She listened avidly. Alcyon usually kept his peace, no matter how many questions Cywen asked him.
‘So you are Kurgin?’
‘Kurgan.’
‘Where are your kin, then?’
‘A long way from here, child. They live in Arcona, the sea of grass, far to the east.’
‘How have you come to be so far from home?’
A look swept his face – sorrow, regret, shifting to misery, all in a heartbeat – replaced by something cold. ‘That is not your concern, child.’
‘Just trying to learn something about my captors,’ she muttered.
He looked at her a while, then, just as she thought the silence was permanent, he spoke again. ‘I am Calidus’ servant. I do his bidding, that is all. His business is here, with Nathair, with Rhin, so I am here also.’ He looked into his bowl and slurped from it. He didn’t use a spoon.
‘Calidus,’ Cywen said. ‘His business is with Nathair, and Rhin. And Corban, my brother. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it. Something to do with Corban.’
‘Aye,’ the giant rumbled.
‘What is it? How can Corban be of any interest to Calidus, to kings and queens?’
Alcyon just looked at her over the giant axe resting across his knees.
They reached Dun Vaner by highsun the next day and stayed one night in its cold and damp halls. The fortress was almost deserted; most of Rhin’s warriors had joined the warband attacking Domhain, with only a small garrison left to man the stronghold.
Early the next day they set out, Nathair and the three Benothi giants leading as Rhin bid them farewell beneath the stone archway of Dun Vaner. Cywen rode Shield towards the rear of the column, Buddai beside her, Alcyon’s strides keeping easy pace with the horse. As they left the mountain slopes and the ground levelled out, Buddai stopped, frozen to the spot, looking back. He whined.
‘What is it?’ Cywen said to him. The hound just stared into the distance, ears pricked, head cocked.
Alcyon paused, listening. Then she heard it too, faint as a sigh, floating on the wind from the mountains. A wolven howling.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
CAMLIN
The walls of Dun Taras appeared through a dense curtain of sleet. Camlin rode in the van, close to Edana and her other shieldmen, Halion, Marrock and Vonn.
It had been a hard and slow march back from the mountains, a wall of sleet and snow bringing death quickly to those too weak to keep up.
Rhin’s warband had not pursued at any great pace but Rath’s scouts reported that they were coming, marching steadily behind them.
They’re happy to herd us into Dun Taras and watch us starve to death.
Camlin could still not believe how decisively the battle had been lost. He had never seen anything like the wall of shields that had marched out of the foothills and along the giants’ road, never seen death dealt out so efficiently and clinically. Something about it had felt so wrong: it took the heart from the battle – no deeds of valour, no great displays of skill or strength that won the day – just a cold, soulless distribution of death. It had scared him. He remembered seeing something similar back in the feast-hall at Dun Carreg, forming up to protect Nathair as all hell had broken loose. But it had been on a much smaller scale, and he had been close enough that he had been able to find a few gaps with his arrows. This time, though, three blocks of warriors, each two or three hundred men strong, shields and swords bristling. It would take a lot more than a few arrows to crack that nut.
Horns rang out as they rode through the streets beyond the fortress’ walls, then they were passing beneath a stone archway, grim-faced warriors upon the battlements. Rath headed straight for the keep and an audience with Eremon. He beckoned for Edana to go with him, so her four shieldmen followed dutifully behind.
Eremon was looking even older. Up close he could see every line and crease, his skin sagging, waxy. He looks like a candle burned too long. Beside him sat his pale-faced and dark-haired queen. Roisin. Camlin disliked her greatly, mostly based upon the grief she had rained down on Halion. This was a woman who was prepared to kill to see her plans made real.
There was a fluttering sound and a bird appeared at the window, peering through a flapping shutter – Fech. When he saw Edana he hopped through the gap, shook himself and started running his beak through his feathers.
The King listened solemnly to Rath and Edana recount the battle at the border.
‘How can we defeat them?’ he asked as Rath fell silent.
‘I don’t know,’ Rath said. ‘I have never seen its like before. We threw ourselves against it for a long day and could not stop it. I could not say if we even slew one man. A warband of giants would be easier to defeat.’ He hung his head.
Eremon looked from Rath to Edana.
‘There must be a way, my King,’ Edana said. ‘And your strong walls and harsh winter will help us, I am sure.’