John Gwynne - Malice

‘You’ll have to face them sooner or later, and the longer you leave it the harder it will be, like falling off a horse. And your friend will be worried.’

‘I know. I’ll come back after, just not right now. I think I’ll go and see Dylan.’

Gar nodded. ‘It’s a long walk to Darol’s hold. Let’s get you cleaned up and Willow saddled, that way you’ll be back by sunset for the end of the handbinding.’

Corban fell in silently and they made their way into the streets of Havan. Everywhere was deserted, the lure of the fair having emptied the village. Corban looked up, saw Dun Carreg high above, but even the fortress seemed still and empty. No one moved on the walls or around the great arch of Stonegate, looming above the only entrance into Dun Carreg.

They reached the stable and soon Corban was sitting on top of a solid bay pony, his face stinging after washing in the water barrel.

‘Hold one moment,’ said Gar and disappeared inside the stable. He soon returned with a leather saddlebag. ‘Just a few bits: some bread, cheese, a blanket, some rope. Always be prepared,’ he added in response to Corban’s quizzical look. ‘You never know what’s going to happen.’

Corban smiled ruefully, touching his cut lip. ‘That you don’t.’

‘Remember, back by sunset. Look after Willow and he’ll look after you. And stay away from the Baglun. There’s been talk of wolven being seen.’

‘Huh,’ grunted Corban. He didn’t believe that. The only time wolven had ventured to the forest’s fringes was in winter, tempted by the smell of horseflesh in Dun Carreg’s paddocks. And that was only rare, when the Tempest Moon had come and snow was drifting deep. They preferred deep forest to open spaces.

Soon Corban was clear of Havan and riding on the road that led to the Baglun Forest. The giantsway, all called it, as the vanquished Benothi had made it, the giant clan that had ruled here long ago, before men had taken the land from them. It cut a line through Ardan and Narvon, though there was less traffic between the two realms than there had once been. So now the road was overgrown with grass and moss, its raised banks crumbling. In the distance Corban could see the small hill that Dylan’s home was built upon, the river Tarin glistening behind it in the midday sun, and further in the distance the dark smear of Baglun Forest filled the horizon.

The day had grown hot, the breeze off the sea only a faint caress. Tentatively, Corban touched his lip, which was throbbing painfully. His head hurt and his ribs were aching where Rafe had kicked him. He sighed: where had the day gone so wrong?

Rafe’s face came back unbidden, his smirk as he had taken the practice sword and run from Gar. Corban’s neck flushed as he felt the shame of it all over again. Maybe I am a coward. I wish I was like my da, strong and fearless . What had Gar meant about controlling his emotions? How could you be taught to do that? Whatever it was, if it helped him teach Rafe a lesson, then he was willing to give it a try. As far back as Corban could remember, Gar had always been around, was a close friend of his mam and da’s. In truth he was a little scared of the man; he always seemed to be so stern, so serious. But he was intrigued by Gar’s offer of help.

Slowly a noise filtered through his thoughts and he looked up. In the distance he saw a large wain coming towards him, two figures driving, others walking and running beside it.

‘Dylan.’ Willow’s steady pace had eaten up much of the journey, the rocky grassland around Havan giving way to fertile meadows as he drew nearer to the river. Yellow gorse had been replaced by juniper and hawthorn, and Darol’s hold loomed large before him.

Darol, Dylan’s da, was sitting in the front of a heavy-laden wain, driving a dun pony, his wife next to him. Dylan was walking one side of the wain and his sister and her husband striding along behind, their son Frith running circles around them. Corban smiled at the sight. He had seen too little of them over the winter; his mam hadn’t let him travel much past Havan during the season of storms, her fears fuelled by tales of hungry wolven. But the summer before he had spent more of his time out here, mostly in the company of Dylan. They had argued the first time they had met, Corban defending his sister over something she had said. Somehow it had ended in laughter, and soon after Corban and Dylan had become firm friends, even though Dylan was a few years older.

Dylan worked hard for his da, but when Corban visited, Dylan more often than not made time for him, quickly showing him the tasks of the farm, digging holes for fence posts, planting and reaping their crops, catching salmon, a host of other things. More interesting to Corban, though, had been being shown how to use a sling, how to recognize different animal tracks, and how to hunt, skin and cook hare. Most exciting of all were the short forays into the fringes of the Baglun Forest. The forest seemed to be a different world, sometimes unnerving, but always alluring. He looked at the Baglun now, its vast sweep disappearing into the distance. A larger forest he could not imagine, not even the fabled forest of Forn, far to the east, said to be bigger than half the realms of the Banished Lands put together. He snorted, remembering his trips with Dylan into the Baglun. Towards the end of last summer, when Dylan had been busy from dusk till dawn with harvest, Corban had taken to entering the forest alone, had felt proud when he had confided in Dath and invited his friend to join him. Dath made the sign against evil, turned pale and told him he was either very brave or more likely mad. Truth be told, it was nothing to do with bravery, which he was distinctly lacking if his encounter with Rafe was anything to go by. He just liked it in the forest, although the thought of his mam finding out made him shiver even in the warmth of the sun.

Dylan was only a hundred or so paces away, now. Corban pulled Willow to a halt and waited. Darol nodded as he drove the wain past Corban, Dylan peeling away from the cart and strolling over to him.

‘Hello, Ban,’ he said, then frowned as he saw Corban’s bruised face. ‘What happened to you?’

‘I fell,’ said Corban. ‘I was coming to see you, maybe help with the salmon. Looks like I’m too late.’

‘Da had it all sacked up by sunrise. And we’ve got to get the food to Havan in time to prepare it for the feast. Another time, eh?’

Just then Frith ran up behind Dylan and, with a loud crack, kicked him in the ankle. He giggled and turned to run but Dylan, hopping on one leg, grabbed the youngster and hoisted him into the air, legs pumping as if he were still running. When he realized escape was futile he went limp and grinned. Dylan swung him higher to sit upon his shoulders.

‘You’re getting too old for this — it’s your ninth nameday soon.’

‘But I like it up here,’ Frith protested.

‘Very well, if it keeps you out of trouble.’ Dylan turned back to Corban. ‘Come with us? I can’t wait to have a look round the fair.’

‘No thanks. I’ve just come from there.’

‘All right, Ban, but you’ll be back for the handbinding, won’t you?’

Corban nodded.

‘Good, then you can tell me all about this fall.’

‘ Argh ,’ Dylan yelled as Frith gripped his ears and gave them a mighty tug. ‘What are you doing ?’

‘You’re my horse. Charge!’ Frith shouted, pulling Dylan’s ears again. Dylan grabbed his nephew’s hands in his and trotted after the wain, calling goodbyes to Corban over his shoulder.

Frith grinned at Corban, who raised his fist and shook it, trying not to laugh.

For a while he just sat on Willow, watching the wain dwindle into the distance as he wondered what to do. Then his eyes turned back to the Baglun and with a click of his tongue he urged Willow on down the road.