‘What is going on here?’ she demanded.
‘She tried to kill you,’ Morcant said, pointing at Cywen, who was being restrained in one of Alcyon’s huge hands.
‘I tried to kill you, you idiot,’ Cywen yelled.
‘What?’
‘You murdered Ronan.’ She struggled in Alcyon’s grip, then slumped, angry tears staining her face. ‘In the Darkwood, when you attacked Queen Alona.’
‘I probably did,’ Morcant said, ‘though I don’t know who he is.’ He studied Cywen. Recognition flared in his eyes. ‘But you I do remember. She should be executed.’
‘No. She is under my protection,’ Nathair said, stepping forward.
Rhin frowned, staring icily at Cywen. Then she smiled at Nathair, a sudden change to graciousness and charm. ‘As you will, Nathair. She is fortunate to have your patronage. But I wonder who will protect my first-sword from her?’’ She cast a look of derision at Morcant as laughter erupted from her chieftains.
‘I can look after myself,’ Morcant said indignantly. He grabbed the knife hilt sticking from his shoulder and pulled it out with a grimace. ‘Think I’ll keep this.’
‘I’ll just find another one,’ Cywen said.
Veradis strode over to her, furious at having been put in such a position in front of Nathair. She does not know when to quit. ‘Bos, bind her hands. And you.’ He stepped close to Cywen and pointed a finger at her. ‘You really need to stop trying to kill people.’
She glared at him.
‘Well, I’m glad that’s all over with now. Good, then perhaps I can finally have something to eat?’ Rhin said.
Morcant strode back to the fire-pit, drawing his knife. As he reached to make the first cut for his Queen another figure stepped into the ring.
It was Conall. ‘I contest your right,’ he said loudly, for all to hear.
It was written in the Lore of the Exiles that each ruler would have their champion, their first-sword. Tradition said that only they had the right to carve the first cut of meat for their king or queen. That right could be challenged, though, to be decided in the Court of Swords. The victor would be first-sword.
‘Ahhh,’ Rhin groaned, ‘am I never going to eat tonight?’
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CORBAN
Corban had lost track of time, his world contracted to the ground before him, the burn in his lungs and legs, the shadows of his companions about him.
How long have we been running?
It was still dark; the only light was the burning torches that had been hastily fashioned from branches back in the dell where the wolven attacked them.
Dawn cannot be far off. Shapes were starting to emerge from the darkness, boulders, steep rocky cliffs to either side of the narrow path they were travelling.
In front of him Farrell stumbled, still carrying his da’s body. Corban grabbed Farrell’s belt, steadying him.
Heb and Brina dropped back, Heb looking at Farrell.
‘You should lay him down,’ Heb said.
‘No,’ Farrell grunted. ‘I’ll not leave him for his bones to be picked by scavengers.’
‘He would not want you to die on his account.’
‘I’ll not be dying yet,’ Farrell breathed, sweat dripping from his nose.
‘I think—’ Heb said, but Brina interrupted him.
‘Less thinking, more shutting up. Leave him be.’
‘She loves me really.’ Heb winked at Corban.
‘What you did in the dell,’ Corban said to Brina and Heb. ‘You saved us all. It was amazing. I never imagined what you could do.’
‘Neither did we,’ Heb said. ‘Never done anything remotely close. Blind terror is a good motivator.’
There was a fluttering of wings above – Craf swooping down to perch on Brina’s shoulder.
‘Wolven,’ the bird croaked loudly, sending a tremor of fear running through Corban.
‘Where,’ Brina managed to ask through her laboured breaths.
‘Above.’
Corban looked up: sheer cliffs disappeared into the darkness. They are up there, then, hunting us. The slopes must be too high, too steep for them to attack us. Yet.
‘What shall we do?’ he gasped to Camlin, who still ran rearguard behind him.
‘Keep running,’ the huntsman said, eyes searching upwards. A handful of stones came skittering down the cliff. Corban saw Camlin loosen an arrow from the quiver at his belt.
Dawn gradually crept over them, unveiling a grey, steep-sided land. At some point during the night Corban had noticed their path had levelled off; now it began to slope downwards and their pace picked up. Suddenly they spilt out of the path onto a hillside with pine trees covering the slopes only a few hundred paces below them. Beyond that wooded hills rolled into a green land.
‘Domhain,’ Halion said.
Storm growled and Craf squawked urgently from overhead. Corban looked back and up, seeing wolven high above, outlined by the sun.