Screams rang out behind Veradis and he turned to see the Jehar joining the battle about the giantsway, too. Owain’s rearguard was now caught between Rhin’s reinforcements and a group of the Jehar. Even Alcyon was striding into the fray, swinging his axe and taking lives like the angel of death. Owain’s men broke apart, most of them on horseback, scattering in countless directions. The Jehar rode them down.
So many dead. Just warriors obeying their lords. He shook his head, surveying the corpses sprawled all about them. All for the ambitions of kings and queens. He looked along the ridge, eyes searching for Nathair, and spotted him sitting tall on his draig. Relief swept him that his King had survived the battle — indeed, their entire force seemed to have sustained few casualties. And the battle was won, Nathair’s plans furthered. Warfare is strategy, Nathair had said to him, and strategy had certainly won this battle. It just did not feel very honourable.
It is for the greater good, he reminded himself.
‘What now?’ Bos asked him.
‘We’ll hold our position until Nathair orders differently,’ Veradis answered.
The battle in the vale was chaos now, most of Owain’s warband realizing that the fight was lost. Owain himself was on the slope, a few dozen of his mounted shieldmen about him, others on foot still rallying to him. The King of Narvon pulled his horse in a circle, surveying the chaos about him, then spurred his horse west, towards the woodland. He did not gallop or leave in wild panic; his passage was orderly, controlled, and he still gathered men to him as he passed, his presence bringing an edge of calm. He rode into the shadow of the woods.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CYWEN
Cywen could not believe what she was seeing, almost did not know where to look, so much was happening at once.
The battle in the vale had been a terrible, vicious thing. She had seen death before — the ambush in the Darkwood, the night Dun Carreg fell — but nothing on this scale. Its savagery and cruelty took her breath away, made her feel sick. The shield wall was like nothing she had ever seen before. It had dealt out death with a cold efficiency that seemed to go against all she had learned of the warrior’s code.
Evnis’ treachery had shocked her at first. Though I should expect little else, she thought. Conall had remained calm throughout, seeming composed as he watched the events unfold. He must have known, Cywen realized. His mood did appear black, though — probably at being denied his part in the conflict.
Her eyes focused on Owain, saw him sitting tall on his horse, moving away, along the ridge of the hill towards the woodland that stretched into the distance. There was a shieldman clutching a banner beside him, the red bull of Narvon serving as a rallying point for Owain’s routed host. She recognized the warrior holding the banner, red hair spilling from his iron helm. Drust, and he was riding Shield. Her heart clenched in her chest. Shield still lived.
No, Shield will be lost forever.
Without thinking, Cywen bent in her saddle and slid free the knife that she had hidden in the leather sole of her boot. She whispered to Buddai, the hound sitting close by. Conall was still focused on the battle, his eyes twitching, fists constantly clenching. She reached over silently and sliced the girth of his saddle, then kicked her horse into motion. The animal leaped away — a dun mare that she had helped Gar break.
Behind her she heard Conall shout her name, glanced back to see him yanking on his reins, urging his horse to give chase, then he was sliding, and falling. Cywen grinned as she heard him swearing.
Her mount was small framed and she was fast. Cywen bent low in the saddle, spurring her to a gallop along the ridge towards the woodland, behind the shield wall, heedless of Owain’s scattered troops. Buddai barked behind her as he tried to keep up. Owain and his followers had already disappeared amongst the trees. To her left Cywen saw warriors from Rhin’s warband following the stragglers of Owain’s routed forces, cutting them down as they ran. Deeper into the vale a knot of mounted warriors was gathered before the treeline. Cywen saw Evnis at their head. Even as she watched they rode into the shadows of the woods.
I still may get to see him die today.
Conall was nowhere to be seen, though she knew he would be after her soon. Some of the Jehar were gathered, one of them pointing towards the woods. Planning to hunt Owain down. And then she saw Veradis. He was high on the hill, talking to Nathair, Calidus and the giant close by. They all looked towards the woods, and just for a heartbeat Cywen was sure that Veradis stared straight at her. Then he was moving, picking his way through warriors, heading steadily her way.
‘Come on, Buddai,’ she said, feeling anxious. ‘Let’s find Shield.’ And then I’m leaving, heading south to find Pendathran. I should have taken Shield and left with him a long time ago.
The drum of feet and hooves echoed dull and muted amongst the trees. She followed them, the trail of their passing easy to see. Then, abruptly, there was a loud screaming. She gripped her knife tightly as the sound of skirmishing grew, then she saw the first of the dead littering the ground. Owain’s men, red-cloaked for Narvon. All with arrows sprouting from their bodies. She moved on, saw figures moving amongst the trees, saw the sparks of blades clashing, heard the thrum of arrows. All was chaos, horses rearing, men fighting in close combat. She looked about wildly, searching for Shield. Sounds from the canopy drew her attention and she looked up to see figures in the trees, firing arrows into a knot of Owain’s warriors, Owain amongst them. Her eyes fell upon their leader and she froze. It was Braith, the outlaw woodsman who had been part of the kidnapping of Queen Alona, when her sweetheart Ronan had died.
Owain and his warriors charged at Braith’s line, breaking it and moving deeper into the woods, fighting as they went; Braith’s men kept pace, harrying them. Then they had moved on and Cywen was left standing amongst the dead. She heard the crunch of forest litter, turned and saw a horse amongst the trees, a form slumped on its back.
It was Shield.
Cywen slipped from her saddle and ran to him, knew instantly that something was wrong. He was trembling, eyes rolling white. Then she saw the arrow buried in his flank. He whickered as she reached him, nuzzled his head against her, his coat drenched with sweat, salt-stained. She waved flies from his wound, touched the arrow shaft and he shuddered.
‘This’ll have to come out, boy,’ she murmured, stroking his flank, trying to soothe him. Drust was draped upon the horse’s back, an arrow sticking from his side too; he had one foot still stuck in a stirrup. She heaved him off and he groaned as he hit the ground. Still alive, then.
He looked at her, lips moving but only a whisper coming out. She stared back at him sullenly. You are Owain’s man; you helped to storm Dun Carreg. Buddai sniffed the fallen warrior and whined. Cywen remembered how the warrior had saved Buddai so she took a water skin from Shield’s saddle and, kneeling beside Drust, trickled some water into his mouth.
‘Thank you,’ Drust said, his red hair plastered dark to his face, and for an instant he reminded her of Ronan, red-haired, freckled — or Ronan as he might have been, if he had lived longer. She pursed her lips, making a decision.
‘Take my horse,’ Cywen said. ‘Owain is finished, will be hunted down before the day is out, so do not follow him. Ride south if you want to join the resistance against Rhin.’
‘You are forgetting: I am from Narvon; I fought for Owain against Ardan.’
Cywen snorted. ‘Owain is as good as dead. Rhin is the enemy now, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Pendathran will be leading the resistance — you’ll find him in the marshes about Dun Crin. If you get that far tell him my name. If he doesn’t kill you straight away you’ll be all right.’