Silence, broken only by the small sounds of the garden, wind sighing through the branches of the apple trees.
Relief swept through him.
‘You were courageous – both of you,’ the huntsman said. ‘Far beyond many warriors I have seen. I would have your names lauded from the highest towers, but Brenin is of a different mind. He believes if word spread of your involvement it could be misunderstood. Brenin would not have your bravery rewarded with scorn, or worse. So.’ He smiled, his scar creasing. ‘It shall remain our secret. Have
you
told anyone?’
‘No,’ Corban and Cywen answered together.
‘Good. Then let it remain so.’
‘Did you escape?’ asked Cywen.
‘Escape? Nay, lass. Much as it pains me to say it, Braith kept his word. He let me go, at dawn, just as he said he would.’ Marrock lifted a hand, ran it through his hair. ‘Did you see Braith’s scar? Running from here to here.’ He placed a finger beside his left eye, tracing it slowly down to his jaw line.
‘I did,’ said Corban.
‘My father, Rhagor, gave him that scar, so Braith told me. He spoke of my da.’ He fell silent, closing his eyes. ‘They fought in the Darkwood. Braith said no man had ever so much as tickled him with a blade, until my da. Braith slew him that day, in the Darkwood.’ An expression of utter desolation swept Marrock’s face, quickly hidden.
‘Where did you learn to throw a knife like that, lass?’ he asked, blowing out a short breath, smiling again.
‘My mam,’ Cywen said, grinning shyly in return. ‘She taught me over there.’ She pointed at an old tree trunk back near the rosebushes. It was splintered and pitted from a thousand knife blades. ‘I don’t let many know I can do it. Most men don’t seem to like me being able to throw a knife. Makes them uncomfortable, Mam says.’
Marrock snorted. ‘Well, I for one am glad you’ve acquired the skill.’
Cywen smiled.
With a big sigh, Storm flopped down at Corban’s feet, her back leg coming up to itch her ear.
‘How do things go, with your cub?’ Marrock asked, looking at Storm.
‘Well, I think,’ said Corban. ‘We’re training her as my da did Buddai.’
‘And how goes that?’
‘She’s not eaten any chickens yet,’ said Corban with a grin. ‘That day, the day of the hunt, when I stood before Alona. You spoke for me. If you had said different I don’t think she would be here now.’ He ran fingers through the cub’s thickening fur. ‘Why?’
‘In truth, lad, I do not know. Keeping a wolven is not the most . . . sensible . . . decision. I just had a feeling. Sometimes you
know
, something speaks to you.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m mighty glad I
did
support your case. You might not have been as inclined to speak up for
me
, at the pool, if I hadn’t.’
‘Yes he would,’ snapped Cywen, ‘Ban’s not like that.’
Marrock held his hands up, smiling now. ‘I dare say you’re right, girl. There is certainly more to you than meets the eye, lad. You have stood before Braith, the most feared outlaw in Ardan, and had the courage to bargain with him. You have a wolven at your heel, and a warrior for a sister.’
Cywen grinned fiercely.
Marrock stood. ‘I must go, my wife is fretting about my health, and is most willing to tend me. Remember, I am in your debt. Both of you. You saved my life.’ He held out his hand to Cywen, gripping her forearm in the warrior’s embrace, which drew another huge grin.
‘Look after your cub, lad,’ he said to Corban as he gripped his arm. ‘Not all are happy about her being here. Evnis has many followers in the fortress.’
Corban stepped out of the shade of the rowans into the Field, paused and sucked in a deep breath before he walked on, striding towards Halion. He kept his eyes fixed on his weapons-master, nevertheless felt ripples of attention begin to flow around him, heard muttered whispers and gasps.
He had brought Storm to the Rowan Field.
A ten-night had passed since Marrock’s reappearance and life had almost gone back to normal. Vonn had recovered enough to return to his father’s hold, so Corban was free of Brina’s chores for a while. Something had happened to him when Marrock had returned. It had been strange, almost uncomfortable, hearing Marrock talk of him that day and using words such as ‘courage’ and ‘bravery’. All that
he
remembered of the night by the pool was utter terror, as if his guts had turned to water. But nonetheless, he
had
stood up to Braith, bargained with him even. That must count for something, even if he knew deep down he truly hadn’t acted out of any bravery.
