CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

CAMLIN

Camlin spat blood.

He heard a voice, Baird? then the clash and grunt of blows. He rose unsteadily, a sharp pain in his ribs.

Pain’s good, he told himself. Tells me I’m not dead.

Rafe…

He was a dozen paces away, trading blows with Baird, who was retreating before a savage onslaught, Rafe’s attack not so much skilful, but relentless and adder-fast. Camlin took a step towards them, then he saw a small, crumpled shape in the grass.

“Meg?”

He stumbled to her side, fear spiralling within him, dropped to one knee and lifted her head.

She groaned, which helped him to breathe. Her jaw was broken, bruised and slack.

Rafe.

Camlin lay Meg down gently and advanced on Rafe and Baird.

They were both breathing hard, both bleeding, Baird along the length of one forearm, Rafe a gash across his cheek.

Boots drummed; Brogan joined them.

“This the one you told me about?” he asked Camlin, eyeing Rafe. “The one you keep putting arrows into that won’t die?”

“Aye, that’s him,” Camlin said.

The two of them circled Rafe, who was edging back towards the treeline, Baird making feints and lunges. Camlin’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his sword, awaited an opening. Brogan was on Rafe’s far side now. He raised his sword.

Then Rafe was throwing his weapons down, dropping to his knees, arms raised behind his head.

“Mercy,” he cried, “mercy.”

Camlin blinked, stared at Baird and Brogan, both of them looking as shocked as Camlin felt.

Baird laughed.

Camlin took a limping pace closer, sword-point hovering over Rafe’s chest.

Just kill him, put your sword through his heart. He’s trouble. Put an end to it, put an end to him.

Camlin’s blade hovered, trembling. Rafe was weeping, snot running from his nose.

“Mercy,” he begged.

Camlin lowered his sword.

Then a horn was blowing, ringing through the clearing.

It was Vonn. He’d climbed the Oathstone and was sending blast after blast reverberating around the great glade. Camlin felt the battle ebb, men pausing to stare at Vonn.

“Edana is merciful,” Vonn cried as the last horn blast still hung in the air. “Men of Ardan, if you fight for Rhin, lay down your arms. Edana is merciful, so lay down your arms and live.”

“Never,” a voice cried out—Morcant. He was on foot before the Oathstone, still a score or so of his men about him, Edana and her shieldmen close. “Edana leads this rabble and nothing else, Rhin is Queen of the West.”

“Morcant is Rhin’s whore,” Vonn cried out, “a puppet of Cambren. If there are men of Ardan or Narvon amongst you, lay down your arms and save yourselves. The battle is lost for you, but Edana is merciful.”

And slowly, from only a few men at first, Camlin heard the clatter of weapons dropping to the ground, the sound growing, rippling about the field.

Morcant screeched with rage and hurled himself towards Edana, a handful of warriors following him, the sounds of battle ringing out again, but only there. Elsewhere about the field men were falling to their knees and raising their hands in surrender. Morcant cut a man down, almost within reach of Edana. Camlin saw his bow and retrieved it, took a few paces towards the battle.

Behind Camlin there was a thud, a grunt, the sounds of a scuffle. He turned and blinked, confused at first.

Baird was standing, swaying, his hands pressed tight to his stomach, looking down at Brogan and Rafe as they rolled on the grass. Even as Camlin took a step towards them he heard a crunch, saw Rafe club Brogan’s skull with the pommel of his dagger, once, twice, Brogan slumping. A third time. Rafe wriggled out from beneath the bulk of the big warrior and jumped to his feet.

Camlin drew an arrow, aimed it at Rafe’s heart.

Baird took a staggering step, lifted his hands from his stomach, blood-drenched. He sighed and dropped to the ground.

Camlin’s arm wavered and Rafe ran, ducking, twisting, towards the treeline. Camlin loosed, his arrow thumping into a trunk, Rafe spinning away, a shadow amongst the trees. With a snarl, Camlin ran to Baird, dropped and cradled him, saw the warrior’s one eye staring lifelessly back at him.

