Valour (14 page)

The gossip on everyone’s lips was that Rhin had apparently invaded Narvon, sacked Uthandun and was even now camped on the far side of the Darkwood. Preparing to invade Ardan, no doubt.
Good
, Cywen had thought.
I hope she takes Owain’ head
. Although, to be honest, she hated Rhin as much as Owain. More, if possible. Rhin had been behind all of this, had been the
hand pulling the strings, guiding others towards all of this tragedy. She had a memory of the Darkwood, of Ronan slipping through her arms, of trying to stop the blood pumping from the wound in his
throat, literally trying to stop his life from leaking out of him. She blinked, her eyes hot, her vision blurred.

Owain was mustering his forces against Rhin. At the moment they were spread throughout Ardan, combating a scattered resistance across the land – remnants of Dalgar’s warband that had
been routed on the plains about Dun Carreg.
If there is any justice in this world, Owain and Rhin will kill each other
. She snorted to herself, knowing the only justice she would get would
be the one she made. With a sharp knife.

They reached the courtyard before the great hall. The mound of corpses had been reduced to a charred heap of twisted bone and ash. Nearby was a dark pile of dung, much bigger than any horse
could leave. Cywen had seen the creature that had deposited it, a draig, led through the streets of Dun Carreg by Nathair. She shivered at the thought of it, not even fully grown, but still the
most terrifying thing she had ever seen. Lizard-like, its torso had been low to the ground, carried on four bowed legs with curved, raking claws. A broad, flat skull and a square jaw with
protruding, razored teeth, a thick tongue flickering. But it was the eyes that chilled her – no liquid, warm intelligence there, like her beloved horses. Its eyes had been small, dull, black.
Merciless, a killer’s eyes. Conall picked up his pace and strode past her, entering the great hall first. He ignored the red-cloaked guards that stared at them both.

As they passed deeper into the keep, Cywen began to notice more of the same black-cloaked warriors that had stormed Stonegate. At first they appeared as shadows, merging with the walls, but as
her eyes adjusted to the gloom she saw more and more of them, spread about the hallways. She could feel their eyes on her.

‘Here we are,’ Conall said to her, stopping before a door that had two more warriors standing before it. He looked down at Buddai. ‘That hound can’t come in.’

‘He’ll howl if he doesn’t. He’s no danger to anyone, unless they’re a danger to me. I’m not in danger, am I?’ She smiled sweetly.

‘No. All right then, but I will have your belt, please.’

Cywen just looked at him.

‘I’ve seen how you handle a knife,’ Conall said. ‘There is no way that you are going to take them in there.’

‘What do you think I am? Suicidal?’ Cywen snapped, eyes drawn to the silent warriors staring at her.

‘Maybe.’ Conall shrugged. ‘I’ve never understood women. The belt.’

Grumbling, Cywen undid it and held it out.

‘Any more? I’ll search you if I have to.’

Cywen scowled, bent over and pulled a knife from each boot, and another strapped to her arm.

‘Thank you,’ Conall said with a smile. Passing the knives to one of the guards, he entered the room. Cywen followed.

Three men stood inside: Nathair, Sumur his guard and Evnis. Cywen concentrated on Nathair, ignoring the other two. He was lean, muscular, with a strength about him, in his gaze. He still wore
the two swords at his belt that she had seen on his arrival, one long, one short.

‘Welcome, Cywen. My thanks for coming,’ Nathair said, smiling at her. He poured her a cup of something from a jug. She refused it.

‘What do you want?’ she said.

Sumur stiffened.

‘Be polite,’ Conall muttered.

‘I want to talk to you. About your family, about you.’ Nathair’s smile lingered.

‘Why?’

Conall sighed.

‘As I told you,’ Evnis said, ‘she has no manners, is not fit to speak to such as you.’

Nathair waved a hand. ‘She has been through much tragedy, much heartache.’

At Nathair’s words Cywen felt a sudden pressure build behind her eyes, a burning sensation. Angrily she willed the blooming tears to fade.
Don’t be an idiot
, she scolded
herself.

‘How old are you?’ Nathair asked.

‘I’ve seen eighteen namedays.’

