John Gwynne - Malice

‘ What? ’ That did get her attention. ‘Are you ready?’ she said and saw his face drop, excitement melting into doubt.

‘I don’t know,’ he said honestly.

‘What I meant to say,’ she interrupted, ‘is do you feel prepared ? Of course you are ready — we’ve the bruises to prove it, haven’t we, Dath?’ She nudged their friend.

‘Oh aye,’ he nodded enthusiastically.

Amongst the crowd now surrounding them, Cywen saw Gar. She tried to duck behind the bulk of Farrell, but too late, and a frown formed on Gar’s brow as he limped over to them.

‘Where have you been? You’ve been needed at the stables.’

She just looked at him and tried to think of something to say, but couldn’t.

Gar’s frown deepened. He opened his mouth — to say something unpleasant, no doubt — when the crowd about them suddenly grew louder. The new arrivals were entering the courtyard now, their horses’ hooves clattering on stone. Cywen just stared, and promptly forgot about Gar.

A dozen or so warriors rode into the courtyard, looking fine in chainmail and black-polished leather, silver-edged eagles carved on their breastplates. But Cywen’s eyes were drawn to the two who rode at their head. They both sat tall in their saddles, one dressed similarly to the other warriors, riding a spirited white stallion, two swords hanging from his belt. He was a young man with dark, curly hair framing a weathered, handsome face, bright blue eyes scanning the crowd. He smiled, at no one and everyone; Cywen felt suddenly as if he was looking at her alone.

She pulled her gaze away with an effort to look at the man riding beside him. She gasped as she saw his horse, a palomino of such quality as she had never seen before. It was lighter boned than the other horses, longer in the leg, almost dancing as it crossed the courtyard, a picture of grace and power. The man on its back was older, also dressed as a warrior, but this man was clearly not like the others. He had long, jet-black hair, bound with a strip of leather at the nape and a long, curved sword strapped across his back. There was something about him that reminded Cywen of Storm. He sat gracefully in his saddle, exuding a sense of strength and barely contained violence, a wildness about him.

She went to say something to Corban and noticed Gar disappearing into the crowd. Corban himself was pale faced, staring intensely at the curly-haired warrior.

‘Corban,’ she said and squeezed his arm. ‘Corban, are you well?’

Her brother started but nodded, his colour returning a little. ‘Aye, it’s nothing,’ he said.

Then King Brenin stepped out of the crowd with Pendathran, Halion behind them, looking uneasy in his new role.

‘Well met, Nathair,’ Brenin said, gripping the curly-haired man’s arm as he leaned in the saddle. The noise of the crowd obscured the rest of what was said and soon after the party headed for the keep.

Much later Cywen was on her own in the hall after the feasting. Corban had been swept out by Thannon, eager to talk through the final details of the morrow. Edana slumped down in an adjacent chair, the outline of a warrior beyond her. Cywen expected to see Ronan for a moment, but it was Conall.

‘Hallo,’ Edana said, still gaunt from their recent experiences.

Cywen nodded. ‘Haven’t seen you, for a while,’ she said.

‘No.’ Edana shook her head. ‘Since my mam. .’ She looked away. ‘Father worries for me. More so since the news of Uthan. He fears reprisals,’ she sighed.

Word had reached Dun Carreg about a ten-night ago of Owain’s son’s death, rumour following the news like crows following blood. All that could be agreed upon was that Uthan was dead and that Owain held Brenin responsible.

‘So Conall is your guard now?’ Cywen said, wanting to break the growing silence.

‘Yes.’

‘How is your da?’

‘Grieving. Angry. Very angry. The thought of revenge consumes him.’

‘And you?’

‘Me?’ Edana said. ‘I cannot believe my mam is gone. .’ She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I miss her. I want her back, wish that I had said things to her. And I want to be strong, for Da, but he doesn’t seem to notice.’

‘Have you spoken to your da? Told him how you feel?’

‘No. He has been so inconstant — sometimes so sad, others, so angry . He scares me.’

‘But he loves you, and if he knew how you felt he’d be sorry.’

Edana looked weary, then nodded. ‘You’re right. I will talk to him. But it would help if I had you near.’

Cywen sat there, wanted to say no, but Edana looked so pleading that she rose and followed the Princess through the keep.

Edana knocked at a familiar door and swept in, not waiting for a reply. King Brenin was sitting in his high-backed chair, discussing something with Evnis and Heb. Halion stood behind the King, hand on his sword hilt. Cywen’s eyes flickered across the empty chair beside Brenin, where Alona had sat.

‘Father, I. .’ Edana began, then halted, the stern faces of those in the room daunting her.

‘What is it?’ Brenin asked, looking annoyed at the interruption.

‘I wanted to talk to you, Father. About. .’

‘Well, Edana?’ Brenin said with a wave of his hand. ‘Quickly now, I am busy.’

Then there was a knock at the door and three visitors from Tenebral were presented. Two had led the column, Nathair, Tenebral’s King, and Sumur — a lord, Cywen had since discovered. The third was one of their honour guard, a young warrior with an easy smile, his raptor-like helm under one arm.

‘Nathair, welcome,’ said Brenin. ‘Heb you know, and this is my counsellor, Evnis.’

‘Well met,’ the King of Tenebral said warmly, smiling at Evnis. ‘My thanks for your hospitality — we are well fed, and rested now, so I thought to speak with you of why I have come.’

Cywen and Edana sidled to the back of the room, lest they be banished.

‘As you have most likely heard, my father was murdered.’

‘Aye. You have my sympathies,’ Brenin said, inclining his head, ‘Aquilus was a good man, a great man.’

‘My thanks. His killer has since been brought to justice.’

‘I have heard,’ Brenin said, frowning. ‘I would talk to you more about that, but now is not the time.’

Nathair continued, ‘I have much to live up to, wearing my father’s crown. And I am aware of his ambitions and his commitments. That is my first reason for coming here. I know that my father was committed to help you with your troubles — with lawless men on your borders. I have a small warband with me, still upon the ship. I would aid you in your endeavour and help you rid your borders of these outlaws. It would honour my father’s wishes, and the alliance between us, which I hope you still hold to.’

‘Ah,’ Brenin said, humourlessly. ‘I am afraid you are a little late to aid us in the struggle against the brigands of the Darkwood. We have dealt with them.’

‘Oh.’ Nathair looked downcast. ‘That brings me shame,’ he said. ‘My father’s other commitments, to Rahim, to Braster and Romar, have all been honoured.’

‘No matter,’ Brenin said. ‘You have travelled far, and that speaks loudly of your commitment, and I did not tell Aquilus when my campaign would begin. You have undertaken much to come here. That I will not forget.’

‘Is the matter resolved?’ Nathair asked. ‘Or can we provide other assistance, as recompense?’

‘The brigands of the Darkwood are no more, though at great cost,’ Brenin said. ‘New and darker troubles have fallen upon my land of late. I find myself at war with my neighbour, Rhin. Even as we speak, I am mustering to ride against her.’

‘What? How is this so?’

‘You remember Queen Rhin?’