‘And we are only here because of you.’
‘That’s not true, Mam. You would have set off straight after Cywen the moment you found out she was still alive.’
‘Me? Yes, probably. But no one else. And I don’t think I would have made it this far without them, do you?’
‘I wouldn’t have got very far, either. Without all of you I’d still be in a cell in Dun Vaner.’ Or lying in a grave, my heart cut from my body.
She smiled at him then. ‘You’re growing into a good man, Ban, with a good head on your shoulders. A man who I’m willing to trust, son or not. I’d follow you, put my faith in you, and I’m not alone. I just have to look at everyone – they love you, Corban, would follow you anywhere.’
‘I think your judgement’s biased, Mam. You are my mam, after all.’
‘Well, there is that,’ she said, and laughed. The sound of it made him smile; it was warm and genuine.
‘But still . . .’ Her expression changed then, moving from playful to clouded faster than a storm sweeping in from the sea. ‘I wish your da was here to see you. He’d be so proud of you, Ban. I think his heart would just about melt.’
He felt a pressure in his chest, the flush of tears rising to his eyes. Strange how a memory can do that to you, he thought, catch you unawares, like one of Gar’s blows.
‘I wish he was here, too,’ Corban said, emotion catching his voice. He smiled at his mam and she smiled back. ‘At least we’ll have Cywen back soon.’ Or die in the trying.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED
MAQUIN
Maquin spent a ten-night after the conflict in the arena languishing in the pit-fighters’ quarters, a stone block of a building close to the stables in Jerolin. He and the other pit-fighters – five of them remaining of the ten who had survived that day on the Island of Nerin – had been left alone. Usually Herak or some of his other more trusted guards would see them through a daily training session, but not since Orgull’s shocking turn. Food and drink came at regular intervals, but that was all.
Maquin felt as if he was going mad, the sheer boredom gnawing at him. He had no idea if Orgull was still alive, though that was unlikely. It was clear to Maquin that Deinon had stayed Lykos’ hand that day in the arena, saving Orgull’s life.
Not out of kindness, though. Not a chance of that. Probably so they could hang Orgull up somewhere and make him scream at their leisure.
He was sitting on a stone bench when he heard the keys rattling in the main door. Light shafted in as the door opened, Herak’s unmistakable shape standing outlined in the entrance.
‘On your feet, fighters,’ he called.
They gathered quickly – Maquin, Javed and the few others who had survived this far. They all had the same look of bottled energy mixed with despair.
A dangerous combination.
‘Follow,’ Herak ordered and turned on his heel.
Maquin blinked as he stepped into the daylight, even though it was weak, filtered through slate-grey clouds overhead. He noticed guards closing behind them as they all left their prison. Emad, the tall guard from Pelset, was one of them.
Herak led them through wide streets. Maquin saw Vin Thalun warriors on every corner, the occasional man in the black and silver of Tenebral. Then they were walking into the keep, through a feast-hall, up a winding staircase. At the top Herak nodded to guardsmen and a door was opened; all of them were ushered into a large chamber. Maquin pulled up short.
Orgull was hanging from shackles on the wall. He was naked apart from a stained loincloth, his body a tapestry of pain. One side of his face was fire scarred, blistered and weeping, his eye a ruin of twisted skin and flesh. His torso and legs were criss-crossed with cuts and weals, a combination of whip and blade. Someone had taken their time on him. Mercifully he was unconscious, his head hanging limp, chest rhythmically rising and falling.
Maquin looked away, feeling his stomach buck. Then he looked back, ashamed of himself. This was his sword-brother, the closest thing to a friend that he had left. As if feeling his eyes, Orgull stirred. A groan, then a shifting of his weight, taking the strain on his wrists bound above his head, a ripple in his thighs, a tension in his neck.
Sleep longer, brother.
‘Welcome,’ a voice said, drawing his attention.
It was Lykos, leaning casually against a desk. Five chests were placed on the ground before him. Deinon hovered in the shadows.
‘My apologies for neglecting you all, the past ten-night,’ Lykos said. ‘There have been distractions.’
‘What distractions?’ Javed asked.
One day your questions are going to get you a knife in the belly, Maquin thought.