‘And I understand you have a brother. Corban, I am told.’

‘Aye,’ Cywen said, feeling uncomfortable. ‘What of it?’

Nathair’s face hardened. ‘I saw him in your great hall, on the night the fortress fell. He interested me.’

‘Why?’

‘I will ask the questions, and you will answer. The stablemaster, Gar. I am told he is close to your family.’

‘Sounds like you’ve been told a lot,’ Cywen muttered, flickering a scowl at Evnis.

‘Answer the question. You are addressing a king,’ Evnis said. ‘Gar is close to your family, yes?’

‘Yes.’ Cywen glared at Evnis; the act made her feel better.

‘There were no others with him, with Gar?’ Sumur said, taking a step towards her. ‘Men like him?’

‘No. What do you mean, like him?’

Sumur didn’t answer, just stared at her until she looked away.

‘This Gar, tell me about him,’ Nathair said, glancing at Sumur.

‘What’s to tell?’ Cywen shrugged. ‘He is, was, stablemaster here. He’s always been part of my family, like kin, really.’

Nathair’s fingers tapped the rim of his cup. He was staring intently at her. ‘What else. Where is he from?’

‘Helveth, I think.’

‘This is a long way from Helveth. What brought him here?’

‘I don’t know.’ Cywen shrugged. ‘He never really spoke of his past. Something bad happened, I think, and Brenin gave him Sanctuary. He was a
good
king, renowned
for his wisdom and kindness.’ She scowled at all of them now, knowing they had all played a part in Brenin’s death.

Nathair’s lips twitched in a smile, which made her angrier. Was he laughing at her?

‘So why was he so involved with your family?’

Cywen shrugged again. ‘I don’t know – he and my da were good friends . . .’ A rush of memories almost overwhelmed her, her voice cracking. She paused. She didn’t
like this, but it was clear that there must be some kind of reasoning behind this questioning, and if she played along, within reason, perhaps she could discern what was going on here.

‘Your brother, he had a wolven with him,’ Sumur said, his accent thick. ‘How did that happen.’

‘Storm? Corban saved her, as a cub.’

‘What did you say?’ Nathair whispered, a frown creasing his forehead.

‘Storm – that is the wolven’s name. He could tell you more; he was there when it happened.’ Cywen nodded at Evnis.

‘During a hunt we stumbled upon a pack of wolven. We killed them, though at some loss,’ Evnis said, pausing. ‘Vonn, my son, nearly died . . .’

‘And?’ Sumur prompted.

‘There was a litter of cubs. I killed them all, except one – Corban took it, claimed King’s Justice when ordered to relinquish it. Brenin was not here – he was at your
father’s council, I believe – so his wife, Alona, gave judgement. She allowed the boy to keep the wolven. Foolish of her.’

‘No, it wasn’t,’ snapped Cywen. She closed her eyes, could almost see Storm, smell her. And with her, Corban.

‘That wolven nearly ripped Rafe’s arm off, and it killed Helfach,’ Evnis hissed. ‘It should have been put to death.’

Anger swelled in Cywen. ‘You’re the one that should be put to death,’ she snarled at Evnis. ‘You’re the traitor that let Owain in. None of this would have happened
if not for you. Corban, my mam, Gar would still be here, my da would still be alive . . .’ Suddenly the anger was a white, consuming rage. She snatched for a knife, actually growled as she
realized nothing was there and without thinking launched herself at Evnis, fingers clutching for his throat.

Evnis threw himself backwards, eyes wide with shock, but Sumur and Conall were quicker, each grabbing one of Cywen’s arms. Buddai snarled at them both, teeth snapping, not sure whom to
bite first. Sumur reached for his sword hilt.

‘Easy, girl,’ Conall hissed in her ear. ‘Your hound’s about to die on your account.’

Instantly she went limp, the anger draining, consumed by concern for Buddai.

‘No, Buddai,’ she commanded. The hound paused, looking at her.

‘Let me go,’ she said. ‘I’ll not do anything. Evnis’ life is not worth trading for Buddai’s.’

Conall released her, nodding to Sumur. The black-clad warrior held her gaze a few heartbeats, then let go.

