He took the reins from her and led the horses away, towards a pile of saddles and tack. ‘Help me with them,’ he called over his shoulder.
She looked around as she worked. The Field was busy, warriors everywhere. She spotted Rafe on the weapons court, sparring with a man bearing the bull of Narvon. Even though he still limped, Rafe used his height and long reach to good effect, and in short time he had scored a hit to his opponent’s chest. He caught Cywen’s eye as he hobbled from the court and strolled over to her, grinning.
‘Enjoy watching men sweat?’ he said. ‘Or is it my skills that draw your eye?’
‘I was wondering what you looked like against my brother, when you challenged him to the Court of Swords.’ She had heard about Rafe’s challenge in Dun Carreg’s feast-hall, how the confrontation had lasted little more than a few heartbeats, Rafe defeated, his blood on Corban’s sword. ‘Apparently it was quite the sight.’
Emotions swept Rafe’s face – too many, too complex to read. ‘I wasn’t ready,’ he said, looking away.
Cheering drifted over from the weapons court and they both turned to look.
Conall was stepping onto the court, a practice sword in his hand. From the far side a figure appeared, flanked by a bald, thick-necked warrior. Cywen recognized the young warrior; he was one of those who had woken her in the night. He still wore the silver and black of Tenebral.
‘Who is that?’ she asked.
‘He’s Nathair’s first-sword, rode in with a warband yesterday,’ Rafe said. ‘Name’s Veradis, I think. And it looks as if he’s about to get a hiding from Conall.’
Quickly the court cleared for the two warriors, Cywen and Rafe hurrying over to watch. Conall was smiling, waiting for Veradis as he chose a practice sword from a wicker basket. He did not rush, testing the weight of a few until he found one that he was happy with. He returned Conall’s smile as he walked to him, then set his feet.
In a burst of speed Conall was on him, rushing forward, striking high and low in a blur of motion.
‘That’s your brother’s trick,’ Rafe whispered in Cywen’s ear, ‘catching people off-guard.’
Cywen heard rather than saw the exchange, the staccato clack of wood striking wood. When her eyes caught up, Veradis had retreated a few steps, but Conall had not broken his guard. Conall attacked again, feinting high then spinning around Veradis and chopping at the man’s ribs. Veradis spun on his heel, sweeping Conall’s attack away and striking at Conall’s head and chest with two short, solid blows. Conall blocked one and stepped away from the second. They continued like this, neither gaining the upper hand, Conall like a storm-whipped sea, swirling fluidly around Veradis’ wall of stone, solid, impenetrable. Then, from nowhere, Conall’s blade-tip was at Veradis’ throat, Conall grinning wolfishly. Cywen scowled, wishing for some reason that Conall had lost. He needs some of his swagger chopped away.
Veradis returned the smile, nodding down. Conall looked and saw Veradis’ weapon pressing against Conall’s groin.
Cywen smiled; that was one of the kill points that Corban had taught her.
Conall scowled then laughed, one emotion chasing the other as quick as a blink. Veradis stepped away and dipped his head to Conall.
‘Well, that was something to see,’ Rafe breathed. ‘I’ve never seen anyone except Conall’s brother touch wood to him while sparring.’
‘What’s going on today?’ Cywen asked him. ‘It feels different, somehow. Tense.’
‘Have you not heard?’ Rafe said. ‘Queen Rhin has broken out of the Darkwood into Ardan. She is marching on Owain. She is marching here.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CORBAN
Dawn’s light was seeping through the trees. Corban’s eyes were fixed on Vonn’s back in front of him as they sped through the woods. He was sweating, tunic clinging to his back. It felt as if they had been running half the night, Camlin and Halion leading them in a twisting route back to their camp. The two warriors did not think their hunters would attempt to try and track them until the sun had risen, almost certainly not after they had found the torn body of Storm’s victim, but you could not be too careful, as Camlin had said. As exhaustion threatened to claim Corban, his world shrinking to Vonn’s back, to each step, each single drag of air into his lungs, one thought persisted in revolving around his mind. What had Vonn dropped in the woods, and risked his life to find?