Mercy, Rafe said, shed a few tears, and I lowered my sword. And now Baird’s dead. I’ve gone soft. Braith would have exiled me from the Darkwood for such foolishness. He shook his head, mouth a thin line.

He moved to Brogan. Blood was matting the big man’s hair. A pulse beat faintly at his neck.

Camlin stared into the forest, searching for Rafe, but there was no sign of him. He stood and took a pace towards the trees.

“Camlin,” a voice whispered. It was Meg, groaning as she moved. Camlin limped over to her, carried her to a tree and laid her against it. He stroked hair from her eyes.

“My thaw urts,” she mumbled.

“I know, lass,” Camlin whispered. “It’s going t’hurt for a while longer.”

He stared after Rafe for long moments—no sign of him within the forest gloom—then looked towards the sound of battle where Morcant fought on.

Another time, Rafe, Camlin vowed. I will hunt you down.

“You rest here, now, girlie, where you’re safe, and I’ll be back soon enough,” Camlin said to Meg, then he stood and hurried towards Edana, threading his way through a field of slaughter.

Only Morcant was still fighting. Even as Camlin watched, he cut his way through two more men in a last attempt to reach Edana. But a ring of warriors stood before her. Pendathran was bellowing orders on the giantsway, organizing the rounding-up of those who had surrendered, and Drust came cantering towards Morcant and Edana with a score of riders at his back.

We’ve done it. I can’t believe we’ve actually done it. All the planning, the tricks and traps and deceptions, I never dared think we’d actually win. Not when I saw Morcant galloping down the giantsway, over a thousand men at his back.

Morcant threw himself at the wall of men gathered before Edana, near enough bounced from their shields, chopped with his sword, splinters spraying, screamed in his fury, spittle flying. Then the wall parted and Halion stepped through it, dark hair tied back into his warrior braid, mail shirt red with gore, Edana behind him. She was blood-spattered, a sword in her hand now, spear gone. The blade was red. She walked tall, face fierce and exultant.

“It’s over, Morcant,” Edana said.

“You foolish girl!” Morcant snarled. “This means nothing. Rhin will return, and when she does…” He looked at the warriors gathered silently about him. “Rhin will decorate this land with your innards. You’ll all be food for crows.”

“If Rhin comes back, I’ll have a fine reception awaiting her,” Edana said, voice proud and clear, “but that’s for another day. This day, we will be celebrating the freedom of Ardan.”

A cheer rose up, louder than the horn blasts.

A large ring had formed around Morcant, men stepping aside to let Camlin through, nodding at him, patting him on the back.

“And now for you,” Edana said, “Morcant, puppet of Rhin, slayer of women and bairns.”

A hand slipped into Camlin’s and he looked down to see Meg standing there, glaring at Morcant with a ferocious look upon her face.

Morcant just stared at Edana, proud and haughty.

“This glade stirs memories within me,” Edana continued, “of a glade in the Darkwood, where I was riding with my mother, Queen Alona. You led that ambush. My mam…” She looked around at the glade. “Ironic, that your end should happen here, in this way. Tricked, taken by surprise in a forest glade. My mother died soon after, you know.”

“I remember,” Morcant said. “I remember hearing that news, and I was glad.”

“And I shall be glad to watch you die, now,” she replied.

Morcant spat on the floor, then lunged at her, fast as anything Camlin had ever seen. Morcant had been a half-dozen strides from Edana, but he covered them in a heartbeat, sword whipping out as fast as a snake, aiming straight at her heart. Camlin tried to move, reached for an arrow, but it was as if he were moving through water compared to Morcant’s speed.

Then Halion was knocking Morcant’s sword aside, punching Morcant on the jaw, sending him sprawling, stepping into the space between Morcant and Edana.

“Get up,” Halion said.

