CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CORALEN

Coralen ran through the long grass, her heart thumping with exertion. Laith set their pace as she was carrying Gar, but even so they were running fast, probably faster than at any time during the chase through Forn Forest.

It’s amazing what knowing there’s a warband of angry giants and bears at your back will do.

Gramm’s hold was now a silhouette behind them, their shadows running ahead of them, elongated dark streaks in the bloody glow of sunset.

Gar groaned over Laith’s shoulder, his eyelids fluttering.

We must stop soon. She glanced at Corban, saw he was favouring one leg, though he was keeping up well enough. Can’t have an injury now, though. We may need to outrun bears in the not-too-distant future. Looking at him, she felt a rush of emotion; his dark hair was sweat-stuck to his neck, the gash on his face red. The thrill of victory and success filled her, making her feel that she could run all night.

We did it. Found him, got him out, and no one dead. Relief was sinking in; only now did Coralen realize that she’d been living under the shadow of dread for over a moon. She risked another sidelong glance at Corban, their eyes touching for a moment, and then she looked away.

She grinned at the high clouds, glowing pink with the sinking sun, and enjoyed the feeling and sensation coursing through her. Whatever it was, it stopped her thinking about the burning in her lungs and the soreness of her feet.

It was almost full dark when they reached the outermost fringes of the forest. They stopped beside an ice-cold stream, drinking thirstily and resting briefly beneath a stand of hawthorn, its branches full of sweet-smelling white flowers. Gar propped himself up on one elbow and winced.

“Feel like I’ve been trampled by a herd of auroch,” he grunted.

That’s close enough to the truth.

The Jehar made to stand, hissing with pain, and Coralen hurried over to him.

“Let me check you over, first. Things may be broken.”

“Ban, where is Ban?” Gar said, ignoring her and rising to his feet. She put an arm around his waist and helped him stand.

“I’m here,” Corban said, emerging from the darkness. They stared at each other a long moment, then Gar’s arms were rising and Corban was stepping forwards, the two men embracing one another, hugging, both of them crying, laughing.

Coralen felt that she should look away, that she was intruding on something deeply personal.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” Gar said. “You’ve led us a merry chase.”

“I’ll do my best,” Corban laughed through his tears.

“You’re back where you belong, now,” Gar said, cupping Corban’s cheek.

“I am. Are you hurt badly?”

“I don’t think so,” Gar said, testing limbs and joints, flexing, twisting slowly. He grimaced, fingers probing his ribs and one of his hips. “Well, it hurts, but doesn’t feel like there’s anything broken.”

“Ildaer,” Corban said. “Your da is avenged.”

“Aye.” A grim smile creased Gar’s face. “He is.”

The others were gathering round now, water skins filled.

“It was a fight, and no mistake,” Dath said to Gar, “you and Ildaer, I mean. A dozen times I nearly shot that big tree—every time I thought he was going to kill you.”

“My thanks for holding back,” Gar said. “I would not have appreciated that.”

“I guessed that,” Dath said. “In fact, I said to Kulla, if I shoot that giant, Gar’ll most likely stab me. Though you did drag it out a bit. I thought it’d be over quicker.”

Coralen shook her head. That’s Dath, always speaking before he thinks on it.

Gar was staring at him.

“Sorry,” Dath muttered.

“No, you’re right,” Gar said. “I felt I had him, in the first rush, was almost ready for the killing blow, but then I remembered I needed to buy you time, to get Corban out. It struck me that a duel of ten blows or less wouldn’t buy that much time.”

“Good point,” Dath commented.

“So I decided to prolong it a little. I thought I had his measure, could finish him when I was ready.” He gave a sheepish smile. “I made a mistake. I forgot about the endurance of giants.”

“One of our strong points,” Laith said.

“Aye, something I should have remembered,” Gar said. “So as my strength began to fade, Ildaer’s didn’t. It made things a little harder.” He reached over his shoulder for his sword hilt, only then realizing that it wasn’t there.

“My sword?”

“There were a thousand giants trying to kill each other,” Farrell said, “your sword was hard to find.”

Gar frowned.

“I’ll tell you about the Jotun while I see to your wounds,” Corban said, tearing a strip of linen from his shirt hem and soaking it in the stream, then ordering Coralen to sit beside Gar.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“You’ve just run a hundred leagues to rescue me, the least I can do is wash a wound or two. And Brina has taught me a little. I won’t poison you.”

