Valour (56 page)

What was she to do with them, now that their fighting pit had been discovered? Nathair had great plans for the Vin Thalun. She knew that much relied upon them, and yet Lykos had deliberately
disobeyed her – worse, lied to her. Far worse than that: some of those she had found in the pits had been her own subjects, stolen in raids. And how many were dead?

They rode out of the shadow of the forest and soon turned south, following the river on its journey to the sea. It was not long before she saw the Vin Thalun’s settlement – large
storehouses and barns, a ramshackle village made mostly of timber and reed; the skeletons of half-formed ships lay along a flat sandy beach, looking like a leviathans’ graveyard.

Fidele had been here before, the day after they had raided the fighting pit at the ruins of Balara. They had come with carts full of the dead: Vin Thalun who had been killed during the raid and
corpses that they had found in the labyrinth of fighting pits. Fidele had questioned the leaders here. They had been sullen and denied the existence of any other pits in Tenebral. Of course Fidele
did not trust them, and that was why she was back.

She kicked her horse into a canter, wanting to give the Vin Thalun as little time to react as possible. Those with her kept pace, and she saw Krelis loosening his great sword in its
scabbard.

‘No killing, unless we are attacked,’ she yelled at him.

They swept through the makeshift village and boatyards, warriors spreading out and searching the place as people poured out of buildings – men, women, children. Bony dogs chased the horses
through the streets, yapping and nipping at hooves.

Fidele reined her horse in close to the beach, in the shadow of one of the ships standing upright in its timber frame. Orcus and a handful of eagle-guard stayed with her; the rest spread out to
search the buildings.

A group of Vin Thalun approached them, mostly warriors by the number of rings tied in their beards. One led them, a bow-legged older man.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ he demanded.

‘I am searching,’ Fidele said.

‘For what?’

‘You’re talking to the Queen of Tenebral,’ Orcus snapped. ‘Show some manners.’

‘Tenebral has a king, but no queen, last time I heard,’ the Vin Thalun said.

He’s right
, Fidele thought. ‘My son is King. I am regent in his absence,’ Fidele said coldly. ‘The result is the same. I rule here.’

The Vin Thalun glared at them. ‘Searching for what, my Queen?’ he said.

‘For evidence of your fighting pits.’

‘There was only one, and you’ve destroyed it.’

‘We shall see. What is your name?’

‘Alazon. I am chief shipwright here.’

‘Wait with us, Alazon.’

It was not long before Krelis and Peritus appeared, leading a line of ragged men. Krelis’ warriors were holding back the Vin Thalun crowd that followed them. Fidele saw that the men were
chained together, their clothes threadbare. Most of them were covered in wounds of some description, from clean cuts to scratches and bite marks.

‘Will you insult me with an explanation?’ Fidele said to Alazon.

‘They are rowers. A ship came in from one of the islands last night,’ Alazon said. He spoke boldly, holding Fidele’s gaze, but she did not believe a word of it.

‘You.’ She pointed to the first in line, a young man, surely younger than her Nathair. He had a scabbed cut that ran the length of his forearm. ‘How did you get that cut on
your arm?’

‘They are slaves – taken from foreign lands. They often come damaged,’ Alazon said. He stared at the captive as he spoke.

‘You have nothing to fear,’ Fidele said. ‘As of this moment you are all free men. We shall escort you to Ripa, feed you, and then your future is yours. So – tell me, with
fear of no repercussions: how did you come by that wound?’

‘In the pits,’ the lad said, looking at his feet, as if a deep shame had been revealed.

‘He lies,’ Alazon said, stepping forwards. Krelis moved in front of him.

‘Find some wains for these men, then continue your search,’ Fidele said. ‘And, Krelis, make sure you have searched under every rock in this rats’ lair.’

She looked at the captives, and saw harrowed looks sweeping them, some silently weeping, others just utterly wretched. It turned her stomach and brought the sting of tears to her eyes. She
turned away and rode onto the beach a little way, looking out to sea. Orcus followed her, staying a short distance behind. He had learned to read her moods.

