‘Dead,’ Dath said. ‘We found him with your knife in his belly. You should have seen your mam – she would have liked to bring him back to life, just so she could kill him again.’
He smiled at that. It saddened him, thinking of Ventos. He had liked the man, had thought him a friend. But he had betrayed him.
‘How did you get in?’
‘We climbed the wall to the north,’ said Dath. ‘It’s a sheer drop, but they weren’t very vigilant. I guess they didn’t have enough men here to man every wall, and they weren’t exactly expecting an attack. Brina tied a loop in some rope and Craf flew it up to the battlements and dropped it over something solid.’
‘But how did you find me? How did you know where to look?’
‘Craf again,’ said Dath. ‘He looked in every hole in this fortress until he found you. He’s handy to have around, that bird, even if his eating habits would make the dead vomit up their last meal.’
‘He is indeed,’ Corban agreed. He tore off a strip of meat and threw it to Craf, who was perched contentedly on the back of Brina’s chair. He caught the meat in the air and gulped it down.
Brina had hugged Corban tight when she had seen him, then berated him sharply for having let himself be captured. Corban had not minded, though. He had felt a swell of emotion at seeing the old woman, at seeing all of his friends. And what they had done for him.
He felt it again now, looking about the room at them – his mam sitting quiet beside Brina, Gar talking to Tukul – his da, Corban could still not get over that – Dath and Farrell sitting either side of him, Coralen, further apart, brooding, silently scouring crusted blood from her wolven claws.
Such friends. Following me through the mountains, attacking Braith. Storming a fortress. Rhin’s fortress. Just looking at them, he felt a pressure building in his chest. This world may be full of greed and tragedy and darkness, but I am fortunate beyond measure to have such people about me.
His eyes drifted deeper around the room, at the scores of Jehar warriors. Most were quietly going about small tasks – repairing torn leather with thread and needle, replacing rings in a chainmail shirt, using a whetstone to work out a notch in a blade, cleaning and binding a wound.
Every now and then he would feel eyes upon him, would catch some of the Jehar looking at him, just staring. It made him feel uncomfortable. There was something in their eyes, almost adoration.
Then he saw Meical. He was sitting in the shadows beyond the firelight, long legs stretched out before him, his face a dark pool, but something told Corban he was staring straight back at him.
He remembered his dream – not a dream, something more, something real – and Meical’s part in it. He was the Ben-Elim who had saved him, who had carried him from Asroth’s palace.
They had hardly talked in the dungeon, Corban struggling to take in what he was seeing, but they would have to, soon. He knew that.
He looked away from the shadows, his gaze settling upon his mam. She was watching him, too. She rose and sat beside him.
‘So,’ she said.
‘Thank you, Mam.’
‘What for?’
‘For coming to get me.’
She hugged him fiercely.
‘I knew him. He was in Dun Carreg, briefly. But I recognize him from my dreams,’ Corban said, looking back to Meical.
‘I saw, in the dungeon. So, do you believe, now?’
He was dimly aware that Dath and Farrell were leaning forward, listening intently.
‘I . . . my dreams, Mam. They weren’t dreams, really, I was somewhere else. In the Otherworld.’
‘Yes. You’ve been having them for years. They stopped for a while.’
‘Rhin was in the last one. She took me to Asroth.’
His mam tensed, her hand squeezing his leg.
‘I was terrified. Asroth, he wants to kill me – you were right.’
‘So you do believe, then?’
He had not wanted to think about this, to face it. All the while he was busy it was just a shadow hovering somewhere behind him, but now he could no longer avoid this subject. He had walked in the Otherworld, come face to face with Asroth and his Kadoshim, and with the Ben-Elim. How could he deny the truth of it? Clearly it was no lie, so either he was mad, as he had thought Gar was, for a while, or it was the truth. There was no longer any option for an alternative explanation. He sighed.
‘How could I not, now? I’m sorry for not trusting you.’
She smiled. ‘I have found it hard to believe, myself, at times.’
‘I don’t want to believe it, though. I’d rather not think about it. And when I do think about it I end up with a lot of questions,’ Corban said.
‘Of course you do.’
A voice rang out, then. Corban looked up and saw that Meical was standing close to the fire-pit, almost before him.
‘What would you do from here?’ Meical said, looking straight at him.
‘You’re asking me?’ Corban said.
‘Everyone in this room is here because of you, Corban. You are the Seren Disglair, the Bright Star.’