Coralen acquiesced and Corban began to wash their wounds. Coralen unlaced her leather vest to reveal a puncture wound from a giant’s hammer-spike. It hadn’t gone deep, but it had bled a lot. Corban dabbed the dried blood away and washed it clean, Kulla bringing over her pack and handing him honey for the wound and a roll of linen bandage. Coralen watched Corban work with interest, feeling his hand upon her wound, his expression completely focused. She liked the sensation, it made her feel safe.

For a ham-fisted blacksmith’s son he’s remarkably good at this.

Corban finished with her and moved on to the cut on Gar’s forehead. As he did so he told them all that had happened at the hold, filling them in on the Jotun, their hierarchy and something of their background. Dath and Farrell kept asking more questions, so Corban went back almost to the beginning, telling of his battle in the glade, the injuries he and Storm had taken.

No wonder he favours one leg.

Corban paused, reliving memories of that dark day, no doubt. After a few moments he continued, telling of being dragged from Storm and his journey through Forn.

I wish I could tell him that Storm lives, but she was on the brink of death when I left her. Better to say nothing now than give him false hope.

She listened in silence until he came to the part where the giants had tried to kill him.

“I saw something that Eld did not want me to speak of,” Corban said. “He has one of the Seven Treasures. The starstone dagger.”

They all fell silent at that; talk of the Seven Treasures took them back to the attack on Drassil. Corban wanted to know what had happened.

Gar spoke mostly, telling the tale in his matter-of-fact way, of the surprise attack, Nathair’s draig smashing through the trapdoor in Drassil’s great hall, of the legions of Kadoshim and Vin Thalun and eagle-guard, of the desperate fight and then retreat, and the deaths.

“Cywen?” Corban asked when Gar had finished.

“We don’t know,” Dath said, reaching out and putting a hand on Corban’s shoulder. “Brina said Cywen was with her in the great hall, but there was some kind of explosion, fire and smoke. They were separated, Brina escaped down the tunnel. We waited, but Cywen never came.”

“There were prisoners,” Gar said. “Within Drassil, we heard. Before we left after you. She could be one—she is brave, smart and resilient. If she survived the battle Calidus would likely keep her alive, use her as bait.”

Corban grunted, head bowed, face in darkness.

“And Meical may be a prisoner, too,” Dath added.

“No. Meical is dead,” Corban said with grim certainty.

“How do you know?” Gar asked him.

“I saw him, in the Otherworld. After I was taken by the Jotun. He told me of the battle at Drassil, of how he stood at the trapdoor and defended your escape. Calidus took him captive, had him executed.” He looked up from the shadows, moonlight bathing his face. “They took his head.”

“The Otherworld, huh?” Dath said, nudging Farrell and sounding a little awestruck. “One of the advantages of being the Bright Star, I suppose.”

Corban stared at Dath, something battling within him.

“I am not the Bright Star,” Corban said.

Coralen looked around the small group, at their faces, disbelieving, confused. Corban stern and sombre.

“It’s true. There is no Bright Star,” he repeated. “Brina and Cywen came to see me, after your celebration,” he said with a weak smile at Dath and Kulla. “Brina had found something in the giant book. It was confusing, contradicted things that Meical had told us.” He sat back, sighing deeply. “I found Meical in the great hall, before Skald and the spear. I challenged him about it, and he told me…told me the prophecy is a ruse, a strategy devised by the Ben-Elim to force Asroth’s hand, and to guide Asroth along a path where the Ben-Elim could defeat him.”

“They’re not doing a very good job, then,” Farrell muttered.

“That’s what I said,” Corban agreed.

Gar was staring at him. “Tell us again; everything that Meical said to you.”

So Corban did. Coralen saw the muscles in his jaw bunching as he recounted parts of it, reliving his shock and anger, his devastation. He explained how Meical had asked for Corban’s forgiveness, that the Ben-Elim viewed the race of men and giants as collectives, not individuals, and that the end goal was to defeat Asroth, once and for all. If a few hundred or few thousand men and giants died along the way, then so be it.

“I wish he were still alive so that I could kill him again,” Farrell said through gritted teeth, his knuckles popping as he clenched his fists.

“But, Storm and Shield,” Dath said, frowning. “How could Meical know about them?”

“He didn’t,” Corban answered. “I asked him the same question. He just shrugged and said maybe Elyon was stirring…” He was silent, as if remembering. “Meical said he didn’t write all of the prophecy, only the core of it, and even that he whispered into Halvor’s ear. He said over the generations it has grown and changed, become more.” He shrugged. “But he wrote it, set the whole thing in motion.”

“It cannot be true,” Gar said, rubbing a hand across his face. “Some mistake…”

“It is no mistake,” Corban said. “I felt as you do now. Betrayed. Angry. I almost drew my sword on him. That is why I walked away, left Drassil for a time. To be alone, to think, to calm down.”

