John Gwynne - Valour

They collided, Maquin’s feet ploughing into Herak’s, their bodies coming together, crashing to the ground in a grappling roll. Maquin’s sword spun from his grip. He headbutted Herak, felt cartilage break, felt a knee crunching into his gut. Dimly above them Maquin was aware of the other pit-fighters appearing, slipping into combat with Lykos’ shieldmen.

Pain focused him back onto Herak; the man was biting into his shoulder. With a curse, Maquin rammed his shoulder forward, forcing it into Herak’s mouth, pushing his jaws apart. There was a momentary loosening of Herak’s grip as the man gagged. Maquin twisted his torso and flipped over, spinning Herak, grabbed a handful of his hair and dragged his knife across the man’s throat.

He rose fluidly, saw Javed kick a Vin Thalun’s legs out from under him and stab him. Orgull was labouring against another. In a bound Maquin was at his side, punching his knife into the Vin Thalun’s back. Orgull nodded a breathless thanks.

Maquin turned to see Lykos looming in his vision, Deinon at his side. He glimpsed Fidele behind, sat meekly, her hands folded across her lap. Then Lykos was at him. Their weapons clashed, Maquin’s knife against Lykos’ short sword, trading a flurry of blows. Maquin staggered back. There was a concentrated fury in Lykos’ assault that was hard to contain. Lykos was still clutching something in his other hand. Deinon swept past him, Maquin knowing instinctively that he was headed for Orgull.

He launched into an attack of his own, the resentment and pain of the last few months focusing on the man in front of him. Lykos’ advance was halted — he was shuffling back. Maquin stepped away, risked a glance to Orgull, saw his friend stumble over a bench and topple backwards, Deinon following. Javed appeared from nowhere, throwing himself at Deinon, the two of them tumbling into the benches.

Then Maquin was ducking, slashing, blocking as Lykos was at him again. The corsair King was quick, moving fluidly from one attack to another. Pain seared along one of Maquin’s thighs, then across the opposite shoulder as Lykos managed to get past his defence.

I’d rather fight a giant than someone this fast. Mustn’t give him space, or I’m a dead man . Maquin barrelled forwards, crashing through Lykos’ guard, slashed, scoring a gash across Lykos’ ribs, crouched and smashed a fist into the man’s knee, rocking him, then stabbed at Lykos’ throat.

The Vin Thalun wobbled, just managing to turn Maquin’s blade as Maquin grabbed his sword wrist. Lykos gripped his forearm, whatever he’d been clinging to in his other hand fell to the floor and Maquin felt it crunch underfoot.

Just heartbeats later Fidele rushed at them, a look of utter hatred contorting her face.

Maquin flinched, thinking she was attacking him, but she crashed into Lykos, screaming incoherently at the Vin Thalun.

Thought this was her wedding day .

The three of them fell to the ground, weapons spinning away, Fidele’s fingers tearing at Lykos’ face, ripping bloody streaks across his cheeks.

‘You control me no longer,’ she spat at him.

Not a happy marriage, then .

Maquin scrabbled for a weapon, just as Fidele snatched his knife and plunged it into Lykos’ back, below the ribs. Lykos was only wearing a silk shirt — this is his wedding day — and the knife sank to the hilt into his flesh. He screamed, an animal cry of pain, and sank to one knee.

Maquin shoved Fidele behind him, saw Lykos struggling to rise, Deinon standing over a motionless Javed while Orgull started to drag himself upright from behind a bench. Deinon stepped over Javed’s body and sank his sword into Orgull’s chest.

Maquin screamed a wordless howl, launching himself through the air and colliding with Deinon, his sword puncturing the Vin Thalun’s back, its tip bursting out of the killer’s chest. His friend was still breathing, his chest rising in short, ragged bursts. Blood and froth bubbled at his mouth. Maquin cradled his head.

‘I’m sorry, my brother. I’m sorry, I was too slow.’ Maquin’s vision blurred, tears streaming down his cheeks, dripping from his nose.

Orgull’s eyes fixed on him. His mouth moved but only a bubbling hiss came out. He reached for Maquin’s hand and squeezed it, then gave out a long, fading breath.

Time dissolved for Maquin, becoming an arbitrary thing, moments or days passing — he did not know. He felt a hand on his shoulder pulling the world back into focus. Fidele.

The battle still raged around them, though it had moved further away. Lykos was nowhere to be seen, only a bloody handprint on the ground. Vin Thalun were everywhere, though, fighting the crowd, as well as warriors in the black and white of the eagle-guard here and there.

‘Where is he?’ Fidele gasped. Terror and loathing swept her face. ‘He still lives,’ she said.

‘Aye, maybe.’ She did not look as if she wanted to be found by Lykos. ‘Best get you out of here,’ Maquin said. He pulled on Orgull’s axe and placed it on his friend’s chest, fixing it in his grip.

‘Take that across the bridge of swords with you. And walk tall, brother. You’ve earned it.’

Then he was leading Fidele by the hand, being swept by the crowd as they flowed towards the exits, out into the meadow. Once there, Maquin saw the extent of the uprising that was taking place. Nowhere was safe, battle spreading across the field. More Vin Thalun were pouring from the gates of Jerolin, others from the lake town, still more boats rowing towards shore from the ships on the lake. Maquin paused and sucked in a great lungful of air.

Free air. I am free, a slave no longer . The thought made him dizzy. He grinned fiercely, then turned and led Fidele away, the two of them heading towards the trees that bordered the meadow.

CAMLIN

Camlin stared at Halion, then at the red gash across his shoulder. A handful of warriors stood with them, men Rath had entrusted to escort Roisin and Lorcan.

Quinn’s blade was poisoned. I saw what it did to the man he fought. At the very least it’s going to put him on his back, and soon. At worst it may kill him .

‘Get back to the ship,’ Camlin said. They looked along the quay. Lorcan was sprawled unconscious where Quinn had dropped him; beyond the lad the last of Quinn’s men were still fighting, separating Camlin from his comrades. He glimpsed Baird and Marrock. He heard his friend call his name.

The drumming of hooves grew. Conall and his men were reaching the beach, galloping hard, sand spraying.

‘You go, Cam, get Lorcan back to the ship, take a few from here to finish Quinn’s men. The rest of us will stay and hold Con a while, give you a chance to get away.’ Halion looked at the men with him, each one nodding.

‘Don’t think I’ll be leaving you in a fix like this,’ Camlin said, reaching into his quiver and grabbing a fistful of arrows. One by one he stabbed them into the soft timber of the quay.

A tremor shook Halion and he swayed, resting his sword-point against the floor, leaning on it.

‘Quinn’s blade was poisoned; it may just have been a drug, a sedative that may pass. If not. .’ Camlin shrugged. ‘Either way you’re no good here — go back to the ship.’

‘I’ll not run from Conall. He’ll never let me forget it.’ Halion attempted a smile.

Camlin just stared at him.

‘I need to look him in the eye,’ Halion said. ‘He’s my brother, and there’s good in him yet.’

‘If there is he’s buried it good ‘n’ deep.’

‘I have to try.’

Camlin shrugged. ‘You won’t have long to wait.’

Conall was only a few hundred paces away now, galloping along the beach, at least a hundred warriors trailing behind him. Halion shuffled closer to the stairs that led down from the quay to the beach, the warriors with him spreading in a half-circle.