Malice (76 page)

Morcant squatted before the women, staring at each in turn. ‘We have a long walk ahead of us,’ he said. ‘Make no trouble and you shall have no cause to fear. Any mischief . . .’

So he’s about threatening women and bairns, now
, thought Camlin. He turned back to stand with Braith, arms folded. He knew he was being unwise: if Braith was wary of Morcant, any man should be, but he just didn’t trust him. Unbidden the memory of his mam and Col came to mind, lying lifeless beside each other in their old yard. He looked around, trying to shift the thought and frowned. Gochel should be back by now.

‘Rhin will never get away with this,’ Alona said.

‘She already has,’ Morcant smirked. ‘Now behave yourself, my
Queen
, none of your high and mighty talk, if you please. Remember you’re my prisoner and you shall reach Cambren safely. You
and
your brat.’ He smiled at Edana.

‘Brave man, aren’t you?’ Cywen said. ‘Taunting women.
Bound
women.’

Morcant looked down at Cywen. ‘Who are you?’

‘Untie me, then I do not think you would be so brave,’ Cywen said furiously. Some of the men around the camp chuckled.

‘I said, who are you? Whose blood?’

‘My da is a smith at Dun Carreg. And he will kill you when he finds you.’

‘Ah, now there lies his problem,’ Morcant said, smiling again. ‘I doubt that he shall
ever
find me. And you are of no use to me. In fact, you are a burden, an extra mouth to feed, another person to guard. And, on top of that, I find you irritating.’ He looked at one of the warriors with him. ‘Kill her,’ he said.

There was a blur of movement as the man levelled his spear, then Camlin was suddenly moving too, drawing his sword. He chopped at the spear shaft, splintering it, and stepped in front of the girl.

‘Leave her be,’ he heard himself say.

Morcant smiled and drew his own sword.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

CORBAN

Branches whipped into Corban’s face, stinging and leaving red lines across his cheek. He cursed under his breath and rubbed sweat out of his eyes.

He was ploughing desperately through the forest, Marrock beside him, Storm a dozen paces ahead with her muzzle low to the ground.

Corban was not sure how long they had been going – the trees blocked the sun – but the muscles in his legs were burning, his back was slick with sweat and his throat was dry. He sent a prayer to Elyon that they would find their quarry soon, but fear came on its heels. What would happen then? Battle? He gritted his teeth.
Cywen is out there. Fear will not rule me
.

Marrock glanced at him and smiled reassuringly. ‘You’re doing well, lad,’ he muttered.

‘Huh,’ said Corban.

‘How is it that your wolven is here?’ Marrock asked.

‘She followed us, me, from Dun Carreg,’ Corban panted. ‘I found out.’ He wiped his face again. ‘I could not leave her alone, here in the Darkwood . . .’ he trailed off, not knowing how else to put it into words.

Marrock nodded. ‘I thought it might happen,’ he said. ‘You’re her pack. Makes sense she’d seek you out.’

‘I just wanted to give her some food,’ Corban said.

‘She’s survived long enough without you feeding her,’ said Marrock. ‘It’s been, what, three moons now, since you left her in the Baglun?’

‘Aye.’

‘She’s learned to hunt well enough, then, for she’d not be here if she hadn’t eaten. Mind you,’ he added, glancing at Corban, ‘she’s had a bit of help, there.’

‘Help? What do you mean?’

‘I saw your friends, giving her meat.’

‘What? Who?’

‘Farrell was one of them. The other, from the village, I think. A small lad.’

Dath
. ‘I didn’t know,’ Corban murmured.

‘You have good friends about you,’ Marrock said. ‘Loyal.’

Corban looked back over his shoulder, at Gar, who brought up the rear of their column. ‘I know it.’

‘You can tell much about a man by the company he keeps, by his friends,
and
his enemies,’ Marrock said.

Storm suddenly slowed ahead of them and crouched lower to the ground, ears flattening to her skull, tail flicking.

Marrock held a hand up and the column slowed. ‘Stay back, lad,’ he whispered. ‘If there is battle, find Gar.’

