Valour (54 page)

Hard on the outside, soft on the inside
. A list of her cutting comments came to mind.
I’m not seeing it
.

‘Where’s Edana?’ Corban asked Halion.

‘She’s already with the King – and it’s Queen Edana, remember. If her own people can’t give her due respect, neither will the folk of Domhain.’

‘Sorry,’ Corban mumbled. It was not that he didn’t respect Edana as his queen; of course he did; it was just that she was his friend, too. He understood Halion’s logic,
though.

‘A word of warning, Corban. Be wary of Roisin. She is proud, cunning, jealous. Her son Lorcan is heir to the throne, and protecting his claim is her one ambition. Think before every word
that you say to her. Also, because my father is old, do not think his wits have deserted him. He has a sharp mind when he is not distracted, and he still likes looking at the women.’

‘He is still the same, then, as you remember him?’

‘Much the same, though diminished. More cautious. This meeting with you could help – my da is a complicated man, part of him a thinker, part of him spontaneous, wild in his youth, I
am told. He can be ruled by his heart, as with Roisin. He likes Edana, I can tell, partly because she is young and female, true, but he likes her spirit, I think. She is no longer the meek
sheltered child that she was. And you and your wolven – there is a magic in your story, our story, the escape from Dun Carreg and through Cambren to here. It appeals to my father. That could
be helpful in the end. We need his help. And if we are right, Rhin will probably be turning her covetous glance this way soon enough.’

‘It doesn’t sound very safe here for Edana,’ Corban said.

‘No. But where is safer? Ardan, where she would have been hunted by Owain, or Cambren, where Rhin rules? I trust Da where Edana is concerned. He knew Brenin and respected him. I am sure he
will treat Edana well.’

‘Would this Roisin do anything to Edana?’

‘I’ll not let her,’ Halion said. ‘I swore an oath, to Brenin and Edana. I could not save Brenin, but I’ll die before I see any harm come to his daughter.’

Looking at Halion’s expression Corban did not doubt him.

Soon they were in King Eremon’s chambers, situated in the lower levels of Dun Taras’ tower. Apparently he had given up his rooms at the top of the tower a long time ago, because he
didn’t like the long climb.

It was a large room, a fire burning in a hearth against one wall holding back the autumn chill. Eremon was sitting upon a fur-wreathed chair, his hair white, his skin waxy and loose. His eyes
were still young, though, sea grey, like Halion’s. They lingered upon Corban, then dropped to Storm.

‘Ah, the wolven tamer, at last. Stories of you are spreading about my keep faster than the west wind,’ Eremon said.

Corban walked forward and dropped to one knee, bowing his head.

‘Rise,’ Eremon said.

‘My Queen,’ Corban said to Edana as he stood, seeing her seated on a smaller chair close to the King. She gave him a warm smile. Fech the raven was perched on the arm of her chair. A
jet-haired woman sat at Eremon’s other side.

Roisin
.

With her lips a deep red in a face as pale as alabaster she was beautiful, and Corban’s eyes were drawn to her as he bowed.

‘I have heard much about you and your wolven,’ Eremon said. He held his hand out to Storm.

‘Careful,’ Roisin said.

‘Hush, woman,’ Eremon said irritably. ‘I’ve two hands, and I only need one to scratch my arse with.’ He looked back to Storm.

‘Friend,’ Corban whispered, and Storm padded forwards. She seemed bigger, now that she was indoors, tall enough to look the seated King in the eye. Her long canines glinted in the
firelight. She took a long sniff of Eremon’s palm, her amber eyes regarding him. Then she went to Edana and nudged the Queen’s leg with her muzzle. Edana ran her fingers through the
thick fur about Storm’s neck. The wolven flopped down at her feet.

Eremon was watching her keenly. ‘Amazing. She is quite relaxed, and knows you well, Edana.’

‘Of course. We are pack,’ Edana said.

‘Come then, Corban,’ Eremon said. ‘Tell me how this came to be. I imagine it’s quite the tale.’

