Halion had taught him much, and he was now beginning to feel more at home with shield and spear, although it was with the sword that he was excelling, felt like it was becoming part of him, an extension of his arm, rather than just a heavy stick. Nothing had been said, but he could tell that he was doing well, just by the way Halion would raise an eyebrow during sparring, or sometimes he would look around during a pause in training to find eyes on him from amongst the older warriors. Much of his progress was thanks to Gar, he knew.
‘My weapons training is going well,’ he said. ‘Halion says little, though more than you. I think he is pleased with me.’
Gar grunted, said nothing more.
‘Why do you not train in the Rowan Field?’ Corban asked, giving voice to a question that he had long wondered about.
‘I cannot fight with a warband. My leg, my wound . . .’ Gar turned away, cupped some water from the barrel in his hand and drank. ‘There is little point training with warriors when you cannot fight beside them.’
Corban looked sceptical. ‘I suspect your wound is not as bad as you think. It does not stop you killing
me
ten score times every time that I spar with you.’
‘
You
are a fourteen-year-old boy, not a full-grown warrior.’
‘But still, I watch others in the Field, Gar. Halion can best most of them, probably all, and you are at least his equal. You would be given more respect if people knew. They would not think of you as just a stablemaster.’
‘
Just
a stablemaster.’ Gar frowned. ‘I do not desire other men’s respect. And
stablemaster
is good enough for me.’
‘But . . .’
‘Enough,’ Gar’s patience was at an end. ‘I made my decision a long time ago. I will not change it now.’
In silence they unwound the padding from their practice swords – Gar had become concerned about the noise their sparring had been making and so insisted on covering the wooden swords in tightly bound lambskin.
‘How is your wolven-cub?’ asked the stablemaster.
Corban could not help but smile. ‘She is well. I left her snoring with Buddai before the fire,’ he said. Usually Storm woke when he did, but not this morning. He always left her behind when he trained with Gar, anyway, as he often went straight from the stables to the Rowan Field. Halion liked to start early, and that meant an earlier finish, leaving more time in the day for other things. There would be no training in the Field today, though. Halion had left before dawn with a search party hunting for Marrock and the escaped brigand.
His stomach growled. ‘I think I shall go and wake her,’ he said and bid Gar farewell.
Corban stepped quietly into the kitchen. Thannon was sitting on a chair by the fire, chin resting on his chest. Wisps of his black beard rose and fell around his mouth as he snored rhythmically. Buddai looked up from his master’s feet, tail thumping softly on the stone floor at the sight of Corban. Storm appeared from behind the hound and bounced over, a bundle of soft white fur slashed with darker stripes. He crouched and she rubbed her muzzle against him, nipped at his fingers with her sharp cub’s teeth.
‘Shh,’ he whispered, not wanting to wake his da. He stroked Storm gently, calmly. Her white baby fur was soft and fluffy, coarser hairs already beginning to grow through, flecked with black.
Thannon woke as plates banged onto the kitchen table, and Cywen came in from the garden, a dozen or so eggs scooped in her shirt.
There was not much conversation during the meal. All were tired, having slept little. The alarm had been raised in the dead of night, when the brigand’s guard had been changed and his cell was found empty. It was not long after that news spread of a dead warrior near the well-pool, of Marrock and Camlin gone. Corban put his energies into demolishing the cheese, eggs and warm bread that was placed in front of him.
‘Any word?’ asked Cywen. Corban stared at the contents of his plate, resisting the urge to look at his sister. He could feel her eyes on him.
‘None yet,’ said Gwenith, her back to them as she bustled around the ovens.
‘It’s early still,’ said Thannon. ‘Tracking’ll be easier, now sun’s well up.’
At dawn
, thought Corban.
Marrock should have been released at dawn
. Raising his eyes, he caught Cywen’s gaze; it told him she was thinking the same thing.
Braith had given his word.
Darkwood style
. He shuddered, remembering the woodsman’s eyes, his grip and his promise of retribution if Corban broke his word. Despite all that he had heard of the chief of the Darkwood outlaws, he had believed him.
Fool. I am a fool
, he told himself.
‘I’ll be off to Brina’s,’ he said, chair scraping on the flagstones as he stood quickly. ‘Get my chores out of the way.’
