‘Perhaps.’ Coralen shrugged. ‘You never know with the Benothi. They can stay locked in their halls for years, and then they will raid a dozen times over a few moons.’
She was wearing her wolven pelt. Corban had taken to wearing his too; it was warmer than his cloak. They both stood gazing at the gap between the mountains, the sky a deep blue. Stars winked into life.
‘I wanted to thank you,’ Corban said into the silence.
An in-drawn breath. ‘For what?’
‘For everything. For guiding us. For risking your life at Dun Vaner. For coming to save me. For leading us north. For what you’re about to do, taking us to Murias. We wouldn’t be here, if not for you.’ There was more that he wanted to say, more that he’d thought about, every day, but he couldn’t find the words.
‘It must have been hard for you, seeing Conall like that,’ he eventually managed.
‘It was,’ she said. The silence lengthened and he thought she would say no more about it. Then she spoke. ‘Con was always my favourite. I shouldn’t say that. Halion was always kind, thoughtful, always looked out for me; but Con was so much fun. He was always exciting to be around. Maybe not good, but exciting . . .’
Corban could understand that. Conall had the ability to make you hate him and love him, sometimes at the same time. ‘I thought you would have gone south, when Conall fled with Rhin. They probably went to Domhain. To join her warband.’
‘They probably did,’ Coralen breathed.
‘I thought that’s where you’d want to be,’ he said.
She turned to look at him then, her gaze straight and firm. She had green eyes.
He thought she was about to say something, then he heard footsteps behind him, and voices.
Dath and Farrell joined them.
‘Those Jehar, I don’t like them,’ Dath said.
‘They saved our lives,’ Corban said.
‘I like them,’ Coralen said.
‘Didn’t think you’d like meeting women tougher than you,’ Dath said.
‘I admire them,’ Coralen replied.
‘Well, so do I, but they still scare me, and . . .’
‘Everything scares you,’ said Farrell.
‘And Gar’s one of them,’ Corban pointed out.
‘Aye, but he’s one of us, as well.’
‘And he doesn’t look at you as if you’re made of gold, like the rest of them do,’ Farrell said to Corban.
He couldn’t deny that, and the fact of it made him uncomfortable, every day.
‘No, they don’t,’ he said weakly.
‘You know they do,’ Dath said, smiling now. ‘They think you’re this Seven Disgraces.’
‘Seren Disglair,’ Corban corrected automatically.
‘Maybe you are made of gold. Is there any gold under all that fur?’ Dath said, pulling at Corban’s wolven pelt.
‘Get off.’ He slapped at Dath’s hand.
The next thing he knew, Farrell was grabbing him, Dath trying to lift his shirt. The three of them fell wrestling to the ground.
‘Idiots,’ Coralen snorted and Corban glimpsed her heels walking away.
Corban woke before dawn, Gar prodding him awake. He didn’t protest, was used to it by now. Besides, these days he was far from alone in training. All of the Jehar were up, some already sparring.
The first morning after the rescue at Dun Vaner had been strange. Corban had felt like a stage performer, every single one of the Jehar gathering to watch him train with Gar. He had even felt tension radiating from Gar.
The faces of the Jehar had been unreadable, but after an unsteady start Corban had forgotten they were there, losing himself in the sword dance. Afterwards Tukul had patted Gar on the shoulder and whispered a few words in his son’s ear. Whatever those words were they made Gar stand straighter, his face glowing with pride.
It was still strange, seeing Gar with his people. In many ways he was just like them – the composure, the cold face, even the way he walked, all grace and coiled strength. But after travelling with them a while Corban began to see differences. There was an openness about Gar, a softening, like a sheathed sword. And Gar smiled more. Corban thought he’d never say that about the stablemaster. The only Jehar who smiled as much or more than Gar was Tukul. Corban liked him – a fiery man, he guessed, despite the veneer of control. A man of great warmth and great anger. He reminded him of his own da, Thannon, somehow. And Tukul and Gar clearly adored each other. Corban had felt a surge of jealousy, seeing them laughing and talking together. He wished he still had his da to talk to.
The Jehar were not the only ones up. Brina was doing something with a pot over the fire. Closer by he saw his mam and Coralen going through some moves with one of the Jehar – a woman named Enkara. She was blocking his mam’s and Coralen’s strikes, turning each block into a smooth attack, all in slow motion.
Then Corban had no more time to watch; Gar was prodding him, stepping into stooping falcon, ready to begin.
They set off soon after the sun had risen, a column riding steadily towards the gap in the mountains. Corban rode beside his mam.
‘Cywen’s through there, Mam,’ he said.
‘We’ve come so far, eh?’
‘That we have.’