Malice (50 page)

‘Here,’ Cywen said to him, holding out a rope halter. ‘Remember, take your time. Are you sure you remember what to do?’

Corban ignored her. ‘Come, boy,’ he called, clicking his tongue.

‘Isn’t it about time you named him?’ Cywen said quietly.

He ignored her.

His colt was standing beside its mother, taking shelter from the rain under an oak that dominated the centre of the field. He neighed and trotted towards them.

Corban reached into his cloak, pulled out a slice of apple and held it out. Crunching the apple, the colt bent its neck and sniffed Storm’s head. The wolven stood still, not looking at the young horse. Corban chuckled – she’d had a kick a few moons back, when she used to chase everything that moved. The colt had tolerated that, thinking he had a new playmate, but when she started nipping at his heels Storm had received a hoof-shaped warning. Since then she had just ignored the colt.

Slowly, he raised the halter. The colt eyed it suspiciously. Corban had done this many times at the fortress, but this was different. It was his horse’s first time with a halter, and he knew how important it was that he did this right. He gently slipped the halter over its head. The colt jerked back sharply, ears flat, but the job was already done. It danced backwards, startled by the unfamiliar halter rope, which bounced against its flank. The colt broke into a gallop around the field, bucking as it ran.

‘Don’t worry, Ban,’ Cywen said, coming up beside him. ‘That was well done; he’ll come around soon. Be patient.’

They headed back towards the shelter of a small clump of hawthorns, near the paddock rail. Corban heard a call and looked up.

Three riders were on the giantsway. Corban squinted, wiping rain from his face, then the front rider pushed the hood of his cloak back. It was Vonn, Evnis’ son. He spurred his horse off the road and down the steep embankment, cantering to the paddock. His two companions followed.

Corban sighed, his mouth suddenly feeling dry.

Vonn had never made good on his threat in Brina’s cottage to find Corban and teach him a lesson, not after Tull’s words in the Rowan Field that day. No one wanted their head cracked by Brenin’s first-sword. In fact, things had been much better for Corban since then. Even Rafe had confined himself to angry glares and the occasional harsh word.

But they were quite a way from the fortress and village now, with no one around. Corban felt worry stirring deep in his gut.

‘Ho there, wolven-boy,’ Vonn called out, his face stern. He reined in his horse, dismounted and ducked under the paddock rail. His two companions followed. Corban groaned as he recognized them – Helfach and Rafe. The huntsman’s hound, Braen, padded at their heels.

The three of them filed across the paddock, stopping a dozen or so paces away from Corban and Cywen. Storm shifted beside Corban, her weight nudging against his leg.

‘Well, well,’ said Vonn, his expression hard, ‘I have long hoped for an opportunity to talk with you, privately.’ He looked around, emphasizing his point. ‘Elyon must favour me.’

Corban just stared at him.

‘What, nothing to say, now that I am not confined to my bed? I remember you being more vocal, at the healer’s.’

‘What is it that you want?’ Corban said, pronouncing each word slowly, so that his voice would not shake.

‘Want? Now there is a question,’ said Vonn, a grim, humourless smile flickering across his lips. ‘Merely to remind you of our words at the healer’s.’

‘I remember them well enough,’ Corban said.

‘Do not think that I spoke lightly, or in the grip of some fever. I mean to fulfil my promise to you. Even if I have to wait until you have sat your Long Night, and we can speak differently, as warrior to warrior.’

Corban sighed. ‘I
had
hoped your words came from your fever. I would be happy to lay them aside.’

Vonn laughed, little humour in it. ‘I am sure that you would. But I, however, am not
happy
to lay them aside.’ He reached down and rubbed his knee. ‘My leg still aches, more in this rain, because of you.’

‘I did not cause your horse to fall upon you,’ Corban said.

‘I remember events differently.’

Corban held a hand up. ‘There is little to be gained in this bickering. King’s Justice has spoken about my wolven, so whether you agree or no, there is naught you can do. Better for all, I think, if we just put the past behind us.’

