation, the fifth breaking through a weakening defence, crashing into an iron helm, denting it, the warrior staggering. Corban kicked the dazed man’s legs away and stabbed down hard as he stepped over him. He found a release in this battle: a simplicity that focused his mind, feeling both a sense of calm and a wild joy, barely contained. He concentrated on each breath, the shift of weight on his feet, his balance, the flow of muscle in hip and back, shoulder and arm, and faceless warriors fell like wheat as he cut through their ranks.

Then there was no one left before him. He looked about, slashed the shoulder of a man who was attacking Coralen. She finished him with her wolven claws. His mam was retreating before a sustained assault, turning a blade with her spear shaft. Corban and Gar saw at the same time. The man fell with two swords piercing him.

There was a clatter of hooves from the stableblock, shouting and yelling, and horses exploded from the stable’s gates. Rhin was at their head, Braith and Conall close behind, a dozen other warriors following. They rode hard across the courtyard, trampling friend and enemy alike.

Coralen ran forwards, calling Conall’s name. He must have heard, even over the din of battle, for at the open gateway he reined in and looked back. He saw Coralen, just stared for a heartbeat, then kicked his horse on.

Coralen ran after him, Corban and his companions following her. They stopped in the archway of the gates, watching as Rhin and her shieldmen galloped down the snow-covered slopes of Dun Vaner.

A rider stiffened in his saddle, a black arrow sprouting from his back. He toppled from his mount and was dragged through the snow.

A streak of movement caught Corban’s eye, a blur moving after the galloping shapes, speeding across the snow much faster than the labouring horses.

Storm.

Silent as smoke, she caught up with the escaping riders and launched herself into the air. With a crunch that Corban felt as well as heard, the last horse and rider tumbled to the ground, an explosion of snow concealing them all. As it cleared, Corban saw a man rise from the ground and begin running. The horse didn’t move. Storm shook herself and leaped after the man, crashing into his back, jaws sinking into his head. She gave a savage wrench of her neck and there was a spray of blood.

‘Storm,’ Corban called.

She looked up at the sound, ears twitching, saw him and ran at them. She skidded before Corban, jumped on him, her hot breath washing his face, rough tongue scratching his skin. He staggered under her weight, hugged her tight, burying his face in her bloodied fur.

He realized a silence had fallen and he pulled away from Storm, turned and looked into the courtyard.

The battle was done, all of Rhin’s remaining warriors dead. A few score of these strange Jehar warriors stood staring at him, the place eerily silent and still, the only movement the gently falling snow. Tukul stepped forward, drew his sword and pointed it at the sky. ‘The Seren Disglair.’

With a cry, the other warriors did the same, then together they all dropped to one knee and bowed their heads before him.

They searched the fortress and found it to be deserted. Only a small company had been garrisoned there; the bulk of Rhin’s warriors and their kin were on the move in the south, invading Domhain. Tukul patrolled the entire stronghold personally, and only then did he declare it safe. They collected their dead — eight Jehar warriors — and made a pyre in the courtyard, Tukul singing a solemn lament as the fires burned. Snow was falling heavier again, and the light was already failing, so they barred the gates and made camp in the feast-hall that night with Jehar patrolling the walls.

‘Ventos,’ Corban said to himself, thinking of how he had ended up in this place. ‘Where is Ventos?’ He was exhausted now, sitting close to the fire-pit and chewing on a leg of mutton, one of many discovered in a huge cold-room.

‘Dead,’ Dath said. ‘We found him with your knife in his belly. You should have seen your mam — she would have liked to bring him back to life, just so she could kill him again.’

He smiled at that. It saddened him, thinking of Ventos. He had liked the man, had thought him a friend. But he had betrayed him.

‘How did you get in?’

‘We climbed the wall to the north,’ said Dath. ‘It’s a sheer drop, but they weren’t very vigilant. I guess they didn’t have enough men here to man every wall, and they weren’t exactly expecting an attack. Brina tied a loop in some rope and Craf flew it up to the battlements and dropped it over something solid.’

‘But how did you find me? How did you know where to look?’

‘Craf again,’ said Dath. ‘He looked in every hole in this fortress until he found you. He’s handy to have around, that bird, even if his eating habits would make the dead vomit up their last meal.’

