He pushed the thought away, still not liking to think of his last days in Dun Carreg. Always the first memory would be of Nathair driving a sword through his da’s chest. With a sigh he climbed to his feet and picked his way towards the kitchen, the stone floor cold.
They had arrived at Dun Taras yesterday. Halion, Edana and Marrock were taken almost immediately to an audience with King Eremon, while the rest of them had waited in a secluded courtyard and gardens. That had been after they had managed to get through the gates of Dun Taras, which had almost not happened. The guards had taken a very dim view of allowing a wolven to walk into the fortress. Craf flying up to the battlements and hurling insults at them hadn’t helped matters much, either. But eventually Rath had overruled the captain. Word spread about them quickly enough; a crowd of children followed them, as well as a fair few adults, most of them pointing at Storm, not Edana.
The meeting between Edana and King Eremon had gone well, according to Halion, though Edana had not looked so convinced. They had been housed in a large stone dwelling on the outskirts of the fortress, where it was easier for Storm to stay with them. Edana had been offered chambers in the keep, but she’d chosen to stay with ‘her people’, as she was referring to her small band of companions.
Dawn was close, pale light leaking through a shuttered window in the kitchen. The bulk of Farrell was a dense shadow sitting near the glowing hearth. Corban pulled a chair over and joined him, warming his hands. Soon Corban heard the pad of feet and Dath came to join them. The three of them sat in silence a while, watching the embers in the fire.
‘Does it get easier?’ Farrell said, his voice harsh in the silence.
Corban sighed, instantly knowing what Farrell was talking about. He missed his da too. They’d all lost their fathers to battle in just a few moons.
‘A little,’ he said. ‘At first it felt as if I had a hole inside me, an empty space that hurt more than any wound. Just to think of him would take my breath from my body.’ He looked at Farrell and Dath. ‘But with everything that’s happened since we left Dun Carreg – the possibility of dying each and every day. It’s been distracting.’
Dath snorted an agreement.
‘Not that you forget,’ Corban continued. ‘I’ll never forget.’ In his mind he was suddenly back in Dun Carreg’s feast-hall, smoke and screaming thick about him, watching Nathair sink his sword into his da’s body. A rush of emotion swelled within him, almost a physical pain, a fist gripping and twisting his heart.
‘All that talk about your da,’ Dath said, looking at Farrell. ‘About him being a coward.’
Farrell looked at him, eyes narrowing.
Anwarth, Farrell’s da, had been shieldman to Ardan’s old battlechief. In some conflict or other Anwarth had been accused of cowardice, of playing dead while his chief had been slain. Nothing had ever been proven, but accusations like that, they never went away.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Dath said. ‘He volunteered to stay with Marrock, knowing that to stay meant to die. And I saw him in the battle. He was no coward.’
Farrell reached out and squeezed Dath’s shoulder.
‘Ouch,’ said Dath.
‘Your da was no coward, either. He tried to storm that boat all on his own.’
‘He did, didn’t he?’ Dath said. He looked at his hands, his face crumpling. Tears spilt down his cheeks.
‘He loved you, you know, Dath,’ Corban whispered.
‘Did he so? Why was he always hitting me, then?’
‘I don’t know,’ Corban shrugged.
‘I’d hit you if I were your da,’ Farrell said.
‘I’m a coward,’ Dath said quietly, almost to himself.
‘What?’
‘Every day, every battle, I’m scared. More than that, terrified. It grips me, freezes me.’
‘Fear hasn’t hurt your aim much,’ Farrell said.
‘All men feel fear,’ Corban said. ‘Gar told me that. It’s what you do about it – stand or run, fight or give up – that’s what makes you a coward or hero. Without fear there is no courage.’
‘In that case you’re no coward,’ Farrell said.
‘Does that make me a hero?’ Dath said with a weak smile.
‘I’d rather my da be a coward and still be here,’ Farrell said.
They sat in silence some more; Corban had no answer for that.
‘Talking of Gar and heroes,’ Dath said. ‘What’s all this about you being, you know, the seven disgraces, or whatever it was.’
‘Seren Disglair,’ Corban corrected with a grimace. Life had been too filled with danger and imminent death for him to think much on Gar’s claims. Now that things had changed, though, and a measure of safety restored to them, he found his thoughts constantly returning to Gar’s words. Both his mam and Gar were sure that something would happen, that he would change his mind.
Not likely. I don’t want to be some Bright Star, fighting the Dark Sun. I’ve seen enough of war and death for a lifetime.
‘Yes. So when did you become the saviour of the Banished Lands, then?’
‘Shut up,’ Corban said. ‘It’s not funny.’