John Gwynne - Malice

Corban could not meet Gar’s gaze. ‘I feel the same, in here,’ he said, tapping his chest. ‘I was scared, at the Darkwood. Terrified . It all happened so fast. I was not brave. He was trying to kill me, what else could I do?’

‘What else could you do? Plenty. Let me tell you, every man in that camp felt the same fear you did. I certainly did. Both the brave man and the coward feel the same. The only difference between them is that the brave man faces his fear, does not run.’ He stared at Corban with an intensity he had never shown before.

‘You could have run, yet you did not. You could have stayed hidden by the stream, yet you did not. You stood , did what you had to do. That is all bravery is. I would ask no more of any man, or expect any more.’ He almost smiled. ‘You did well, Ban, very well. And, most importantly, you live to tell the tale.’

‘I am glad about that part,’ Corban said, wryly. ‘Tell me, when we were by the stream I went to draw my sword, but you stopped me. Why?’

‘Ah. A sword being drawn is the most familiar sound in all the world to any warrior. If any sound would have betrayed us, that would have been it.’

That made sense. Corban bid the stablemaster farewell, leaving to break his fast before going on to the Rowan Field. ‘Your leg seemed much improved,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘when you were running leagues through the Darkwood, battling red-cloaks at the end of it.’

Gar stared at him a moment. ‘It comes and goes,’ the stablemaster said, face as still as stone, then winked at him.

The Rowan Field was fuller than Corban had ever seen it before, warriors arriving from all over Ardan. Word had gone out as soon as they had returned to Dun Carreg, of what had happened in Narvon, and it had not been long before warriors began to arrive, from ones and twos to bands of thirty or forty. Everyone knew that King Brenin was mustering for war, though much else was unclear. Once Dalgar arrived from Dun Maen, bringing with him the largest warband from beyond Dun Carreg and Badun, then the greater part of Ardan’s strength would be gathered. Then, it was thought, they would ride to Cambren, avenge Alona’s death on Rhin. There had been no news from Narvon yet, the messenger Brenin had sent still not returned. Rumours flew that Owain was dead, murdered by Rhin, that Uthan was dead, that Rhin had invaded Narvon’s borders. Corban shook his head. Leave all of that for Brenin , he thought, heading for a weapons rack.

Storm was padding beside him, many heads turning to watch her as they made their way through the Field. Nothing had been said of her return yet, but Brenin had other things on his mind. It would come, though. Corban had already heard whispers from Rafe and Helfach.

He reached the weapons rack, selected a battered practice sword and shield and looked about for Halion. He hefted the wooden sword. Not long, now , he thought to himself.

His nameday was just over a ten-night away. He felt nerves flutter in his stomach. His warrior trial. His Long Night. Thannon had had him working in the forge on his sword, first discussing the details: length, weight, hilt, then the harder work had begun, of smelting and forging, of hammering and cooling. It was almost finished now. Thannon had forbidden him from approaching the forge for the last two days, wanting to put the finishing touches to it himself. Thannon had set Corban at another project, as well. His da wanted a new weapon, and was fashioning a war-hammer, like the giant’s one that hung in their kitchen, but smaller. That too was almost finished.

‘Over here, lad,’ Halion called, raising an arm so that Corban could see him. They walked through the crowds out into a part of the Field with space enough for them. Out of the corner of his eye Corban saw Dath, practising his bow, Tarben behind him, Marrock and Camlin to one side, watching. The woodsman had just stayed, seeming even to have fashioned a friendship of sorts with Marrock.

Storm flopped onto the ground with a sigh, her tail twitching, copper eyes watching Halion as he pointed his practice sword at Corban.

‘Come, then,’ Halion said, glancing at Storm. ‘I’m glad she’s learned the difference between practice and the real thing,’ he said, then began taking Corban through his forms, duelling, like Gar, with a strength and intensity that had been absent before the Darkwood.

It was halfway to highsun when they switched to spear-work, Halion grunting approvingly at Corban’s solid thrusts and blocks.

‘Not long now,’ Corban said to him as they stopped to rest.

‘Until what?’

‘My warrior trial, Long Night.’

‘Aye,’ Halion nodded. ‘Do you feel ready?’

‘I don’t know,’ Corban said. ‘I think so. I hope so.’ He pulled a sour face. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think you are ready. That is why I have requested your Long Night be brought forward.’

‘What?’ Corban was stunned. ‘Why?’

Halion looked away, about the Field, at the countless warriors training. ‘Because we will ride from here soon. I saw you in the Darkwood, Corban. You made a difference.’ He scratched his stubbly beard. ‘And, I thought you would find it hard if you were left here, left behind. I don’t know when we will ride out, but I feel it will be soon. Maybe before your nameday.’ He looked at Corban searchingly. ‘The choice is yours, Corban, but Brenin has granted my request. You may take your warrior trial, sit your Long Night, early — if you would choose to.’

‘When?’

‘On the morrow.’

‘ What? ’

Halion grinned. ‘Less time to fret, then.’ His smile faded. ‘Riding to war is no jest, Corban. But I have trained you, seen you grow. It was the Darkwood that sealed it for me. The way I see it, you took your warrior trial then. You faced a man, a warrior, bested him in fair combat.’ His smile flashed again. ‘I have spoken to Gar, heard what you did. You are more ready than most who sit their Long Night, Corban. More than that, you deserve it and have earned it.’ He shrugged. ‘What difference is in a few days?’

Corban looked around the Field, warriors everywhere. How long he had dreamed of being one of them. And now the time had finally come.

‘Well?’ Halion said. ‘What say you?’

‘Aye,’ Corban said firmly. ‘Aye. And you have my thanks, Halion. You honour me.’

‘Good,’ Halion said, pleased. ‘Then let us make sure that you are ready, eh.’

Suddenly horns blew, echoing around the Field. Corban saw a line of men file into the Field from the arch of rowans, Brenin at their head. Beside him marched Pendathran and Edana with Evnis and Heb behind, and half a score of Brenin’s guard following.

Corban watched Edana. He had not seen her since their escape from the Darkwood, except at Alona’s burial. The Queen’s cairn had been raised on the hill beyond the fortress’ walls, Brenin listing aloud the dead that had been left behind. Cywen had wept silently at Ronan’s name.

Edana looked much the same as she had then, dark shadows under her eyes, face pale apart from red streaks where she had scratched her face in her grief looking like tears of blood running down her cheeks.

Brenin made his way to the stone court, warriors parting before him. ‘Welcome, warriors of Ardan,’ Brenin called. ‘I have come here with news to tell. But first, an overdue task.’

Men were squashed shoulder to shoulder, listening to the King. Apart from Corban, who alone had a small ring about him where men made room for Storm — all had heard the tale of what she had done to Rafe. Corban nodded to Dath and Farrell as they squeezed into the space and stood either side of him.

‘Tull, my first-sword, fell in service of me, defending my beloved wife, less than a moon ago.’ There was a tremor in his voice. ‘A better man, more loyal, more fierce, there has never been, and I fear we shall not see his like again.’ He bowed his head, as silence filled the Field.