‘I can’t stay here,’ Cywen said, ‘the smell is making me sick.’ She gave Evnis a withering look, then turned for the door. Conall held it shut.

‘Let her go,’ Nathair said, ‘though I may ask for you to return.’

‘Make sure he’s not here, then,’ she said, and left.

Evnis glared at the closed door, wishing Cywen dead.
Who does she think she is, the little brat?

‘I like her,’ Nathair said absently. He looked distracted.

‘So do I,’ said Conall, ‘even if she did try to kill me.’

‘Really . . . ?’ Nathair raised an eyebrow, focusing on Conall.

‘Aye, on Stonegate, the night of the battle. She threw a knife at me, then, when that didn’t work, she pushed me off the wall. That’s how I got this.’ He touched his
bruised cheek. ‘Course, I did pull her over with me. Thought if I was finished she should be as well.’

‘I like her even more, now.’

Evnis snorted and brushed himself down. ‘Was she useful, my lord?’

‘Yes, very.’ Nathair shared a look with Sumur, something passing between them. ‘Have her watched,’ he said to Evnis. ‘I would not have her disappearing in search of
her kin. I have a feeling she will be useful. Some of the things she said, they stir memories.’ He drank from his cup, then winced. ‘What
is
this mead? It really is quite
disgusting. What I’d give for a good jug of wine.’

‘Unfortunately we have more bees than grapes in Ardan,’ Evnis said.

‘So. What news of Rhin?’ Nathair asked.

‘I am told she is camped on the banks of the Rhenus, at the northern fringe of the Darkwood.’

‘And what will she do next?’

‘I would imagine she’ll strike south, push through the forest and into Ardan before Owain can muster a force large enough to hold her there. Once she is loose in Ardan there will be
no stopping her. That is what I would advise, at least.’

‘I agree,’ Nathair said, sipping at his mead. He frowned absently into the cup. ‘I need to see her. Without Owain’s knowledge.’

‘That will be difficult,’ Evnis said.

‘Yes, I know. But nevertheless, it is what must happen.’

‘Of course,’ said Evnis. ‘I will do what I can, my lord.’

It was late but he could not sleep. Did not want to sleep. Dreams were the last thing he wanted, and he knew they would come. He swirled his cup of usque and sipped it slowly,
savouring the liquor’s oily warmth as it slipped down his throat, heat spreading from his gut into his chest.

He was tired, exhausted, trying to keep track of the plots and threads that he had become involved in.

Nathair’s patronage kept him safe, for now. With luck, long enough for Rhin to arrive and separate Owain’s head from his shoulders. But then how would she react to this most recent
turn of events, his obeisance to Nathair?
Not too well
, was his gut reaction.
Rhin is famed for her jealousy
. And this situation with Nathair was perplexing, and intriguing –
there was so much more going on than he could see, situations he could sense, caught from veiled glances between Nathair and his guard, Sumur.

‘What is the link between Sumur and Gar?’ he breathed. Clearly they were of the same people – he had seen them duel, saw the similarities of style and weapons.
But how
?
Sumur is from Tarbesh, more than a thousand leagues away. How is it that Gar is – was – here. And, more importantly, why was he here?

And now he is gone. Escaped with Edana, and Vonn . . .

He was surprised by a wave of emotion, a constricting within his chest. He closed his eyes and felt a tear roll down his cheek. Almost immediately his anger stirred.
You fool, tears will not
help. Use your wits. They have kept you alive this long
. His thoughts drifted to the tunnels beneath the fortress.
That must have been how they escaped. They may be in them still
. He
would lead an expedition, but he would need enough warriors with him in case they were there. It would be dangerous.

He smiled to himself. He had warriors of his own, but more than that, he had the book. Found buried in the tunnels dug by the Benothi, the ancient giant clan, builders of Dun Carreg. A book of
learning, a book of power. With it he had begun to learn the secrets of the earth power,
magic
, the ignorant called it. Even as he thought of it he felt drawn to the book. That had been
happening more and more of late, as if the knowledge it held was some unseen drug, pulling him back with invisible cords.