Where are you, Lykos? In some distant land? Dead? I hope that you are, you swine, for if you ever return to my homeland I shall see your head struck from your body
.

Corban walked in a grey world. The ground was mist wreathed, the sky boiling with dark cloud. In the distance there were flashes, veins of red pulsing through the iron grey,
fading, then brighter, like a distant storm. He walked towards it, the world about him ethereal, shifting from fields of grey rock to green woodland to barren plains of ash.

He drew near to the clouds, saw darker specks moving in them, swirling in tight formations. They were up above now. One fell, growing rapidly larger. Distantly he heard screaming, the clash of
weapons. The shape crashed into the earth before him, a cloud of ash rising about it, settling slowly, like black snowflakes. He walked closer, peering cautiously.

A figure lay upon the ground, its skin alabaster, dark veins set in marble. Great wings were spread about it, like a cape of leather. It was wounded, a deep gash across its chest. Something that
was not blood wept from the wound. Close by lay a spear, its shaft broken.

Then it opened its eyes.

They were black, no iris, no pupil, just a black soulless well. Corban took a step back.

It tried to move. Pain swept its face, its mouth twisting, revealing jagged teeth, a thick tongue, all as black as its eyes. It reached out an arm, steadied itself, its eyes fixing on
Corban.

‘Who are you?’ it said.

A sound came from above, the wind whipped to a storm. Figures were approaching, great wings of white feather speeding towards Corban. The creature before him scrabbled for its broken spear, its
wings jerking feebly, then the others landed with a thunder that made the ground tremble. One stamped a foot onto the wounded creature, knocking it flat, then buried a spear in its belly, twisting
as he drove it in, through the writhing, hissing form, pinning it to the ground beneath. It drew a longsword from its back and hacked the creature’s head from its body.

Others of its kind gathered around Corban, dressed as warriors in mail and leather. The air moved from their gently twitching wings.

‘Who are you?’ they asked.

‘I . . .’ Corban mumbled. He did not want to say his name, something batting at his memory like a moth against a shutter. Had he been here before? In a dream? A nightmare?

Hands reached out for him and he staggered backwards.

Corban woke with a start; his mam was standing over him. She looked worried. Gar hovered in the background.

He sat up and put his head in his hands.

‘What’s wrong?’ Gar asked him.

‘A bad dream,’ he mumbled.

‘Probably of that Coralen kicking him in the stones again,’ Dath said. ‘Come on, Ban, get up. We’re going to the feast-hall for a drink.’

‘For a meal,’ Gwenith corrected Dath.

Just then the door to their home creaked and footsteps echoed. Edana walked in, Halion and Vonn behind her. With a flap of feathers Fech flew in before the door was pushed to.

Edana sat at a long table and groaned.

‘What’s wrong?’ Brina asked her. Craf was perched on the edge of the table, pecking at a chunk of bread that Brina was feeding him. Fech landed close by, eyeing the bread.

‘Roisin,’ Edana said, shaking her head.

‘What’s she done now?’

‘She’s agreed terms for committing to the battle with Rhin,’ Halion said.

‘Terms?’ said Corban. ‘Rhin’s invading. There’s no need for terms.’

‘That’s what I said,’ Edana muttered.

She’s a sly one,’ Halion said. ‘She didn’t say it, of course, it came from my da’s mouth; but it had her influence behind it.’

‘What?’ several voices asked at the same time.

‘That the alternative to battle with Rhin was negotiation, and that Edana would make a good gift.’

‘Your da said that?’ Dath blurted.

‘Not in those words, but the meaning was clear. He offered an alternative, of course. And Edana took it. She had no choice.’

‘What alternative?’ Brina asked.

‘To agree to be handbound to Lorcan, Roisin’s son, Eremon’s heir. When the time comes and Rhin is defeated.’

But he’s only fifteen summers
, thought Corban.