And now he was tired of hiding Storm away. He had told his da as they broke their fast earlier that morning that he was going to take Storm to the Field. He had expected an explosion, or at least a flat ‘No,’ but neither had happened. Instead Thannon had just looked at him, frowning from under bushy eyebrows.
‘As you wish,’ was all his da had said, and then returned to the pile of oatcakes before him.
He looked down at Storm, padding beside him. She had grown already, just in the score or so of days since he had brought her out of the Baglun. She was taller, less fluffy, dark stripes marking her white fur. He knew that bringing her here would stir painful memories for some, but it was not her fault. She was
his
, and he was proud of her.
‘Get that Asroth-spawn out of the Field.’
Corban looked up. A handful of people had drifted between him and Halion. Some younger, not sat their Long Night yet, but there were others, older warriors. He recognized Rafe’s face walking amongst them.
Corban snatched a glance around him. Many were watching. ‘
That
does not belong here,’ said a faceless voice from the group growing before him. Beyond them he saw Halion begin to stride towards him.
Corban tried to move around the small crowd, but Rafe stepped forward, blocking his path.
‘Get out of my way,’ Corban muttered.
‘You heard, blacksmith’s boy,’ said Rafe. ‘Take that
thing
out of here. You’re fortunate Vonn is not returned to the Field yet.’
Deep breath
, Corban told himself, feeling the familiar churning begin in his gut. He breathed out slowly.
‘No,’ he heard himself say, pleased that his voice did not tremble. He pushed forwards.
Rafe bunched a fist and swung, but Corban had been waiting for it. He ducked, stepped onto one of Rafe’s booted feet and pushed him hard, both hands, in the chest. Instinctively Rafe tried to right his balance, but his pinned foot betrayed him and he tumbled to the ground.
Before Corban could move on, a strong hand grabbed him, spun him around. It was a warrior this time, broad and squat, powerful arms, a sneer curling his lip. Glyn. He hefted Corban until he was standing on tip-toes. Storm growled and the warrior drew back his leg to kick the cub.
‘Put the lad down, Glyn.’
Halion stood at the edge of the crowd, appearing quite relaxed, apart from the lines around his mouth.
‘Stay out of this,’ the warrior grunted, glaring at Halion.
‘This is the Rowan Field, Glyn. Grudges come no further than the trees, remember.’
‘Not this time. You’re not from round here – you would’na understand. Walk away.’
‘No.’
Glyn released Corban, shoving him back a couple of paces and turned to face Halion. The tall warrior raised his hands, palms open.
‘No need for this to go further, Glyn. Our heart rules us all on occasion. Let’s leave it at that, eh?’
‘Do not seek to instruct me, outlander,’ said Glyn, taking a stride towards Halion, who did not move, other than a slight adjustment of his feet.
‘What’s all this?’ a deep voice called from beyond the group. Over the gathered heads Corban saw a tall, wide form striding towards them. It was Tull.
The crowd parted before Brenin’s champion until he stood towering over Corban. Rafe had scrambled to his feet and sidled a few steps away.
‘What’s all this?’ Tull repeated, glancing at Corban before his eyes rested on Halion and Glyn. Halion said nothing, returning Tull’s gaze.
‘Someone answer me, ’fore I feel the need to start cracking heads,’ the ageing champion growled.
A ring of people were formed around them now. Conall, Halion’s brother, was pushing to the front, a scowl on his face.
‘He’s brought that devil-dog into the Field,’ Rafe blurted from behind Glyn. Tull’s head snapped around, like a hunting bird sighting prey, fixing Helfach’s son. ‘He mocks us, mocks the warriors that fell in the hunt,’ Rafe stuttered, looking at the ground.
‘The boy speaks true,’ muttered Glyn, and other voices in the crowd echoed him.
Tull held his hand up, looking around, his eyes eventually falling on Corban and the cub at his feet. A heavy silence descended as the King’s champion appraised him, and Corban was acutely aware of eyes on him. Almost certainly most of the Field would be watching this exchange. He cursed himself for a fool.
What have I done?
‘Lad, did you not claim King’s Justice and stand before our Queen Alona?’ Tull said loudly, for all to hear.
‘A-aye,’ Corban said.
‘Speak up. If you’re bold enough t’talk in front of our Queen, surely you’re bold enough t’talk in front of this rabble.’
‘Aye,’ said Corban, louder.
‘And did she not pass judgement on you?’
‘She did.’
‘What was her judgement?’
‘That, that I was not responsible for the harm done in the Baglun. And that I could keep the cub.’
