This could turn bloody. ‘Ventos, tell your hound; Storm will not tolerate a challenge from him.’
‘Talar, down,’ Ventos snapped. The hound crouched lower and stopped growling.
‘Easy, everyone,’ Ventos said. ‘I am no danger to you.’
‘An explanation, please,’ Gwenith said.
‘I wish to get out of Domhain, and I saw you all leave, saw you heading towards the mountains.’ He shrugged.
‘Why not just use the giants’ road? And what about your goods, your wain at Dun Taras?’ Corban asked.
‘You don’t know, do you? Domhain’s warband has been routed; it is fleeing to Dun Taras. Rhin controls the giants’ road, and that’s the only way in or out of Domhain that a wain can travel.’ He shrugged, a guilty expression crossing his face. ‘I’m cutting my losses. If I get out of Domhain with my life I’ll count myself lucky. I just want to get away, and I thought, you know, safety in numbers.’
‘Rath’s warband is routed?’ Coralen gasped. ‘That’s not possible.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Ventos said. ‘But it happened. It wasn’t the warband from Cambren that turned it. It was the warriors of Tenebral. They made a wall of shields, just walked up the giants’ road and killed every man that threw himself against their shields.’ He shook his head, passing a hand across his brow. ‘It was terrible to see.’
Coralen leaned against a tree, the colour draining from her face.
‘We’ll make camp here,’ Brina said, ‘and you can tell us properly.’
As they ate a broth made from the leftovers of Storm’s kill, Ventos told them in detail all that he had seen. It was a grim tale. When he had finished, a silence settled over the travellers.
That is no way to fight, thought Corban. There’s no honour in it.
‘Does Rath still live?’ Coralen asked.
‘I don’t know. I think so. At least, someone was still in control and organized the retreat. It wasn’t just a flood down the giants’ road. Not when I left, anyway. It was still daylight when I set off — I wanted to pick up your trail before it was too dark to find it.’
‘What of Edana?’ Corban asked the question that was on all their minds.
‘Again, I did not see. But she would have had good warning of the retreat, and she would not have been in the fighting to begin with. I would imagine she is one of those more likely to have been on the road back to Dun Taras.’
‘You must have ridden hard to catch up with us,’ Gar said.
‘I did. I rode like the wind, once I found your trail. Nothing like the thought of an angry warband behind you to put some fire beneath your feet.’
‘Did anyone see you, follow you?’ Gar asked.
‘No. Or not that I saw. You can never be sure, but. .’
‘Up before dawn,’ Coralen said. ‘We’ll travel hard.’ Then she stood and walked to where the horses were hobbled. After a while Corban followed her.
‘You could tell us the way, and go back,’ he said to her back as she checked her horse’s feet.
‘You’d never find it,’ she said. ‘You’ll end up dead and frozen for foxes to nibble at.’
‘But Rath, your kin.’
‘Don’t you think I know?’ she snapped, turning a glare on him. ‘I said I’d show you the way, and that’s what I’ll do. That’s what Rath would say to me. He’d skin me if I just left you here. Anyway, this newfound care for my well-being — is it genuine, or just an excuse to get rid of the guide that you don’t trust?’ She started pulling out knots from her horse’s mane.
‘I’m sorry about that, last night. I do trust you. I just thought how I would feel, if it were my brother or sister.’ He shrugged to her back. She didn’t say anything so he just walked away.
For another eight nights they rode steadily north, Coralen pushing them hard. The path wound out of the foothills and into the mountains, passing through sweeping woods of pine until they climbed beyond the treeline and into the mountains themselves. Here the paths were icy, the slopes dusted with snow. They camped on a grassy slope near a dark still pool. Corban sat first watch of the night, sitting with his back to a boulder and his cloak pulled tight.
They would be crossing into Cambren soon, another one or two days’ travel through the mountains. Then they would be in Rhin’s realm, voluntarily walking back into the danger they had spent so long escaping. But this time we will be chasing, not running.
When his watch was up he passed guard over to Ventos, then tried to get comfortable on the ground, hard and cold as iron.
His thoughts swirled, thinking of Edana and Halion, Marrock and Camlin and Vonn, praying silently that they were still alive, had made it back to Dun Taras. And then Cywen. How alone she must feel with only her enemies surrounding her. He felt a wave of anger at the people and events that had treated them so cruelly. Rhin. Nathair: the man who had slain his da — plunged a sword into his chest. His thoughts had strayed to that image many times since he had fled Dun Carreg, always accompanied by a measure of pain. Here, though, alone in the dark, suddenly the anguish threatened to drown him, pain as deep and dark as the lake they were camped beside. He turned over and squeezed his eyes shut.
He woke with a start, the memory of strange dreams hovering, of wings and warriors and battle, but even as he tried to cling to it, it faded. There was a noise: a rustle up above, a whisper on the wind, then he heard soft footfalls, moving away. He sat up.
Ventos was gone.
He saw him disappearing along a path, his hound padding alongside him. Quietly Corban rose. He looked about for Storm, but she was nowhere to be seen. Probably off hunting. He crept after Ventos.
He followed the path, taking it slowly. A half-moon gave some light, though frequently clouds scudded across it. The path wound upwards, the ground slippery with frost. He reached a bend and paused, then peered around it.
The path opened into a wider space, boulders littering it. A hawk sat on the rock.
Kartala, the bird that Ventos won from the Sirak.
Ventos was writing, then rolling something up, tying it to the hawk’s leg.
A growl sounded in the darkness.
Corban reached for his sword, then remembered he’d taken it off. He had a knife at his belt, though, and gripped its hilt.
‘Who’s there?’ Ventos said. ‘Come out now, where I can see you. Or I’ll set my hound on you.’
Corban stepped away from the shelf. ‘What are you doing?’ he said. ‘Who are you writing to?’
Ventos stared at him, none of the open friendliness Corban was used to showing now. He looked cold, calculating, weighing up the situation. ‘Someone who’s interested in you.’ He drew a knife of his own.
He’s made his decision, then. If I shout, will anyone hear me? How far have I walked?
The hound Talar stepped out of the shadows. He was still snarling. Saliva dripped from his teeth.
There was the sound of movement above, the rattle of stones falling down the rock face. A blur of white fur hurtled out of the darkness and crashed into the hound. Storm. The two animals rolled towards the edge of the path, the hound yelping. Ventos ran at them, knife raised, and Corban hurled himself at Ventos. They went down in a bundle of limbs, Ventos gasping sharply, stiffening, arching his back, then flopping limp.
Corban struggled free, saw that his knife was buried in Ventos’ torso, beneath his ribs, a dark stain spreading about the blade.
Ventos put a hand to the knife hilt and groaned.
Snarling behind him. Corban turned to see Storm kick with her back legs, hurling the hound through the air. It crunched to the ground, skidded, rose unsteadily, dark gashes down its shoulder, blood dripping from its belly. Storm braced and leaped, crashing into the hound again and in a scrabble of earth and stone they both disappeared over the edge of the path. There was the sound of scratching, claws on rock, then a silence, followed by a splash.