Corban sat at Eremon’s feet and recounted his tale, of finding Storm’s mother in the Baglun, then saving Storm as a pup. Eremon called for a chair to be brought forward for Corban as
the tale wound on to when Corban had given Storm up, after she had wounded Rafe, and how she had followed him to Narvon, how she had helped track Edana through the Darkwood, and on until they had
reached the mountains between Cambren and Domhain. When he was finished Eremon sat there a while in silence.

‘What a tale,’ Eremon eventually said. ‘How old are you?’

‘Nearly seventeen summers, my lord,’ Corban said.

‘Nearly.’ Eremon grinned. ‘I remember wishing my years away. As you get older you start wishing for the opposite. Or at least for a time when you didn’t have to wake to
use the pot half a dozen times a night.’

Corban didn’t know what to say to that. He found himself liking Eremon.

‘Quite the tale,’ Eremon repeated, ‘at any age. Made all the more so by its truth. I don’t know you, but I know Halion well enough to be an honest man, and Queen Edana of
course vouches for your tale’s accuracy. Remarkable.’

‘I have never given any thought to it, my lord,’ Corban said. ‘It just happened.’

‘And I bet it gets you a lot of attention from the ladies.’ Eremon winked.

Corban felt himself blushing at that.

‘You are very lucky, Edana, to have such devoted – and unique – protectors about you,’ said Roisin, speaking for the first time. Her voice had a lilting quality, almost
musical.

‘Yes, I am,’ Edana said. ‘Corban is part of the reason that I am still alive. As is Halion. When I have regained my kingdom they shall both be rewarded for their loyalty. As
will any who support me in my quest for justice.’

Eremon smiled slyly at that, but said nothing.

‘You must be thirsty, Corban, after all that talking,’ Roisin said, clapping her hands. Servants brought a table and filled it with cups, jugs, an assortment of foods: fruits, cold
meats, cheese and dark bread.

‘You are Eremon’s kin, and he will do what he can to help you,’ Roisin assured Edana. ‘But we need to have all of the facts at our disposal first. Then we can make an
informed decision of what is the best course of action for Domhain.’

‘But I have told you the facts,’ Edana said, an edge to her voice.

This is not the first time they have had this conversation
, Corban thought.

‘Owain has invaded Ardan, my mother and father have been betrayed and murdered. And Rhin is the puppeteer behind it all. She plans to rule the west.’

‘With all due respect, those are the facts as you know them. But one version of events is never usually the whole truth.’ Roisin turned her gaze pointedly at Halion.

‘I understand that,’ Edana said, ‘but I am worried. Not only for me, but for you also, for Domhain. While we sit idle Rhin prepares, of that I am sure. I fear that by the time
you have gathered these facts that you so desire it will be too late. Rhin will be marching an army into Domhain.’

‘We thank you for your concern. But you must try and see things from our perspective. While the events in Ardan are terrible, wars do happen. And at this moment no form of aggression has
been made towards Domhain, by either Owain or Rhin. So whilst we can feel sympathy for your plight, there really is no action that we can take. And also you must remember that, just as you are kin
to Eremon, so are Owain and Rhin.’

Edana bowed her head. ‘And if the worst happens? If I am right, and Rhin is plotting to take your crown? She does not play by the rules. She will not behave politely, or respectfully, or
fairly. She will use all means at her disposal to succeed in her aim, and then you will have no kingdom to pass on to your heir. I have already seen how Rhin deals with heirs – Uthan,
Owain’s son was assassinated by Rhin. She has tried to kill me more than once. I imagine she would wish a similar fate upon your young prince Lorcan.’

Roisin’s eyes narrowed at that.

You are learning this game of politics quickly
, Corban thought.

A young girl poured drinks for them. She was fair haired, older than Corban, he guessed, but not by much. Corban saw Eremon’s eyes following her, his head turning as she left. Corban saw
that Roisin noticed too.

‘You’re leering at your daughter,’ Roisin hissed.

‘Is she?’ Eremon said, frowning. ‘Pity.’