A silence settled over the room, then they all began talking at once.

‘You should have said no.’ Vonn’s voice rose through the crowd. ‘Rhin will attack them and then they will have no choice but to defend themselves.’

‘True enough,’ said Halion. ‘But by then Roisin would have handed Edana to Rhin on a plate. Rhin will hardly turn down that offer. After that Edana’s head would be on a
spike, whatever happens in Domhain.’

More arguments rose up, but Edana slammed a hand on the table.

‘I’ve agreed,’ she said. ‘The deal is done. I’m not happy about it, but it is a sacrifice I must make. And it’s a smaller one than the many we’ve
suffered already. Besides, it could have been worse. Eremon told me he’d marry me himself if it wasn’t for Roisin.’

‘That’s disgusting,’ said Vonn.

‘Roisin won’t like him saying things like that,’ Marrock said.

‘He’s said things like that all his life. It’s when she thinks he’ll act on it that you have to worry about Roisin. Edana’s safe from her now that Lorcan
benefits,’ said Halion.

Corban sat in the feast-hall of Dun Taras. It was noisy, voices rising as they often did once the mead started to flow. Or the ale that he was drinking: it was dark, bitter
stuff, but after a bit of getting used to it he was starting to like it. Dath at least certainly seemed to be liking it, judging by the jug in his hand and the smile on his face.

All of the company that had survived the journey from Dun Carreg were in here somewhere, most of them sitting together about a long table. Storm was curled underneath the table, though it moved
every time she changed position. Corban suspected that even Craf and Fech were lurking somewhere up in the rafters of the vaulted ceiling. The rest of the room was full, pulsing with excitement and
activity. Dun Taras had been like this ever since word had arrived of Owain’s death and Rhin’s march on Domhain, a ten-night ago. Warriors were drifting into the fortress, from ones and
twos to warbands of a hundred or more. Halion said King Eremon’s barons would muster far greater numbers, but would most likely join the King’s warband somewhere along the journey to
Domhain’s border. There was only one main route into Domhain from Cambren, and that was the giants’ road. All other routes were little more than trails through the mountains, and winter
was coming, so they were unlikely to be used. Thus the plan was a simple one: stop Rhin at the giants’ road.

Corban was not yet sure what part his group would play in the coming conflict. Halion had told him that King Eremon would be staying at Dun Taras, too old for the journey, and that Rath would be
leading the warbands of Domhain against Rhin. It was likely that Edana would have little choice other than to stay with Eremon. But Corban, along with many others in their small company, wanted to
fight. Rhin had taken everything from them, and they all wished to play some part in taking it back.

The doors to the feast-hall opened and a figure came in from the dark, the wind hurling a spattering of rain in after him. Ventos, the trader. Corban had seen Ventos a handful of times since he
had arrived in Dun Taras, and always enjoyed talking to the man. He felt like another part of home, somehow, a reminder of happier times. And he was a great teller of tales, the places he had
been.

‘How long will you be staying here?’ Corban asked him as he settled next to him and took a drink of ale.

‘For a while.’ Ventos shrugged. He looked around the overflowing feast-hall. ‘Seems as if the whole of Domhain is coming to Dun Taras, so it would be stupid to walk away.
It’s a good place to sell.’

‘Even though war is coming?’

‘War’s good for business. People get reminded that we’re not here forever – they like to enjoy life a little more, make the most of it.’

Nearby a man leaped onto a table and started dancing a jig to the applause of his friends.

‘See.’

‘I just thought that this is what they are like in Domhain,’ Corban said.

‘Oh, they are more inclined to a song, a good tale and a drink than many places I’ve been,’ Ventos said. ‘Maybe it’s the rain. It rains so much here, you have to
balance it with something.’

‘Where is your hound?’ Corban asked.

‘He’s guarding my wain. It’s full of goods I’ve collected from all over the Banished Lands. Wouldn’t want them to be robbed in the night. Talar won’t let
anyone take what’s not theirs.’