The Faithful and the Fallen: Ruin Part 96

'I have heard things,' Vonn said. 'Of the cauldron, of a gathering in Dra.s.sil, within Forn Forest. Of a need to find the Seven Treasures.'

'I know a little about it,' Evnis said. 'But this is not really the time or place to discuss it.' Twilight was settling about them. A mosquito buzzed in Evnis' ear.

'There was a necklace in your secret room,' Vonn said.

'Aye. With my book, which you stole.'

'I did. I am sorry for that. I wanted to hurt you.'

Well, at least he's honest.

'You did hurt me. Can I have it back?'

'I don't have it any more.'

'That's not good. It's a powerful, dangerous book. Who does have it?'

'Brina.'

Oh, just wonderful.

'There was something else in there,' Vonn said. 'A necklace with a black stone.'

Evnis said nothing.

'Is it still there?' Vonn asked.

'Why?'

'I think it is one of the Seven Treasures. Nemain's necklace.'

'That's ridiculous,' Evnis said.

I had thought exactly the same thing.

'And if it were, what does that mean to you, anyway.'

'Corban needs it, in Dra.s.sil.'

'Corban that arrogant fool.'

Corban is the Bright Star.'

'What? Where have you heard such things? Who have you been talking to?'

For the first time Vonn looked a little unsure of himself. 'Craf,' he said quietly.

'Who's Craf?'

Vonn looked up, at the crow in the branches above him.

'A bird,' Evnis said.

'Craf's very intelligent,' Vonn said, a little defensively.

'Craf clever,' the bird muttered above them.

He actually is, Evnis thought, for he seems to know more about this than I do, and I've been studying it all of my life.

'Vonn, this is all very interesting more than that, important. But this is not the place to discuss it. Please, come with me. Be my son again. I am sorry for the way things happened, the night Dun Carreg fell. I am sorry for the rift between us, for arguing, sorry that Bethan died . . .'

As he said the girl's name he saw pain flutter across Vonn's face.

'I ask your forgiveness for my part in it, and I hope that you can see I did not intend harm to come to her. I was acting out of what I saw to be our best interests. I betrayed our King, I know, but he betrayed me, betrayed us. Refused aid that would have saved my Fain, your mother . . .'

Words choked in his throat for a moment.

It never fails to surprise me how close the pain is.

'I want you to come back to me. Come back with me. Share my victory, help me rule Ardan, be my battlechief, my first-sword, my son.'

Please say yes, Vonn. Please, I beg you. If you do not . . .

Vonn was looking at Evnis with tears in his eyes.

'I cannot, Father. I would ask the same of you. Come with me, back to Dun Crin. I have hated you for that night in Dun Carreg, but I can understand the currents of your heart. Mother . . .' He paused, swallowed. 'I can forgive you for that night, but not for continuing on this path. Please, come back with me.'

Evnis felt such a wave of emotion, like a great hand tugging at strings attached to his heart, that he almost said yes, just to make Vonn happy. But then the feeling subsided, enough for him to see clearly.

I have come too far, done too much. He looked at his palm, traced the decades-old scar there. I have made an oath, sworn my soul . . .

'I cannot,' he said, grave and solemn.

Vonn's face fell.

'Then here we must say farewell,' Vonn said. 'And for my part, I hope that I do not meet you upon the field of battle.' He turned and walked away.

That is highly unlikely, Evnis thought, hardening his heart as he drew his knife from his belt, quickly following his son, a few paces behind, knife rising.

Please understand, I cannot allow my own son, my only son, to openly oppose me, to stand with Rhin's enemies. It will bring me shame and ruin in this new life I am carving.

Then something hit him in the chest, felt like a punch, and he staggered, stopped.

Vonn spun around, seeing Evnis' raised fist, the knife in it.

They both looked at Evnis' chest together.

A long-shafted arrow stuck from it, blood welling about the entry point, right above Evnis' heart. He opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn't get his lungs and vocal cords to work together. Breath hissed out of his mouth. His legs felt weak and he stumbled forwards, felt a numb jolt, realized he had dropped to his knees.

Is this dying?

He toppled onto his face, his son's boots filling his vision, darkness like a tunnel shrinking in upon him. He heard a voice, distant but terrifying, whispering, calling to him, remembered it from a night long ago when he had sworn an oath in a forest glade.

Asroth.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN.

CYWEN.

'You're joking?' Cywen said to Farrell, almost feeling angry with him that he would make up such a stupid thing at such a serious time.

The hospice was full to overflowing with injured warriors. Cywen, Brina and the team they'd put together numbered nearly three score and they were still hard-pushed to treat everyone who staggered in or was carried through the wide doors.

Farrell was the first person to enter the hospice without an injury that needed treating, although that wasn't quite true. He had his fair share of cuts and sc.r.a.pes and bruises, just nothing that would lead to imminent death or disablement if he wasn't treated immediately.

