Malice (69 page)

So Corban began to talk, falteringly at first, but then more clearly, feeling almost detached from all that was happening. He had cried quietly all the way back to the fortress, trying not to let Thannon see, and now he felt numb, empty. He concentrated on keeping his thoughts fixed on the recounting of the tale, kept them from slipping towards Storm, alone in the Baglun.

When he finished, Brenin called forward Crain and heard a very different version of the story, of how Farrell had waylaid him and Rafe, then how Corban had set Storm on them. After Crain others were called to give testament: Bethan, Farrell, finally Helfach, who had been the first back to the copse with Bethan. Queen Alona interrupted them all a number of times, asking probing questions.

When all had finished there was a long silence, Brenin serious as he thought.

‘There are two matters here,’ the King said, breaking the silence. ‘One is my judgement on Corban and this wolven.’ He paused again, frowning. ‘The truth, as I see it, is that this Storm acted much as any hound would have, though with direr consequences. Is that not so, Helfach?’

The huntsman shuffled his feet. ‘I suppose so,’ he muttered.

‘If the animal was still here,’ Brenin continued, ‘it would have to be destroyed, for it has shown itself unsuited for life amongst us. But it is
not
here. The Baglun is a fitting place for a wolven, and, so long as it does not return here, I shall take no further action against it.’

‘What?’ blurted Helfach.

‘Your son was part of something dishonourable, Helfach. He has brought shame on your family. Granted, he did not deserve such an injury. What has happened is a tragedy and you and your kin have my sympathy. Nevertheless, I see no fault in any that are gathered here.’

‘Dishonourable? Only if you believe him,’ Helfach said, pointing at Corban, ‘and discount all that Crain has told you.’

‘I do not believe Crain,’ Brenin said coldly. ‘Corban’s tale is supported by two witnesses, Bethan and Farrell. That cut on Corban’s arm was made by a blade, and Farrell bears the marks of many blows, more than one person could have given.’

Helfach snorted but said nothing more.

‘My lord,’ Evnis said. ‘A question.’

Brenin waved a hand.

‘Do I understand it that this wolven does not have your protection?’

‘Protection? A wolven? Of course not,’ Brenin said shortly.

‘Then it would be of no matter to you if I chose to hunt it. As some recompense to Helfach, to Rafe?’

Brenin frowned but nodded. ‘You may do as you see fit. What you choose to hunt in the Baglun is your affair, as long as it walks on four legs, not two.’

Evnis gave a curt nod.

Corban felt something twist inside, like a hand gripping his heart.
Hunt Storm
.

‘The other matter is Rafe,’ Brenin continued. ‘He has drawn a blade on those who have not sat their Long Night, nor taken their warrior tests. All know that is forbidden, that the skills taught in the Rowan Field are for a purpose: to defend our people, those that cannot defend themselves – women, children, the old.’ Brenin fell silent. ‘Rafe’s blade and spear are taken from him. I shall return them when,
if
, I see fit.’

‘Aye,’ muttered Helfach. ‘My King,’ he added.

‘Good. Then let this be an end to it.’ Brenin slapped the arm of his chair. ‘Now be gone.’

The room emptied quickly. Brenin called Corban as he was about to leave.

‘Yes, my King.’

‘Do not stray too far from the fortress, for a while. And stay away from the Baglun. I would not hear of any hunting accident that had befallen you.’

‘Yes,’ Corban gulped.

‘That is all, lad.’

‘Th-thank-you,’ Corban mumbled, then left the room.

His family were waiting in the corridor for him. Cywen took his hand, squeezing it. Then they walked in silence through the keep, out into the rain, all the way to his home.

Corban sat in his kitchen, let his mam make him a cup of broth. He drank some, though it stuck in his throat. After a while he begged tiredness and went to his room. He closed the door and threw himself on his cot, then the tears came again, his body shaking, wracked by great, muffled sobs as he thrust his face into his blankets. All he could hear was Storm’s howl as he had run from her.

