The Faithful and the Fallen: Ruin Part 19

'Aye.'

He walked to Coralen, who was on her feet but still groggy.

'Thank you,' she said. He squeezed her arm.

Cywen put her foot on the Kadoshim's severed head and pulled her knife from its eye. Brina was crouching over the woman it had attacked, staunching the blood from her injury. Corban looked around and saw the combat was over. But for how long? Pockets of Jehar and giants spread out amongst the woods, searching for any survivors. Meical is right: there is no running away from this G.o.d-War. I ran from Dun Carreg all the way to Domhain, and it followed me. I travelled to the far north and walked into the middle of it. And now it finds me again. It cannot be escaped. At best I can choose where and how I fight. He took a deep breath.

'We need to get out of here,' he said to no one in particular. 'Gather the Kadoshim heads,' Tukul yelled beside him.

They formed up on the meadow beyond the woods, gathering up any who had survived the Kadoshim attack in the woods, of which there were at least a score. Corban searched out Brina. She and Cywen were tending the wounded. Three Jehar and a young giant had died and were laid out on the gra.s.s, having cairns piled around them. Brina was applying a salve to the shoulder of the woman whom Coralen had saved. She was grimacing with pain; her child, a girl of seven or eight summers sat silently in the gra.s.s beside her. She was plucking meadow flowers, twirling them between dirty fingers.

Corban knelt beside the woman.

'What is your name?'

'Teca,' the woman said.

'Where are you from, Teca?' Corban asked her.

She stared at him. 'You helped me. You and the girl, red hair.'

'You had a lot more help than just us two,' he said. 'I need to know, where are you from?'

She told him of her village, of a host of the Kadoshim arriving, led by a warrior riding upon a great draig.

'Some stayed and fought. I ran,' she said. Tears welled in her eyes.

'You were wise to.' Corban gripped her hand. 'There is no standing against them yet. Did they all chase after you, are they close behind?'

'I don't know,' she breathed through clenched lips as Brina bound a strip of linen about her shoulder.

'Would you come with me, please?' Corban asked Brina when she was done.

'What for?'

'I wanted to talk to you about something. And I'm about to make a decision: I'd value your advice.'

She blinked at him. 'Do you have a fever?' she asked him.

'Sarcasm isn't an attractive quality, and it's also not very helpful.'

She shrugged and followed him, the sound of flapping wings accompanying them.

Corban gathered up what was becoming his war council: Meical, Balur and Ethlinn, Tukul, Gar and Brina. He noticed Cywen had also joined them. Craf and Fech were nearby.

He felt the familiar tingle of fear. I am making plans, changing plans, and people's lives will depend on my choices. The weight of that was huge. He closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts.

'The plan has to change,' he said to them. 'Calidus, Nathair and a host of the Kadoshim are behind us, to the north. At best they are a day's ride away, at worst . . .' He shrugged, looking at the dark wall of trees behind them.

'And what about Rhin's warband?' Meical asked him.

He paused. When I speak it, there's no going back. Took a deep breath. 'Can't go around, so we'll have to go through them.'

'Is that wise?' Brina said. 'You risk being ensnared with one foe while another gets to stab you in the back.'

I asked her for advice, not criticism. Though the two are often entwined where Brina is concerned.

'My da used to tell me, don't hit if you can help it, but if you have to, hit fast, and hit hard.' Corban saw a grin split Gar's face and he heard Cywen grunt. They remember him saying that, too.

'That makes sense,' Meical agreed. 'But how? Ride straight at them? Many will likely be lost.'

'I've had a few thoughts about that.' Corban said. 'I think I have an idea.'

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

CAMLIN.

Camlin peered through a crack in the roundhouse's shutters, loosely holding his bow and a nocked arrow. The sound of hooves was growing louder. He swore quietly.

