Calidus reached across the fire and gripped Uthas’ forearm, his own engulfed by the giant’s.
‘In the morning, then.’
‘Yes, in the morning,’ Nathair echoed. ‘And may Elyon watch over you. May he watch over us all.’
‘The absent god,’ snorted Uthas, then he rose and walked into the night.
Cywen had been captivated as she had watched the exchange, hardly daring to breathe. They must have forgotten I’m here, she thought. Now as Uthas walked away she saw a frown crease Sumur’s face. He stared after the giant long after he had been claimed by the darkness.
‘Do you think he will see it through?’ Nathair asked Calidus.
‘I do. But if he does not, we will still complete our task. We have two thousand Jehar warriors. We have Alcyon and the starstone axe. We have you, the Bright Star of Elyon.’
‘And we have you, my friend,’ Nathair said, reaching out to grip Calidus’ arm. ‘One of the Ben-Elim, standing by my side.’ He closed his eyes and breathed out a long sigh. ‘It has been so long, since my dreams began, since I heard Elyon’s voice, since I first heard of the cauldron. And now we are so close. I almost cannot believe it.’
‘The end of this quest is close, my King. You have made this happen. The All-Father will be proud.’
Nathair smiled at him. Then he and Sumur stood and walked way.
Calidus watched them leave. Alcyon sat gazing into the fire, Cywen trying to remain still, keep her breathing slow, pretending to sleep.
‘It would appear that our gambit has worked. The bait is drawing our fly,’ Calidus said, breaking the silence. He screwed up the parchment that he still held in his fist and dropped it into the fire. Cywen watched it curl and then ignite into flame.
Alcyon nodded. Briefly his eyes flickered to Cywen.
‘They are two days behind us, maybe less. I think you should take some men with you and meet them.’
‘How many are there?’
‘Ventos says six, and the boy’s wolven.’
He’s talking about Corban and Storm.
‘Take a score of Jehar with you. That should be more than enough.’
Alcyon nodded, a rippling of his bulk. ‘Where?’
‘Not out here, in the open moors. We’ll carry on along the road to Murias. There’s some woodland about a day’s journey ahead. The road to Murias passes straight through it, so they’ll be on it, or close to it, depending on how careful they’re being. Wait for them there.’
‘Do you want him alive?’
‘No,’ Calidus said. ‘Kill them all.’ With that he rose. ‘Hurry to me once the deed is done. I would like news of his death before we reach Murias. I’ll keep a watch over our bait once you’re gone.’ He stood and disappeared into the night.
‘You can breathe louder now, child,’ Alcyon said. ‘And come back to the fire, before you freeze.’
‘What did he mean by that?’ she said as she moved closer, panic loosening her tongue. ‘He was talking about Corban, wasn’t he? About my brother.’
Alcyon said nothing, but would not meet her gaze.
‘He told you to kill him.’ Fear was twisting its way through her now, her voice rising. ‘You’ve used me as bait, haven’t you, to lure him after you? Damn you; damn Calidus; damn you all.’
‘That is already beyond doubt,’ Alcyon said quietly. It did not help to calm Cywen.
‘You’ll find Corban’s not so easy to kill,’ Cywen hissed at him. ‘More likely he’ll be the one killing you.’
Alcyon just looked across the flames at her with pity.
CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT
CAMLIN
Camlin stood on the walls of Dun Taras, watching the riders approach along the giants’ road. Mist swirled about their horses’ legs, as high as their knees, giving them a ghostly quality, as if they were floating, not walking. A banner was held above them, the broken branch of Cambren. At its top a strip of white cloth was tied, declaring their intention to talk rather than to fight.
Horns had blown from the camp surrounding the fortress, announcing the advance, and the sounds had been taken up in Dun Taras, ringing all the way to the keep.
Will Eremon come?
He felt a presence at his shoulder: Halion, Marrock, Vonn and Edana stood beside him. Countless others were streaming up the stairwell to see what the horns portended. Everyone looked gaunt and listless, more than one appearing surly, even angry, a black mood enfolding the fortress like a sullen cloud.
Three moons of not eating will do that to a person.
People were dying. Of starvation, of the fever that swept the stronghold, a score of other diseases winnowing away the weak. Every day wains were pulled through the streets, clearing the dead.
A procession appeared in the street below, warriors forcing a path for it: a grand carriage pulled by two glossy black stallions. Eremon and Roisin sat within. The carriage halted by a stairwell close to the gates and Eremon and Roisin disembarked, warriors escorting them up the stairwell to the walls.