They were in a dip in the land, a meagre shelter from the wind that seemed to blow permanently across this barren moorland. All about them sparring partners separated, moving into the tasks of breaking camp. Gar’s eyes flickered between two people, Tukul following his son’s gaze.
Corban and Gwenith. And you love them both. That was easy to understand, having lived seventeen years around them, Corban the centre of his world. But Gwenith . . . Tukul frowned at that. The Seren Disglair’s mother. Tukul had waited for the Seren Disglair all his life; in his mind he was more than human, and so his mother was special too. But to see them, human, flesh and blood. It felt strange. And Gar is somewhere between elder brother and father to Corban. And I have seen how his eyes follow Gwenith . . . He shrugged, a fatalism that he had long ago embraced. It is as it is.
Brina the old healer was hovering close as the sparring ended, a book cradled in one arm. She beckoned to Corban and the young man followed her. What does she want with him? His inquisitive nature won out and he followed them, checking on his horse which was paddocked nearby.
He went through the ritual of inspecting hooves, checking for stones, testing the buckles and tightness of the harness. All was ready; they were just waiting for Coralen to return. She’d left with the first sight of the sun, scouting ahead as she had each day since they’d passed into Benoth, the giant realm. She had taken the wolven with her, and Tukul had sent Enkara as an added surety.
He heard Brina and Corban talking, then Corban speak words in the first-tongue. There was a long pause, Corban standing perfectly still, braced, then his shoulders slumped.
Meical appeared and sat upon a boulder close to Corban.
‘You are learning the earth power,’ Meical said.
‘Aye. Brina has been teaching me.’
‘And how does it go?’ Meical asked.
Corban shrugged. ‘I just tried to summon mist. Nothing happened.’
‘With the earth power there is no trying, only doing. Faith is the key.’
‘Aye, well, I’m sure that’s easy for you to say, seeing as you’ve a personal acquaintance with the All-Father. Me, it’s proving to be a bit more difficult.’
Meical laughed, something that Tukul rarely heard. ‘That’s fair enough, I suppose.’
‘I’ve been thinking, about this Seren Disglair business,’ Corban said, turning to regard Meical.
‘Aye. Go on.’
This sounds like progress.
Tukul had spent much of his time observing Corban since their meeting at Dun Vaner. There was much to like, a respectful, inquisitive lad beneath the solemn layers that experience and tragedy had accumulated. And strength, not just physical. Back at Dun Vaner he had stood up to Meical, refused to go to Drassil in favour of seeking his sister. As much as that was troublesome, not sticking to the plan, Tukul liked Corban for it. It took courage to stand up to one of the Ben-Elim. One thing that Tukul had noticed, though, was that when the questions came from Corban, which they frequently did once he’d started talking, he never asked about who he was, or about Elyon and Asroth. All of his questions were to do with kings and queens, politics, the strategies of war. All good questions, to my mind. But there was always an underlying avoidance of all things spiritual. This was the first time Tukul had heard him broach the subject.
‘Last time, when Asroth crossed the boundaries between the Otherworld and here, Elyon intervened. He stopped Asroth. Yes?’ Corban asked.
‘Aye. The Scourging. Much was destroyed.’
‘Yes, but Asroth was defeated. Will Elyon not just do that again? It seems to me the obvious thing to do, and would avoid all the war and slaughter that is certainly coming.’
‘That would be the best and surest way to defeat Asroth,’ Meical said, his expression becoming sad. ‘But Elyon is absent. Gone. After the Scourging his grief was immense, indescribable. He took himself into mourning, to a place of solitude that we cannot find. So he is not here to intervene. That is why he is sometimes called the absent god. It has been my prayer for uncounted years that he return to us.’
‘Oh.’ Corban became silent, clearly pondering that information. ‘I have heard you call me the Seren Disglair, but what does that mean. What am I supposed to do?’
‘There was a prophecy written down by Halvor, a giant from the time soon after the Scourging, when the world was broken and battered, healing. The prophecy speaks of Asroth and his Kadoshim returning, of the Seven Treasures coming to light again and of two champions, avatars of Elyon and Asroth. The Bright Star and the Black Sun. The Banished Lands will be divided between these two, so the prophecy says, and they shall go to war.’ Meical shrugged. ‘It should not be so hard to believe, any more. War is already spreading through the land.’
‘That it is,’ Corban said quietly.
He does not look happy about that thought.
Hooves drummed, Coralen and Enkara riding over a crest in the surrounding moorland, Storm loping silently beside them. They reined in hard before Corban and Meical.
‘Someone is out there,’ Coralen said, gesturing behind her.