‘Yes, that’s right. Will you help us?’
‘Help me kill Uthas.’
‘He will probably be with Nathair,’ Meical said.
‘Nathair’s at cauldron,’ Fech croaked. ‘I take you to cauldron, you find sister, we kill Uthas.’
‘Agreed,’ said Corban. He didn’t want to become embroiled in hunting and killing anyone right now, but if it meant finding Cywen quickly, then it was worth doing.
‘Come,’ Fech squawked and flapped into the air, flying towards the open gates of Murias.
They followed Fech through the open gateway. A wall of sound hit them. Battle was raging, though mostly at the far end of a cavernous chamber. Clearly many had fallen. Closer to them, bodies littered the floor, men and giants and horses, all bleeding into the dark stone. Corban saw Gar and Tukul tense as they saw Jehar locked in battle with giants.
‘Too many. Can’t go that way,’ squawked Fech as he flew back from the far end of the hall. Follow me, come, come,’ and he winged away towards the edges of the room. He took them to a wide stairwell that spiralled up. No one made a move towards them; if any saw Corban and his followers they were too busy to do anything about it. In seconds they were all dismounted and running up the stairs, trying to keep up with the bird. Corban drew his sword and flexed the wolven claws strapped to his other arm.
Cywen, we are coming.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN
CAMLIN
Camlin reined in his horse.
‘There it is,’ Roisin cried, pointing.
The sail of a ship had come into view, poking above a ridge in the road. The sea churned behind it, an undulating blanket melting into the horizon. Camlin was glad to see it; a ten-night of hard riding south-west to the coast had set muscles aching that he didn’t know he had. Their column set off again, fifty or so riders. Camlin hung back a little, saw Edana’s fair hair up ahead, flanked by Marrock and Vonn. Though this is no end. Just the beginning of the next race. At least it will give us some breathing space, though. He glanced over his shoulder, looking for the tell-tale signs of their pursuers.
For three days now he had glimpsed riders following them, a cloud of dust marking them that suggested many more than their fifty horses. Now though, green hills behind hid anyone from view, and the clouds were low and thick, masking any dust trail.
They’re back there somewhere, but we just need long enough to jump onto a ship and row away. He dipped his body low against his horse’s neck and willed it to gallop faster.
He had told Marrock and Halion of the pursuit, and they had in turn told Edana and Roisin, the word spreading through the warriors. A bleakness had settled over them that night, the knowledge of pursuit suggesting that Dun Taras had fallen. Baird had picked a fight with one of Quinn’s men, knocking the man cold for little more than a lingering glance. Halion had had to step in before Baird had taken on a dozen others. Quinn had challenged Baird, of course, but Halion had forbidden it, saying they were all on the same side, and to save their anger for the enemy, if they ever caught up. Camlin suspected that Quinn had not really meant the challenge, anyway; he had backed down too easily, although he had glowered at Halion’s back afterwards. Camlin had not liked that. He’d heard the man was proud and arrogant, and nothing he’d witnessed during their journey had dissuaded him of the notion. Besides that, anyone with the title of first-sword didn’t take well to being told what to do by another warrior.
Later that night Camlin had watched Quinn as he’d cleaned and sharpened his blades — a longsword and two knives laid out before him. At the end he had poured a dark liquid over them, working it into the iron.
‘What’s that?’ Camlin had asked.
‘Just an extra bite,’ Quinn had said. ‘Something to slow a man down a little.’ He’d smiled.
Camlin hadn’t liked that either. A memory rose in his mind of the night Farrell had arm-wrestled Quinn in the feast-hall, a cut on the back of Farrell’s hand. ‘Best be careful not to cut yourself by accident, then,’ he’d said.
‘I never cut anyone by accident.’
‘Doesn’t look exactly honourable,’ Vonn said, who had been sitting close by, silent as usual.
‘Honourable’s for bairns’ bedtime tales,’ Quinn said. ‘Me, I’m all for winning and living.’
‘My da used to say something similar,’ Vonn said. ‘I used to think he was wrong. That people were honourable, that good should stand against wrong.’
‘And you’re right to think so,’ Marrock had said.
‘Am I? I’m not so sure any more.’
They powered over a ridge and the ocean opened up before them, the trail they were following winding down a lush green slope. They were upon the crest of a hill, beneath them a sharp rocky drop leading to a quay that jutted out into the water, a larger ship moored to it.
Our ship. Our safety.
The road they were on wound down the slope, curling away from the quay and then looping back, turning to sand as it spilt onto a narrow strip of beach. A few huts were scattered about, nets hanging along the beach, ridges in the sand where fisher-boats had been beached. They rode onto the beach, sand and surf spraying, and after a last gallop were finally at the quay, a milling chaos of people dismounting, pulling provisions from saddles, climbing narrow wooden stairs to reach the quay.
Camlin shouldered a bag, mostly full of arrows, his bow gripped in his other hand, and then he was running along the quay, past Halion, who stood rearguard by the stairs, sword in hand, eyes fixed on the approach to the beach. Half a dozen warriors stood with him, the rest hastening to the ship. Waves churned beneath the timber boards as Camlin ran fast, the waiting vessel further along than he’d realized, fifty, sixty paces.
Roisin had already boarded, holding her hands out for Lorcan. Edana was aboard, Vonn and Marrock beside her. Marrock saw Camlin and waved him on. Quinn stood close to Lorcan on the quay, waiting his turn to climb aboard. Other warriors were milling about, only a few being able to board at a time. To Camlin’s eye there was no way they were all going to fit on this ship; there were just too many of them.
Then a cry was rising up behind them, a warning.
Camlin looked back and saw a row of dark silhouettes lining the slope above the quay, more and more swelling the line as every moment passed. One of them kicked his horse closer, moving to the edge of the slope, stones skittering down to rattle on the quay.
Conall.
‘Give the boy up,’ he yelled.
‘Never,’ screeched Roisin.
‘Give up the boy and Eremon’s bitch, and I will grant you pardon. More — I’ll reward you. I’m regent of Domhain now, and I have power and riches to spare. You’ll not have this chance again. Join me now, or I’m coming down there to kill every last one of you.’
A buzz of muttering spread through the warriors massed on the quay. That bothered Camlin — if he could work out that the ship was too small to take them all, then so could others. Men faced with being left behind and dying made rash choices. Roisin screamed for Lorcan to board the ship. Camlin took a few steps away from the crowd, back towards the beach. He saw a figure climb the stairs on the quay and step into Conall’s view.
Halion.
Conall saw him. The colour drained from his face.
‘I thought you were dead, Con,’ Halion called up to him.
‘Me? I’m hard to kill, you should know that.’
‘What are you doing, Con?’ Halion said.
‘What we should have done together, years ago. I’m righting the wrongs of our father, and of that murdering bitch.’ He jabbed a finger towards Roisin. ‘The question is what are you doing, Hal? Protecting her and her spawn, when our mam died because of them, and we’ve lived a life on the run longer than I can remember because of them. Join me; together we can have our vengeance and rule Domhain into the bargain.’ He grinned. ‘A good day’s work, if you ask me.’ He held a hand out to his brother, his eyes pleading.