Valour (76 page)

Rhin.
He closed his eyes, trying to contain the stabbing pain in his head.
The Otherworld.
Had it been a dream? Then it all came back, a flood, a kaleidoscope of fractured images
– a domed building, a host of winged creatures, battle.

Asroth.
Asroth had spoken to him, and to Rhin.
Slay him
, Asroth had told Rhin.
Cut his heart from his body.

Fear rippled through him. His head snapped up and he pulled himself upright, ignoring the pain in wrists and head. Rhin still slept. Braith and Conall were moving closer, expressions of concern
on their faces. Braith knelt beside Rhin and touched his fingers to her wrist.

Don’t wake her.
The thought filled Corban like a silent scream.

‘I’d not do that if I were you,’ Conall said. ‘She said not to wake her, and I’ve seen what happens to those that disobey her.’

‘So have I.’ Braith pulled his hand away.

Corban breathed a sigh of relief.
Rhin, stay sleeping
, he willed.
How am I going to get out of these shackles?

‘What happened?’ Braith said to Corban. ‘Why are you awake and she is not?’

Then a noise rang out, distant but clear. Horns sounding the alarm.

Conall went to the door and looked out, then he closed the door. There were more horn blasts, louder, spreading through the fortress. ‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ Conall
muttered, pacing now.

‘Me neither,’ Braith said.

Rhin whispered something, little more than an exhalation.

No.

‘Kill. . .’ she said; more sounds followed, but they were incomprehensible.

‘Water, please,’ Corban said.

Braith leaned closer to Rhin, trying to make out her whisperings.

Corban rattled his chains. ‘Please, a drink.’

‘Shut up,’ Braith snapped. Conall brought him a skin of water and held it to Corban’s lips. It was warm, but tasted wonderful and soothing to him.

Corban’s mind was racing. He had to get out of his shackles before Rhin woke, but how? They were locked wrist and ankle, and he did not even know who had a key. He felt panic bubbling up
like high tide in the rock pools of home.

Rhin’s eyelids fluttered and she moved in her chair.

‘My lady,’ Braith said, seizing her hand. ‘You must wake.’

The sound of booted feet running echoed from beyond the door, men shouting. A muffled scream. The sounds of battle rang clearer and Conall stuck his head out of the doorway, looking down the
corridor.

‘What’s happening?’ Braith called.

‘There are wolven in the corridor,’ Conall said. ‘One of them is hitting people with a hammer.’

Farrell.

‘It’s the boy’s companions,’ Braith said. ‘They’re coming for him.’

‘They’re tearing strips out of a dozen men out there,’ Conall said. He took a last look down the corridor and slammed the door shut, throwing an iron bolt across it.

‘We need to get Rhin out of here,’ Conall said, striding to the far wall. He reached into an alcove and then Corban heard a hiss, saw the outline of the secret door appear. It swung
open.

There was a clash of weapons beyond the door Conall had just locked, a scream, something sliding down the door. Blood seeped beneath it, a dark pool spreading into the room. ‘That’d
be our guardsman,’ Braith said. A great blow struck the door, dust exploding from the frame. The iron bolt and hinges creaked.

‘Bring Rhin,’ Conall snapped at Braith. He drew his sword and knife.

Braith scooped Rhin into his arms. Her eyes opened then, and she looked around.

‘The boy . . .’ she said.

Braith strode to the secret doorway and Rhin began to struggle in his arms.

‘We are under attack, my lady,’ Braith said. ‘I am taking you to safety.’

‘The boy,’ Rhin snapped, still groggy. ‘Kill him.’

Another blow slammed into the door; one of the hinges tore from the wall.

Braith and Conall shared a look, then Braith carried Rhin into the darkness beyond the hidden door, and Conall walked towards Corban.

Corban threw himself about, slamming against the wall, tearing away from it, the chains rattling. Nothing happened, though.

