The Faithful and the Fallen: Ruin Part 20

'You've killed a man,' he hissed at Edana. 'Good. He was your enemy and would have killed you. Now sheathe your sword and get out, 'fore someone else comes and tries to kill you.'

She blinked at him, then nodded, tried to sheathe her sword but her hands were shaking. Baird helped her and hurried her through the hole in the wall, other warriors following.

Morcant's voice called out and Camlin felt his heart freeze. Hooves, footsteps.

'Move,' Camlin hissed, pushing men through the hole. 'Lorcan, you next.'

'I shall wait with you and defend Edana's escape.'

Camlin sighed.

There were only a handful of them left: Camlin and Lorcan, a couple of Roisin's shieldmen, one of them Brogan the shieldman with the barrel of herring still strapped to his back and Vonn.

Camlin calmly pulled a handful of arrows from the quiver at his belt and stabbed them into the ground.

Feet drummed at the doors, warriors strode in, half a dozen at least. They saw Camlin and his companions, froze a heartbeat or two and Camlin put an arrow through the first man's throat. He fell back in a spray of blood, crashing into those behind him. Draw, breathe, release, and Camlin put another arrow into them. Then they were charging, calling to their comrades outside as they came.

Vonn was through the hole.

Camlin nocked, drew, released, another warrior stumbled to the ground, tripping others behind him.

One of Lorcan's shieldmen shouted a battle-cry and ran at the warriors. He swung his sword two-handed, gutted the first man he reached, ploughed into the others shoulder first, sending them all staggering.

'Come on,' Vonn yelled through the hole.

'Time to go,' Camlin said to Lorcan, grabbing him by the shoulder and shoving him through.

'You next, big man,' Camlin told Brogan, at the same time drawing his bow and releasing. More warriors in black and gold were crowding through the roundhouse doors. Brogan grunted, stuck in the gap, as the barrel on his back wedged tight. Camlin took a step back and hurled himself at the warrior, both of them exploding through the wall. Camlin rolled on the ground, looked back, saw feet pounding towards them and caught a glimpse of the chest full of silver. He gave one last wistful look at it. Once upon a time . . . Then he was running. Vonn and Lorcan were just ahead of him, swerving between wattle-and-daub buildings, Brogan hard on his heels. Hooves were drumming, warriors yelling somewhere behind him, far too close for Camlin's liking.

The river, find the river. It was near dark, a bluish tinge to the air as the sun faded. Camlin heard the sound of water, ran around a hut, stopped to yank open the gate of a pig pen and then ran on. There was a stampede of feet and squealing pigs, followed almost immediately by swearing, crashing, falling. Camlin grinned and then burst out of the village onto the riverbank.

The boats were tied along the bank, Roisin and Cian already in a canoe, a dozen others sat in boats, pushing away from the bank into the wide, sluggish river.

'Lorcan,' Roisin cried out when she saw her son, and he clambered in beside her.

Baird stood over Edana in a larger flat-bottomed boat, gesturing frantically to them. Then a hand was slipping into his, Meg, tugging him towards the boat. He didn't need much encouragement, rushed to the riverbank and boarded.

Horses thundered along the bank, warriors yelling. Spears whistled past them, splashing and disappearing into the river. Close by someone screamed and fell from a boat.

'Upriver, into the marshes,' Camlin yelled as he saw a coracle with two warriors in it start to paddle downriver.

It'll be faster going downriver, but they'll track us with no problem. Only chance is to head into the marshes.

Then Camlin saw Morcant. He burst from between two huts, saw the boats pushing into the river and snarled. Camlin nocked another arrow, drew and sighted, aiming for Morcant's chest. A spear suddenly slammed into Brogan; the big man grunted and dropped the steering pole, the boat veering. Camlin's arrow skittered wide as he tried to regain his balance. Swearing loudly, he drew another arrow from his quiver but the boat was starting to spin, caught in the sluggish current. Camlin clambered to his feet, the boat rocking; he grabbed the pole and started pushing. In seconds they were moving in the right direction, heading upstream into the marshes with half a dozen other river craft. Brogan groaned and pushed himself up.

'Thought you were dead,' Camlin said to the big warrior.

'Spear hit the barrel of fish on my back.' Brogan grinned and held up a herring from the shattered barrel. Baird laughed, the sound strange amidst the panic and fear of their flight.

'Come on, fish-man, lend a hand,' Baird said.

Morcant was leading riders along the bank, shadowing the boats.

'Meg, do you know your way around these marshes?'

'A bit,' the girl confessed.

'Appreciate it if you'd be our eyes, take us where they can't follow.'

