John Gwynne - Valour

Along the shoreline the battle was over, but they had failed; the boat they needed so badly was slipping out to sea, the water too deep now for them to chase after it. Then something punched into the boat’s mast. A flaming arrow. Before Corban registered what was happening, flames caught in the sail, leaping up, consuming the cloth. Another fire-arrow slammed into the mast, heartbeats later another onto the deck. Men were yelling, running about, throwing buckets of water. Corban looked back and saw a figure standing knee-deep in the surf beside Mordwyr’s burned-out fisher boat. Camlin — he was tying strips of cloth to arrows, igniting them in the flames that still flickered on the fisher-boat, firing them in a steady stream at the retreating boat. Marrock joined him and soon a dozen flaming arrows were burning on the enemy ship. Flames were roaring now, smoke swirling thick and black. The shapes of two men appeared near the rail. A flaming arrow pierced one’s neck, sending him crashing back into the smoke. The other leaped from the rail and began swimming for shore.

Corban splashed into the surf, wading out to Dath. His friend was staggering under the weight of his da, his mouth moving, but Corban couldn’t hear him over the churning sea. He put his arm under Mordwyr’s arm, the water foaming pink around the fisherman. His mam joined them and together they pulled Mordwyr to the shore.

Dath fell upon his da, calling to him, shaking him, tears blurring his eyes, strings of snot hanging from his nose; one look was clear to Corban. Mordwyr was gone, his eyes empty, the muscles in his face loose, like melted wax. He put a hand upon his friend’s shoulder.

It is over, and I’m still alive. Relief washed through him, slowly replacing the rush of fear and desperation that had consumed him during the short battle. He searched for his mam’s face and saw her standing with her bloodstained spear. Tears streaked her cheeks. Bodies lay limp and twisted about them, blood pooling in the sand, the sea frothing pink. So much death. Is it ever going to end? He felt a wave of nausea, fought to keep the contents of his stomach from rising.

Vonn, Farrell and Anwarth had waded into the sea. They were moving towards the man swimming from the boat, all of them with weapons raised.

‘Wait!’ Marrock yelled, splashing out to them. ‘Don’t kill him.’

Anwarth heard and lowered his blade, Farrell and Vonn obeying more reluctantly. The three of them grabbed the man and dragged him out of the waves, throwing him to the sand close to where Corban stood with Dath.

‘We saw a host of boats sailing; there is a warband camped beyond these woods. What is happening here?’ Marrock asked, but the warrior just stared defiantly at him. His eyes were drawn to Storm, stood in the surf beside Corban.

In a burst of speed, Camlin had the man’s hair in his fist. ‘We don’t have time for this,’ the woodsman said, and slashed the prisoner across the back of one leg.

The man screamed, tried to pull away, but Camlin held tight to him, then brought his knife-tip to the warrior’s throat. He was abruptly still, silent except for his laboured breathing.

‘Now answer the question.’

‘Queen Rhin has conquered Narvon. We are sailing to invade Ardan.’

‘How many of you are there?’

‘Over a thousand. Most have sailed.’

‘Why not all of you?’

‘Not enough boats. We’ve got to wait for those that left today to unload in Ardan, then come back for us.’

‘How many still here?’

A shrug. ‘Two, three hundred.’

Marrock nodded grimly. ‘And who leads you?’

‘Morcant.’

Corban stiffened. He knew that name. Rhin’s first-sword, the man who had duelled and lost to Tull, back in Badun on Midwinter’s Eve. The man who had led the ambush where Queen Alona had died. The man who had killed his friend, Ronan.

‘Is he in the village?’ Edana asked. She also knew who Morcant was. They all did.

‘No, he has sailed already.’

Marrock looked out to sea. ‘And why have you come after us?’

‘Thought you were spies of Owain. He cannot know about us.’ The man shrugged, causing Camlin’s knife to draw a drop of blood.

Marrock sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.

‘I have told you all I know,’ the man begged. ‘Please, let me go. I will say nothing about you, tell them I was knocked unconscious in the battle. Anything you want me to say.’

Marrock frowned at him. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Haf,’ the warrior said, his eyes pleading.

Marrock opened his mouth to speak, then Camlin cut the prisoner’s throat.

Dark blood spurted, the warrior gurgled and sank slowly to the ground, his blood soaking into the sand.

“He could not live,’ Camlin said, facing Marrock’s glare, wiping his blade clean in the sand. ‘He has seen us, knows our numbers, our strengths. He saw the wolven.’ He nodded at Storm. ‘She’s a surprise that has helped save our necks more than once today.’

Marrock was pale, stiff with anger. ‘Right or wrong, it was not your decision,’ he said. ‘We are no cut-throat rabble. You will wait for a command, is that clear?’

Camlin held Marrock’s gaze, then nodded. ‘Aye, chief,’ he said.

‘What do we do now?’ Anwarth asked, voicing Corban’s own question. ‘We have no boat to escape with.’

‘It’s either steal one or cut inland and walk to Domhain,’ Halion said.

They discussed the options back and forth: Marrock wanting to steal a boat from the village, Halion advocating fleeing inland.

‘Fleeing to Domhain does not seem to have been the safest choice,’ Marrock said.

No one knows what to do , Corban thought. All of us exhausted, scared.

‘For what it’s worth,’ Camlin said into the silence, ‘I think there’s more chance of staying alive if we cut across land. I’m not saying we’ll make it to Domhain, but I think we’ll stay alive longer that way.’

‘But we would move too slowly,’ Marrock said. ‘We do not have enough horses, even if those that you hobbled are still there. We will be chased, and those doing the chasing will be mounted. We would be run down within a day.’

‘Aye, there is that. But let me have a few hands and I think I could steal us a few extra horses — there were paddocks along the river — my vote is that horses are easier to steal than boats.’

They discussed it a little longer, until Heb finished the conversation. ‘Talk can accomplish much, but all it will accomplish here is our deaths,’ he said. ‘It will not be long before the men sent to find us are missed.’

‘Heb is right,’ Edana said.

‘For once,’ muttered Brina.

CYWEN

Cywen was on her hands and knees collecting eggs in the garden. Buddai thought it was an invitation to play and was swatting at her with a paw. Absently she told him to shoo .

Days had begun to pass in a kind of haze for Cywen. Two nights had passed since she had been questioned by Nathair. She had filled most of her time since then with routine chores — cleaning the house, tending the garden, working at the stables. She was worried about Shield, Corban’s stallion. He was such a fine mount, too fine, and there was more than one of Owain’s men with an eye on him. It would be a grief too far if one of them were to take Shield from Dun Carreg. She must keep him here, safe for Corban’s return. Somehow that was important to her.

In her mind she had spent almost every waking moment going over the questions Nathair had asked her — about Gar, about Ban. Nathair and Sumur were linked to her family, somehow. And it was obvious that Sumur knew Gar, though that should have been almost impossible.