Valour (28 page)

‘Will we take Storm back again tonight,’ Corban asked him, ‘back to our hunters.’

‘Maybe,’ Halion said. ‘We’ll see what Camlin tells us when he returns. I suspect they will not be as close behind us. Last night would have taught them to move
cautiously.’ He glanced at Storm, who was spread at Corban’s feet, making short work of the bones and leftovers from the game that had gone into the stew. Craf was sat on a branch
nearby, still as stone, eyeing Storm jealously.

‘Besides, they will be on their guard tonight. It would be best to spread our attacks out, give them no pattern to plan against.’

Gar grunted approvingly.

‘And you must be tired; I know I am. Best to sleep tonight, restore our strength.’

Most of them were asleep when Camlin returned, though Marrock was quick to rise and greet the woodsman. Corban, though exhausted, had found sleep elusive. He sat up and nodded a greeting to
Camlin.

‘What news?’ Marrock asked.

‘They are a long way behind, looks like the wolven’s put some fear in their bones,’ Camlin said, teeth glinting in the firelight. ‘No need to go after them again tonight,
an’ if we did, I don’t think we’d make it to their camp and back before dawn.’

‘You’ve done well, Cam,’ Marrock said. ‘Get some sleep.’

Corban laid his head down and this time found sleep quickly.

Something prodded Corban. ‘Wake up,’ a voice whispered in his ear.

He wanted to tell Gar to leave him alone, but he knew the stablemaster would just prod him harder. Grumbling, he sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Dawn was a suggestion in the air, a grey light invading, pushing back the darkness. Others were stirring: his mam, holding the spear Halion had given to him on his warrior trial, Marrock and
Halion, Farrell and his da, Anwarth. Corban stretched and followed Gar to a space on the dew-soaked grass. The others began sparring, Halion talked to Gwenith about different grips for the spear
and Corban and Gar began the sword dance. Soon they were sparring too, others rising from their beds to join in – Dath, Camlin and Vonn. Even Edana was there, setting her feet, practising
drawing a sword at her hip, making the move smooth. Most times it stuck in the scabbard. Brina and Heb were lighting a fire, preparing some food for them all to break their fasts with.

Corban was sweating when Gar stepped away, signalling the end of their sparring.

Halion was waiting for them, Marrock with him.

‘It’s time we talked,’ Halion said to Gar. ‘About who you are. We’ve waited long enough.’

The bustle around the camp paused as Gar stood before Halion and Marrock.

‘Know that you are trusted, Gar,’ said Marrock. ‘We do not doubt your loyalty. But you have knowledge of our enemies – of Edana’s enemies. That is clear, and it is
not right that you keep it from us. Someday soon Edana’s life, and ours, may depend on that knowledge.’

Gar looked to Corban.

The consequences of this conversation played through Corban’s mind. Refuse to talk and Gar would earn a measure of anger and distrust, probably from everyone in their small group. Or
answer Halion and Marrock’s questions. Corban was as intrigued as any to find out more about Gar’s background but, sure as day followed night, Gar would repeat some of what he had told
Corban, about Asroth and Elyon, about him being
chosen
. The thought of everyone knowing – his friends – made him cringe. He looked between his mam and Gar, pleadingly, and
realized that Gar was waiting for him. The stablemaster would not say a word without Corban’s agreement; he would suffer the anger and suspicion of their companions and friends, all on
Corban’s decision. Emotions swept him, love and respect for this man who had guarded him his whole life. Even if he was a mad man. He gritted his teeth and nodded.

‘I will answer your questions,’ Gar said to Halion and Marrock.

‘Good,’ Marrock said.

‘How do you know Sumur?’ asked Halion.

‘How do you fight the way you do?’ Marrock asked.

Others called out more questions. Gar held a hand up. ‘I’ll tell you who I am, something of myself and where I am from, then you can ask the questions I haven’t
answered.’ He looked around, and no one disagreed, so he continued. ‘My name is Garisan ben Tukul, and I come from Telassar, a city in the land of Tarbesh, far to the east. Sumur, who
served Nathair, is also from there. We are a warrior caste, a holy order, called the Jehar.’

A silence filled the glade. Corban looked around at the faces of his companions, all processing the information Gar had just given them. Brina stepped forward.

‘Then why are you here? A member of a holy order, so far from your home?’ she asked.

Trust her to ask that question,
Corban thought.

Gar looked at him, waiting for his permission, and Brina gave Corban a sharp look. Corban nodded.

‘You have all heard something of Brenin’s journey to Tenebral, of the council he attended?’

There were murmurs of assent. Corban noticed Edana stand straighter, looking as intent, as focused as he had seen her since they had left Dun Carreg.

‘And you all know something of the subject of that council, the God-War?’

More murmurs, coupled with frowns this time.

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ Dath muttered.

‘Some here know more than others about these things,’ Heb said, moving to stand beside Brina. ‘Why don’t you tell what you think is necessary for all to know, to
understand what you are saying.’

‘All right,’ said Gar. ‘There was a prophecy spoken of at the council, discovered in the city of Drassil, the heart of Forn Forest. It was written by Haldor, a giant from the
time of the Scourging.’

Now everyone in the camp was silent, fixed on Gar.

‘The prophecy spoke of the God-War, spoke of signs of its coming: the giant-stones weeping blood, white wyrms roaming the land, the awakening of the Seven Treasures, of Midwinter’s
Day, when day became night. Those portents have all occurred. It said that the gods Asroth and Elyon, and their angels and demons, would make the Banished Lands their battleground, and that each
god would be championed by a chosen avatar: the Black Sun and the Bright Star.’ Gar took a deep breath, shoulders straightening. ‘I am Garisan ben Tukul of the Jehar, and my life from
the moment I first drew breath until now has been dedicated to Elyon. I have been given a great honour, chosen to protect the Bright Star, to defend him with my life.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Dath whispered to Farrell.