‘Sorry, lad. No hard feelings,’ Conall said as he raised his knife. He hesitated. ‘Your sister’s not going to thank me for this.’

I’m going to die.

Another blow hit the door and it crashed into the room, a cloud of dust filling the doorway, billowing out. A figure burst through, a dark-furred wolven standing on two feet, wielding a huge
war-hammer, other blurred forms behind.

Farrell.

He saw Conall and with a burst of speed Farrell threw himself across the room, hammer raised high. Conall just had time to duck. The hammer crashed into the wall behind Conall, close to
Corban’s head, chips of rock flying.

Conall stabbed with his knife, but the blade turned on Farrell’s coat of mail. There was a brief flurry as the two traded blows, Farrell gripping his hammer like a staff, striking with
both ends. They grappled together, then abruptly Farrell was on his back, Conall’s sword hovering over him, his knife at Corban’s throat.

‘Con, no!’ A scream.

Conall froze, eyes drawn to the voice.

It was Coralen, standing in her wolven pelt, streaks of blood and grime coating her.

‘Cora?’ A whisper from Conall.

‘Don’t do it, Con.’

Time stood still – a heartbeat that felt like a year to Corban.

‘
Please
,’ Coralen said.

A look of pain swept Conall’s face. He lowered his weapon and ran for the hidden door. Briefly he paused at its entrance, standing half in light, half in darkness, and looked back.

‘Con, wait.’

He melted into the darkness.

Coralen ran to the doorway and shouted after him. Only her echoes answered her. Then she turned and stared at Corban and Farrell. Corban saw tears like pale claw marks streaking her face. She
crossed the room, stepped over Farrell and hugged Corban tight, burying her face in the arch of his neck and shoulder. He felt sobs shaking her.

Farrell shifted on the ground and Coralen stepped away, eyes downcast. Then Corban’s mam was there, clutching her spear. She filled Coralen’s place, squeezing him tight, stroking his
face. Farrell climbed to his feet, a frown on his face.

‘The keys?’ his mam asked as she let go of him and began searching for a way to set him free.

‘I don’t know.’ Corban said.

Coralen was back at the smashed doorway, her hands at the belt of the dead guardsman.

‘Keys,’ she said, taking a bundle from his belt and jangling them.

They tried them, and the third key clicked in the lock, the shackles about his wrists opening. He slumped down and Farrell caught him. Another click and his feet were free.

‘Where are the others?’ Corban asked.

‘Brina and Dath are guarding the rope we climbed in on. Storm’s with them,’ his mam said. ‘Gar. We need to get back to him – we were chased. He dropped back.’
The fear in her eyes said more than her words.

‘To Gar, then,’ Corban said.

‘No need,’ a voice said from the doorway.

Gar stood there, a mass of shapes filling the corridor behind. There was something strange about him, then Corban realized what it was.

He’s smiling.

A man stood beside him, of similar build, holding a sword the same as Gar’s. The similarities did not end there. They shared the same nose, the same serious gaze, this man’s dark
hair streaked with grey at the temples.

‘This is my father, Tukul, lord of the Jehar,’ Gar said.

They all stared at him. Tukul crossed the room to Corban and dropped to one knee, taking Corban’s hand in his.

‘I pledge my sword, my heart, my strength to you,’ he said.

Corban gaped, too dumbfounded for words. Then another figure stepped past Gar into the room. He was taller, with black hair pulled tight from fine, chiselled features. Silver scars layered his
face.

‘I
know
you,’ Corban said. ‘Who are you?’

‘A friend in a dark place,’ the man said, and smiled.

Lykos stood on the battlements of Jerolin, looking out over the lake, which glistened under a wan winter sun.

The lake bristled with ships. His ships. They were full of warriors, their families, slaves for rowing, merchants and traders from the Three Islands, all gathering to him.

