Cywen. Just the thought of his sister brought a pain all of its own, a dull ache in his gut. Sometimes he forgot that she was dead and then would be reminded of her by some inconsequential thing — a scent, a phrase, a mannerism in someone — then the weight of it would come flooding back. He shook his head, scattering the memories like gathering flies.
He was riding midway down their small column, along a narrow track which was winding through light woodland. Sunlight dappled the ground, moving as a breeze swayed the branches above. Storm was a flicker of white movement deeper in the woods. Without her they would all be close to starving by now.
He saw his mam and Gar in quiet conversation ahead of him, and scowled. He had hardly spoken to either of them since the night they had taken him into the dark and asked him to leave, spouted all that madness about Elyon and Asroth, about going to Drassil. Though he had not talked to them about it, once they had begun their ride through Cambren he had thought of little else. He did not like things this way between them. He was grieving, and he knew his mam was too, when they should be comforting each other. He felt there was a wall between them instead, something invisible but solid that he could not break through.
Corban stood straight and approached his mam and Gar, who were tending their horses. It was almost full dark and further away the others were making camp. He stopped before the two of them and they looked at him expectantly.
‘Can I talk to you?’ he mumbled.
‘Of course,’ his mam said quickly. Gar just looked at him.
‘I will not leave our friends,’ he said. Gar took a deep breath to say something but Corban held a hand up. ‘Please, hear me out. I have words I need to say. I am oath-bound to Edana, and even if I weren’t, I could not leave these people. They are my friends, our friends, and all that is left of home. I have thought about it long and hard, thought about nothing else for days, and, even if what you have said is true. .’ He paused, thinking again of Elyon and Asroth, the tales he had heard of the Otherworld, the Ben-Elim and Kadoshim. How could it be true? ‘Even if it were true, I would not leave my friends. If it is true, then Elyon can tell me, not just you two. And until that happens I am not going to change my mind. You can say what you like, but I will not change my mind.’ He looked down at the ground. ‘I hope that we can be. .’ And suddenly the words dried up. The same as before, he wanted to say. Before they had taken him into the dark and said those mad things. He looked up at his mam, eyes pleading. The silence lengthened.
She nodded.
‘You are a man now, a warrior who has sat your Long Night, and proven in battle,’ she said. ‘We will respect your decision. And we will wait until Elyon, or his Ben-Elim,’ she added with a quick flicker of her eyes to Gar, ‘changes your mind.’
With her words he felt his tension drain, evaporating like smoke in the breeze, and he saw the same happen in her face. He reached out and hugged her tight. She felt small in his arms, fragile. When they separated, Gar was busying himself rubbing his horse down, checking its hooves. He avoided Corban’s gaze.
Corban sat with Dath and Farrell close to the fire. They had all dined on dried meat and cold water, all that was left of a doe that Storm had carried into the camp four nights earlier, though none complained.
Right now Storm was curled behind Corban, half hidden in the shadows of a tree.
‘A fine meal,’ Farrell said as he swallowed his last mouthful. ‘Even if it was as tough as the leather on my boots.’
Corban chuckled, while Dath sat gazing into the fire. Corban watched his friend. He had been like this since his da had been killed on the beach. Corban wanted to help, to do something, but he understood: there was nothing that he could do, nothing that would make things better. You can’t bring back the dead. All he could do was let Dath know he wasn’t alone.
Storm growled behind Corban. She was half crouched in the darkness, staring into the trees, ears pricked forward. She sniffed, then visibly relaxed and sank back to the ground. Corban looked where she’d been staring. He thought he saw movement, then a figure solidified in the gloom, treading softly into the firelight.
Camlin.
He walked purposefully to Marrock and Halion, who were sat with Edana. They rose when they saw him and fell into deep conversation. Corban watched them intently. Eventually Marrock nodded decisively and stepped away, closer to the fire. ‘Our followers are close. Camlin has scouted back along our path.’
‘They have gained on us,’ Camlin told them. ‘They are no more than two leagues behind us.’
‘How many?’ Anwarth asked.
‘Two score, at least.’
Corban looked around his companions’ faces, could see fear wrapping its fingers about them.
Halion walked to the edge of the glade. ‘Corban — with me,’ he said. ‘And bring your wolven.’
‘Why?’ Gwenith said, her hand reaching out towards Corban.
‘We are going to teach them to fear us,’ Halion said.
‘Will she attack on your command?’ Halion asked Corban as they picked their way through dark woods.
Camlin was leading the way, Gar and Vonn following closely behind Corban. He had not even tried to dissuade the stablemaster when he had followed Corban silently from their camp; he knew there was no point.
‘Yes,’ Corban answered. ‘You remember? Friend and foe?’
Halion looked at him, then chuckled, clearly remembering a time in the Rowan Field when a wolven pup had attacked his leg. ‘That seems so long ago,’ he murmured.
Camlin stopped in front, looking up, then changed their direction, leading them down a slope.
‘What exactly are we doing?’ Corban asked.
‘We are going to even the odds a little, and spread some fear amongst them. They will have seen the dead back at the beach and in the woods, will see that some of them have not been killed by a blade.’ He looked at Storm, loping almost silently beside Corban. ‘They will not know that we have a wolven with us — how would you react upon seeing warriors ripped, torn apart?’
Corban thought about that. ‘I’d be scared,’ he said.
‘Aye,’ Halion said, ‘and the dark breeds fear.’
Corban crouched in the undergrowth, one hand wrapped in the thick fur around Storm’s neck. Gar was close by, a darker shadow in the gloom. Both of them were staring into the darkness.
Camlin had led them in a great loop, so that they could approach downwind of the camp. ‘They have hounds,’ Camlin had whispered.
Halion and Camlin had whispered the plan to Corban, Gar and Vonn, then drawn their knives, rubbed dark earth over the iron and disappeared amongst the trees, Vonn following them.
‘Why did they do that?’ Corban whispered to Gar. ‘Wipe dirt on their blades.’
‘So they will not reflect light — firelight, moonlight,’ Gar said.
‘Oh,’ said Corban, thinking of his companions creeping closer to their enemies’ camp. There would be guards standing in the woods, men on watch, warriors sent to catch them, to kill them. With every moment Corban expected to hear voices, horns, the baying of hounds catching their scent, but none of it happened. For long heartbeats there was only silence, just his and Storm’s breathing, branches scratching in a slight breeze, in the distance the call of a fox.
Then he felt Storm tense, a vibration deep in her belly, the beginnings of a growl.
‘Be ready,’ Gar’s voice whispered from the darkness.
It was Vonn. He lurched towards them, then snagged his foot on something and staggered forwards, something falling from his cloak and hitting the ground with a thud. Vonn dropped to the floor, hands scrabbling to retrieve the object as behind him the sound of pursuit grew louder, a figure appearing, moving furtively through the undergrowth.