‘Yes, perhaps longer, with a warband on the march.’
‘So you will be undertaking a winter campaign? I hear the winters here are not as mild as those we are used to in Tenebral.’
‘There will be blood spilt in the snow,’ Rhin said with a shrug. ‘There is a road the giants made that cuts through the mountains between Cambren and Domhain, and forges a line right to Eremon’s seat, Dun Taras. As long as we have that we can wage war, no matter the weather. I have ample stores of provisions in Cambren. You may need a warmer cloak, and some woollen breeches to cover those legs of yours,’ she said to Veradis, who promptly blushed.
‘There is something else that we would ask of you,’ another voice spoke. Calidus. ‘A small thing. News.’
‘News of what?’ Rhin asked.
‘A young man, not much more than a boy. He escaped the fall of Dun Carreg in the company of Edana and some others, we think.’
‘Yes, I have had many men hunting the land for her. Who is the boy?’
‘His name is Corban. He travels with a wolven. A white wolven.’
Rhin sat up straighter.
‘What is it?’ Nathair asked her.
‘That is interesting. A messenger arrived today, bringing news from Cambren. My warriors have tracked what were thought to be Owain’s spies through most of Cambren and I have had reports that each night my men have been hunted and killed, by a wolven. Stories are growing that whoever is roaming my land is in league with Asroth and becomes a wolven at night, or commands a pack of wolven, or something. At first I put it down to superstitious warriors, but . . .’
‘It is him,’ Calidus said.
‘I am inclined to agree – it is too much of a coincidence. Edana must be fleeing to Domhain. She must have some capable people about her.’
‘Indeed,’ said Nathair.
‘Well, then, I am glad to have helped,’ Rhin replied. ‘Perhaps you can travel some of the way north with me – we will take your ships together, and try hunting this lad and his wolven before our journeys force us to part. You want him, and it sounds as if he is with Edana, and I really want to find her.’
‘Agreed,’ Nathair said.
They drank some more together, toasting their past and future victories, and in time Nathair and his retinue left.
As soon as they were gone, Rhin called in a messenger boy and whispered in his ear. He ran off.
‘There is something about that Nathair,’ Rhin said.
‘There is,’ Evnis agreed. How much does she know? We are both bound to Asroth, to bringing about the God-War, to making Asroth flesh. And we have both grown powerful, in our ways. But she far more than I, and she loves her newfound power – that is plain to see. Would she relinquish it, even for Asroth or his avatar?
‘What do you think of Nathair?’ she asked him.
Unusually blunt, thought Evnis. The question shocked him. What should I tell her? How much of what I guess? Sometimes a direct question deserves a direct answer. Roll the dice.
‘I think he is the Black Sun. I have heard the voice.’
She regarded him thoughtfully. ‘I have heard it too,’ she said eventually.
‘We should do all we can to help him,’ Evnis said, trying to prompt her. He saw thoughts spiralling in her mind.
‘He is the Black Sun, Asroth’s chosen avatar to bring about the great war. He is not Asroth himself. Remember that, Evnis.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do not serve Nathair blindly. I don’t think that Nathair realizes who his master is.’
I had not thought of that. ‘Perhaps you are right. There is a sincerity about him . . .’
‘Exactly. Be careful what you tell him. He must be steered, controlled.’ She tapped long nails upon the arm of her chair, making a clicking sound. ‘This boy and his wolven that Nathair searches for, I have heard more about him than I have told Nathair,’ Rhin said.
Evnis just looked at her, waiting.
‘I spoke with Uthas earlier; through the fire, you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘He has been sneaking around Domhain, spying and killing, stirring things up for my arrival. Well, he has encountered some misfortune: most of his company has been killed, slain, in a battle only last night. The boy Calidus asked about, he was there, with his wolven.’
‘Why did you not tell Nathair?’ He knew the answer already. Knowledge is power. And she does not want to relinquish any of it.
‘There is no rush,’ she said with a smile.
The tent flap opened and a man walked in, tall, skin weathered, a scar running down his face from forehead to chin.
Braith.
‘You sent for me, my Queen,’ Braith said, sinking to a knee.
‘I have a job for you. Someone to find.’
‘Of course.’