Over two thousand warriors. They had arrived slowly, over a matter of moons, so as not to arouse suspicion or panic. And during the same time he had ordered Fidele to send off the bulk of the
eagle-guard that had been stationed at Jerolin to various distant locations in Tenebral, where they could be of little threat to his plans. Now only a few hundred remained here at Tenebral’s
capital, so his Vin Thalun warriors outnumbered them almost ten to one. And that was not all that he had brought to Tenebral.

Housed on the ships in the lake were his pit-fighters, as well. On the plain between the fortress and the lake a wooden construct was taking shape, circular tiers rising high, supported by huge
timber beams.
A new type of fighting pit.
He smiled to himself.

Finally, after so many years, it is happening.
He turned to look over the dark stone buildings of Jerolin, the sharp spike of the tower overshadowing them all.

This is all mine now
, he thought.
Jerolin is the heart of Tenebral, and it belongs to me. By proxy.
His fingers dipped inside his cloak, seeking the effigy of Fidele. He felt a
moment of fear, a weightlessness in his gut as his fingers searched. Then he felt it, smooth clay and brittle hair.
Such power. With Fidele a puppet in my hand I rule Jerolin, and with it, all
of Tenebral.

Riders appeared on the road to the north, eight or ten of them. Lykos watched them draw closer, until he could see the white eagles embossed on their cuirasses and shields.

Peritus has returned, then. And the first thing he will do is seek an audience with Fidele.

A chill wind blew out of the north along with them. He shivered and pulled his cloak tighter.
It is warmer on the Islands. But I have Fidele to keep me warm here.

He felt a stirring in his blood, just at the thought of her. He closed his eyes and drew in a long breath, could still smell her, a residue on his beard of rose petals and sweat. With the
thought of her fresh in his mind he turned and made his way towards Jerolin’s tower.

People looked away as he passed them, none brave enough or stupid enough to give him the black looks he had once become accustomed to. At first, when Fidele had announced him forgiven of his
crimes and welcomed into the heart of Jerolin he had still received those looks, but as the days had passed and with them demonstration after demonstration that he could do as he wished without
consequence the angry glares had turned away. Initially a horde of people complaining too loudly had been dragged to the dungeons, and that no doubt had helped to silence the complainers, but Lykos
could still sense the animosity. These people were not cowed, yet. A stronger lesson was needed.

He passed a roped-off courtyard with bloodstains still on the flagstones. He had already begun the pit-fighting, on a small scale. A few contests in makeshift rings in the lakeside town at
first, then moving to the stronghold. There had been an outcry, of course. Petitions had been sent to Fidele by the wainload, but, under his control she had just ignored them. And people had come,
had watched, had bet silver and gold. A trickle at first, furtive looking, trying to stand in the shadows, but more had turned up with each bout. Soon he would spread the entertainment throughout
Tenebral, but not until the arena on the plain had been finished.
We will need more slaves soon, else we’ll run out of fighters.

The spoils of war would supply that need soon enough.

He found Fidele in her chambers high in Jerolin’s tower. She stared at him with such a look of hatred and contempt that he smiled – he had seen that look before, on the recently
conquered, warriors he had made his slaves. In time the look would pass, would merge into other things. First would come despair, then acceptance, then servitude. He reached a hand into his cloak
and her expression changed, became fearful. That made him smile as well.

‘Speak your mind,’ he said.

She opened her mouth, not trusting her voice. ‘My son will kill you for this,’ she breathed, beginning little above a whisper. She looked surprised that her thoughts had aligned with
her words.

‘I don’t think he will,’ Lykos said.
Soon enough he will have more on his mind than the governance of Tenebral.

‘Then
I
will kill you,’ she said, her voice rising, her back straightening, as if control of her vocal cords gave her actual strength.

‘Enough,’ Lykos commanded.
Or your guards will hear.

A struggle took place within the confines of her face and behind her eyes. She was clinging to her freedom of speech, refusing to let it go. Her mouth opened, lips twisting, but nothing came
out. A few more moments passed as Lykos watched, entertained. Then her shoulders slumped, her body sagging.