'I'm not, I swear it,' Farrell said. Cywen paused in the act of bandaging the leg of a Jehar warrior she was treating and looked up at Farrell.

'If this is a jest I will get my own back on you, Farrell. The chances are that someday I'll be wrapping a bandage around some part of you, remember. I know how to ease pain, and also how to increase it.' She raised an eyebrow at him.

'I would swear an oath if it helped you believe me,' he said, looking worried now, and also slightly hurt by the level of Cywen's mistrust.

'You really mean it, don't you?'

'Yes,' Farrell burst out, looking relieved. 'Dath and Kulla are to be wed. He's walking around with a grin on his face that the Kadoshim couldn't remove.'

'Well, I never,' Cywen murmured.

'Idiot boy,' Brina said from over by another cot.

Maybe it's not so stupid, Cywen thought. This war has us all standing on death's doorstep. It reminds us how precious life is, and how much it should be lived.

And of course the joy of victory had swept through Dra.s.sil like a summer wind, warm and pleasant, spreading relief and great joy. Cywen could already hear the celebrations beginning elsewhere. It took longer for that to seep into the hospice, where the harsh and stark reminders of the battle's cost were still all too plain to see.

'Good for them,' Cywen said.

'That's what I said,' said Farrell. 'After I stopped laughing, anyway.'

Brina shook her head, muttering.

'You haven't heard the best bit yet,' Farrell smiled.

'Oh, and what's that?' Cywen asked, going back to her bandaging.

'Dath wants Brina to perform the ceremony.'

'What?' screeched Brina.

Cywen stood with a smile on her face and a tear in her eye, soft spring sunshine breaking through branches above them to bathe the courtyard in sunset's amber glow.

The closing part of the handbinding ceremony of Dath and Kulla was taking place in a part of the fortress that was rarely used, chosen by Kulla because of the magnolia tree that grew within it. It had flowered early with the first flush of spring, huge pink petals hanging over the couple as they stood hand in hand before Brina.

Dath getting married. The boy who loved collecting gulls' eggs with my little brother. Seems like a lifetime ago. Guess we're all growing up.

The courtyard was full to overflowing, people crowding on the steps that climbed the walls, hanging out of windows, standing on flat roofs, every single person who now lived within Dra.s.sil come to the handbinding of the Bright Star's friend.

It had been a long and happy day, the first part of the handbinding ceremony beginning that morning with the first rays of dawn, Dath and Kulla's hands bound together for them to spend the day intertwined, a taster of the rest of their lives.

Not that it will be much different from a normal day for them; they are never far from each other.

It had been a beautiful ceremony, Brina managing to say words that made Cywen cry, even if the old healer had told Cywen a hundred times that she had no time for 'the nonsense of youth', but Cywen was convinced Brina was secretly as happy for Dath as the rest of them were. Cywen had smiled more than she remembered in recent memory, and so had Corban, she'd noticed. In fact all of them had, even Gar. And now they had gathered at sunset for the closing of the ceremony.

Brina raised her hand and the courtyard fell silent.

'Kulla ap Barin, Dath ben Mordwyr,' she cried in a loud voice. 'Your day is done. You have been bound, hand and heart, and lived the day as one. Now is your time of choosing. Will you bind yourselves forever, or shall the cord be cut?'

Dath and Kulla both grinned at one another, their joy infectious.

'We will be bound, one to the other, and live this life as one,' they said together.

Brina took their bound hands in hers.

'Make your covenant,' she said.

'Kulla ap Barin,' Dath began, 'I vow to you the first cut of my meat, the first sip of my mead . . .'

It had been a ten-night since the battle, the first five days spent tending to the wounded and building cairns over the dead. As heart-breaking as that was, the numbers of the fallen had bordered upon the miraculous. One hundred and fifty-seven dead from amongst the various peoples that populated Corban's warband and one thousand six hundred of Isiltir's warband dead, another seven hundred warriors from Isiltir surrendering and joining the people of Dra.s.sil, as they were starting to think of themselves.

And we have learned from the survivors of Isiltir's warband that two more warbands are building roads through Forn, trying to find us, as well as Nathair's own force of Kadoshim. The odds seem overwhelming, and yet I don't feel scared as I used to. I don't have that feeling in the pit of my belly that something bad is just around the corner.

It had been seeing Corban slay the Kadoshim, then escape in such dramatic fashion from twenty shieldmen bearing down upon him, and then watching him lead a warband against an enemy that dramatically outnumbered them and win, with minimal losses.

It was inspiring, and Cywen knew she was not the only one who felt that way. Everybody did. There was an atmosphere at Dra.s.sil now of quiet confidence. That Elyon was perhaps guiding her brother after all.

We are going to win.