‘I’ll not warn you again, Hal. Get out of my way.’
Footsteps drummed behind Camlin, a handful of warriors running along the quay, Marrock at their head. Quinn’s men are all dead, then.
Conall saw them too.
Halion staggered back against the steps, one hand reaching out to grip them, holding him upright.
‘You’ll not be climbing these stairs while I draw breath,’ Halion said. ‘I swore an oath.’
‘This is madness. Out of my way.’ Conall strode forwards and Halion swung his blade again. Conall blocked and lunged, punching his sword hilt into Halion’s face.
Conall froze, looked shocked, surprised at what he had done.
Halion slumped to the ground, motionless before the steps.
‘Get him out of my way,’ Conall said.
Warriors rushed forwards and dragged Halion’s body away, laying him out in the sand. Conall climbed the steps, others following.
‘Help me.’ Camlin heard a voice – Lorcan, trying to stand.
Camlin retrieved his bow and put an arm under Lorcan, helped him upright and together they staggered along the quay. Men reached them – Marrock and Baird.
‘Halion?’ Marrock hissed.
‘Back there. Conall has him.’ He saw the look in Marrock’s eye. ‘It’s too late – there’s no saving him. Too many of Conall’s men.’
‘Drop the boy,’ a voice cried – Conall, powering along the quay.
‘Get him out of here,’ Marrock snarled, shoving Camlin into Baird’s arms.
The scar-faced warrior grabbed Camlin and Lorcan and half dragged them back along the quay.
Boots thudded behind, warriors sprinting after them. Camlin heard the clash of weapons as he reached the ship; the boarding ramp was already pulled up. Baird hoisted the still-groggy Lorcan onto his shoulder and jumped across, then Camlin was being heaved over, Vonn grasping his arm and pulling him aboard.
A deep voice was shouting orders, poles pushing the ship away from the quay, oars splashing into the water and pulling.
‘Halion? Where is Halion?’ It was Edana, holding his face in her hands, almost yelling.
‘Conall has him,’ Camlin breathed.
Horror swept Edana’s face. ‘And Marrock? Where is Marrock?’
Camlin didn’t answer, just stared back down the quay as the ship moved away. A crush of men was gathered a way back, shouts drifting across to the ship. A man screamed and toppled into the water.
Marrock held them off. Gave us time.
Then Conall was marching clear, dragging a man with him: Marrock, battered and bleeding.
‘Give me Lorcan,’ Conall yelled across the waves.
‘Never,’ Roisin screeched at him.
Conall pulled Marrock close, putting a knife blade to his throat.
‘Edana, is that you, with your pretty fair hair? Bring me Lorcan. I’ll trade you.’
Edana did not answer, but Camlin saw her eyes darting about the ship, weighing the odds.
Only me ’n’ Vonn with you for sure, probably Baird and a few others loyal to Eremon. The rest by far are Roisin’s men. Nearly two score of them. He saw by Edana’s face that she’d come to the same conclusion.
‘Last chance,’ Conall yelled, his voice fainter. ‘Marrock’s your only kin. And I like him. Don’t make me kill him.’
‘Camlin, put an arrow in Conall’s eye,’ Edana hissed fiercely.
Camlin looked at the arrow shaft sprouting from his shoulder.
‘I’ve a hole in my shoulder, can’t draw a bow worth a damn.’ He grimaced. I’m sorry, Marrock. You’ve been a good friend to me. The first. He glared balefully at Conall.
‘This is on your head,’ Conall cried. He drew his knife across Marrock’s throat and let him topple into the waves.
Edana screamed.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN
CORBAN
Corban ran through the corridors of Murias, Fech and Craf fluttering ahead, staying just within sight.
They had encountered no one, the halls seemingly abandoned.
Everyone that lives in this place is fighting for it now.
The stairwell they were climbing spilt out into a chamber, a single fire-pit flickering near its centre. Fech led them unerringly towards an archway on the far side. They were almost there when shouting broke out from behind. Corban spun around, saw giants appearing from another opening – a dozen, perhaps more. At their head stood a white-haired giant, blood caking his face. He held a war-hammer, the entirety of his muscled arms a swirl of tattooed thorns. He saw Corban and his companions and bellowed a battle-cry, his comrades echoing him. They began running towards them.
The Jehar drew their swords, Tukul taking the lead, moving to meet the attack, holding his sword in one hand, axe in the other.
Brina stepped into Corban’s vision, holding a sword in her hand, long and thin.
Where did she get that?
Corban heard her muttering, the words sounding strange and guttural, then the blade of her sword burst into flame. She winked at Corban.
The giants eyed her warily.
Then Meical was in front of him, standing between the two groups.
‘I know you, Balur One-Eye,’ Meical said.