‘Shut up and listen,’ Farrell hissed, jabbing Dath with his elbow.

‘So, again,’ Brina said, eyes narrowed to slits now. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Because Corban is the Bright Star, the Seren Disglair, avatar of Elyon.’

There was a long silence, then Dath laughed.

Fidele rode through the wooden gates of Ripa, Peritus at her side, two score of her eagle-guard behind them. Things had escalated since the discovery of the body in the lake.
The discovery of Jace – give the dead a name.
He had obviously been murdered for his part in informing her about the Vin Thalun fighting pits. Peritus had had a fire lit in his bones,
then, and had set about rooting out every scrap of information in Tenebral about the Vin Thalun. Word had reached them from Lamar, Baron of Ripa, that had been worth investigating in person.

It was late in the day, the sun low but still warm. The smell of salt filled Fidele’s lungs, the calling of gulls and the murmur of the sea underpinning all else.

They were met by a group of mounted men, Krelis ben Lamar at their head.

‘My lady,’ he said to her. ‘You would be best served by staying here. There may be hard words and bloodshed ahead of us. My father is looking forward to the pleasure of your
company.’

‘Well, he will have to wait a little longer for it. I did not ride over a hundred leagues to sit in a tower and wait for others to tell me of events,’ she said, less politely than
she intended.

‘But—’ Krelis began.

‘No. I am coming. There will be no discussion on it. I have my guards.’

Krelis frowned but said no more.

Not as brainless as he looks
, Fidele thought.

He led them out of the fortress, turning north once they had left all buildings behind. They skirted Sarva, last great forest of the south, travelling steadily north as the sun sank into an
ocean of green boughs. Fidele saw the outline of a fortress on a hill, ringed by trees. Its towers and walls were jagged in their ruin, framed by the dying sun.

Balara, once-great fortress of the Kurgan giants.

They rode up the hill, shadows stretching far behind them, through a thin scattering of trees and up to the walls of Balara.

‘The gates have been cleared,’ Krelis said to her and Peritus, pointing to where fallen rubble was piled high to either side of a wide stone archway.

‘You see,’ Peritus said to her, ‘the reports are true.’

‘Let’s go and see why they have gone to all this hard work,’ Fidele said. As they rode forward a horn call rang out, high and ululating.

‘They’ve seen us,’ Krelis called, spurring his horse to greater speed.

He clattered onto the stone, Fidele and their mingled warriors close behind. They passed through a wide stone street, then Fidele saw faces, saw figures running in all directions, others
standing, just staring. As she sped closer she could see the iron in their beards.

Vin Thalun.

Some realized what was happening and drew their weapons. Krelis’ broadsword swept out of its scabbard; Peritus drew his own blade. Krelis sent a head spinning through the air with the
first swing of his sword, Peritus trampled another with his horse, and then Fidele’s warriors were sweeping past her as she pulled on her reins, watching in silent horror.

A handful of the Vin Thalun resisted, pulling men from horses and hacking at them, but they were overwhelmed in moments, both by numbers and the ferocity of her men’s attack.
Are we so
very different from the Vin Thalun?

It was over soon, the Vin Thalun breaking and scattering, deeper shadows in the gloom disappearing amongst the rubble. Fidele dismounted and tethered her horse, Orcus her shieldman walking
protectively beside her.

Peritus and Krelis had rounded up a handful of survivors. One of them barged forwards, hands bound.

‘What do you think you’re doing, you stupid bitch?’ he yelled. ‘Lykos won’t stand for this.’

Orcus clubbed the man across the jaw and he dropped to the ground, tried to rise and Orcus kicked him.

‘Enough,’ Fidele said. She looked to Peritus and Krelis. ‘Is it true, then?’

‘Aye, my Queen,’ Peritus said.

‘Show me.’

They marched across a rubble-strewn street, a ruined tower looming before them.

‘Careful,’ Krelis warned as they entered through a fallen archway.

Inside, the ground had subsided, revealing stone basements beneath – cellars originally, most likely. They had been dug out, a ring cleared around the edges where Fidele and her companions
stood. She looked down into the cleared space and at first did not understand what she saw.

Bodies, the dead piled in a corner, blood pooling, flowing in rivulets. Cells had been erected, built from wood, like tiny stables, and in them stood men, some staring back at her. Some were
young, not much more than boys, others older, all battered, battle scarred, all with a feral look in their eyes.

So it was true. They had discovered a Vin Thalun fighting pit.

Veradis sat in Dun Carreg’s feast-hall. Bos sat beside him, the big man devouring his way through a trencher piled high with meat and gravy. The room bore the marks of
conflict – charred beams above, smoke-blackened patches on the walls, the dark residue of stains on the stone floor that had been scrubbed at but not removed. Could not be removed.
Blood
leaves a stain
, he thought, one finger tracing the scar on the palm of his right hand, mark of his blood-oath to Nathair.
We are brothers now
, Nathair had said to him that night, long
ago in Tenebral. Nathair had been only a prince then, Aquilus still alive. He remembered how he had felt – excited, coursing with
life
, the future a grand destiny he had only to claim.
And now here he was, a thousand leagues from home, claiming that destiny. There was just too much politicking going on for his liking. That’s why he’d enjoyed his morning in the Rowan
Field so much, just to be able to face an opponent with a sword in his hand, even if it was only made of wood, not iron.