They were in the stableblock of Dun Taras, Edana and her shieldmen alongside Roisin, Lorcan, Quinn and about two score shieldmen whom Rath had gathered, their loyalty beyond doubt.
‘It’s the only way out of here,’ Roisin had said of the tunnel that they were now descending – a shallow path sloping down into darkness, tall and wide enough for men and horses alike. Hooves thudded, muffled with cloth for when they reached the open road. The tunnel stretched for a league or so before it spilt back above ground, taking them beyond the ring of Rhin’s warriors, they hoped.
Rath had refused to leave, saying that his presence in the fortress would mask Eremon’s death and buy them vital time in making their escape. There had been no changing his mind. Halion had hugged the old warrior tight.
They walked a long while in the dark, following a flickering light ahead, then Camlin emerged into the night. It was still dark, the sky perforated by a thousand stars.
Edana walked just in front of Camlin, Fech perched on her saddle. Camlin saw her hold out an arm for the bird and it hopped onto it and rubbed its beak against her face.
‘I would ask a great favour of you,’ Edana said to the bird. ‘Find Corban for me, and tell him of what has happened. Tell him that I am sailing to Dun Crin. And that I hope to see him again.’
The raven protested at first, but Edana asked again, and with a flapping of wings the bird lifted into the air and faded into the night.
Edana looked back and saw Camlin watching her. Tears glistened in her eyes. ‘Looks like we’re running away again, Camlin.’
‘Like old times,’ he said, and with a smile tried to give her some courage that he didn’t feel.
CHAPTER NINETY-NINE
CORBAN
They made camp beside a fast-flowing stream, the water clear and icy cold, seventy-one people strong, plus Storm and Craf. They had passed through the mountains back into Domhain, and then Coralen had led them north, their pace fast and ground-eating. Over a moon had passed since they had left Dun Vaner, the weather changing, snow turning to sleet turning to rain. It was still cold here in the north, but each day there was a growing hint of spring in the air. Corban could smell it. New life, rebirth.
It will be my nameday soon. It’s been almost a year since we sailed away from Dun Carreg.
Coralen had said that they would soon be crossing the northern border of Domhain into Benoth. From there it would be less than a ten-night until they reached Murias.
And Cywen.
He had had a lot of time to think. The reality of his time in the Otherworld had not faded. And even if it had, he had a physical reminder riding close to him every day.
Meical.
The man had seemed cold and aloof at first, unapproachable, but as the days of the journey had passed, conversation had begun to flow between them. It was mostly Corban asking questions and Meical answering. Corban had for the most part asked about Nathair and the political circumstances of the Banished Lands, of kings and queens, of where they would stand in the scheme of things. Meical seemed to know everyone, or if not know them, at least know of them. For the most part Corban steered away from anything that navigated close to what he thought of as spiritual – the Otherworld, Asroth, Elyon, the Ben-Elim and Kadoshim – even though he had a thousand questions bubbling away in his mind. But once he started asking them, he knew he would have to acknowledge the truth of it. It was one thing to acknowledge it to himself, or to his mam. It was another thing entirely to admit it to this band of fanatics who would willingly cut someone’s head from their body at his mere suggestion. Besides, once he admitted it to Meical and the Jehar, the consequences of that were staggering. Where to go from there?
No, he could not walk down that path yet. It scared him, like standing on the edge of a cliff and looking down, waves of giddiness sweeping up, consuming him. He had decided to focus on the task at hand. To find Cywen and take her from Nathair. That was task enough. If they lived through that, then there would be plenty of time to consider the bigger questions.
Just the thought of seeing Cywen again sent a swell of emotion coursing through him – hope, worry, fear. Elyon in heaven, let us save her. He smiled to himself as he realized what he was doing. Strange how we pray in these times. Even to an absent god. A shred of hope is better than no hope at all, I suppose.
Corban saw Coralen a little way off, standing on a ridge of rock, looking at the horizon.
‘What are you looking at?’ Corban said as he drew near.
‘Benoth,’ Coralen said. She pointed. ‘Between those peaks is a wide vale – and on its far side is Benoth. Murias will not be much further, if we do not run into a band of the Benothi patrolling their borders.’
‘Is that likely?’