‘I will make an end to this, once and for all. And Ardan is mine. I have conquered it, slain Brenin; it is mine by right of conquest, and I will not have that old spider hemming me into a fortress and lording it around the land while watching me starve to death.’
Nathair had said little during the meeting, listening far more than he spoke. Owain had been rambling – a man weighed by a thousand burdens. All that he said came down to one thing: ‘Will you fight for me?’ he had asked. ‘You have a sizeable warband here, and I have seen what a hundred of your Jehar can do.’
‘I am reluctant to shed my people’s blood over your and Rhin’s affairs,’ Nathair had replied. ‘I will have my own battles to fight soon enough.’
‘Fight for me and I shall join your alliance,’ Owain had countered, almost pleading.
‘I have already given you great aid, opened the gates of Dun Carreg to you, stopped Brenin from forming a resistance while you stormed his fortress. I would think that such acts would have been enough for you to join with me,’ Nathair had retorted.
‘I will not be able to join you and your alliance if Rhin has my head on a spike, and you would surely rather have me as an ally than her. You cannot trust her, the scheming bitch.’
‘Do you think that Brenin was right about her – that she manipulated your war against Brenin, and then struck when Brenin was dead and you weakened?’
Such a look had passed Owain’s face then – doubt, shame, fear. ‘How can that be possible? Marrock was seen leaving my Uthan’s chamber after he had been murdered. No, I think she is greedy, opportunistic and she saw two realms ripe for the taking. But I am not dead yet. She has underestimated me . . .’
Owain had ranted on, seeming almost to forget that anyone else was there. In the end Nathair had not committed himself, had told Owain that he would talk with his counsellors and speak more on the morrow. That had been two days ago. Veradis had not been present at the final meeting between Nathair and Owain, but Nathair had clearly committed to some level of aid, as their marching with Owain’s warband testified.
Nathair rode some way ahead of Veradis. He was sitting upon his draig, the great beast almost filling the width of the giantsway. Horses gave it a wide berth, especially as it looked at them as if it wanted to eat them. Nathair had told Veradis that that had been one of the hardest things in his training of the draig back in Jerolin – to teach it not to chase and kill any horse that trotted past it. Nathair was surrounded by a sea of the Jehar, all clad in dark chainmail, curved swords jutting from their backs. Beyond them the red of Narvon flowed along the giantsway, disappearing into the distance. Veradis had a thousand eagle-guard with him. The survivors of his warband from Forn were all mounted, whilst the recruits that Lykos had brought from Tenebral marched in orderly ranks; the sound of their iron-shod sandals cracking on the stone of the giantsway filled the air. Just in front of Veradis’ column rode Evnis, two or three score of his shieldmen about him, Conall amongst them. Beside Conall rode the girl, Cywen, a brindle hound padding at her horse’s hooves. She had spent most of her time scowling at Evnis. Veradis grinned to watch it, though if she were as good with a knife as Conall had said, then he worried for Evnis’ safety, particularly as Nathair had charged Veradis himself with keeping the man alive.
‘There’ll be no giants to kill at the end of this march, though,’ Alcyon said, unusually talkative. ‘It will be men that we are killing at this journey’s end. How does that sit with you, king’s man?’
‘If they are Nathair’s enemies it does not matter what shape they take; man or giant, I will slay them if I can.’
‘Well said,’ called Calidus, riding his horse back down the line from Nathair. He pulled in beside Veradis and spoke more quietly. ‘Be on your guard, and keep a particular eye on Owain’s rearguard. The King of Narvon is unpredictable at present and likely to behave impulsively.’
Veradis looked over his shoulder. Beyond his own warriors more of Owain’s men brought up the rear, at least half a thousand mounted men.
‘I will.’
Calidus spurred his horse back to Nathair. Has he really uncovered the identity of Asroth’s Black Sun? Veradis had always expected it to be some king or man of power, but from what he had been told, this boy – Corban – was a blacksmith’s son, no one of consequence. Maybe Calidus is right. It is a cunning way to grow in secret, a deception from the very beginning, which would be fitting as Asroth’s champion. Calidus knows best, and he has guided us well so far. I hope the boy is the Black Sun, for then I will stand a chance of meeting him, and his companion, this Gar. I will see Rauca avenged.
Nathair had told him how Rauca had died – defending Nathair from this Corban’s father, and that afterwards Gar had attacked silently, taken Rauca by surprise. Rauca had deserved better. But time could not be reversed, and nor could the dead be brought back to life.