‘They are in the mountains between Cambren and Domhain, close to the giants’ road, or were last night. I guess that they are heading into Domhain, so you will have to move carefully through enemy country. It is Edana and her helpers, amongst them a boy with a pet wolven.’
Braith frowned at her. ‘I have met this boy before, at Dun Carreg when I rescued Camlin, and he fought in the Darkwood, when I had Alona. That wolven is no pet, I saw it tear my men to pieces,’ Braith said.
‘I want him, this Corban. Alive and in chains before me. There are other parties that are very interested in him, which means that I am interested, too. Take as many as you need, whatever supplies, all the gold necessary, but it must be done now, quickly and quietly. You must leave now.’
Braith bowed and kissed Rhin’s hand, then turned to leave.
‘Braith,’ Rhin called as he reached the exit.
‘Remember, I want the boy alive, but you can kill the rest of them, including Edana. Actually, especially Edana.’
‘What about the wolven? Do you want that alive as well?’
‘Of course not. Kill it.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
MAQUIN
Maquin sat with his back to the wall of Dun Kellen’s stone bridge. His hands and ankles were shackled. The place where his ear had been was throbbing; a blood-stained bandage wrapped around his head stemmed the bleeding.
He was part of a group of defeated men, at least a hundred of them, the number being added to all the time. A dozen warriors – all men from the ships – stood guarding them. Further away, towards Dun Kellen, Jael’s warband was busy, organizing the clearing of the town, bringing order back where chaos had ruled. The newcomers who had arrived on the black-sailed ships were busy around the river, restocking supplies, it looked like.
Heads on spikes lined the bridge; Maquin was sitting beside one. He looked up and saw a crow perched on the head, tugging a strip of flesh from it. Further along he saw Gerda’s head, one eye already taken by these looters of the dead.
Orgull’s head was not on a spike. Not yet. The big man had laid down his axe to save him. In a way Maquin wished Orgull had kept fighting, that they had both died in that tunnel underground. But he hadn’t. As soon as Orgull’s axe had touched the ground they had both been bound and taken from the fortress. He had no idea where Orgull was.
He had failed.
Jael was alive – not only that, he had won. And Maquin had been so close. He put his head in his hands.
The only hope to cling to was that Tahir had escaped with Gerda’s son, or at least had not been captured yet. If they had been caught, surely their heads would be on spikes alongside Gerda’s. There was a glimmer of hope for Isiltir while Romar’s son still lived and that would surely tarnish Jael’s victory. That was something.
A noise caused him to lift his head. A group of riders had emerged from the town and gathered at the end of the bridge, laughing. One of them dismounted.
Jael.
He felt a shadow fall over him, refused to look up until his boot was kicked. ‘Someone’s angry,’ Jael said, smiling. ‘Ulfilas, protect me from the poison in this man’s gaze.’
Maquin lowered his eyes. Jael kicked his boot again and suddenly Maquin was lunging forwards. Even with the chains it was so fast and so unexpected that he had his fingers around Jael’s throat before anyone could react. As Jael’s eyes bulged, Ulfilas clubbed Maquin across the head with the hilt of his sword and Maquin’s legs turned to gruel. He slumped to his knees.
Jael kneed Maquin in the face. He fell backwards, the sound of his nose breaking was like a branch splitting. Blood sluiced from his nose and his head cracked against the stone wall of the bridge.
Maybe now I’ll die, he thought as he lay sprawled, staring up at Jael.
‘Help him up,’ Jael said, brushing himself down. Ulfilas grabbed Maquin under the arm and hoisted him back to his knees.
‘You’ve come a long way from Haldis,’ Jael said. ‘And survived Forn Forest. I am guessing that you are the reason that Gerda and Varick were not surprised to see me. And yet you lost. You must feel terrible.’
Maquin just looked at him, the words filtering through layers of dizziness and pain.
‘And, of course, I haven’t mentioned your greatest loss. Kastell.’
Maquin felt the world pull into focus, juddering; Jael’s face, his mouth, his lips moving, filling the entirety of his vision.
‘He died badly, you know, if you didn’t see. A gut wound. He screamed, a lot. Not very brave in the end, for all his words, his giant-killing – one of the Gadrai indeed.’ Jael spat on the ground, as if the words gave a bad taste.
‘So you are quite the failure. You failed Kastell. You have failed Gerda. Are you the worst shieldman in all of the Banished Lands? Ulfilas, remind me never to enlist this man in my service. The day when I do that I will surely lose whatever battle I am fighting.’ Laughter drifted about him, from dark places that Maquin could not see.