Morcant didn’t need telling twice; he leaped up, circled to Halion’s left, sword extended, hovering low.

“You’re not even from Ardan,” Morcant said to him.

“That is of no ma—” Halion began, then Morcant was lunging at him, sword-point darting high. Halion knocked it away, parried a sideways slash from Morcant. A roll of Morcant’s wrist and he stabbed at Halion’s throat. Again the blow was slapped away, Halion’s gaze fixed on Morcant’s eyes. Then Halion took a shuffling step forwards, feinted low and struck high, stepped back with blood on his sword-tip, a thin line trickling down Morcant’s cheek.

“I’ve seen you fight,” Halion shrugged, then he was walking forwards slowly, Morcant darting blows at him, lunges, short savage chops, looping two-handed strokes, but Halion seemed to walk through them, parrying, counter-striking, Morcant retreating, circling left and right, probing for weaknesses in Halion’s defence. His blows came faster, fluid combinations that rained down upon Halion from all angles and his advance stopped, Halion setting his feet and weathering Morcant’s barrage. Slowly Halion began to counter, first a single blow here, a parry turned into a strike there, then striking again and again, until they were trading back and forth at each other, blow for blow, the speed a blinding blur. Camlin watched, entranced by their skill.

Then Morcant took a step back, breaking the hypnotic power of their contest.

Halion watched him, still fixed on Morcant’s eyes.

Morcant was breathing heavily now, sucking in deep breaths, one hand on his knee, sword-point dug in the earth. Morcant leaned on his weapon as if it was a walking stick.

“You don’t fight, like your brother,” Morcant breathed.

“I could have told you that,” Halion said.

“Rhin knows, you know. About your brother,” Morcant said.

“Knows what?”

“That Conall set you free, from Dun Taras’ dungeon.”

Halion’s eyes narrowed.

“She’ll kill him for it, when she’s ready. Use him first, of course. But then…”

“You’re lying,” Halion snarled.

“Really? Then how did I know who set you free?”

Halion frowned.

Morcant jerked his wrist, flicking earth from his sword-point at Halion’s face. Halion swayed away, but Morcant was attacking. His sword, stabbing at Halion’s throat, grated off Halion’s torc, left a red line. He pressed on, chopped down at Halion’s thigh, Halion blocking frantically, Morcant relentlessly pressing Halion back, towards Edana. Their blades clashed, grated, clashed again, then Morcant was in close, slipping his foot behind Halion’s and shoving him hard in the chest. Halion spun gracefully away.

“See you’ve been learning from Conall,” Halion said. “Unlikely to work on me, though.”

“Depends what result you’re after,” Morcant smiled. Watching, Camlin realized that as Halion and Morcant had fought, Halion had remained between Morcant and Edana, but now, to avoid Morcant’s trip, Halion had spun away from the young Queen and Morcant was standing only two paces away from her, nothing between them but air.

Morcant grinned, moving in a blur, his sword snaking out, slicing towards Edana’s throat.

An arrow punched into Morcant’s side, staggering him half a dozen paces.

Camlin stepped into the circle, another arrow already nocked and drawn. He loosed as Morcant gathered himself and took an unsteady step towards Edana, the arrow slamming into Morcant’s belly, piercing leather and mail, sinking deep. Morcant grunted, sank to one knee, his sword dropping from his fist. He looked up at Camlin.

“Should have killed you, back in the Darkwood,” Morcant whispered. He swayed and coughed blood, speckling his chin.

“Aye,” grunted Camlin, striding closer, another arrow on his bow, nocked and aimed at Morcant’s heart. “But you didn’t. Instead it’s me killing you.”

He stopped a pace or two away from Morcant and looked to Edana. She gave him a curt nod.

Camlin’s arrow flew from his bow, plunging into Morcant’s chest, half the shaft disappearing, the force of it slamming Morcant onto his back. He looked up at Camlin, whispered something and then his eyes glazed, sightless.

A silence settled over the glade.

