Looking at Halion’s expression Corban did not doubt him.
Soon they were in King Eremon’s chambers, situated in the lower levels of Dun Taras’ tower. Apparently he had given up his rooms at the top of the tower a long time ago, because he didn’t like the long climb.
It was a large room, a fire burning in a hearth against one wall holding back the autumn chill. Eremon was sitting upon a fur-wreathed chair, his hair white, his skin waxy and loose. His eyes were still young, though, sea grey, like Halion’s. They lingered upon Corban, then dropped to Storm.
‘Ah, the wolven tamer, at last. Stories of you are spreading about my keep faster than the west wind,’ Eremon said.
Corban walked forward and dropped to one knee, bowing his head.
‘Rise,’ Eremon said.
‘My Queen,’ Corban said to Edana as he stood, seeing her seated on a smaller chair close to the King. She gave him a warm smile. Fech the raven was perched on the arm of her chair. A jet-haired woman sat at Eremon’s other side.
Roisin.
With her lips a deep red in a face as pale as alabaster she was beautiful, and Corban’s eyes were drawn to her as he bowed.
‘I have heard much about you and your wolven,’ Eremon said. He held his hand out to Storm.
‘Careful,’ Roisin said.
‘Hush, woman,’ Eremon said irritably. ‘I’ve two hands, and I only need one to scratch my arse with.’ He looked back to Storm.
‘Friend,’ Corban whispered, and Storm padded forwards. She seemed bigger, now that she was indoors, tall enough to look the seated King in the eye. Her long canines glinted in the firelight. She took a long sniff of Eremon’s palm, her amber eyes regarding him. Then she went to Edana and nudged the Queen’s leg with her muzzle. Edana ran her fingers through the thick fur about Storm’s neck. The wolven flopped down at her feet.
Eremon was watching her keenly. ‘Amazing. She is quite relaxed, and knows you well, Edana.’
‘Of course. We are pack,’ Edana said.
‘Come then, Corban,’ Eremon said. ‘Tell me how this came to be. I imagine it’s quite the tale.’
Corban sat at Eremon’s feet and recounted his tale, of finding Storm’s mother in the Baglun, then saving Storm as a pup. Eremon called for a chair to be brought forward for Corban as the tale wound on to when Corban had given Storm up, after she had wounded Rafe, and how she had followed him to Narvon, how she had helped track Edana through the Darkwood, and on until they had reached the mountains between Cambren and Domhain. When he was finished Eremon sat there a while in silence.
‘What a tale,’ Eremon eventually said. ‘How old are you?’
‘Nearly seventeen summers, my lord,’ Corban said.
‘Nearly.’ Eremon grinned. ‘I remember wishing my years away. As you get older you start wishing for the opposite. Or at least for a time when you didn’t have to wake to use the pot half a dozen times a night.’
Corban didn’t know what to say to that. He found himself liking Eremon.
‘Quite the tale,’ Eremon repeated, ‘at any age. Made all the more so by its truth. I don’t know you, but I know Halion well enough to be an honest man, and Queen Edana of course vouches for your tale’s accuracy. Remarkable.’
‘I have never given any thought to it, my lord,’ Corban said. ‘It just happened.’
‘And I bet it gets you a lot of attention from the ladies.’ Eremon winked.
Corban felt himself blushing at that.
‘You are very lucky, Edana, to have such devoted – and unique – protectors about you,’ said Roisin, speaking for the first time. Her voice had a lilting quality, almost musical.
‘Yes, I am,’ Edana said. ‘Corban is part of the reason that I am still alive. As is Halion. When I have regained my kingdom they shall both be rewarded for their loyalty. As will any who support me in my quest for justice.’
Eremon smiled slyly at that, but said nothing.
‘You must be thirsty, Corban, after all that talking,’ Roisin said, clapping her hands. Servants brought a table and filled it with cups, jugs, an assortment of foods: fruits, cold meats, cheese and dark bread.
‘You are Eremon’s kin, and he will do what he can to help you,’ Roisin assured Edana. ‘But we need to have all of the facts at our disposal first. Then we can make an informed decision of what is the best course of action for Domhain.’
‘But I have told you the facts,’ Edana said, an edge to her voice.
This is not the first time they have had this conversation, Corban thought.
‘Owain has invaded Ardan, my mother and father have been betrayed and murdered. And Rhin is the puppeteer behind it all. She plans to rule the west.’