‘He is indeed,’ Corban agreed. He tore off a strip of meat and threw it to Craf, who was perched contentedly on the back of Brina’s chair. He caught the meat in the air and gulped it down.

Brina had hugged Corban tight when she had seen him, then berated him sharply for having let himself be captured. Corban had not minded, though. He had felt a swell of emotion at seeing the old woman, at seeing all of his friends. And what they had done for him.

He felt it again now, looking about the room at them — his mam sitting quiet beside Brina, Gar talking to Tukul — his da, Corban could still not get over that — Dath and Farrell sitting either side of him, Coralen, further apart, brooding, silently scouring crusted blood from her wolven claws.

Such friends. Following me through the mountains, attacking Braith. Storming a fortress. Rhin’s fortress. Just looking at them, he felt a pressure building in his chest. This world may be full of greed and tragedy and darkness, but I am fortunate beyond measure to have such people about me.

His eyes drifted deeper around the room, at the scores of Jehar warriors. Most were quietly going about small tasks — repairing torn leather with thread and needle, replacing rings in a chainmail shirt, using a whetstone to work out a notch in a blade, cleaning and binding a wound.

Every now and then he would feel eyes upon him, would catch some of the Jehar looking at him, just staring. It made him feel uncomfortable. There was something in their eyes, almost adoration.

Then he saw Meical. He was sitting in the shadows beyond the firelight, long legs stretched out before him, his face a dark pool, but something told Corban he was staring straight back at him.

He remembered his dream — not a dream, something more, something real — and Meical’s part in it. He was the Ben-Elim who had saved him, who had carried him from Asroth’s palace.

They had hardly talked in the dungeon, Corban struggling to take in what he was seeing, but they would have to, soon. He knew that.

He looked away from the shadows, his gaze settling upon his mam. She was watching him, too. She rose and sat beside him.

‘So,’ she said.

‘Thank you, Mam.’

‘What for?’

‘For coming to get me.’

She hugged him fiercely.

‘I knew him. He was in Dun Carreg, briefly. But I recognize him from my dreams,’ Corban said, looking back to Meical.

‘I saw, in the dungeon. So, do you believe, now?’

He was dimly aware that Dath and Farrell were leaning forward, listening intently.

‘I. . my dreams, Mam. They weren’t dreams, really, I was somewhere else. In the Otherworld.’

‘Yes. You’ve been having them for years. They stopped for a while.’

‘Rhin was in the last one. She took me to Asroth.’

His mam tensed, her hand squeezing his leg.

‘I was terrified. Asroth, he wants to kill me — you were right.’

‘So you do believe, then?’

He had not wanted to think about this, to face it. All the while he was busy it was just a shadow hovering somewhere behind him, but now he could no longer avoid this subject. He had walked in the Otherworld, come face to face with Asroth and his Kadoshim, and with the Ben-Elim. How could he deny the truth of it? Clearly it was no lie, so either he was mad, as he had thought Gar was, for a while, or it was the truth. There was no longer any option for an alternative explanation. He sighed.

‘How could I not, now? I’m sorry for not trusting you.’

She smiled. ‘I have found it hard to believe, myself, at times.’

‘I don’t want to believe it, though. I’d rather not think about it. And when I do think about it I end up with a lot of questions,’ Corban said.

‘Of course you do.’

A voice rang out, then. Corban looked up and saw that Meical was standing close to the fire-pit, almost before him.

‘What would you do from here?’ Meical said, looking straight at him.

‘You’re asking me?’ Corban said.

‘Everyone in this room is here because of you, Corban. You are the Seren Disglair, the Bright Star.’

Corban cringed inwardly at that. He caught a glimpse of Dath and Farrell staring at him — Dath wide eyed, Farrell nodding thoughtfully. Coralen regarded him with a raised eyebrow.

‘We will follow your lead,’ Meical continued. ‘I will offer you my counsel, and you can do with it what you will. For myself, I would advise that we should go to Drassil, deep within Forn Forest.’

‘Why?’ Corban asked. He heard Brina chuckle.

‘Because Halvor’s prophecy says that is where you will go, where the resistance against Asroth and his Black Sun will gather.’