Corban nodded but kept moving forwards, wanting to reach Storm. He felt a rumbling growl beginning to grow inside her as he laid a hand on her back.

Warriors moved past on either side of him, a sudden tension upon them all, then Gar was there, a reassuring presence at his shoulder.

Marrock was about a dozen paces ahead, hand on his sword hilt, eyes scanning the forest. He froze a moment, then ran forwards. The others gathered round him, Corban and Gar last of all.

The ground was trampled here, several bodies lying in the undergrowth, two in red cloaks, one in grey. Marrock knelt beside another, solitary grey-cloaked body, a gash across his throat.

Corban stared and felt his stomach lurch.

It was Ronan.

The warriors began searching the surrounding area. Nearby Conall bent, picked something up and showed a knife to Marrock.

‘That’s Cywen’s,’ Corban said.

‘Are you sure, lad?’ Halion asked him.

‘It’s hers, all right, one of her throwing knives.’

‘Search the area,’ Marrock ordered.

While the dozen men spread out, Corban knelt next to Ronan’s body, remembered him laughing with them all, teasing Cywen, always guarding Edana. Tears blurred his vision. He saw Ronan’s sword on the ground and picked it up, placed the hilt in the young warrior’s hand and closed the stiffening fingers about it.

Gar’s hand rested on Corban’s shoulder. Corban rubbed his eyes and stood.

‘They still live,’ Marrock said as the warriors gathered about him. ‘Of that I am certain. Though they were captured here, I think. The trail turns away from their previous course and heads east. We must press on.’ He looked at Corban, who whispered to Storm, the wolven setting off again, nose to the ground.

They travelled fast, Storm setting a quick pace, a growing tension rising amongst them, knowing they were close.

Nevertheless, after what seemed an age to Corban, the forest began to grow dark and they had seen no further sign of their quarry. Marrock called a halt, Corban reaching for his water skin.

‘It will be dark soon,’ Marrock said to his gathered warriors. ‘Those we follow will make camp and settle for the night, but we have a choice, gifted us by this wolven’s nose. We either do as they do, make camp and continue at sun up, or we follow the wolven’s nose through the night. I am for marching on,’ he said, ‘as long as we can move quietly, to close the gap between us and them.’

Heads nodded around him and he smiled grimly, his scar twisting his mouth.

‘Good, then. Corban, lead us on.’

With that they set off into the deepening twilight, slower now, Storm loping ahead.

Corban stumbled, not for the first time, his boot catching in the vines that coated the ground. Marrock reached out and steadied him.

They had been walking a long time in darkness now, and Storm was a white streak about ten paces up ahead. Suddenly Storm stopped, Corban almost bumping into her before he realized. The line of warriors behind him rippled to a halt.

‘What is it?’ Marrock whispered.

Storm stood completely still, half-crouched, ears forward, looking fixedly into the darkness. Her lips twitched into a silent snarl, hackles standing as a crest between her shoulders.

‘I think someone is there,’ Corban said quietly. ‘Up ahead.’

Marrock crept down the line, returning soon with Conall and Halion behind him. Without a word the two men slipped into the undergrowth to either side of the wolven and disappeared into the darkness.

Corban crouched beside Storm and strained to hear something, but for what seemed like the longest time all he heard was the beating of his own heart, the rustle of leaves and branches high above and the slow breathing of Marrock behind him. Then he
did
hear something else, or thought he did. A thud. He strained again, but there was no more.

Eventually a figure appeared up ahead, a deeper shadow in the darkness: Conall creeping towards them.

‘That wolven’s handy to have around,’ he said quietly to Marrock.

‘You found someone, then?’

‘Aye. Man in a red cloak standing watch. Got a red smile to match his cloak now. Halion’s hiding the body.’

Marrock called the other warriors up. ‘Their camp cannot be far,’ he said to them all. ‘We have killed a guard.’ Halion then crept out of the darkness to join them and nodded to Marrock. ‘We shall wait here, until sunrise. It is not far off, now, and I do not want to stumble into their camp in the dark.’

