‘For what?’
‘Food to break our fast with this morning, and dinner last night. I don’t like being hungry. Makes me angry.’
‘Well we wouldn’t want that. Not while you’ve got that hammer strapped to your back, anyway.’
Farrell chuckled, patting Thannon’s hammer-head which poked over his shoulder.
Corban thought of his da, lying in the keep at Dun Carreg, Buddai curled beside him. He felt a stab of guilt, that he could be making jests so soon after his da’s death. He shook his head. ‘How’d you get so big, anyway?’ he asked, glancing at Anwarth, Farrell’s da. He was a short man, the absolute opposite of Farrell, although they shared something in their features, the angle of their jaws, eyes set beneath heavy brows.
‘You haven’t seen my mam, then,’ Farrell said. ‘She always said I got my big bones from her. Da must like big women. .’
Corban smiled, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders begin to lift. It was good, somehow, just to sit and talk with a friend.
‘Hope she’s all right,’ Farrell muttered, his face creasing. ‘Mind you, she can look after herself. Me and da can vouch for that.’ He tried to smile, but wasn’t completely successful. ‘Saw you training, this morning.’
Corban nodded.
‘It was quite something. Never seen anything like it.’
‘Gar’s been training me a while now. About two years.’
‘Explains why you’re so good with a sword, then. I couldn’t believe it when you beat Rafe.’
Corban shrugged. ‘I don’t know where Gar learned all that stuff, though. Always thought it was from Helveth. .’ He trailed off. As it turned out Gar wasn’t from Helveth, after all. Turned out most of what he thought about his past was wrong, lies piled on top of one another.
Time passed, the boat rising and falling rhythmically. Corban felt exhausted, worn out by his churning emotions as much as the events of the last few days. Gwenith and Gar sat together. His mam’s eyes were red rimmed and sunken, her face pale and drawn. Storm nuzzled his palm and he absently stroked her head. The things his mam had said about him swirled in his mind like flotsam in a whirlpool, different parts bobbing to the surface. Like what she had said about him being hunted — by Asroth — how could that be? He had never given much thought to Asroth or Elyon before, was not even sure if he believed them to be real, and so far had not particularly cared. Elyon, the maker of all, and Asroth, his great enemy, leading his host of the Fallen. Corban knew the tales well enough, of Asroth’s corruption of the first giants and men, the War of Treasures that followed, and then the Scourging. Until now he’d thought they were little more than faery stories told to keep children in their cots at night. He looked about, at his companions littered around the boat. Beyond the railings he caught a glimpse of the coastline, a dark smudge of dense trees and cliffs. Lifting his hand in front of his face, he stared at his fingers, saw black dirt making patterns in the creases of his skin, the swirling design of his fingerprints. Someone or something must have made all of this, I suppose, he thought. But Asroth, hunting me. .?
He shook his head.
Brina sat down beside him. Farrell glanced at the healer, then looked away. No matter how the recent events had affected everyone, Brina still had a reputation. Corban weathered her silent stare as long as he could.
‘Where’s Craf?’ he asked, more to break the silence than anything else.
‘There,’ she said with a nod.
Craf was sitting on the prow of the ship, staring straight ahead like some tattered figurehead.
‘I wanted to ask you something,’ Corban muttered.
‘There’s a surprise,’ Brina snorted. ‘All right then, but this time I will be asking a few questions of you, too. Perhaps we can do a trade.’
‘What could I possibly know that would interest you?’
‘A trade — yes or no?’
‘Perhaps.’ Corban eyed her suspiciously. ‘Let’s hear each other’s questions first, then decide.’
Brina scowled. ‘Well?’ she prompted.
‘The night we fled Dun Carreg, on the way to the tunnels. You and Heb. .’ He cleared his throat. ‘That mist. Did you. .?’
‘Ah, a good question.’ She almost smiled at him. ‘My question, then: Gar.’
Corban sighed. He knew it would have to be about the stablemaster. ‘Go on.’
‘He came to Dun Carreg when you and Cywen were bairns?’
Hearing Cywen’s name made something twist in his stomach. He nodded.
‘I’d like to know where he came by that curved sword of his, and where he learned how to use it. I’d like to know how he was on speaking terms with the King of Tenebral’s first-sword. And most of all, I’d like to know why he’s so interested in you.’ She jabbed his chest with a finger.
‘That’s a lot of questions. I only asked you one,’ Corban pointed out.
‘Mine are linked,’ Brina retorted.
Corban held a hand up. ‘Believe me, they are all questions that I’d like to hear the answers to, myself.’
‘You don’t know, then?’
‘No, though I wish I did.’
‘Well, go and ask him,’ she said. ‘Then you can come back and tell me.’
‘No,’ he snapped, more harshly than he’d intended. ‘It’s complicated. .’
She stared at him, then rose with a grunt. ‘When you’ve uncomplicated it, come and talk to me. I’ll tell you about the mist.’ She walked away.
Highsun had come and gone. Corban was standing by the rail, staring at nothing. He could just make out the coast: a blur of tree and rock, here and there lines of smoke climbing into the sky, marking villages and homesteads. Mordwyr and Dath had taken the boat as far out to sea as possible to avoid being seen from land, and so far Corban had only spied one other vessel on the water, not much more than a black dot in the distance.
There was a cry from the front. Marrock was pointing at something ahead. Halion made his way forward, others following. He spoke briefly with Marrock and then called for Mordwyr. The fisherman set Dath on the steering oar and made his way to the prow.
He doesn’t look too good, thought Corban as Mordwyr passed him. The man was pale, a sheen of sweat on his face. Corban followed him, leaning over the rail to look ahead when he could go no further. In the distance, directly in front of them, was a cluster of black dots. Boats. They trailed off to a thin line that led almost back to the coast.
‘What is that?’ he heard Halion ask Mordwyr.
Mordwyr stared silently, squinting into the distance. ‘Boats,’ he muttered. ‘Lots of them.’
‘I can see that,’ Halion snapped. ‘I mean, what are they doing? Why are they there?’
Even as the two men spoke, Corban could make out the sight more easily as they sped forwards. The boats were of different shapes and sizes, but most appeared to be fisher-boats similar to the one they were on. Corban counted at least thirty. They were heading out into open sea, their line stretching back to the coast, where a fair-sized village lay nestled along the shore.
‘I don’t know,’ Mordwyr murmured, ‘but they look to be heading to Ardan. More of Owain’s handiwork?’
‘This is Cambren,’ Marrock said. ‘Rhin rules here.’
‘Whatever is going on, we need to find the coast. Now. And pray to Elyon that we have not already been spotted,’ Mordwyr said, bursting into motion. Nimbly he scrambled back down the boat, yelling instructions to Dath.
Mordwyr took over the steering oar and Dath leaped to the sail, baffling Corban with the speed that he pulled on ropes, the sail abruptly sagging, emptying of wind. Slowly, the fisher-boat turned, losing the rhythm it had maintained. The sea suddenly felt more powerful beneath them, more dangerous. Corban grabbed onto the rail as they all lurched upwards, caught in the swell of a wave. Spray burst over the side.
Then Dath was pulling at the ropes again, darting around the base of the mast, and the sail began to fill. Within moments it was billowing, straining, and soon the boat was cutting towards the coast, a wake of white foam spreading behind them.