It did not take long before Meg was guiding them off of the main river down narrower tributaries, ever south and east, sometimes pushing their way through great banks of reeds, sometimes coasting like ghosts on the liquid dark, always heading deeper into the marshes. It was darker now, the moon and stars veiled by ragged cloud. Camlin watched with satisfaction as their pursuit slowed, the terrain becoming unnavigable for the horses in the dark.

Eventually Camlin heard a splash and a horse neigh wildly. Before they disappeared into the darkness Camlin saw a rider come close to the bank. For a moment the clouds cleared and moonlight shone bright upon them, silvering the dark river and the warrior upon his mount. It was Morcant, and he stared straight at him. Camlin returned the gaze with a mocking grin.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

FIDELE.

Fidele watched Maquin as he gutted and skinned a rabbit, his movements efficient and practised.

If I were alone out here I would have starved to death long ago. She felt a surge of frustration as she observed Maquin, a moment of shame at how useless she was proving to be. What can I actually do? Run through woodland, and that not very well. Rule? And I didn't prove to be too successful at that, either. She felt a wave of shame, thought of how the world had changed in so short a time. It was not so long ago that I dwelt in Jerolin with my husband and son. Now Aquilus is dead, Nathair gone who knows where, and I am living hand-to-mouth in the wild. Who even sits on the throne in Jerolin now? Who rules the people of Tenebral? My people. She felt a failure, felt that she'd let down all those who depended upon her.

All of those years living a life of service, bound by duty and honour. Aquilus was almost a stranger through our last years of marriage, so consumed and driven by Meical's prophecy, and yet it all came to nothing, ended by a traitor's blade. And Nathair, my own son, left me and then chose Lykos over me. She felt a flush of anger the two men in her life whom she had trusted wholeheartedly, both abandoning her. Neither of them taking her into their confidences. The emotion was swiftly followed by shame - Aquilus was a good man, just preoccupied by these dangerous times. And Nathair is a good man, again, swept away by the dark times we live in.

As I have been.

But I was betrayed. It all changed with the letter from Nathair, his orders for me to step down as regent of Tenebral and hand over the stewardship of the realm to Lykos. Why did he do that? How could Nathair side with Lykos? I fear for him. Have they bewitched him too? Or is he just misled, deceived? With an effort she focused on Maquin, wrenching her thoughts away from their dark spiral, forcing herself to watch Maquin's hands as he prepared the meat for their evening meal.

They had stopped a little earlier than usual, the sun still a handspan above the horizon as Maquin had set snares around a network of burrows that he had spied. She'd watched with fascination as he'd cut, looped and tied twine to overhanging branches, bending and pegging them to the earth, and then settled beneath a densely leaved oak a score of paces away. It had been dark when she finally heard the snap and creak of the snare tripping. Maquin had grinned at her, a rare thing, transforming his dour expression.

'Hot meat for our supper,' he'd said.

She couldn't express how happy she was about that. It had been raining all day, a soft drizzle that had soaked her through long before highsun. Maquin's hard pace had allowed no time for rest, keeping her breathless and exhausted as usual. She was glad to stop before the darkness settled about them.

'Is a fire safe?' she asked as Maquin searched for kindling that wasn't soaked through, cutting away at a rotted branch to reach the dry wood within.

'So much cloud, and it's so low, smoke shouldn't give us away, and we've gone a ten-night since we last saw any Vin Thalun. I can bank and hide the fire, keep the flames low and covered. Reckon it's worth the risk, eh? Feels like my bones are damp.'

I'm glad to hear him say that. He seems inhuman, all of him distilled down to strength and will. Maquin skewered the quartered meat of the rabbit and set it on a spit above the small fire.

They were a ten-night into the heartland of Tenebral, keeping as much as possible to the dense woodlands that carpeted the undulating landscape.

After that night in the woods when Maquin had slain the Vin Thalun with some help from me they had set out east. Fidele had still not recovered from that night she had killed a man. She'd put her spear through his throat, and had had nightmares about it ever since. Idiot woman. He was my enemy, would have killed Maquin and then me.

'Teach me how to do that,' she asked abruptly, nodding at the rabbit.

'Don't think it's something for a fine lady's hands,' Maquin said.

'Well, it should be,' Fidele snapped. 'What use am I, otherwise? I am like an infant, unable to fend for myself.'

Maquin shrugged. 'We all learn what we need to,' he said. 'People like you learn how to govern, give orders. People like me, to do what we're told. To learn something useful.'

'And what is your useful trade, then?' Fidele asked him.

'Death. I deal in death.'