‘The possibility of Rhin invading has been considered, hasn’t it, my King?’ Roisin said sharply.

‘Eh? Yes, it has,’ Eremon said distractedly. ‘As you know, as soon as you arrived, scouts were sent out to Cambren and Narvon and even Ardan. I have means of gathering
information, my young Queen. We shall have the facts soon.’

‘But what about Rhin? What about the danger of invasion?’

‘I have alerted my barons. They will be ready. If the call to war is given, my battlechief is not to be dismissed lightly. Rath is no stranger to combat. You worry too much for one so
young. You are safe, now. You must learn to relax a little. And to trust me.’ He reached out and patted her hand.

Frustration flickered across Edana’s face, but then it was gone.

There was a knocking at the door and a guard looked in. ‘A messenger, my King.’

‘Send him in,’ Eremon said.

A man strode in and knelt before the King.

‘Rise, and tell me your news.’

The man stood, looking about the room, his eyes growing wide at the sight of Storm. ‘There are many tales spreading through Domhain about a boy and his wolven. In Cambren I heard similar
tales; though bloodier.’

Boy!
Corban frowned.

‘You have returned from Cambren, then?’ Roisin asked.

‘I have, my Queen. Tales are rife, and many different. The one I heard most often is that there has been a great battle in Ardan, between Owain and Rhin. They all agreed on the outcome
– that Owain is dead. And there is more. There is rumour that Rhin has gathered a great warband, and that she is marching it to Domhain.’

A look of shock and dismay swept Roisin’s face, quickly masked.

In a sentence her political duelling has become a reality
.

Maquin sat against a wall, trying to keep as much of his body in the shade as possible. The heat in this place was unrelenting, as cruel in its own way as some of the Isiltir
winters he half remembered from his childhood.

He was in a courtyard full of slaves like him. Twelve nights he’d been here, if the marks he’d made on the white-clayed walls were accurate. They were starting to blur. Orgull was
not here. They had been herded from the beach where he had last spoken to Lykos, up a sandy path that wound through steep cliffs, then they’d been separated into pens like cattle, ten to a
pen. Maquin and his nine companions had been led away as night was falling. He had looked back once and seen Orgull watching him.

They had not walked long, passing through white-stoned ruins and wide streets until they reached this place, a complex of buildings. They had been led into this courtyard, no words from their
captors, unchained and just left.

At first he and the men he had been brought here with had stayed together. They were all survivors of Dun Kellen, a bond in a strange place. One of them he remembered from the battle on the
walls, though he did not know his name. A lean, wiry man with a pockmarked face. The others in this place had greeted them with silent stares. Maquin had studied them the next morning as the sun
had risen, most of them sun darkened, a mixture of ages from little more than boys to old, though he guessed that he numbered amongst the oldest.

At first their captors had returned every evening. Maquin recognized some from his first night, one especially – a wide, barrel-chested man, with an abundance of rings bound into an oily
black beard. They brought with them a great trough of food. Or what passed for food. It was mostly a brackish liquid, with unidentifiable items floating in it. Their captors had handed out wooden
bowls, ensuring that everyone had one, and then left. Maquin had not eaten on the first day, but by the second he was famished, and knew that abstaining would only result in him losing the strength
he had gained in the latter part of his journey. So he ate. It was disgusting, but he found that if he did it quickly, and when the guards first brought the food, before it had had time to ferment
in this ferocious sun, then he could manage to keep it in his stomach.

The last time they had seen their captors, or anything resembling food had been five days ago, though. The first day Maquin thought it was just a mistake. By the third he knew it was
intentional. Yesterday two men had fought over a rat that had scurried across the courtyard. One man had died, and the rat had escaped. They were all weak, becoming desperate now. But why were they
being starved like this? Had the corsairs just decided they did not need them, and so were just going to let them starve to death? Lykos’ words from the beach still rang in his head –
One day soon you shall be thrown into a pit
.
Others will be thrown in also. Only one will come out alive
– and as yet he had no answer to them. All that he knew was that, at
this instant, he was not ready to give up and die.