Sullenly Corban watched him, a host of questions and accusations swirling in his mind. There were so many things that he wanted to ask Gar about, but they were all linked to last night’s conversation, and he had set his will to avoiding that subject at all costs. Gar paused, staring at him. ‘Don’t think; do. Questions, talking later, but this will help.’ He resumed his fluid movements.
Corban sighed and raised his sword, stepping into stooping falcon, the first position of the sword dance. Skin and muscles around the wound on his back stretched and pulled, but he held the pose, then moved smoothly into the next stance. Gar was right, soon Corban felt his mind calming, his thoughts draining away as he became lost in the rhythm of the dance.
Sunlight was dappling the ground and sparkling on the stream when he finished. Sweat dripped from his nose and the wound on his back pulsed dully. Gar faced him and raised his sword. Corban shrugged and they began to spar, and slowly Corban became aware of movement around him. A quick glance showed him half a dozen figures from the camp watching them, but also earned him a crack to the ribs from Gar.
‘Enough,’ the stablemaster declared.
Gar stripped the cloth from his and Corban’s swords, then began walking back to the camp, ignoring their audience. In no mood for conversation, Corban followed him, purposely avoiding Brina’s stare.
Halion drew level with them and grasped Gar’s arm, halting him. ‘I need to talk to you,’ he said to Gar. The stablemaster stopped, drawing a deep breath.
‘You fight differently,’ Halion said. ‘I have travelled much of the west and seen nothing like your style.’
Gar just stared at Halion, expressionless.
‘Until the night Dun Carreg fell. The man you fought, Sumur. Marrock tells me there were many like him in the battle, that they opened Stonegate for Owain. You fought like this Sumur, spoke with him. You knew him?’
Gar’s gaze flicked to Corban and back. ‘Yes.’
‘Tell me of him, of yourself. Who are you, where are you from?’
‘I have heard others ask the same questions of you, yet you have held your silence. My past is my own,’ Gar said.
‘True enough, my business is my own, and not a subject for gossip. But things are different now, and so I have spoken of my past. Because it was necessary. Now you know who I am, where I am from, who my father is. It is necessary to hear these things from you. Do you know this Sumur?’
Gar closed his eyes and blew out a long breath. ‘I knew him, many years ago. Corban will tell you more, soon.’
Corban raised an eyebrow at that.
‘That is not good enough. I am Edana’s sword and shield, and you know more about her enemies than anyone else here – seemed almost to be one of them – I must understand all that goes on, for Edana’s sake. Are you a danger to her?’
Gar sighed. ‘No, I am no danger to the princess. You saw that I fought Sumur – that must answer your fears. I would tell you more, but Corban should hear these things first, and until he has I will speak no more of it, with you or any other.’
Halion still gripped Gar’s arm. He held the stablemaster’s gaze for long moments then let his hand drop. ‘I will wait, but we will have this conversation again. Soon.’
Gar nodded and strode away.
‘What’s this all about, Corban?’ Halion asked.
Corban shrugged.
‘Well, whatever he has to say to you, let him say it.’
With a grunt Corban followed Gar back to the camp, where everyone was making ready to leave. Amidst it all Edana sat huddled against a tree. Brina returned and set to helping Gwenith prepare some food – cold venison that still tasted good.
Corban’s mam tried to catch his eye but he looked away, immediately experiencing a rush of guilt. She’s lost her husband. My da . . .
But somehow his feet would not take him over to her.
In no time they were all clambering back onto the boat. Mordwyr and Dath set the sail to catch the wind, guiding them out of the cove they had sheltered in, and soon they were scudding along the coast. The sky was a clear, sharp blue, wave tips glistening in the sun. Corban burrowed into the pile of nets towards the rear of the boat, Storm curling beside him, her nose twitching at the scent of fish.
Days passed like this, the boat hugging the coast, moving ever further from Dun Carreg, from home. Nights were spent huddled around small fires, when they dared, eating whatever Marrock and Camlin could provide. Storm was usually more successful in the hunting. Corban maintained his silence with his mam and Gar, though his mam tried more than once to pull him away from the small company. He always refused, though he was starting to hate himself for it. But no matter how he thought of things, as soon as the suggestion of leaving their small band of friends rose in his mind, he felt an instant surge of anger. Everything else had been taken from him. He would cling to this last remnant of home like a drowning man in a stormy sea.