I wanted them to ride around. Why the h.e.l.l do they want to come back to this stinking hole? And he didn't mean that metaphorically. The roundhouse stank of death, flies buzzing in lazy circles around half a dozen corpses of villagers who had obviously sought refuge there. He'd had a superficial look around, wondering why Rhin's warriors had been in here, but a quick glance had revealed little, and the sound of hooves bearing down upon them outside hadn't helped his concentration. When the news of riders approaching had reached them, Edana had looked to Camlin. He'd been frozen for a moment, conflicting interests warring in his brain, then ordered them all into the roundhouse, pausing a few moments to unclasp a few of the black and gold cloaks from Rhin's fallen warriors.

Once upon a time it would have been a simple decision prepare for an ambush, use the buildings around the town square. Spread our swords. If it came to it, kill and run. Regroup at an appointed spot.

Now, though, he had twenty-six lives other than his own to think of. That included a deposed king and queen and an eight-year-old girl. Meg, the bairn they'd found hiding in the stables, was sitting by his leg. She didn't talk much, but every time he moved she moved with him, straying no further from him than his shadow.

He frowned as he glanced down at her now.

The shutters started to shake, the drumming of hooves becoming deafening.

There's a lot of them. Just gets better.

So his plan had been to stick together and hide. Hide and hope they pa.s.sed through.

He looked over his shoulder, saw pale, serious faces staring back at him. Roisin stood at the back of the hall, a dozen of her shieldmen tight about her. Lorcan was close to them, sitting on a blanket-covered chest, his feet dangling. He glimpsed Vonn and Baird, backs bent, digging at the wattle and daub wall with spear and sword. Always need an escape route. If they find us . . .

We'll deal with that if it happens.

He peered through the crack in the shutter again. It was sunset, the sky was a wash of pink and orange clouds, shadows long and wide. That's in our favour, at least.

He felt a presence behind him: Edana, trying to peer over his shoulder.

'You should get back,' Camlin whispered.

She ignored him.

Riders thundered into view, spreading around the edges of the market square. No horse wants to stand on a corpse. Camlin counted sixty, but he could hear more beyond his vision, hooves thumping on the hard-packed earth.

The warrior at their head sat tall in his saddle with an easy grace about him. He was clothed in a shirt of gleaming mail and a black leather surcoat, a sable cloak draping his shoulders.

'Morcant,' Edana whispered venomously.

Camlin shared her hatred, remembering the last time he had seen the man. Back in the Darkwood Morcant had led the ambush on Queen Alona, Edana's mam. Both of them had been taken prisoner, as well as Cywen, Corban's sister. Soon after, Morcant had ordered Cywen's death, and that had been the last straw for Camlin. He'd drawn his sword and stood in front of her.

What kind of fool am I, standing against Rhin's first-sword? Even now he couldn't explain exactly why he'd done it.

'Don't do anything stupid,' he whispered.

'He's evil.'

'I know. But let's live long enough to kill him and tell the tale.'

Edana glared, then gave a sharp nod.

Morcant turned. Camlin saw him take a deep breath and wrinkle his nose.

'Let's make this quick,' Morcant said to the warrior beside him. 'I don't want to stay here any longer than I have to. Bring them up.' He paused, looking across the square to the roundhouse. 'Where are the guards I left?'

Camlin wrapped one of the cloaks about his shoulders, threw one to Baird and the two of them stepped into the roundhouse doors. Camlin raised a hand to Morcant.

'Ah,' Morcant said. He stared a moment, but then another rider appeared, leading a line of half a dozen riders by a rope, men and women with hands bound sitting upon them. Prisoners.

'Look around you,' Morcant said to them, languidly gesturing with a hand to the corpse-strewn ground. 'This is what happens when I am defied. This could happen in your village too.' He tapped his heels against his mount, guided it through the dead to the gallows, where he pushed at the body of one of the hanging bairns. It spun lazily in the fading sun. 'Men, women, children. I will spare no one.'

One of the villagers on horseback bent over and vomited.

Morcant's horse picked its way back to them.

'It doesn't have to be like this. All you have to do is tell me. Where are the outlaws based?'

'We don't know,' one of the prisoners said, a white-haired woman. 'We are peaceful people, we want no trouble.'

