‘Eremon rules in Domhain, and he is distant kin to Edana. I know him, and he will not turn her away, or betray her.’
‘He turned you away,’ Marrock said.
Halion stared at Marrock a long, silent moment.
Heb spoke up now. ‘Tell us of your father. Will he give aid against Owain?’
Halion grimaced. ‘My father is old, beyond his seventieth year now. When I last saw him he was still sharp of mind. I am his bastard son, you understand, not his heir, but he always treated me well enough.’
‘Then why did you leave Domhain?’ Marrock asked.
Halion looked about them all, then took a deep breath. ‘Conall, my brother, he has, had. .’ He paused a moment. ‘He had a temper, and a lot of pride. It got him into trouble more than once. Growing up, we were fine; my mam was looked after by my da — she was his mistress, one of many. But in his old age he took a wife because he had no heir. Roisin. She was young, beautiful, and she treated us and my mam well enough, when we saw her, which was rare. Then she fell with child, birthed a boy — Lorcan. Things changed then. She became jealous, fearful that Conall and I had eyes for the throne of Domhain. And not just us — we were not Eremon’s only bastards. Accidents began to happen; people died. My mam was one.’ He threw a twig on the fire. ‘Of course, Conall didn’t take that welclass="underline" he thought that our mam had been murdered. He confronted Roisin, said things he shouldn’t have. Soon after that my da came to see us, told us he would arrange sanctuary with King Brenin of Ardan.’ He shrugged. ‘We left.’
‘So how can you take us there, when your own life is at risk? Surely your enemies will become Edana’s enemies,’ Marrock said.
‘There is no safe place, now,’ Halion said. ‘But my father will give Edana sanctuary, of that I am certain. He thought well of Brenin. Maybe he will give other aid. I cannot promise men, but at least it will be a safer place than most, and far from Owain’s reach.’
Marrock frowned, thinking over Halion’s words. ‘I see the sense of it. But I’d rather be doing something, fighting rather than running away. And I know we’ve all lost people, but there are still others that we’ve left behind in Dun Carreg, others that still live. More warriors to join our cause, and others. Defenceless others, like my Fion. .’
He dropped his gaze, staring into the fire.
Fion, his wife, Corban thought. That must be hard on him.
‘My troubles are my own,’ Marrock said, lifting his head, ‘and my duty is to protect Edana, but still, running away, allowing Owain to just hunt down and kill any that would stand against him in Edana’s name; it does not sit well with me. And the thought of Owain sitting in Brenin’s feast-hall. .’ His lip curled in a snarl and others around the fire muttered their agreement.
Corban looked between Halion and Marrock, could see the sense in both arguments. He leaned towards Halion; he knew from hard lessons in the Rowan Field that Halion had a strategic mind, and patience. He believes there is more chance of success if we retreat now, plan to fight another day. Marrock’s argument stirred his passion, though. Part of him did not want to run.
‘It angers me too,’ another voice said, Edana’s finally. She was still staring at the flames. There were scars on her cheeks where she had clawed them in her grief at Alona’s death. They gave her a feral, inhuman quality. ‘And I will take it back from him. But for now Halion’s plan is a good one. I need time.’ She looked at Halion and nodded curtly to him. Slowly a silence draped itself over them all.
Twigs snapped and there was a scuffling sound in the darkness beyond the firelight’s reach, a hulking figure taking shape out of the shadows. It was Storm, the carcass of a deer hanging from her jaws.
She padded through the group and dropped the deer at Corban’s feet, nudged it towards him and waited.
‘Seems you’re pack leader,’ Halion said.
‘She thinks so.’ Corban placed a hand on the deer, accepting Storm’s gift. He drew his knife and began to skin the carcass.
Not long after, Corban was licking hot fat off his fingers and wiping it from his chin. Storm was curled at his feet, cracking one of the leg bones between her teeth, gnawing at the marrow.
Gwenith leaned over and squeezed Corban’s hand. ‘It is time to talk,’ she said quietly. Without looking at him, she stood and walked away, to the edge of the firelight. Gar rose with Corban and followed.
When he reached her, Gwenith took Corban’s hand and led him beyond the firelight. She sat down beside a smooth-barked rowan, patting the grass in front of her.
Hesitantly he sat, feeling anxious. It was not as dark here as it appeared from beside the fire. Moonlight silvered his mam’s hair and played on her face. Much was still in shadow, but he could see enough to know that she was troubled. She chewed her bottom lip. Gar sat next to her, watching Corban with an intensity that was unsettling.
‘There is much to tell you, Ban,’ his mam said, a tremor in her voice. ‘Almost too much. Now that we are here, I hardly know where to start. .’ she trailed off.
‘Whatever it is, can’t it wait?’ Corban said. ‘We are all half-blind with grief and exhaustion?’
‘I know,’ his mam said, ‘but-’
‘It cannot wait,’ Gar interrupted. ‘With each day we are travelling further from our true destination.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘First,’ his mam said fiercely, ‘remember this. I love you. We love you. And know that whatever we have done, and will do, it has come from trying to do right. To protect you, and to serve Elyon.’
‘Elyon?’ said Corban.
His mam nodded.
Elyon, the All-Father, had always seemed just a distant name to Corban, someone or something that he knew about but that never directly affected him. He remembered Brina telling him about the All-Father, how he had given authority to mankind over all creation, and that after the War of Treasures and the Scourging Elyon had turned from mankind, forsaken all he had made. He remembered too what she had said about Asroth, dark angel of the Otherworld: how he yearned to become flesh so as to destroy all Elyon had created.
He shivered. ‘But Elyon has abandoned us. Why serve him?’
‘Why?’ Gar blinked, looking shocked at the question. ‘Because he is our creator. Because he will return. Because it is right.’
Corban shrugged. ‘Why are we sitting in the dark talking about this now? What’s all this got to do with me?’
His mam took a deep breath. ‘You know that things are happening. Strange things — day turned to night on Midwinter, white wyrms roaming the dark places.’
‘I know that,’ Corban said, remembering the wyrm that had attacked them in the tunnels beneath Dun Carreg.
‘They are signs that something is coming. The God-War.’
Corban’s skin prickled, the hairs on his arms standing up. The God-War. He had heard rumours, talk, mostly from Edana, spying on King Brenin after his return from the council in Tenebral. It had made him feel strange, even then, but now, in the dark, leagues from home. .
‘You are a special child, Corban,’ his mam continued. ‘And I do not mean that in the way that all mothers think of their children. You are different. Chosen.’
She paused, looking deep into his face, searching for something. He just felt confused.
‘Chosen? Mam, what’s this all about? By who? For what?’
‘By Elyon. You have a part to play in the God-War. Because of this you have also been hunted, since the day you were born.’
‘Hunted? Who by?’
Gwenith looked about, as if to check that no one was creeping up on them. ‘Asroth,’ she whispered.
‘Chosen, hunted?’ A smile died on Corban’s lips as he saw her expression. She really believes this. Grief and exhaustion have confused her, he thought.
His mam shook her head. ‘It should be Thannon doing the telling. I do not know how to say this,’ she muttered, eyes flickering to Gar. A tear rolled down her cheek.