With that they all settled into the undergrowth, Corban leaning against Storm, who pressed her muzzle into his hand.

‘Good girl,’ he whispered to her, tugging her ear.

Gar sat beside him. ‘When the fighting starts, stay by me,’ he said.

‘Cywen is there,’ Corban said.

‘They will not be using wooden sticks, Corban. Come sunrise men are going to die. You stay by me.’

Corban did not answer, just sat there thinking of the bodies in the glade, of Tull, of Ronan in the forest. He shuddered, eyes drooping, and nestled his head against Storm’s flank.

Corban woke with a start, as Gar gently shook his shoulder. Storm licked his face, her protruding canines pressing into his cheek.

There was a grey edge to the forest about him, a pale nimbus of light seeping through the canopy above.

‘It is time to go,’ Gar whispered and pointed at Marrock, who was gathered with the other warriors.

Corban rose stiffly and joined the hunters, feeling another burst of fear. He replayed Gar’s words.
Men are going to die
. He swallowed, suddenly wishing he was anywhere else, then felt a rush of shame – Cywen was out there.

Conall returned, lifting a bloodied knife. ‘Their next watch will not be seeing much,’ he said to Marrock.

‘We are splitting into two groups,’ Marrock said to Corban. ‘I will lead one, Halion shall lead the other. I am thinking that you should stay here and wait for us.’

‘What? But Cywen is out there,’ Corban blurted.

‘We would not be here if not for him,’ Halion said. ‘He’s earned more than being left behind like a bairn.’

‘Aye, he has,’ agreed Marrock reluctantly.

‘And that wolven of his may help us yet,’ Halion added.

Marrock assessed Corban a moment, then nodded. ‘All right, then. You come with me, Corban.’

They set off immediately. ‘Wait for my signal,’ Marrock said in parting to Halion, who led his band to the left, Marrock heading to the right of the track they’d followed. Corban stayed near to the last warrior. Storm padded close to him, Gar immediately behind.

A new sound mingled with those they had become accustomed, growing louder. Running water. Soon they came to a wide dark stream and turned to follow its bank. Slowly, almost soundlessly, they crept along the stream’s bank, through thick, spiky sedge and tall reeds. Something splashed into the water, a vole or rat startled by their presence, and for long moments they all froze, Corban holding his breath.

He was suddenly terrified, his palms sweating.
Men are going to die
. He sucked in a slow, shuddering breath, and whispered a prayer to Elyon.

Then they were moving again. Corban could see figures moving around the glow of a small fire, hear the chink of metal, and muted conversation as the camp started to wake. Instinctively he reached for the sword at his waist but Gar grabbed his wrist and shook his head.

Louder voices drifted across to them, from beyond the fire. After a moment of staring, searching the camp, Corban saw a group of red-cloaked men gathered before a wide tree, other figures sitting about the tree’s trunk. He saw Alona, Edana beside her, then Cywen. He felt Storm tense beside him and wrapped a hand in her fur.

The light from above was growing now, details in the camp becoming clearer. Half a dozen men stood before the bound women, one of them talking to the women, it seemed. Then he heard Cywen’s voice, sharp and clear. She was angry, furious, he could not mistake that tone. His heart lurched with joy.

Suddenly there was a flurry of movement, one of the red-cloaked men lifting his spear and lunging towards Cywen. Then another brought his sword across the spear, splintering the weapon, before stepping in front of the women. Was he defending them? And there was something familiar about the man.

Then another was drawing his sword.

He recognized them. Morcant, Rhin’s champion, drawing his sword on Camlin, the brigand. But that made no sense.

‘Be ready,’ Marrock hissed. There was a loud shout from amongst the trees and Conall came hurtling out of the undergrowth, sword in one hand, knife in the other, and buried its blade up to the hilt in a red-cloaked warrior. Halion and his handful of men were close behind him, carving into the men in the camp.

Marrock cursed and launched himself over the stream’s bank, his men following.