Coralen looked at Corban. His face was twisted with so many emotions.

“I am sorry,” he said. “Sorry to you all, and to all those at Drassil in the warband, those who fought, died.” He looked away, his mouth a bitter line. “All those who followed me, believing me to be something that I am not. You’ve pursued me here, risked life and limb to save me. To save the Bright Star.”

Coralen could hardly take in what she was hearing. She wanted to believe that Corban had made a mistake, misunderstood, or that Meical had some madness upon him.

But no. I believe Corban. He’s no idiot, much as I might tell him that he is. And look at him. It has broken his heart, more for us than for his own self.

She felt the sudden urge to reach out to him, to hold him and comfort him. It took an act of will to remain where she was.

“I believe you,” she said, her voice quiet.

Corban nodded at her, a thanks.

“And we came after you because you’re our friend, Ban,” Farrell said. “Bright Star’s got nothing to do with it.”

“So, what do we do now?” Dath said. “If it’s true, if it’s all been a lie! What do we do now?” There was an edge of panic in his voice.

Corban put his head in his hands, rubbed his face hard, then looked up.

“We could leave,” he said. “Most of the people in this world that I still hold dear are here, before me. We could leave, walk away from war and death. Find somewhere quiet. Build a new life for ourselves.”

They all just stared at him, each thinking over his words, imagining. Coralen found herself thinking of a cottage by a stream, Corban working a plough in a field, her out hunting deer in green-dappled woodland.

“You don’t mean that,” Gar said.

“I did think on it,” Corban said. “Part of me would love nothing more than to walk away, to start a new life, maybe build a hold somewhere together.” Coralen saw Farrell and Laith look at each other, Dath nodding to himself.

“But I know that there is no hiding from Calidus, from Asroth,” Corban continued. “They would find us. They mean to destroy all life in these Banished Lands. That includes us, no matter how far or fast we run. And there’s Cywen. I could never just walk away not knowing if she were alive or dead.”

“So what does that leave?” Gar asked. He looked as if he already knew the answer, but wanted to hear Corban say it.

“We fight,” Corban said with a shrug. “The prophecy may be a ruse, but Calidus and his Kadoshim are real enough, and they are murdering their way through our lands, our kin. I may not be the Bright Star, but I can still hold a blade. I fought Sumur and took his head. I don’t say that as boast, but as fact. One man, or woman”—he nodded to Coralen, Kulla and Laith—“can make a difference. Can do something. It may not change anything, but we won’t know unless we try.”

He sighed. “It’s taken me a long time to come to this conclusion. I’ve thought long and hard on it, come through the darkness of Meical’s deceit, and now I can see it for what it is, and what it isn’t. But you’ve only had a few moments. Think about it, sleep on it, we can talk again on the morrow.”

“No need for that,” Farrell said. “Least, not for me. You’re my friend, Ban. I’ll go where you go. It’s as simple as that.”

“Me too,” Dath said. “You were my friend before all this seven disgraces business came along. My only friend. You’re good, Ban, in here.” Dath put two fingers over his heart, tapped his chest. “And I’ll follow you wherever you choose to go. You’re my friend, and I trust you, Bright Star or no. And I’m still your shieldman, unto death.”

“Aye,” Farrell rumbled his agreement.

Corban was looking at their faces, ranged in a half-circle before him. His eyes rested upon Gar, who was looking back at him, unreadable as always.

“Good advice. We’ll talk more in the morning,” Gar nodded. “Decide which way we’ll be running.”

Farrell groaned. “Always the running!” he muttered.

“I’ll take first watch,” Coralen said, and walked away, jumping across the stream and standing beneath a tree. She looked east and west, deciding whether Gramm’s hold or Forn Forest was the greatest danger, then faced west, towards Gramm’s hold.

Giants and bears, and some of them tried to kill us today.

What a day. A duel, a battle, an escape. And a revelation.

Her head was spinning with it, but sitting alone in the darkness helped her think it through.

In truth Corban not being the Bright Star didn’t matter to her. She’d met him and known his worth before she’d heard any mention of prophecies. And he was right, there was a war that still needed fighting, an enemy that still needed killing, regardless of the names and titles you gave the combatants. She knew what her choice would be come sunrise. Had known all along.

She heard the murmur of conversation amongst her companions, even that slowly dying out, the rasp of a whetstone, Corban lovingly tending to his reunited blade, then silence. Finally, Laith’s snoring. And a while later, a soft footfall, the crackle of leaves underfoot. From the corner of her eye she saw Corban approaching through the hawthorns.

A smile twitched her lips, her heart suddenly beating faster.