Helfach snorted. ‘Better for
all
. Better for
you
, more like,’ he spat.

Corban sucked in a deep breath, trying to master his emotions. He clasped his hands together and laced his fingers to stop them from trembling.

‘Look at him,’ Helfach continued, a sneer twisting his mouth. ‘He’s
scared
. He has’na got Tull, or that outlander standing at his back. My son has told me of the boy’s cowardly ways.’ He glowered at Corban. ‘Is that not right, boy?’

‘He thinks he has all the protection he needs,’ Rafe added. ‘His sister is here. She’s well practised in fighting battles for him.’

‘Shut up,’ Cywen snapped. Rafe leered at her.

‘Hush, Cy,’ said Corban. He ignored Rafe, felt the fear inside him start to shift, into something colder. He looked pointedly at Helfach. ‘You left out one of my protectors. You left out my da.’ He met Helfach’s glare with one of his own. ‘Why is that?’

Helfach blinked and looked away, obviously remembering the day in Evnis’ courtyard, when Thannon had confronted him, beaten him unconscious.

His hound, broad-chested and squat, growled, sensing a change in his master.

Storm bared her teeth, a deep rumbling response growing in her chest. Corban laid a hand on her neck, felt her hackles standing on end. He clicked his tongue and the rumbling stopped.

Suddenly Alona’s words returned to his mind, like a bell, sharp and clear. ‘
If there is one incident where a subject of mine is harmed by this creature, it will be destroyed
.’

He swallowed, fear again spiking within.

‘Cy,’ he said, ‘take Storm away.’

‘What?
No
. Why?’

‘Just do it. Please.’

She stared at him, puzzled, then nodded and walked away, calling Storm. The wolven did not move, stood motionless beside Corban, muscles tensed.

‘Go,’ said Corban, snapping his fingers and pointing. Storm turned reluctantly, and walked after Cywen.

‘Why have you done that?’ Vonn asked, frowning. Corban ignored him, watching until his sister and Storm reached the oak where the colt’s mother still stood.

‘Answer your betters, boy,’ Helfach grunted.

Corban’s mood changed then, quickly, suddenly. He turned to face them. ‘You say I am different, without my
protectors
here. Well, what of
you
? You are different too: aye, bolder. Why is that, huntsman? You are mighty brave, all three of you. Would you be the same, if my da were here, or Tull. Tell me?’ He snorted. ‘And you call
me
coward.’

‘I only came to tell you there will be a reckoning between us one day, when you are an age to face me,’ Vonn said, angry, but there was something else in his eyes.
Shame?
Helfach, though, turned slowly purple, eyes bulging, a vein in his neck throbbing.

‘How dare you?’ he snarled. ‘
We
may be forbidden to touch you, but what can I do about a hound turned wild? Braen.’

The hound growled, baring his teeth.

‘Helfach, what are you—’ Vonn began, but then it was too late. The hound launched itself. Corban let out a strangled cry and turned, tried to run, but the hound crashed into his back, jaws snapping. Corban sprawled forwards, fell to the ground, the hound snarling, caught up in his cloak.

‘No!’ Corban heard someone shout. Vonn? The hound was rolling in his cloak, tearing at it. Cywen yelled his name. As he rolled on the grass and scrambled backwards he glimpsed her running towards him, Storm speeding before her, then the hound was on him, scrabbling up his chest. He grappled with it, digging his fingers into the thick cords of muscle around its neck, but it broke his grip easily and sank its teeth into his arm. He screamed, wrenched away, felt droplets of blood splattering across his face. The hound lunged for his throat, jaws gaping, teeth clicking a hairsbreadth from his flesh, hot, fetid breath blasting his face, huge feet pinning him to the ground.

A roaring thunder grew, filling his ears, drowning the frenzied growls coming from the hound. He heard a wild neighing, felt a jarring, bone-crushing impact, a high-pitched whine, then suddenly the weight of the hound was gone.

