John Gwynne - Valour

Conall scowled at the hound, his grip closing around his sword hilt. ‘I’m starting to get bored with this, lass. And if that dog tries to put his teeth in me it’ll be the last thing he does. Come along now.’

‘Who wants to see me? Evnis?’

‘He’ll be there, but it’s not him as asked for you. That would be Nathair. A king, no less. You should be honoured. Now come on — I’ll not be asking again.’

Nathair. What does he want? Against her better judgement Cywen was curious. ‘All right,’ she muttered. ‘I can always kill you another time.’

‘Very kind of you,’ said Conall.

‘It’s only because I’m too tired to bury your corpse,’ she said as she strode up to him.

He took a step back and placed a hand protectively over his groin. ‘Not too close,’ he said. ‘I saw what you did to Helfach’s boy in the hall the other day. Me, I’m very fond of my stones.’

She hid a grin of her own as she walked through the kitchen and out of her front door, Buddai at her heels.

The cobbled streets were mostly in shadow as she walked through the fortress, the sun setting low, a pink glow reflecting off high clouds. As she passed the stables she scanned the paddocks, quickly finding Shield, Corban’s skewbald stallion; he whinnied at her. Over the last few days she had frequently found herself back at the stables, had immersed herself in her old chores, for a small time burying the pain of the present in unthinking habit. No one had stopped her or complained, despite the red-cloaks that now ran the stables. Workers were in high demand. And while she was there she overheard conversations, news of the outside world. She picked apart every word that she heard, desperate for some clue to her family’s whereabouts.

The gossip on everyone’s lips was that Rhin had apparently invaded Narvon, sacked Uthandun and was even now camped on the far side of the Darkwood. Preparing to invade Ardan, no doubt. Good , Cywen had thought. I hope she takes Owain’ head . Although, to be honest, she hated Rhin as much as Owain. More, if possible. Rhin had been behind all of this, had been the hand pulling the strings, guiding others towards all of this tragedy. She had a memory of the Darkwood, of Ronan slipping through her arms, of trying to stop the blood pumping from the wound in his throat, literally trying to stop his life from leaking out of him. She blinked, her eyes hot, her vision blurred.

Owain was mustering his forces against Rhin. At the moment they were spread throughout Ardan, combating a scattered resistance across the land — remnants of Dalgar’s warband that had been routed on the plains about Dun Carreg. If there is any justice in this world, Owain and Rhin will kill each other . She snorted to herself, knowing the only justice she would get would be the one she made. With a sharp knife.

They reached the courtyard before the great hall. The mound of corpses had been reduced to a charred heap of twisted bone and ash. Nearby was a dark pile of dung, much bigger than any horse could leave. Cywen had seen the creature that had deposited it, a draig, led through the streets of Dun Carreg by Nathair. She shivered at the thought of it, not even fully grown, but still the most terrifying thing she had ever seen. Lizard-like, its torso had been low to the ground, carried on four bowed legs with curved, raking claws. A broad, flat skull and a square jaw with protruding, razored teeth, a thick tongue flickering. But it was the eyes that chilled her — no liquid, warm intelligence there, like her beloved horses. Its eyes had been small, dull, black. Merciless, a killer’s eyes. Conall picked up his pace and strode past her, entering the great hall first. He ignored the red-cloaked guards that stared at them both.

As they passed deeper into the keep, Cywen began to notice more of the same black-cloaked warriors that had stormed Stonegate. At first they appeared as shadows, merging with the walls, but as her eyes adjusted to the gloom she saw more and more of them, spread about the hallways. She could feel their eyes on her.

‘Here we are,’ Conall said to her, stopping before a door that had two more warriors standing before it. He looked down at Buddai. ‘That hound can’t come in.’

‘He’ll howl if he doesn’t. He’s no danger to anyone, unless they’re a danger to me. I’m not in danger, am I?’ She smiled sweetly.

‘No. All right then, but I will have your belt, please.’

Cywen just looked at him.

‘I’ve seen how you handle a knife,’ Conall said. ‘There is no way that you are going to take them in there.’

‘What do you think I am? Suicidal?’ Cywen snapped, eyes drawn to the silent warriors staring at her.

‘Maybe.’ Conall shrugged. ‘I’ve never understood women. The belt.’

Grumbling, Cywen undid it and held it out.

‘Any more? I’ll search you if I have to.’

Cywen scowled, bent over and pulled a knife from each boot, and another strapped to her arm.

‘Thank you,’ Conall said with a smile. Passing the knives to one of the guards, he entered the room. Cywen followed.

Three men stood inside: Nathair, Sumur his guard and Evnis. Cywen concentrated on Nathair, ignoring the other two. He was lean, muscular, with a strength about him, in his gaze. He still wore the two swords at his belt that she had seen on his arrival, one long, one short.

‘Welcome, Cywen. My thanks for coming,’ Nathair said, smiling at her. He poured her a cup of something from a jug. She refused it.

‘What do you want?’ she said.

Sumur stiffened.

‘Be polite,’ Conall muttered.

‘I want to talk to you. About your family, about you.’ Nathair’s smile lingered.

‘Why?’

Conall sighed.

‘As I told you,’ Evnis said, ‘she has no manners, is not fit to speak to such as you.’

Nathair waved a hand. ‘She has been through much tragedy, much heartache.’

At Nathair’s words Cywen felt a sudden pressure build behind her eyes, a burning sensation. Angrily she willed the blooming tears to fade. Don’t be an idiot , she scolded herself.

‘How old are you?’ Nathair asked.

‘I’ve seen eighteen namedays.’

‘And I understand you have a brother. Corban, I am told.’

‘Aye,’ Cywen said, feeling uncomfortable. ‘What of it?’

Nathair’s face hardened. ‘I saw him in your great hall, on the night the fortress fell. He interested me.’

‘Why?’

‘I will ask the questions, and you will answer. The stablemaster, Gar. I am told he is close to your family.’

‘Sounds like you’ve been told a lot,’ Cywen muttered, flickering a scowl at Evnis.

‘Answer the question. You are addressing a king,’ Evnis said. ‘Gar is close to your family, yes?’

‘Yes.’ Cywen glared at Evnis; the act made her feel better.

‘There were no others with him, with Gar?’ Sumur said, taking a step towards her. ‘Men like him?’

‘No. What do you mean, like him?’

Sumur didn’t answer, just stared at her until she looked away.

‘This Gar, tell me about him,’ Nathair said, glancing at Sumur.

‘What’s to tell?’ Cywen shrugged. ‘He is, was, stablemaster here. He’s always been part of my family, like kin, really.’

Nathair’s fingers tapped the rim of his cup. He was staring intently at her. ‘What else. Where is he from?’

‘Helveth, I think.’

‘This is a long way from Helveth. What brought him here?’

‘I don’t know.’ Cywen shrugged. ‘He never really spoke of his past. Something bad happened, I think, and Brenin gave him Sanctuary. He was a good king, renowned for his wisdom and kindness.’ She scowled at all of them now, knowing they had all played a part in Brenin’s death.