‘I’ll walk some of the way with you,’ said Thannon. Gwenith slipped some food wrapped in waxed paper to him as he left with his da, Buddai and Storm trotting out behind them.
‘Where are you going, Da?’ asked Corban.
‘Could do with checking on Steadfast. He’s in the paddocks, near your colt,’ said the huge blacksmith. Corban looked up at him as they made their way to Stonegate, an eyebrow raised.
‘All right, truth be told I’m not so happy about you walking the countryside on your own right now, what with escaped brigands from the Darkwood about.’
‘They’re long gone by now,’ said Corban.
‘How do you know that, lad?’ said his da. Corban’s heart lurched in his chest, but then Thannon carried on. ‘They may’ve gone to ground somewhere nearby. Wait for the fuss to die down, make their way back to the Darkwood when eyes aren’t watching for them. It’s an old trick, I’d not put it past that brigand. What I want to know is, where’s Marrock?’ He went on, not expecting an answer from Corban. ‘Dead, most likely. Lying behind a wall or in the bay with his throat slit.’
Corban felt sick.
They walked in silence a while, passing under the arched pillars of Stonegate, out across the ancient stone bridge. Goats roamed across the hill as they descended, searching for grass and vegetation on the wind-blasted ground, gorse bushes flowering yellow in the summer sun.
‘Have you named your new colt yet, Ban?’ Thannon asked.
‘No. Not yet.’ It had not been from lack of thought on the matter. He had spent much time with his colt, both with Gar and Cywen, and alone. Many nights he had fallen asleep to lists of names: Swiftfoot, Hunter, Keensight, Light-tail, even Windwalker, after the stallion that had belonged to Sokar, their ancient ancestor, first king of the Banished Lands. Nothing seemed to fit.
‘Gar has told me that the name will claim the horse, and not to rush it,’ he said, ‘but it has been a long time, and I’m growing tired of calling him “Boy.”’
‘Well, there aren’t many that know horses better than Gar. I’d take his advice.’
‘Aye,’ Corban agreed.
They continued down the hill, walking quickly through the village and out towards the giantsway, children playing in the street stopping to stare as Buddai and Storm trotted behind them, Storm bouncing around the hound, slipping between his legs as they played. Thannon chuckled.
‘Used to all the eyes on you, yet?’ he asked, looking at the wide-eyed children.
‘No,’ said Corban. ‘I hope people will get used to her soon.’
‘That may take a while,’ said Thannon. ‘There aren’t many places where a wolven walks amongst men in the light of day. And she’s only going to get bigger.’
Corban had not really thought too far ahead about Storm, but his da was right.
‘I don’t care,’ he said. ‘She’s here now, and that’s how it’s going to stay. People will have to get used to it.’
‘Aye, lad, no doubt about that.’
He’d had to remind himself that the cub was not a hound pup, but something altogether wilder, more dangerous. Only once so far had he caught a glimpse of that. He had been walking back from the village, with some smoked fish his mam had sent him to get, trailed by a few dogs from Havan. He’d thrown a scrap of fish to Storm, but one of the dogs had darted forward and tried to take it from her. She had dropped the scrap, pounced on the dog, which had been almost twice her size, all snapping teeth and white fur. The dog had run off, tail between its legs, whining.
The paddocks came into view, Havan receding behind them. Corban could see his colt, standing quiet in the shade of a hawthorn bush.
‘I’m going to check on Steadfast. You’ll be all right from here, Ban?’
‘I was all right to begin with,’ said Corban. Brina’s cottage was not much further along the road. He could see a thin wisp of smoke rising from behind the trees that hid her cottage.
The sound of wheels crunching on stone drifted faintly behind them, and they both turned to see two horses pulling a large wain. It was coming their way, leaving Havan. Thannon stared at it a moment, then looked back to Corban.
‘Maybe I should walk with you to the healer’s cottage,’ he said.
‘I’ll be fine. I’m not a bairn, and, besides, I have Storm to protect me.’
Thannon chuckled. ‘No doubts she’d try, but she needs to grow a bit, yet. Take Buddai, ease your old da’s mind. Then I’ll stop fussing over you as if I were your mam.’
‘Fine,’ said Corban. His da smiled and left the road, told Buddai with a flick of his wrist to stay with Corban. The hound watched his master a moment, then bounded after Corban and Storm.