“Hang his body from a tree,” Edana snarled. “Let Craf have what’s left of him.”

“Thank you,” a voice cawed from the branches.

Camlin walked through the streets of Dun Carreg. It was sunset, with long shadows. The sun was warm upon his back but a chill was filling the world.

Despite the day’s victory, Camlin’s mood was melancholy. Despite how easy it had been to walk into Dun Carreg, the people overwhelming the handful of guards manning the gates before Edana’s warband had even crossed the bridge to Stonegate, despite the celebrations that had welcomed them into the streets, and despite the feast that was even now going on in the feast-hall.

It was Baird’s death more than anything that had stayed with him. A good man. A brave man. One whom Camlin had trusted.

A friend.

Not so many of them about. And one less, now.

His feet took him to the courtyard before Stonegate, the doors closed and barred now. A few men milled by the gatehouse. Camlin angled away from them, raising a hand to their cheerful greetings, and climbed the stairwell.

Guardsmen stood on the wall, spears in one hand, skins of mead in the other.

And why not? It’s a night to celebrate, if ever there was one. I remember the night this fortress fell, the night we ran, fled, across a sea, two realms. And here I am back again.

A solitary figure stood apart on the battlements, gazing out over the land. A big man, neck muscled like a bull. Camlin stood beside him. Beyond the steep drop of the wall the world spread before him, the sinking sun painting the meadows and coves, woodland and pastures in hues of amber and pink.

“I’m surprised you’re not dead, No-Neck,” Camlin said. “Glad you’re not, is what I mean.”

“Got a hard head,” Brogan grunted, a bandage wrapped around his skull.

“For sure.”

They stood in companionable silence for several minutes, watching the grey of dusk seep into the world.

“I’m going after Rafe, on the morrow,” Camlin said. “Leaving at first light.”

Brogan glanced at him. “Thought you’d be staying here a while,” he said.

“Job’s done here,” Camlin muttered. “And we have the necklace. It’s not much use here, and I’m thinking Corban and the others could do with it.”

“That the only reason you’re going?” Brogan asked.

“No. Thought Baird deserved better’n that, today. Doesn’t sit well with me, celebrating, when Rafe’s out there, and my guess is he’s headed after Rhin. Least I can do is send him after Baird.”

Brogan grunted and looked back out over the landscape. “I’ll come,” he said after a while.

The shadows deepened and torches were lit. Camlin thought he saw movement beyond the bridge, a denser shape in the shadows. He stared hard, but saw no more sign of movement. Then he heard footsteps entering the courtyard. He looked back and saw Edana there, changed from her blooded war gear, but still in breeches, shirt and leather jerkin, a sword hanging at her hip. Her cloak was a little finer, dyed the grey of Ardan, edged in ermine. Halion and Vonn were with her.

There was a whisper of wings in the darkness, the scrape of talons on stone.

“Here you are, then,” Edana said, climbing the steps. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Why’s that, my Queen,” Camlin said, giving her a bow. He had to admit, it did feel good to see her home, after years of running, living on the road. He smiled at her.

“What?” she asked.

“The cloak suits you.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling in return.

“Now, my lady, what is it that I can do for you on this night of nights, when you should be feasting and basking in the glory of your victory.”

“I just wanted to tell you not to drink too much tonight,” Edana said, “because we’ve an early start on the morrow and a long journey ahead of us.”

Camlin frowned. “What journey?”

“I’m going to take the starstone necklace to Corban, and I’m taking as many men as Pendathran can spare me,” she said. “No doubt Rhin will have every intention of coming back and trying to take my realm away from me, so I thought, I might as well kill the old bitch now, and do us and the world a favour.”

“FINALLY,” Craf squawked triumphantly, hopping into the torchlight.

Vonn blinked at Edana’s language, a smile twitching Halion’s lips.

“I think you’ve been spending too much time with a Darkwood brigand,” Camlin said. “You’re starting to think and talk like one.”