Badun appeared in the distance, a stark outline upon a hill, the smudge of the Darkwood filling the horizon behind it. Three moons had passed since the day Corban had left Storm in the Baglun, leaving only six nights until the Birth Moon. He still felt her loss, as if part of him was missing. He would still think he saw her in the corner of his eye, following him, but the pain that he had felt at first had dulled. It had taken some time. He had cried himself to sleep for over a ten-night, holding his tears inside until he had shut his bedroom door, been sure he was alone. He had resisted the urge to wander to the Baglun, knew that if he had seen her again then it all would have been for nothing, and it had not helped that some nights he had heard her howling, somewhere beyond the walls of Dun Carreg. Dath had told him that Storm had been seen beyond Havan in the dead of night, howling up at the fortress.

Evnis had ridden out every day, taking warriors from his hold, along with Helfach and their hounds, to hunt Storm. Every day they had returned empty-handed and as time passed they had ridden out less and less frequently, and had all but given up by Midwinter’s Day.

Rafe had recovered, his arm deeply scarred, but healed. Corban had seen him rarely, had felt uncomfortable on those occasions, his mind always flashing back to that moment amongst the trees. Rafe had been beating Farrell, had tried to do the same to him, yet Corban felt mostly sadness.

He shifted in his saddle, absently patting Shield’s neck. This was his horse’s longest journey. Corban could feel the energy beneath him, Shield longing to gallop, but he had kept him steady, matching the pace of the great, grey-cloaked column he rode with, which stretched away before and behind.

Brenin and his court were travelling to Narvon, to witness the handbinding of Uthan ben Owain and Kyla ap Gethin. And more than that – to witness the binding of their two realms, or so Evnis kept saying to any that would listen.

Gar had advised against Corban riding Shield, had said he was still too fiery, but Corban had refused to go unless Shield carried him. After losing Storm it had just felt too much to be parted from Shield as well. Gar had eventually relented, though perhaps his mam’s dark looks had played a part.

A horn blew somewhere ahead, Corban stretching to peer up the column. Marrock, who rode with Pendathran, blew the horn again, a long, clear note, and after a moment they heard an answer from Badun.

The town was much closer now, Corban able to make out figures lining the wooden walls. He saw the gates open, a line of riders issue out, Gethin with his daughter and an honour guard.

The two groups joined on the road, the column stopping for a while, then lurching into motion again. They followed the road past the huge stone circle, the great slabs rising above them; then they were past, following the giantsway under the first branches of the Darkwood.

As before, Corban rode in the company of Brina, as he was officially on the journey as Brina’s apprentice, though he was still not wholly comfortable with that idea. In truth, though, most needed little excuse to join the small host. Even his mam and Thannon had come, riding somewhere behind him.

One night had already been spent in the Darkwood, now, and they were quickly approaching the second sunset. Thoughts of the Baglun Forest brought Storm instantly to the front of his mind.

He sighed.

‘Do you feel safe here?’ he asked Brina.

‘Safe? Of course. Well, as safe as anywhere else, at least.’ She glanced at him with one narrowed eye. ‘Pendathran, though a clumsy, tactless oaf, has his uses. He is King Brenin’s faithful hound, and when set on a task, particularly one that involves stabbing people, he proves himself remarkably efficient.’ She looked around at the forest. ‘This place is safe, or at least Pendathran judges it so, or he would not allow Brenin to ride through it.’

‘
Safe, safe, safe, safe
,’ muttered Craf, perched on the pommel of Brina’s saddle.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Corban said.

‘Oh dear,’ Brina sighed.

‘About what you said before,’ he lowered his voice, looked around. ‘About
greed
. About Evnis and his brother, about their scheming . . .’

‘And?’

‘Could we not do something about it?’

Brina snorted. ‘There is no point. Even if we did, and somehow managed to stop them, a score more like them would just spring up elsewhere. No,’ she sighed, ‘they are just a sad, depressing sign of the times, of our steady slip towards . . .’

