You can always leave.
‘Shut up,’ he muttered.
‘What was that?’ Dath said beside him.
‘Nothing.’
I might moan, but I’ll not be leaving this crew anytime soon. I’m not going to turn my back on the first true friends I’ve ever had.
They had all come in the end, every last one of those who had survived the journey from Dun Carreg. Even the crow and the raven. Somehow Edana had talked her way into coming; Halion said that King Eremon’s wife had supported Edana’s efforts to come — probably in the hope that Edana would meet a tragic end and remove herself from the political throw-board. She was camped elsewhere, though, close to Rath, who was Eremon’s battlechief.
I suppose it is fitting. Meet Rhin here — win or lose — at least there’ll be an end to it. And this is as good a chance as we’re likely to get.
Eremon’s warband had grown to about ten thousand strong over the journey to the mountains. Camlin had never seen so many men in his life. In fact he didn’t like it; sometimes he even found himself having to stare up at the sky and take deep lungfuls of air, just to escape the sensation of being crushed.
Footsteps sounded and Corban and Farrell came and sat by the fire, Gar hovering behind them. They both had bulky sacks slung over their shoulders.
‘What’ve you got there?’ Camlin asked him.
Corban looked to the hills they were camped before, at a few riders disappearing into the wooded slopes.
‘Are they scouts?’ Corban asked.
‘Aye. Rath will put his men in the hills, I’d imagine. Make sure that Rhin’s warband doesn’t try anything sneaky as they march into Domhain.’
‘Do you remember what Halion said back in Cambren, about teaching our enemy to fear the night?’
‘Aye. What of it.’
‘I think there’s more to that lesson. I’m going to go find Rath, see what he thinks of it. I thought you and Dath might want to come along.’
Camlin looked at Dath. The lad smiled at him, a nervous twitch to it. ‘Something tells me we’d best string our bows, then,’ Camlin said as he stood.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
VERADIS
Veradis looked out along the giants’ road. He was stood part way up a ridge.
‘There are a lot of them,’ Bos said beside him.
‘Yes.’
‘What’s the plan, then?’
Veradis was silent a while. His warband was camped below, spread along the giants’ road that they had marched upon. Two days it had taken them since they had parted from Nathair and marched through these looming mountains. Cywen’s face formed in his mind, turning back in her saddle as she rode away, staring at him with her dark eyes. He shook his head.
They were almost the rearguard, a position that he was becoming used to. Rhin’s warband stretched ahead, a sprawling mass filling the giants’ road and its embankments.
‘Geraint will push ahead at dawn on the morrow, then we’ll see what the warriors of Domhain are like.’
‘So we’ll be watching, from the back.’
‘Most likely. These warbands we march with — they don’t want us stealing their glory.’
‘Against a warband of that size I think there’s plenty of glory to go round,’ Bos said. ‘And this road is made for the shield wall. We should be in the van, not the rearguard.’
‘I know. But there’s nothing I can do about it. Geraint is battlechief here, not I. We’ll just have to wait and see how things go.’ He looked up at the hills either side of him. Bos followed his stare.
‘It’s a good spot for an ambush,’ Veradis observed.
‘Aye. We should put some men up in those hills.’
‘We don’t have them to spare. I’ll talk to Geraint about it. Bos, you make sure our camp is tight tonight; all are to stay on this road — no tents set close to these slopes — and double guards.’ He looked up at the hills, dense with pine and scrub, black boulders of granite looking like bones of the mountains poking through the hill’s green flesh here and there. There could be a thousand men up there and he would not see one.
In the distance, high above them, a sound rang out, eerie and ululating. A wolven howling. Throughout the camp heads turned, fear spreading like seeds on the wind. Veradis and Bos looked at each other.
‘I think I’ll go and see Geraint right now. You see to the camp.’
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
CORBAN
‘Did you make her do that?’ Rath asked Corban.
‘No. She must sense something,’ Corban said.
They were all looking at Storm, the last notes of her howl fading into the dusk.
‘We are hunting. She knows it,’ Gar said.
‘Well, it was good timing.’ Rath grinned. ‘I nearly soiled my breeches, so Elyon knows what they’re thinking down there.’
Rhin’s warband stretched out below them like a dark river. Dusk was settling, and even as Corban looked, pinpricks of light winked into life, torches and campfires being lit to guard against the dark.
Soft footfalls sounded and Corban looked up to see figures emerging from between the trees. He reached for his sword hilt but Gar put a hand on his arm. Then he saw it was Camlin, with Dath close to him, and a handful of others, Baird the giant-hunter amongst them.
‘We chased off a handful of scouts,’ Baird said to Rath. ‘They put a few arrows in backs as they were running.’ He nodded at Camlin and Dath. ‘Think it’s clear up here, for now. I’ve put a guard on the trails from the mountains.’
‘Good,’ Rath said. ‘Corban, Farrell, empty your sacks.’
They dumped a pile of fur and iron onto the ground, then each of them dragged a fur over their shoulders and began fastening them with leather buckles.
Thank you, Mam. Corban looked up with a wolven pelt draped about him, its head pulled up like the hood of a cloak. Storm growled at him and he tutted her silent. He bent down and pulled something else from the pile, a leather gauntlet, three iron claws at the end of it. The iron claws clinked as he strapped it onto his left forearm and flexed a fist.
‘We skinned the wolven that attacked us up here,’ Corban said to the warriors facing him. ‘There are three more skins here.’
He threw a skin and gauntlet to Coralen, who buckled it onto her left arm. She growled and slashed with the claws, some of Rath’s warriors laughing.
‘Now you have three claws instead of a knife,’ Corban said to her. He enjoyed the fierce grin she gave him.
‘I’ve heard that Storm and our small company have made quite a name amongst the warriors of Cambren. Apparently they are telling tales of shape-shifters, and changelings, deals with Asroth, stories that we were raised by a wolven pack, that they run with us still; all sorts of tales.’
‘I’ve heard a little of that too,’ Baird said, grinning. ‘Can I have one of those,’ he said.
‘Help yourself,’ Farrell answered.
‘Thought we might help those stories along a bit,’ Corban said. ‘You never know, there might be fewer ready to fight in the morning than are there right now. Superstitious bunch, warriors. What do you say?’
Rath nodded approvingly.
Coralen stepped forwards. ‘Let’s bring their nightmares to life.’
Corban crouched stiffly behind a boulder. It was dark now; only a sliver of the moon was visible, appearing from behind ragged clouds. And it was cold. The wolven fur he wore helped to keep the cold out, though. Storm had had a good sniff of it after he’d put it on, until she was accustomed to the smell on him. He’d gone through the same process with the others who had put on the wolven furs — Baird, Farrell, Rath and Coralen. Otherwise he had visions of Storm attacking them in the confusion of battle. After that they’d made up a paste of mud and blood, smearing it over their faces in swirling patterns to hide their skin.