‘Roisin won’t like him saying things like that,’ Marrock said.
‘He’s said things like that all his life. It’s when she thinks he’ll act on it that you have to worry about Roisin. Edana’s safe from her now that Lorcan benefits,’ said Halion.
Corban sat in the feast-hall of Dun Taras. It was noisy, voices rising as they often did once the mead started to flow. Or the ale that he was drinking: it was dark, bitter stuff, but after a bit of getting used to it he was starting to like it. Dath at least certainly seemed to be liking it, judging by the jug in his hand and the smile on his face.
All of the company that had survived the journey from Dun Carreg were in here somewhere, most of them sitting together about a long table. Storm was curled underneath the table, though it moved every time she changed position. Corban suspected that even Craf and Fech were lurking somewhere up in the rafters of the vaulted ceiling. The rest of the room was full, pulsing with excitement and activity. Dun Taras had been like this ever since word had arrived of Owain’s death and Rhin’s march on Domhain, a ten-night ago. Warriors were drifting into the fortress, from ones and twos to warbands of a hundred or more. Halion said King Eremon’s barons would muster far greater numbers, but would most likely join the King’s warband somewhere along the journey to Domhain’s border. There was only one main route into Domhain from Cambren, and that was the giants’ road. All other routes were little more than trails through the mountains, and winter was coming, so they were unlikely to be used. Thus the plan was a simple one: stop Rhin at the giants’ road.
Corban was not yet sure what part his group would play in the coming conflict. Halion had told him that King Eremon would be staying at Dun Taras, too old for the journey, and that Rath would be leading the warbands of Domhain against Rhin. It was likely that Edana would have little choice other than to stay with Eremon. But Corban, along with many others in their small company, wanted to fight. Rhin had taken everything from them, and they all wished to play some part in taking it back.
The doors to the feast-hall opened and a figure came in from the dark, the wind hurling a spattering of rain in after him. Ventos, the trader. Corban had seen Ventos a handful of times since he had arrived in Dun Taras, and always enjoyed talking to the man. He felt like another part of home, somehow, a reminder of happier times. And he was a great teller of tales, the places he had been.
‘How long will you be staying here?’ Corban asked him as he settled next to him and took a drink of ale.
‘For a while.’ Ventos shrugged. He looked around the overflowing feast-hall. ‘Seems as if the whole of Domhain is coming to Dun Taras, so it would be stupid to walk away. It’s a good place to sell.’
‘Even though war is coming?’
‘War’s good for business. People get reminded that we’re not here forever – they like to enjoy life a little more, make the most of it.’
Nearby a man leaped onto a table and started dancing a jig to the applause of his friends.
‘See.’
‘I just thought that this is what they are like in Domhain,’ Corban said.
‘Oh, they are more inclined to a song, a good tale and a drink than many places I’ve been,’ Ventos said. ‘Maybe it’s the rain. It rains so much here, you have to balance it with something.’
‘Where is your hound?’ Corban asked.
‘He’s guarding my wain. It’s full of goods I’ve collected from all over the Banished Lands. Wouldn’t want them to be robbed in the night. Talar won’t let anyone take what’s not theirs.’
Corban nodded his agreement. It was a vicious-looking hound. I remember that from the first time I saw him. I fell on him and he looked at me like he wanted to eat me. ‘And what of your bird? The hawk you won from the Sirak in a game of dice?’
‘Ah, Kartala. She is around. She can leave me for days at a time, even moons, but she always finds me again.’
The doors opened again and in walked a large crowd. Leading them was Quinn, Eremon’s first-sword. He was tall and thick muscled. Corban had seen him training in Dun Taras’ Rowan Field. There seemed to be little finesse to him, but he had a strength and speed that he used to overwhelm his opponents – literally battering them to defeat. Beside him walked Lorcan, Eremon’s only recognized heir, Roisin’s son.