She stepped around the table and took his hand. ‘Go. I give you permission.’
‘But the battle, the war. .’
‘Is almost won,’ Edana said. ‘You saw today — did more than see, you played a great part. The spirit of Rhin’s warband is broken, nearly half of their warriors dead. Tomorrow we will end this.’
‘You don’t mind?’
‘No, I don’t mind. I will worry for you, but you must go. Cywen is part of us, is she not? She is like family to me. As are you. Go and get her, Corban. And hurry back.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, his voice cracking.
‘I wish I could come with you, that we all could go. I know we were running for our lives, but there was something about our journey, living day to day. Here it is just politicking: I have to be so careful of every word I say.’ She sighed. ‘Now, let’s see what I can do to help you.’
It was still dark as Corban climbed into a saddle. He should have been tired, exhausted, but an energy coursed through him, giving him strength. His mam and Gar sat on horses beside him, and Coralen just in front.
Edana had taken Corban to Rath, and he had provided horses and provisions, and also Coralen as a guide to lead them north. She had not complained about the task, though she had been quiet, none of her sharp comments forthcoming. She looked thoughtful. Perhaps it is the possibility of seeing Conall.
‘Ready?’ she asked them.
‘Corban nodded.
‘Best get on, then.’
They set off at a slow walk as the edge of dawn was turning the land a uniform grey.
‘Wait,’ a voice called and Corban turned to see Edana appear, figures behind her. Some led horses. Dath and Farrell, Brina riding at their head. A squawk drifted down from above.
‘You’ll only go and get yourself killed without us,’ Brina said. ‘Well, without me.’
‘Thought you might need some protecting,’ Farrell said, looking at Coralen. She rolled her eyes.
‘It’s not right,’ Dath said to Corban, ‘you going off into the wild without us.’
‘I won’t say I’m not glad, but what about Edana?’ Corban said.
‘I am quite safe here,’ Edana said. ‘I have Halion and Marrock, Camlin and Vonn.’
Camlin stepped over to Corban and offered his arm. Corban gripped it.
‘Look after yourself,’ Camlin said. ‘I would come, but I cannot leave Edana. I’ll look forward to seeing Cywen, though, when you bring her back. Always knew how to get herself into a scrape, that girl.’
‘She does.’ Corban grinned.
‘And you,’ Camlin said, pointing to Dath. ‘Keep your bowstrings dry and your head down. I’ll see you after.’
Dath nodded, looking as if he wanted to say something, but just swallowed instead.
‘Any more?’ Coralen asked. ‘Shall we invite Rath’s warband, see who volunteers?’
‘I like her,’ Brina whispered to Corban.
‘No? Good then.’ Coralen kicked her mount on.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
VERADIS
Veradis stared out of the shield wall.
‘Are you ready?’ he said to Bos and the other men pressed close about him.
‘Aye,’ Bos said.
‘Then let’s get on with it.’ He lifted a hand and a horn rang out from the rear. His shield wall began to march along the road, the rhythmic thumping of a thousand men’s boots. Behind them followed Geraint’s warband, or what was left of it, sprawled across the road and down the embankments either side, spilling into the green meadows about them, like the wings of a great bird.
The sun rose higher and figures materialized ahead, still a long way off, a great horde filling the giants’ road and the meadows flanking it. Thousands, iron glinting in the rising sun, grim-faced men, confident with yesterday’s victory fresh upon them.
Veradis had watched the battle the day before with growing horror as Geraint’s warband was slowly beaten into submission through the long day of bloodshed. So many lives, so many brave men slaughtered.
The survivors had limped back along the giants’ road and into the shadow of the hills. The healers’ tents had been full, the cries of dying men filling the night. Veradis had gone in search of Geraint and found him having a bandage wrapped around his arm. He was covered in blood and looked close to exhaustion. He looked away when he saw Veradis.
‘You fought with honour today,’ Veradis said. ‘But you were outnumbered.’ It was a lie, but Geraint was a prideful man.
‘Numbers had nothing to do with it,’ Geraint muttered.
‘No. You lost today because your enemy had sown seeds of fear in the hearts of your men, and they used that.’
‘Tomorrow’s another day,’ Geraint said.
‘It is, but it will end the same, if not worse, if you plan just to march out again, as you did today.’
‘What else can I do? I cannot retreat — Rhin would have my stones on a platter. And they are in no hurry to attack us — I have to take the battle to them.’
‘Let me lead the van. My shield wall, it will win the day for you.’
‘You have fewer than a thousand men — they have nearly ten thousand.’
‘I know. If you protect my flanks, stop them from getting behind us, then we will cut the heart from Domhain’s warband and give you a victory.’
Veradis was close enough to see the faces of his enemy now. Wariness, suspicion as they watched the shield wall march closer. He raised an arm, a horn blew, and the wall pulled to a halt, with rows of warriors from the back of his shield wall moving quickly down the embankments to either side of the road, reforming quickly. Now three shieldwalls stood arrayed before the warband of Domhain, each forty men wide, seven rows deep. Shields came together with a concussive crack. Geraint’s men hovered at their rear.
A warrior stepped out of the milling front ranks of Domhain’s warband. He banged his sword on his shield, others copying, the sound rippling through the warband, growing in volume. Then with a wide-mouthed scream he charged, his comrades following close behind him.
‘Ready now,’ Veradis said to those around him. He drew his short sword, looking out through a gap in the shields. Three hundred paces away. Two hundred paces. One hundred paces now, warriors screaming, weapons raised. He widened his stance, lowered his shoulder, bracing for the impact. Then it came, a bone-numbing crash into his shield, shivering through his body, a myriad of successive blows as body after body piled into a claustrophobic crush on the far side of his shield.
The shield wall weathered the impact; the weight upon it grew and Veradis grunted with the strain. The noise was deafening, all along the shield wall, and further off as well, a distant roar as Geraint’s warband entered the battle. Then the stabbing began. He plunged his sword through the small gap between shields, felt it punching through leather into flesh, felt blood wash over his hand. He stabbed again and again, the same happening all along the line. Battle-cries turned to screams. Fingers grabbed at the rim of his shield and he chopped at them. Swords and spears slid beneath his shield, stabbed at his legs. They were turned by the strips of iron on his boots. Hands clutched underneath and he severed them with his short sword, or stamped on them. Blows rained on his shield, the wood creaking, but he just kept on stabbing. Bodies began to pile along the line.
The weight on Veradis’ shield lessened. It is coming. He kept stabbing, sweat stinging his eyes. He heard Bos grunt in pain but could not look. Two hands grabbed the top of his shield and yanked it down, almost tearing it from his grip. A red-haired warrior stared at him, fumbling with a longsword in the crush of men. Veradis stabbed out, his short sword biting into flesh just below the man’s jaw line. He staggered backwards, blood jetting from the wound, bubbling crimson from his mouth; the press of warriors behind him kept him upright until the strength went from his legs and he sagged slowly to the ground. Veradis brought his shield back up.