Who is Halvor? What prophecy? A hundred other questions lined up in his mind, fighting to be asked first.

I’m going to Murias to get my sister,’ he said instead.

‘Murias. Where Nathair is going?’ Meical said.

‘That’s right. My sister Cywen is his prisoner.’

‘She is his prisoner to lure you to him, surely you must know that?’

‘I was starting to guess as much,’ Corban said. ‘But it makes no difference. I cannot abandon her.’

‘No, we cannot,’ his mam echoed.

Meical just looked at him for a long drawn-out moment. Corban returned his gaze.

‘All right then,’ Meical said. ‘We shall go to Murias.’

‘You don’t have to come,’ Corban said. He did not want the lives of so many on his conscience.

‘It is our choice,’ Meical said. ‘And as you feel about your sister, so we feel about you.’

Corban thought about that, thought about standing before Asroth and seeing a band of the Ben-Elim brave the hosts of Kadoshim to save him. He nodded.

‘And Sumur is with Nathair,’ Tukul said from the fireside. ‘I would like to see him. We have things to discuss.’

I can imagine what they are.

‘What is at Murias?’ Corban asked.

‘Giants,’ Coralen said.

‘She’s right,’ Meical said. ‘The Benothi giants. And one of the Seven Treasures. The cauldron.’

The Seven Treasures? Now those were tales I used to love hearing old Heb tell.

‘The cauldron?’

‘Aye,’ Meical said with a sigh. ‘Asroth used it before, in the War of Treasures. It was made for good but, like most things, can be put to a different use depending on the hand that holds it. It has the potential to be a powerful weapon.’

‘What did Asroth want it for?’ asked Corban.

‘To slaughter every living soul that Elyon has created.’

‘That doesn’t sound good,’ whispered Dath to Farrell.

‘Well it obviously didn’t work, did it?’ Farrell whispered back. ‘Else none of us would be here.’

‘That is because Elyon unleashed his Scourging,’ Meical said. ‘That was bad enough, and Elyon is unlikely to intervene this time.’

‘So we need to stop Nathair getting to this cauldron, then,’ said Farrell.

‘Perhaps. I do not know if we can. It is protected, though. There are some of the Benothi that live still who saw the destruction wrought by the War of Treasures. Nemain, the Benothi Queen, was there. She saw. She will not willingly allow the cauldron to be used to wage war again.’

‘But Nathair has the Jehar with him. If any are capable of taking it, it is them,’ said Tukul.

‘Aye. So, to Murias it is,’ said Meical. North of here, a hundred leagues through Cambren and then into Benoth.’

‘It will be hard going, fighting all the way through Cambren,’ said Coralen. ‘The bulk of Rhin’s warriors may be to the south invading Domhain, but that does not mean the entire north is empty of enemies. And the best roads are littered with settlements — they will not look on you kindly. You may be forced to travel leagues out of your way, through difficult terrain. You would be better off travelling back into Domhain and then heading north on a clear path. You may even catch them.’

‘I do not know the way through Domhain,’ Meical said.

‘I do,’ said Coralen. ‘I’ve lived half my life patrolling the borderlands, I know every path and fox’s trail for a hundred leagues, and I’ve been in sight of Murias before. I’ll take you.’

Meical looked between Corban and Tukul.

‘Thank you,’ said Corban. She nodded at him, as if something long considered had just been decided, then leaned back on her bench and crossed her arms.

‘So then, we should gather supplies for a mountain crossing,’ said Meical. ‘We’ll leave at dawn.’

They settled down for sleep soon after, the fire-pit still crackling. Storm stretched close to Corban. The murmur of Gar and Tukul’s voices blended as they talked into the night.

Corban’s mind was whirling, but he was exhausted and sleep rose up like a tide to wash over him. Strangely, after all that had happened to him today, the most prominent thought in his mind as he drifted off wasn’t that he had come face to face with Asroth, or seen one of the Ben-Elim walk into his dungeon, or seen Rhin evicted from her own stronghold. It was the embrace that Coralen had given him whilst he was hanging from his shackles. He could still feel her hair in his face, smell her skin, feel the beating of her heart and the heave of her suppressed sobs against his manacled body.