The path through the trees to Brina’s was trampled, the constant coming and going of guards set by Evnis to watch over Vonn having churned the ground. Corban saw the guard sitting in the shade, back against a tree, his horse cropping grass. Another horse stood nearby, its reins wrapped loosely around the branch of a willow near the stream.
Corban knocked on Brina’s door, heard raised voices inside. The door flew open and Brina’s wrinkled face appeared.
‘What now? Oh, it’s you,’ she said, squinting at Corban. ‘Well, you may as well come in. Why not, everyone else has. It’s like the Spring Fair in here.’
Corban stepped through the doorway, unsure whether to smile or not. Buddai padded warily in behind him, sniffing the air, Storm hidden between the great hound’s legs.
An old man stood in the middle of the room, grey haired, thin. Corban blinked as he recognized Heb, the loremaster. His eyes flickered over Corban and he raised an eyebrow, looking at Brina.
‘My apprentice,’ she said with a wave of her hand.
Heb raised his other eyebrow. ‘
Apprentice
. Very well. As I was saying, it is not safe here, Brina. No one knows how the brigand escaped, how many aided him, where he is.’ The loremaster sat in a wooden chair, fingers steepled under his chin. ‘You trouble me, living alone, so far from protection.’
Brina’s face changed colour, purpling as if she were choking on a stone.
‘Not safe . . .’ she managed to splutter. ‘
Protection
– I have managed well enough for a score of years, and without any of your newfound
concern
.’ She spat the word as if it were poison. ‘It is bad enough having to put up with idiots with sharp sticks lurking on my doorstep day and night: why would I choose to live in a fortress
full
of idiots?’ She smiled humourlessly. ‘Do you miss my company?’
‘Company? Stone the crows, woman, time in your presence ages me,’ said the loremaster, standing to pace around the room. Craf squawked above their heads. Heb glanced up, the scruffy-looking crow watching them from a beam, his beady black eyes shining.
‘You are as stubborn and stiff-necked as ever,’ muttered Heb. ‘Age is supposed to mellow a person.’
‘Hah, as it has you?’
Heb held a hand up, took a breath. ‘Would you not consider it? I would sleep better knowing you were within the walls of the fortress.’
‘Dun Carreg is no place for me. I like trees and grass, not rock and stone.’
‘Think on what I have said, Brina. There is wisdom in it, you know that.’
‘Pfah. Wisdom. What would you know of that?’ the healer muttered.
‘I give up.’ Heb raised his hands and strode towards the door. ‘Be careful how much time you spend with this woman,’ he exclaimed to Corban, ‘she can be bad for a man’s health.’
The door closed with a bang, leaving Corban and Brina staring at each other.
‘
Bad man
,’ muttered Craf.
Corban looked away, flinching from the healer’s glare. Vonn lay on his cot in the next room. He was pale faced, eyes sunken, but the fever had left him.
‘What would you have me do?’ Corban asked.
‘I have little need for you today, no herbs need collecting. There is always sweeping, though. Yes. Where
does
all the dust come from.’
Corban fetched the broom.
‘And don’t let your hound eat my crow,’ said Brina, eyeing Buddai suspiciously as he sat staring up at Craf, a line of drool hanging from the fold of one of his jowls.
He’d choke
, thought Corban, but managed to stop himself from speaking the thought out loud. He pointed and Buddai curled up near the front door, Storm worrying at one of his floppy ears.
Vonn was propped up with pillows, watching Corban as he began sweeping in his room.
‘You’re missing some,’ Vonn said, pointing into a corner. Corban ignored him.
‘Boy, boy, I am talking to you.’
Corban looked over at him.
‘That’s better. Now, just there, under the table – you haven’t swept there.’
Corban grunted, swept where Vonn was pointing. He deeply begrudged doing Vonn’s bidding, but Brina
had
asked him to sweep, and he knew without doubt that, no matter where she was in the cottage, she would be listening.
Just then Storm walked into the room, tiring of Buddai. She saw the stiff rushes of the broom sweeping back and forth and leaped on them. Corban laughed as the broom handle was wrenched from his fingers.
‘You,’ said Vonn.
‘What?’ said Corban, turning. Vonn had pushed himself into a sitting position, blond hair dark with sweat, strands clinging to his face.
‘It was you, in the Baglun?’ Vonn stared from Corban to the wolven-cub.