'Neither do I,' Morcant said. 'I'd rather get my task finished and be on my way back to Dun Carreg. Marsh life is not for me.' As if to emphasize his point, he slapped at a mosquito that had landed on his neck. 'So tell me where they are. My patience is wearing, my temper fraying.'

'You're a monster,' one of the younger men snarled, 'a woman-killer, a bairn-slayer.' He spat in Morcant's face.

Morcant's expression shifted from annoyance to blind rage in a heartbeat. In a blur his arm moved, there was the ring of iron and a head was spinning through the air, Morcant's face splattered with the dead man's blood.

'I. Am not. A monster.' Morcant calmly cleaned his blade on the headless corpse's shirt. Slowly it toppled back in the saddle and slumped to the ground. He sheathed his sword and with the hem of his cloak wiped the dead man's blood and spittle from his face. 'I do, however, admit to a temper. It gets the better of me sometimes. As to what I did here in my defence, the people of this village did more than just refuse me information. I had reason to believe that they were supplying provisions to the outlaws in the marshes.' He shrugged. 'That could not be allowed to continue.'

He rode along the line of the remaining prisoners, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. 'I do not just punish those who oppose me. I reward those who help me. I will pay well for the right information. Enough silver to feed and clothe your entire village for a year. Or you could just share it between the five of you. Our secret.'

'You're lying,' one of them muttered.

'Am I? There's a chest full of silver in that roundhouse. Bring it out.'

Camlin looked at Baird, then back into the roundhouse. He stared at Lorcan, who looked at him in horror, lifted the blanket off the chest he was sitting upon and kicked it with his heel. It c.h.i.n.ked. Everyone in the room stared at him.

Asroth's stones. And I call myself a thief. I'm ashamed.

'Bring out the chest,' Morcant called impatiently.

'Some help,' Baird shouted back, then shrugged at Camlin.

Morcant gestured to two warriors. 'Go fetch it for me.' The warriors rode towards the roundhouse.

'Baird, Vonn, how's that bolt-hole coming?' Camlin snapped.

'Nearly there,' Vonn hissed.

They heard horses come to a stand outside the roundhouse, boots. .h.i.t the ground. Footsteps.

No time now. Everyone scrambled for the dark corners of the room, hiding behind an overturned table, chairs, anything. Camlin shoved Edana behind him and drew his knife.

The wooden doors creaked open. It was dusk now, almost dark in the roundhouse. A weak wash of light filtered a little way into the room, silhouetting the warriors as they strode inside. Camlin let them take a few steps in, out of sight from the square, then leaped forwards, one hand clamping over a mouth, his knife plunging into a back, slicing between ribs, puncturing a lung. The warrior in his grip stiffened, hissed. Camlin stabbed again, and again. The other warrior was turning, sword already half out of its scabbard, his mouth open, drawing breath to yell.

A sword crunched into his neck, cutting deep, blood spurting. The sword swung again, wildly, hit him in the face, taking off half his jaw and spinning him. Teeth, blood and bone sprayed as he collapsed to the floor.

Camlin turned, saw Edana standing with her sword gripped in both hands. She was staring at the fallen warrior. Camlin peered through the shutter.

No one's noticed. Yet. He swept up his bow and arrow and ran to the back wall, where Baird and Vonn had finally cut a hole in the wall. Pale light seeped through. We've about a fast count to thirty, if we're lucky . . .

'Out, now,' he hissed.

Cian was first through, Roisin behind him, another half-dozen shieldmen straight after. Camlin stuck his head through the hole.

'Don't wait head south, to the river. Saw some boats they're our best chance.' He searched the room for the bairn Meg, jumped a little when he saw her standing beside him. 'Meg, show Cian the way to the river and boats.'

'You coming?' she asked.

'I'll be along after.'

She chewed at her lip a moment, then nodded, slipped through the hole and sprinted off into the dusk. Cian and the others hurried after her.

Edana was still standing by the door, clutching her sword. Vonn was whispering to her, but to no apparent effect. Camlin strode over, took one look at her and shook her by the shoulders.