‘Wonderful,’ he muttered, pulling his cloak over his head. He just wanted to sleep, it was preferable to getting up, having to face people, having to face his mam and Gar.
Their words from the night before were still spinning around his head. They had shaken him, stirred both anger and guilt. The things they had told him; madness, surely, born out of grief and exhaustion. And they have asked me to leave. Nothing else could have felt so wrong — to leave this small band of survivors. And so he had said no. Never had he said no to his mam or Gar — many times in his head, or muttered quietly after a reprimand — but never to their faces. And then had come the guilt. This was the worst moment in the world to have a conflict with his mam, when they were both grieving the loss of his da and Cywen. But what they asked was so unreasonable. And then anger had followed.
How can they put me in such a position? He wished their conversation had never happened. And so his night had passed, racked with anger or guilt, along with a measure of self-pity. Now, though, with the coming of dawn, he just felt alone. No one was who he thought they were. His mam and Gar felt like strangers.
Something tapped his shoulder.
He poked his head out from beneath his cloak, squinting up at a dark form silhouetted by the grey light of dawn. It was Gar.
‘Come, lad,’ the stablemaster whispered, prodding him with something.
‘Come where?’
‘Training.’
‘Wha. .?’ Corban said. ‘Are you joking?’
‘You still have much to learn,’ Gar said with a shrug. ‘Come on, there is not much time before we have to get back on that boat.’
He climbed upright, winced at the stiffness in his limbs and grimaced at the stablemaster. ‘I don’t want to do this,’ he muttered. ‘You and mam. .’ He could not find the words to express how he felt, did not know where to start.
‘This way,’ Gar said, walking away. With a scowl, Corban followed; Storm uncurled and padded after them.
Marrock was standing guard, the shadow of his body merging with the tree he was leaning against. He looked inquisitively at Gar and Corban.
Gar stopped beside the stream. ‘Give me your sword,’ he said, then wrapped Corban’s blade with cloth, tied it tight and passed it back.
Without a word, Gar slid into the sword dance, his curved sword wrapped like Corban’s.
Sullenly Corban watched him, a host of questions and accusations swirling in his mind. There were so many things that he wanted to ask Gar about, but they were all linked to last night’s conversation, and he had set his will to avoiding that subject at all costs. Gar paused, staring at him. ‘Don’t think; do. Questions, talking later, but this will help.’ He resumed his fluid movements.
Corban sighed and raised his sword, stepping into stooping falcon, the first position of the sword dance. Skin and muscles around the wound on his back stretched and pulled, but he held the pose, then moved smoothly into the next stance. Gar was right, soon Corban felt his mind calming, his thoughts draining away as he became lost in the rhythm of the dance.
Sunlight was dappling the ground and sparkling on the stream when he finished. Sweat dripped from his nose and the wound on his back pulsed dully. Gar faced him and raised his sword. Corban shrugged and they began to spar, and slowly Corban became aware of movement around him. A quick glance showed him half a dozen figures from the camp watching them, but also earned him a crack to the ribs from Gar.
‘Enough,’ the stablemaster declared.
Gar stripped the cloth from his and Corban’s swords, then began walking back to the camp, ignoring their audience. In no mood for conversation, Corban followed him, purposely avoiding Brina’s stare.
Halion drew level with them and grasped Gar’s arm, halting him. ‘I need to talk to you,’ he said to Gar. The stablemaster stopped, drawing a deep breath.
‘You fight differently,’ Halion said. ‘I have travelled much of the west and seen nothing like your style.’
Gar just stared at Halion, expressionless.
‘Until the night Dun Carreg fell. The man you fought, Sumur. Marrock tells me there were many like him in the battle, that they opened Stonegate for Owain. You fought like this Sumur, spoke with him. You knew him?’
Gar’s gaze flicked to Corban and back. ‘Yes.’
‘Tell me of him, of yourself. Who are you, where are you from?’
‘I have heard others ask the same questions of you, yet you have held your silence. My past is my own,’ Gar said.
‘True enough, my business is my own, and not a subject for gossip. But things are different now, and so I have spoken of my past. Because it was necessary. Now you know who I am, where I am from, who my father is. It is necessary to hear these things from you. Do you know this Sumur?’
Gar closed his eyes and blew out a long breath. ‘I knew him, many years ago. Corban will tell you more, soon.’
Corban raised an eyebrow at that.
‘That is not good enough. I am Edana’s sword and shield, and you know more about her enemies than anyone else here — seemed almost to be one of them — I must understand all that goes on, for Edana’s sake. Are you a danger to her?’
Gar sighed. ‘No, I am no danger to the princess. You saw that I fought Sumur — that must answer your fears. I would tell you more, but Corban should hear these things first, and until he has I will speak no more of it, with you or any other.’
Halion still gripped Gar’s arm. He held the stablemaster’s gaze for long moments then let his hand drop. ‘I will wait, but we will have this conversation again. Soon.’
Gar nodded and strode away.
‘What’s this all about, Corban?’ Halion asked.
Corban shrugged.
‘Well, whatever he has to say to you, let him say it.’
With a grunt Corban followed Gar back to the camp, where everyone was making ready to leave. Amidst it all Edana sat huddled against a tree. Brina returned and set to helping Gwenith prepare some food — cold venison that still tasted good.
Corban’s mam tried to catch his eye but he looked away, immediately experiencing a rush of guilt. She’s lost her husband. My da. .
But somehow his feet would not take him over to her.
In no time they were all clambering back onto the boat. Mordwyr and Dath set the sail to catch the wind, guiding them out of the cove they had sheltered in, and soon they were scudding along the coast. The sky was a clear, sharp blue, wave tips glistening in the sun. Corban burrowed into the pile of nets towards the rear of the boat, Storm curling beside him, her nose twitching at the scent of fish.
Days passed like this, the boat hugging the coast, moving ever further from Dun Carreg, from home. Nights were spent huddled around small fires, when they dared, eating whatever Marrock and Camlin could provide. Storm was usually more successful in the hunting. Corban maintained his silence with his mam and Gar, though his mam tried more than once to pull him away from the small company. He always refused, though he was starting to hate himself for it. But no matter how he thought of things, as soon as the suggestion of leaving their small band of friends rose in his mind, he felt an instant surge of anger. Everything else had been taken from him. He would cling to this last remnant of home like a drowning man in a stormy sea.
Every morning Gar would prod him awake and work through the sword dance with him, but the stablemaster did not try to drag him into conversation. His look was enough. It said, We will talk, whether sooner or later, as patient as a hovering hawk.
On the fifth day after Dun Carreg’s fall Corban was sitting in his customary position on the fisher-boat, Storm beside him. Dath was a half-visible figure climbing on the mast up above. Farrell walked unsteadily towards him, swaying as the boat rose and fell.
‘Thank your wolven for me,’ Farrell said as he settled into the nets beside Corban.