His gaze dropped to his hands, and her eyes followed. They were surprisingly fine and long-fingered, like a musician's hands at court, though as he turned them she saw thick calluses on his fingers and palms, the whorls of his skin marked by earth or blood.

'I'll teach you to catch a rabbit, prepare it for cooking, make a fire, if you'd like. Though there may not be another opportunity before we reach Ripa.'

If we reach Ripa.

The injured warrior of Tenebral, Drusus, had died the same night, but not before he'd told them that Peritus had set a rendezvous point with every member of his small rebellion. Ripa, fortress of Lamar. That had made sense to Fidele, as Lamar and his eldest son Krelis had always borne an ill-concealed hatred for the Vin Thalun. If anyone would declare openly against the Vin Thalun it would be Lamar of Ripa.

Maquin pa.s.sed her a piece of the quartered rabbit and she bit into it, burning her lips but not caring, it tasted so delicious. She realized Maquin was watching her and she wiped her mouth.

'Sorry, not very ladylike.'

'Don't mind me,' Maquin said. 'It all goes down the same.'

'Tell me, Maquin. How did a man of Isiltir end up here?'

'It's a long story,' Maquin grunted.

'And we have many dark nights ahead of us. You don't have to finish it all tonight.'

He stared silently at the fire a while, as if trying to remember.

'I was shieldman to Kastell ben Aenor. His cousin, Jael, killed him in the tombs beneath Haldis. He killed Romar, King of Isiltir as well, though he didn't hold the blade.' He spoke to the fire, not taking his eyes from the flicker of the flames. 'I fought against Jael in Isiltir. Lykos came with his Vin Thalun and turned the battle.' He paused, as if remembering. A hand lifted to his ear, which Fidele noticed was only a stump. 'I was captured. Lykos took me as part of his spoils, put me on an oar-bench, gave me this.' Maquin touched the scar on his back, where Lykos had branded him.

He speaks as if it didn't happen to him, as if he is recounting someone else's tale.

'He threw me in the pit, told me that if I lived long enough he'd set me free, that I could seek my vengeance on Jael.'

'Is that what you want?'

He looked up at her now, his eyes dark pools, a glint of firelight a spark in their depths.

'Aye, with all that I am.'

Fidele resisted the urge to recoil at the hatred she heard in his voice. It emanated from him, throbbing like the pulse of a wound. He had spoken of Lykos, and at that name she had felt her own anger stir and bubble.

'I feel the same about Lykos,' she whispered fiercely. 'I hate him. I am scared of him too. If he lives I would wish to spend my life hunting him until he were dead. But another voice within me says that I would run, as far and as fast as I could to escape him. To the very edges of the world.' She ground her teeth, fear, anger, shame, all swirling through her.

'He's high on my list of people to see dead, I'll not deny,' Maquin said. 'If he's not already dead. I saw you put that knife into him; it went deep. Wouldn't be surprised if you killed him.'

'Aye, maybe. And then again, he may still live.'

Maquin shrugged. 'Can't change that. Yet.'

'No, but it doesn't stop me being scared. Don't you feel fear?'

'Fear? I left that in the pit. I have nothing left to lose, nothing to fear for. I have lost everything my kin, Kastell, my sword-brothers. My pride. In the pit I lost my honour and humanity. All that's left is revenge.'

'Then why are you here?'

He shrugged again. 'I made you a promise.'

'You were going to break your promise, though. You left me. You walked away.'

He stared at her. Why did I say that? 'I did. I won't do that again. Not until you're safe.' The effect of those words was comforting, seeping through her like hot soup on a cold day.

'I didn't blame you for leaving. Or judge you.' 'I judged me. That was enough.'

Fidele woke to a touch, Maquin's hand on her shoulder. She half rose, then paused as she saw his face.

'What's wrong?' she said.

'Listen.'

She did.

'What is that?'

'Hounds,' Maquin said. 'We have to go. Now.'

She leaped to her feet and in moments they were hurrying through the undergrowth.

Fidele hoped that Maquin was mistaken, or that the hounds were just a coincidence, out on a hunt with a local woodsman. But all morning the sounds trailed them, becoming clearer, an excited baying. The land around them changed, the woodland growing denser, the ground rising into a steady incline. The scent of pine grew around them as they climbed higher, the woodland opening up, pine needles dense and spongy underfoot. The baying behind them was louder now, and Fidele had started looking over her shoulder, fearing to see hounds and men behind her.

'They are a league or so behind us,' Maquin said.

'They sound . . . so close,' Fidele gasped.

'Sound carries in this woodland,' Maquin grunted. 'But they were double that distance away at daybreak.'