‘No,’ Corban said. ‘Truth and courage, my da taught me. Live by truth and courage and Elyon will see you through.’

‘Really?’ Brina said. ‘I would have agreed with you once, boy, but I have seen too much courage go unrewarded, truth earn nothing but hatred and deceit. Oh, to be young again . . .’

Craf cawed and flapped his wings. ‘
Truth and courage
,’ he squawked. Brina scowled at him.

‘So you will do nothing, then?’

‘What do you suggest?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘
I don’t know
,’ she echoed, rolling her eyes. ‘The sanctuary of youth. Let me tell you,’ she waggled a finger at him, ‘ignorance is
not
a desirable quality.’

‘
Do nothing do nothing do nothing
,’ Craf muttered, heaving his wings and lurching into the air, spiralling above them.

‘See, Craf agrees with me,’ Brina said, though she glared after the crow.

‘I-I . . .’ Corban stuttered. ‘Better to try and fail, than not to try at all.’

There was a squelching sound and something splattered onto Corban’s shoulder. He looked at the creamy-white slime, puzzled, eyes widening as he realized exactly what Craf had just done to him.

Brina barked a laugh. ‘You see – that is what Craf thinks of your
truth and courage
.’

‘I hate that crow,’ he muttered.

‘He’s not all bad,’ Brina said. ‘There are some advantages, still, from acquaintance with an animal that has the gift.’ She leaned closer and spoke quietly. ‘Craf tells me things. Mostly about the weather, or snails, or frogs,’ she shivered, pulling a sour face, ‘but sometimes I hear something a little more interesting. For example, today he has told me that he has seen something.’ She looked at him pointedly, then stared ahead. ‘He has told me of a wolven that tracks us, just out of sight. A white wolven with dark stripes on its body.’

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

CORBAN

‘How long?’ Corban asked. ‘Before we reach Uthandun?’

‘We should see its walls before sunset.’

‘Oh.’

Corban felt a pang of worry at the thought of their journey coming to an end. When Brina had told him of Storm following them he had felt both worried and excited. The worry had faded as they travelled through the forest with no sign or sound of Storm. Corban found it comforting knowing that she was close, whilst becoming more confident that she would keep her distance, not give her whereabouts away. What she would do when they reached their destination, though, was another matter entirely. He was starting to feel an anxiousness settle upon him again.

The long column crossed a bridge, Uthandun on a hill before them. Corban began to twist and turn in his saddle, constantly looking back at the forest.

‘For goodness sake,’ Brina hissed, ‘try and be more discreet. Else you’ll have Brenin’s entire host looking over their shoulders.’

Corban grimaced and tried to sit straight.

‘Craf,’ Brina said. She leaned close to the bird and whispered something. With a croak and a noisy flapping the crow took off and swung back along their path, towards the trees of the Darkwood.

‘There you are,’ Brina said. ‘Now stop fretting.’

‘Thank you,’ Corban said quietly.

Brina snorted.

Uthandun was a sparse, precise town, everything laid out in its place, high wooden walls neatly enclosing every building, every space, including its acres of paddocks.

Beyond the northern edge of the fortress, the hill it was built upon dipped gently towards a flat-bottomed dell, and it was in this dell that King Brenin and his company had to camp, as the walls did not have the room for them all. Brenin refused to leave his people and chose the dell over a chamber.

That night Corban sat with his family around a campfire – Gar and Brina as well. Craf fluttered around her, feeding noisily on strips of mutton she occasionally threw him. Unlike Dath, whose da had kept him at home, Farrell was there too. He had come to see Corban, the day after Storm had mauled Rafe. He found Corban in his garden, just sitting, lacking the will to do anything other.

‘I . . . wanted to speak to you,’ the lumbering blacksmith’s apprentice had said. Corban just looked up at him, at his bruised face, his cuts cleaned and bandaged.

‘Aye. Well?’ Corban had said.