‘Yes, I did. Which is why you accuse me of being a thief, I suspect. Stealing your realm from you. To be fair, you did have a choice in the matter. And Brenin did try to explain my part in things to you. He was always the brighter of you two. Besides, I have not stolen your realm; I have taken it from you. There is a big difference.’
‘But. .’
‘Now, the real question left is what to do with you. You could serve me, you know. Be my vassal, govern part of my realm for me.’
‘What?’
‘I know, a shocking idea, and most likely a bad one. You see, I am not sure that I can trust you.’
Owain snorted.
‘So what other options do I have? Exile. A lenient ruler, merciful even, might choose that, as you are kin.’
She looked around the crowd. ‘What should I do with this vanquished king?’
‘Mercy,’ a voice shouted behind Veradis. It was Nathair, hands cupped to his mouth. ‘Show him mercy.’
‘Mercy,’ Veradis called out, joining his voice to Nathair’s. Soon it was a chant, hundreds strong.
‘Very well,’ Rhin said. ‘And if I grant you mercy, will you accept it?’ she said to Owain.
He stood silently, glowering at her.
‘Please, merciful I may be, but patient I am not. Well, not tonight, anyway. I am too hungry, and that roasting pig smells very good.’ She looked about the ring, all eyes on her.
She’s enjoying this, Veradis thought.
‘You killed my son,’ Owain said.
‘Not me personally, actually. That was him.’ Rhin pointed to Evnis. ‘But I did order his death.’ She shrugged. ‘It was war. Men die. But now the war is over, with you, at least. And you have the chance to live. Will you take it?’
‘I would rather die than serve you.’ Owain stared defiantly at her.
‘Very well.’ Rhin shrugged. ‘Braith, hold him. Morcant, take his head.’
The woodsman kicked Owain behind the knees, dropping him to the ground as Morcant drew his sword. Owain struggled, spluttering mud, then the sword was whistling, chopping with a wet thunk. It did not cut all the way through Owain’s neck, and his body jerked, spasmed, his feet kicking. Morcant wrenched his sword free and swung again, then Braith was holding Owain’s head for Rhin to see. He turned slowly, showing the crowd.
‘Well, that’s done, then. Put his head on a spike, Morcant, but later. First come and cut some meat for me,’ she said, rising and holding her hand out to her first-sword.
Veradis sighed at yet another life lost and looked down at Cywen. She was gone.
He snapped a curse at Bos, scanned the crowd.
‘But I was watching the head,’ Bos said.
Then Veradis saw her, a figure pushing through the crowd, moving determinedly towards Rhin. Thought she would have been going the other way, trying to escape. Then it hit him. She can’t seriously be thinking to kill Rhin. He charged after her, warriors grunting as he shouldered them out of the way.
Rhin was standing by the spitted boar, Morcant about to slice the first cut of meat for her, when Cywen stepped into the ring. She started to run, reaching a hand low to the heel of her boot — no doubt a hidden weapon. Veradis gave a burst of speed after her and yelled a warning, knowing he was too late, that she would reach Rhin before he managed to stop her.
Morcant looked up, shoved the Queen away and stepped forwards, reaching for his sword.
Cywen threw her knife and barely paused as it hit Morcant in the shoulder, knocking him back into the boar, flames flaring around him. She leaped at him, heedless of the flames, her hands reaching for the knife. Veradis closed the gap; all about people were staring in frozen surprise. Warriors hastened towards Rhin.
Morcant and Cywen rolled away from the fire, flames licking about them from Morcant’s clothes. She had a hand around the knife hilt, was trying to pull it out to use again. He managed to get a knee up and kicked out, catching Cywen in the gut, sending her rolling away. In a heartbeat he was on his feet, grabbing his dropped sword and raising it high. With a hiss of iron Veradis drew his own sword, sparks flying as he blocked Morcant’s swing. For a heartbeat the warrior stood and stared at Veradis, then Cywen was leaping at him again as Veradis lunged for her, grabbing a handful of her tunic, and managing to block another strike from Morcant as the warrior tried to cave Cywen’s skull in with the hilt of his sword. Veradis glimpsed Alcyon striding into sight, Calidus, Bos and Nathair close by. He pushed Cywen towards them just as Morcant seemed to decide that Veradis was an obstacle that needed to be removed.
Their blades clashed; Veradis retreated before a surprisingly fast combination of blows. He stepped out of range and then Rhin was moving between them, scowling at Veradis.
‘What is going on here?’ she demanded.
‘She tried to kill you,’ Morcant said, pointing at Cywen, who was being restrained in one of Alcyon’s huge hands.
‘I tried to kill you, you idiot,’ Cywen yelled.
‘What?’
‘You murdered Ronan.’ She struggled in Alcyon’s grip, then slumped, angry tears staining her face. ‘In the Darkwood, when you attacked Queen Alona.’
‘I probably did,’ Morcant said, ‘though I don’t know who he is.’ He studied Cywen. Recognition flared in his eyes. ‘But you I do remember. She should be executed.’
‘No. She is under my protection,’ Nathair said, stepping forward.
Rhin frowned, staring icily at Cywen. Then she smiled at Nathair, a sudden change to graciousness and charm. ‘As you will, Nathair. She is fortunate to have your patronage. But I wonder who will protect my first-sword from her?’’ She cast a look of derision at Morcant as laughter erupted from her chieftains.
‘I can look after myself,’ Morcant said indignantly. He grabbed the knife hilt sticking from his shoulder and pulled it out with a grimace. ‘Think I’ll keep this.’
‘I’ll just find another one,’ Cywen said.
Veradis strode over to her, furious at having been put in such a position in front of Nathair. She does not know when to quit. ‘Bos, bind her hands. And you.’ He stepped close to Cywen and pointed a finger at her. ‘You really need to stop trying to kill people.’
She glared at him.
‘Well, I’m glad that’s all over with now. Good, then perhaps I can finally have something to eat?’ Rhin said.
Morcant strode back to the fire-pit, drawing his knife. As he reached to make the first cut for his Queen another figure stepped into the ring.
It was Conall. ‘I contest your right,’ he said loudly, for all to hear.
It was written in the Lore of the Exiles that each ruler would have their champion, their first-sword. Tradition said that only they had the right to carve the first cut of meat for their king or queen. That right could be challenged, though, to be decided in the Court of Swords. The victor would be first-sword.
‘Ahhh,’ Rhin groaned, ‘am I never going to eat tonight?’
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CORBAN
Corban had lost track of time, his world contracted to the ground before him, the burn in his lungs and legs, the shadows of his companions about him.
How long have we been running?
It was still dark; the only light was the burning torches that had been hastily fashioned from branches back in the dell where the wolven attacked them.
Dawn cannot be far off. Shapes were starting to emerge from the darkness, boulders, steep rocky cliffs to either side of the narrow path they were travelling.
In front of him Farrell stumbled, still carrying his da’s body. Corban grabbed Farrell’s belt, steadying him.
Heb and Brina dropped back, Heb looking at Farrell.
‘You should lay him down,’ Heb said.
‘No,’ Farrell grunted. ‘I’ll not leave him for his bones to be picked by scavengers.’