Tull grunted. ‘Did any not hear?’ he boomed.
Silence.
‘King’s Justice says this cub stays with the lad, and he can take it wheresoever he pleases. Any man,
anyone
,’ Tull said, his eyes sweeping the crowd and coming to rest upon Rafe. ‘Anyone here fault our Queen’s judgement?’
Again, silence.
‘Good. As it should be. I’ll be reminding you, I am the King’s sword. I’ll disregard the insult that’s been made here. But only this once.’ He stood in silence, glowering at the group that had waylaid Corban. One by one they sidled away, until none was left.
Tull turned his eyes to Corban, frowning. ‘I’ll be watching you,’ he said, then marched away.
‘You all right, lad?’ Halion asked. Corban was watching Tull’s back.
‘I . . . I’m fine,’ Corban mumbled.
‘Good. Come, then.’
They walked to a weapons rack, both searching for a practice sword to their liking. Something made Corban glance over his shoulder. Two figures stood in the shadows of the rowan trees: one a hulking mass, the other not quite so tall, slimmer. They moved away, and Corban blinked, then they were gone.
‘Are you sure that you are well?’ Halion asked him again as they found a space to begin their training. ‘You look pale.’
Corban blew out a hard breath. He
did
feel a little light-headed.
‘I didn’t expect that,’ he said.
‘No?’ Halion raised an eyebrow.
‘No. I’m accustomed to staring, harsh words. But that . . .’
‘Strong feelings, lad, oft are displayed in strong actions.’
‘Aye. So I see.’
‘Why did you do it? Bring the cub here?’
Corban looked down, watching Storm as she lay in the grass, her copper eyes considering him in return.
‘Because it doesn’t feel right, hiding her away as if she’s done something wrong,’ he said. ‘She deserves better. And I’ve done nothing wrong either, and will not act as if I have.’ He smiled at Halion. ‘My thanks.’
‘What for?’
‘For speaking for me. No one else did.’
‘You’re welcome, lad. Come, let us begin.’ The tall warrior raised his weapon, then lunged at Corban, striking at his head and chest. Stepping quickly backwards, Corban managed to block the blows, then there was a flurry of movement and Halion fell back, crying out. He was hoping on one leg, shaking the other frantically.
For a moment Corban could not tell what was happening, then he saw a bundle of fur attached to Halion’s calf. Storm had latched on and was refusing to let go. Halion stopped jumping about and Storm planted her feet on the ground, jaws still clamped around Halion’s leg. Only her copper eyes moved, looking up at the tall warrior. She growled, deep in the back of her throat.
There was a moment’s silence as Corban rushed forwards, then Halion began to laugh.
‘Storm. Here,’ Corban said sharply, and the cub stepped back to him.
‘Can’t blame her, I suppose,’ said Halion as his laughter calmed. ‘She thought I was attacking you. Mind you.’ He wagged a finger at Corban. ‘It might be funny now, but she’s going to grow as big as a pony. I would not find
that
amusing.’
Corban began laughing too, picturing the thought.
‘We’ve taught her not to bite chickens,’ he said, ‘so I’ll just teach her not to bite you.’
‘I’d appreciate that. But don’t stop her protecting you. It could prove to be quite advantageous.’
‘I won’t. I’m teaching her “Friend” and “Foe”.’
‘What do you mean?’
Corban walked over to Halion and knelt beside him, then called Storm.
‘Hold your hand out,’ Corban said to Halion, who squatted and did as instructed. Storm sniffed the warrior’s palm with her long muzzle, then growled.
‘Friend,’ said Corban. The growling stopped.
Halion snorted. ‘Come, lad. She’s not
that
clever.’
‘My da says she is. He teaches his hounds this, though he said it takes them much longer to pick it up. Even Buddai. Said she’s very bright, and can pick out a scent better than any hound he’s come across.’
Halion raised his eyebrows, but the disbelief in his face faded a little.
Suddenly he looked beyond the cub, eyes narrowing, then stood, strode quickly towards the warrior weapons court. Corban hesitated a moment, then followed him.
The weapons court was really just a square expanse of stone in the Field. It was the place where warriors sparred. Only those that had sat their Long Night were allowed to set foot on the stone.
As Corban hurried after Halion he saw Tull standing out on the Field, like an old oak amidst saplings, two smaller figures before him. He blinked as he recognized Dath standing beside his da, Mordwyr.