Hooves thudded down around him, his colt filling his vision, rearing, forelegs lashing out. There was a sickening crunch, then the colt’s feet thumped to the ground. It stood over him, nostrils flaring, hot air shooting out in great cloudy blasts. Then Storm was there, nuzzling him, licking, standing beside the colt, between him and his attackers, crouched, snarling, long teeth bared.

He rolled over, felt Cywen’s arms around him, helping him stand. His arm was throbbing, blood pulsing from his wound in time with his pounding heart, the rain sending it in red rivulets down his sleeve.

Vonn made to approach him, but Storm snapped, snarled, and he stopped.

Helfach was kneeling in the grass, cradling his hound’s head on his lap, Rafe standing behind, frozen, staring.

‘You . . . you killed him,’ Helfach gasped, tears streaming down his cheeks.

‘No,’ Vonn said. ‘You killed him, Helfach. Come. I will help you carry him.’ He hooked an arm around Helfach as he looked at Corban. ‘I am sorry,’ he said haltingly. ‘Are you—? Your arm. You must go to Brina.’

Corban nodded, numb, and watched the three of them carry the limp corpse of the hound out of the paddock.

‘Ban, your arm,’ Cywen said, hugging him, ripping the hem of her cloak and tying it tight just below his shoulder.

‘What happened?’ Corban mumbled, feeling suddenly sick and dizzy.

‘We tried to reach you, when the hound attacked. But we were too far away, even Storm was not fast enough. Ban, it nearly killed you –
could
have killed you . . .’

‘What happened?’ Corban repeated, firmer.

‘Your colt, Ban. He just raced past us, from nowhere, threw himself into the hound. He killed it, Ban, defending you.’ She blew out a breath and shook her head. ‘I’ve never seen the like before. I’ve heard tales, of full-grown horses doing things like that,
war
horses, but never seen, never heard of a
colt
doing such a thing.’

Corban nodded, walked forward unsteadily. Storm nuzzled his hand. He wrapped his good arm around the colt’s neck and laid his head against it.

‘I shall call you Shield,’ he whispered.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

VERADIS

Veradis smiled as he crested a gentle rise in the land and saw Jerolin rise out of the plain before him, its central tower of black rock pointing to the sky like a scorched, accusatory finger.

Small figures were busy on the lake shore, beneath the fortress, the day’s catch being unloaded from scores of fisher-boats. The sky was clear, a deepening blue as dusk settled around them.

He looked over his shoulder, saw the warband spread across the slope and plain behind him; he took a deep breath of the cold, sharp air.

‘It is good to be back, eh?’ he said to Nathair and Rauca, who were sitting their horses beside him. Rauca gripped Nathair’s standard in leather-gauntleted hands, the eagle pennant snapping in the wind.

‘Good to be back,’ Nathair echoed, shifting his weight in his saddle.

‘Aye,’ agreed Rauca, a grin splitting his face and short dark beard.

Without another word, Nathair spurred his horse on, cantering down the gentle slope. Veradis and Rauca followed him, the warband spilling over the rise behind them.

The journey home had been quick and uneventful. The memory of finding hidden Telassar, of Calidus’ revelation, of the Jehar warriors swearing their allegiance to Nathair was all blurred, somehow. Since that moment everything seemed to have changed, to have fallen into place. Seeing Calidus unveiled had sealed
everything
, although he had reverted to the bowed old man before they had left Sumur’s chambers, swearing them all to secrecy. Veradis knew now, beyond all doubt, that Nathair was Elyon’s chosen, that he rode with a man who would change the world. Just the thought made his heart swell with pride. They had ridden from Telassar with Sumur’s promises ringing in their ears, that he would gather the Jehar’s might, prepare them for war and then march for Jerolin.

Within a ten-night of leaving Telassar, Veradis and Nathair had rejoined their warband, finding them camped in a bay on the coast. Lykos had been there too, waiting with a fleet to ferry them back to Tenebral.

Their passage home had been swift, although the weather was changing for the worse, so enfeebled warriors clustered the ships’ rails. Veradis had walked amongst them, thanking Elyon for his upbringing on the coast and berating his giantkillers for letting the weather cow them where giants and draigs had not.