Evnis snorted and brushed himself down. ‘Was she useful, my lord?’
‘Yes, very.’ Nathair shared a look with Sumur, something passing between them. ‘Have her watched,’ he said to Evnis. ‘I would not have her disappearing in search of her kin. I have a feeling she will be useful. Some of the things she said, they stir memories.’ He drank from his cup, then winced. ‘What is this mead? It really is quite disgusting. What I’d give for a good jug of wine.’
‘Unfortunately we have more bees than grapes in Ardan,’ Evnis said.
‘So. What news of Rhin?’ Nathair asked.
‘I am told she is camped on the banks of the Rhenus, at the northern fringe of the Darkwood.’
‘And what will she do next?’
‘I would imagine she’ll strike south, push through the forest and into Ardan before Owain can muster a force large enough to hold her there. Once she is loose in Ardan there will be no stopping her. That is what I would advise, at least.’
‘I agree,’ Nathair said, sipping at his mead. He frowned absently into the cup. ‘I need to see her. Without Owain’s knowledge.’
‘That will be difficult,’ Evnis said.
‘Yes, I know. But nevertheless, it is what must happen.’
‘Of course,’ said Evnis. ‘I will do what I can, my lord.’
It was late but he could not sleep. Did not want to sleep. Dreams were the last thing he wanted, and he knew they would come. He swirled his cup of usque and sipped it slowly, savouring the liquor’s oily warmth as it slipped down his throat, heat spreading from his gut into his chest.
He was tired, exhausted, trying to keep track of the plots and threads that he had become involved in.
Nathair’s patronage kept him safe, for now. With luck, long enough for Rhin to arrive and separate Owain’s head from his shoulders. But then how would she react to this most recent turn of events, his obeisance to Nathair? Not too well, was his gut reaction. Rhin is famed for her jealousy. And this situation with Nathair was perplexing, and intriguing – there was so much more going on than he could see, situations he could sense, caught from veiled glances between Nathair and his guard, Sumur.
‘What is the link between Sumur and Gar?’ he breathed. Clearly they were of the same people – he had seen them duel, saw the similarities of style and weapons. But how? Sumur is from Tarbesh, more than a thousand leagues away. How is it that Gar is – was – here. And, more importantly, why was he here?
And now he is gone. Escaped with Edana, and Vonn . . .
He was surprised by a wave of emotion, a constricting within his chest. He closed his eyes and felt a tear roll down his cheek. Almost immediately his anger stirred. You fool, tears will not help. Use your wits. They have kept you alive this long. His thoughts drifted to the tunnels beneath the fortress. That must have been how they escaped. They may be in them still. He would lead an expedition, but he would need enough warriors with him in case they were there. It would be dangerous.
He smiled to himself. He had warriors of his own, but more than that, he had the book. Found buried in the tunnels dug by the Benothi, the ancient giant clan, builders of Dun Carreg. A book of learning, a book of power. With it he had begun to learn the secrets of the earth power, magic, the ignorant called it. Even as he thought of it he felt drawn to the book. That had been happening more and more of late, as if the knowledge it held was some unseen drug, pulling him back with invisible cords.
Without even realizing, he stood and padded towards the secret door concealed within an oak-panelled wall. With a click it swung open, revealing a small space, room enough only for a small table and one chair. Only Fain and Vonn knew of its existence. He had shown it to them as a place to hide in the eventuality of Owain’s attack, something they had both scoffed at, but he had known Rhin’s plans would bear fruit one day.
He lifted the torch from the sconce, held it high, and gasped.
The book was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CAMLIN
Camlin swore quietly.
He was crouching behind a thick-trunked beech, peering through scrub and hawthorn at the line of riders, steadily growing larger. He counted seven.
‘What are we going to do?’ Dath whispered, one eye on the riders, the other on the bowstring he was fumbling.
‘Not sure yet,’ Camlin muttered. He glanced at Gar, but there was no help there – the warrior’s face was a blank wall. ‘Depends on why they’re riding into these woods.’ He stared at the approaching riders, all grim-faced and wrapped in leather and mail. ‘Doesn’t look like they’ve come dressed for flower picking.’ Looks more like they’ve come for blood.