Veradis gazed at the mist-shrouded walls of Dun Taras. He had looked at the same walls every day for more than a moon now, through snow, rain and winter sun.
His and Geraint’s warbands ringed the fortress, allowing no passage in or out.
‘They must be hungry by now,’ Bos said beside him.
‘I would think so.’
Geraint had wanted to assault the walls as soon as they had reached Dun Taras, not far behind the last stragglers of Domhain’s fleeing warband. Veradis had refused to commit his men, not wanting to throw lives away for uncertain gain. He had counselled patience, to lay siege to the fortress, despite how he hated the thought of waiting here through the heart of winter.
‘We have the upper hand now,’ Veradis had said when Geraint asked him to join in the assault. ‘They are beaten, disheartened. If you assault the walls you will lose hundreds, and in likelihood fail, at least at first. Why lose good men and boost your enemy’s morale when we can just sit here, eat good food and watch them starve?’
Geraint had gone ahead without him, taking a day to build ladders and battering rams. Over a thousand men had died in the assault; they gained the walls once, but were beaten back. Geraint did not attack again.
So they had set up camp, encircled the fortress and waited. Midwinter’s Day came and went. The days started to grow longer. Veradis hated it; the inactivity frustrated him. Each day he set his men to training – first the shield wall, then individual sparring. And he had been meeting with weapon-smiths, the battle at Domhain’s border having planted the seeds of ideas in his mind. And always in his mind the same recurrent thoughts crept to the surface. Nathair. Where is he? Has he reached Murias? Is the cauldron his? Is Cywen safe?
‘How much longer of this?’ Bos asked him.
‘Depends what they choose to do. They could surrender. Or they could decide they’ve had enough of not eating and march out and take us on.’ Veradis shrugged. ‘What would you do?’
Bos scowled. ‘I don’t like being hungry – makes me mad. I’d probably come looking for someone to kill.’
Veradis smiled at that. He could almost picture it.
‘Also, much rests on their king. This Eremon, he’s old, and not so well liked as he could be by his people, I’ve heard. Makes me think he’s more likely to order an attack sooner than later, before his people decide they’ve had enough of him.’
‘So why haven’t they come looking for a fight already?’ Bos mused.
‘My guess is us,’ Veradis said. ‘The shield wall. They know what we can do now, and this ground is perfect for us. Would you march out to face us again?’
‘Probably not. At least, not without an idea of how to win.’
‘Exactly. So they sit behind their walls, and starve.’
The sound of riders drew their attention, from behind, along the giants’ road. Veradis saw a small group, perhaps fifty, moving at a canter. Rhin’s banner rippled above them, a broken branch.
Veradis was ushered into a tent; furs were scattered liberally, a fire burning brightly in an iron basket. Rhin sat close to it, warming her hands. She looked older, somehow, or perhaps just exhausted. Blue veins traced a map beneath her papery skin. She looked up at Veradis as he entered and ushered him to a seat.
Something is wrong.
Geraint was already there, sitting and sipping from a cup. Conall stood behind Rhin, a bearskin cloak draped over his shoulders.
‘Where is Nathair?’ Veradis said. ‘My lady,’ he added as he remembered who he was talking to.
‘Nathair is on his way to Murias. Or was when I left him at Dun Vaner.’
‘He was well?’
‘Yes, yes.’
Veradis breathed out a sigh and felt a measure of tension melt away.
‘May I ask, what troubles you, my lady?’ he said.
‘Is it that obvious?’ She frowned.
Veradis shrugged.
‘At Dun Vaner I had a prisoner brought to me, caught as he was crossing the mountains into Cambren. It was this Corban, the one that your King seeks.’
‘What was he doing there?’
‘He was chasing after his sister. Somehow he knew she was with Nathair.’
Cywen. Unbidden, her face flashed into his mind. She was always tear-stained in his memory, always so sad.
‘What did you do with him? Nathair will be grateful for your help.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Rhin said with a twist of her lips. ‘He was rescued. I only just escaped with my life.’
‘How? What happened?’
A look crossed her face, harrowed, scared even. ‘That doesn’t matter now. I have sent a large force north to deal with them.’ Her eyes became unfocused, then she shivered and sat straighter. ‘There is nothing more to be done about that now. Let us get on with the business of conquering Domhain. So . . .’ She smiled at him, something of her usual spark returning. ‘Geraint tells me you broke the back of Domhain’s warband and sent them scurrying back here.’