Owain had not been found yet, but the battle was over. The defeated dead had been stripped of their precious things — weapons and armour, torcs and rings, any silver or gold — and been piled high and soon their bodies would be burned. The victorious dead were laid out separately, ready to have a cairn raised over them. Rhin had set up a tent at the top of the hill, and was sitting on a huge wooden chair draped with furs, celebrating. Veradis turned and looked over the woodland to the west, rolling away in shades of green into the twilight as night crept upon them. He strained his ears, listening, and thought he heard something on the breeze — shouting? Perhaps they’ve found Owain. Woodland was not a place he would choose for battle — he had had enough of trees in Forn. Just stepping into these woods earlier had brought those memories flooding back. He hadn’t been in these woods long, though. Just long enough to find the girl, Cywen, and bring her back. And only just in time. Veradis had taken command of watching the girl, given her to Bos with a stern warning to watch her closely. Even though Conall had beaten her bloody she had been more worried about her horse, and how to get that arrow out of it. So the first thing he had done upon their return was to take her to the paddocks in search of Rhin’s horsemasters. He had bumped into Akar, who was overseeing the care given to the Jehar’s mounts, and to Veradis’ surprise Akar had said that he would help. Together they had tied the stallion to a series of posts, securing him as tightly as they could. Akar had called other Jehar to help, one of them attaching something to the soft flesh around the horse’s nostrils, tightening it until the stallion’s head had drooped, had seemed beyond calm, close to sleep even. Then a poultice had been placed around the wound — Akar said it would open the flesh a little and numb it — then with a sharp tug he had pulled the arrow out. The horse had jumped, eyes rolling, but it was over so quickly it settled almost immediately. Veradis had left them tending the wound, Cywen looking with interest over their shoulders despite her obvious mistrust of them all.
And now he was looking at his dead warriors, wondering what he could do to save lives in the next battle. And there will be many more, as we walk ever deeper into this God-War.
He went in search of Nathair, found him seated in a wide ring of warriors, hidden in shadow and watching Rhin as she rewarded her chieftains with plunder. A fire-pit had been dug; the carcass of a great boar was turning above it, fat crackling as it dripped into the flames. Veradis’ gaze was drawn to Rhin where she was sitting upon an ornate chair, thick with furs, clothed in black sable, a cloak of the same material edged with gold about her shoulders, her silver hair spilling across it. A gold torc wrapped her neck, and the firelight flickering across her face cast it one moment in shadow, the other in light. Her hand was extended, draped with gold and silver that she was offering to a warrior who stood before her. It was an older man, with streaks of white in his red hair and silver torcs curled around broad arms.
‘Who’s that?’ Veradis asked Nathair.
‘That’s her battlechief, Geraint.’
‘You should be seated with her,’ Veradis whispered to Nathair. ‘You won this battle for her and, besides, you are high king.’
‘Let her enjoy her moment,’ Nathair said with a smile. ‘She might well have won this battle without our help, even outnumbered. She’s a sly one.’
‘Yes,’ said Veradis. He remembered her well from Aquilus’ council. Clever, cunning and with a clear predilection for younger men, if the way she had looked at her first-sword had been anything to go by.
Bos pushed through the crowd, heading towards them, grasping Cywen’s wrist. She had washed the blood from her face, but it was still patched with bruises.
‘I hear you have taken on a new ward,’ Nathair said, looking at the girl.
‘Thought you’d be upset if she was found with her throat slit. I don’t think that Conall has the temperament for guard duty.’
‘You are right. And Calidus would most likely explode if she was killed. He is convinced the girl is important, perhaps a route to finding her brother.’ Nathair’s expression turned serious. ‘The Black Sun. He is out there. .’ He looked out across the marshes, just a glimmer now as darkness fell, the sea beyond a murmur.
‘So what now,’ Veradis said.
‘Tomorrow we shall meet with Rhin, make more plans and continue the serious business before us. But tonight. Tonight we shall celebrate our victory and the fact that we are still alive.’ He raised a jug, poured from it and offered Veradis a cup. Veradis took a sip. Mead. He winced at the sweet taste of honey, but still managed a twisted grin.
Bos led Cywen over, freeing her when they reached Veradis. She scowled at the big warrior, rubbing her wrist.
‘How is your horse?’ Veradis asked her.
A smile touched her face, hesitant, for an instant transforming her. There’s actually a pretty girl beneath all those bruises and scowling.
‘I think he will be fine,’ she said. ‘Your friend, he is an amazing horseman.’
For a moment Veradis did not know what, or who, she meant, then realized she was talking about Akar. ‘The Jehar are skilled horsemen. I have never seen their like on horseback. .’ He blew out a long breath. ‘I think they care more for their horses than people.’
She smiled again at that. ‘I know how that feels.’
Veradis heard a blowing of horns, looked in the direction of the sound and saw men spilling from the woods, many holding torches aloft, a constellation of firelight in the growing darkness. At their front three men marched. One walked — a woodsman by the look of the long bow slung across his back. Beside him a warrior rode a fine horse, sitting tall, teeth glinting in the torchlight. Before them both stumbled another man, his hands bound behind his back.
Owain.
Veradis saw Evnis further back amongst the warriors emerging from the woods, his shieldmen riding close about him.
Owain’s captors marched him up the hill and pushed him stumbling before Rhin. The rider with them raised a hand in greeting to Rhin, gave a wide smile and dismounted, handing his reins to a warrior.
Cywen was still standing beside Veradis, and he heard her hiss, saw that her eyes were fixed venomously on the warrior.
‘Morcant, Rhin’s first-sword and paid killer,’ Cywen said bitterly.
Veradis blinked. Of course.
Owain was cut and bruised, his lips and one eye swollen, but somehow he managed to stand straight.
‘Welcome, cousin.’ Rhin smiled. ‘You have arrived just in time. We were about to eat.’ She gestured to the boar turning above the fire. ‘I am celebrating, you see.’
Owain stared at her, rage surfacing through the ruin of his face. ‘Cambren not enough for you?’ he said.
‘Not when I am surrounded by realms ruled by idiots,’ Rhin replied.
‘You are a tyrant, a liar, a thief. I hope you rot in hell for what you have done.’ He spat on the ground. Angry murmurs rippled the crowd, but Rhin merely laughed.
‘A tyrant? Surely it’s a little too early to tell. I have only been Queen of Narvon and Ardan for half a day.’
Owain lunged at her but Morcant clubbed him across the shoulders, sending him sprawling.
‘You started the war between Brenin and me,’ Owain snarled.