Then a shadow was looming above, the air beating him down. Corban looked up and saw white wings, a flash of pale skin and dark hair, then he was being hoisted upwards, so fast that he felt as if he’d left his guts on the ground. Other warriors swooped in close, forming a wedge that flew straight up, to the now clear hole in the dome’s ceiling.
Bodies crashed against them. Corban caught a flash of leathery wings, heard screeching and hissing. One of the Ben-Elim close to Corban dropped away, a sword-point erupting through his chest, but they flew on, higher and higher, until with a roaring in Corban’s ears they burst through the hole in the rooftop and into the sky above.
The white wings pumped, driving them away, higher, until Corban could almost touch the clouds. A handful of Ben-Elim flew about them, and further back Corban saw the dome, shrinking now. He could just make out white-winged figures emerging from the dome’s peak, mixed with others. The Ben-Elim were retreating, pursued by their ancient enemy.
Corban looked at the warrior who was carrying him. He was dark haired and pale skinned as all the rest, with a tracery of veins visible beneath his skin, high, sharp cheekbones, the hint of faded claw marks running down one side of his face. His eyes were dark, though not black like the Kadoshim; there was a purple tinge to them. Something about him stirred a memory, too faint to remember. ‘Who are you?’ Corban asked.
The warrior regarded him for long moments. ‘A friend in a dark place,’ he said.
CHAPTER NINETY
CORALEN
Coralen glared through swirling snow at the walls of Dun Vaner.
After the desperate chase yesterday, the fight in the woods and slopes, coming so close to reaching Corban, only to see him carried away through the fortress gates, she felt drained. Exhausted.
And angry.
She had not wanted to run, so close were they to rescuing Corban. Most of the enemy were down, bleeding into the snow, when the riders appeared, a relief force hurrying from Dun Vaner. It would have been foolishness and fatal to stand and face them in the open. So they had run when the riders came at them, scattering into the woodland. Storm had killed one horse and rider, Dath picked off a couple with his bow, Gar another, and she had leaped onto one more, dragging him from his saddle and opening his throat with her wolven claws. She was wearing them still, blood crusting about the iron blades.
Why am I here? She had volunteered to guide them north as soon as Rath had told her of Corban’s plan to go after his sister. Why? Even now she felt herself avoiding that question. Others were moving about her, Gwenith and Brina whispering together, Farrell and Dath talking quietly. Gar stood beside her, staring at the walls. She could feel the worry leaking from him, through the cracks in his cold face. Storm was pacing amongst them, like a wounded bear, restless, crouched, the occasional growl rumbling deep from her belly. Coralen empathized with her — she felt frustrated, scared, angry. There was something about this group of people, similar to the camaraderie she had felt amongst Rath and his giant-killers, but more, somehow. Something deeper. She just knew that each and every one of them would die for the other, and Corban was somehow at the centre of that. She felt his absence keenly, as she knew they all did. And he was gone, inside those thick walls, perhaps even already dead. She felt a wave of feeling, white-hot rage, and she clenched a fist, her wolven claws chinking.
It had all happened so fast, waking to find Corban gone, then hearing Storm howling, all of them running from the camp to find the wolven dripping wet, standing over Ventos’ corpse. They had searched the area and Coralen had found the tracks of those who had taken Corban. The rest had been one long run, blood in the snow at the end of it.
And what now?
Something fluttered above her; a dark smudge emerged from the swirling whiteness. Craf, the healer’s crow.
It landed on a tree branch and began hopping about.
‘Cor-ban,’ it squawked. ‘Found him, found him, found him.’
‘Where? How is he?’ Gwenith blurted.
‘Alive,’ the crow said. ‘Craf take you.’
‘ How are we going to get over those walls?’ Farrell said.
‘This might help,’ Dath said, lifting a long rope that was tied to the saddle of a horse they’d found wandering the wooded slopes.
Gar smiled, a grim flash of his teeth.
CHAPTER NINETY-ONE
TUKUL
Tukul was dozing when Meical awoke. It was still dark about him, though a grey light framed the slopes above their dell. The brunt of the snowstorm seemed to have blown over. Orange flames from the fire sent shadows dancing around the bowl they were camped in.
He heard Meical gasp, saw him lurch up onto an elbow. The firelight washed across his face, highlighting the sharp angles, making the lines around his eyes and mouth deep crags of shadow. For the first time Tukul thought he looked old.
Tukul sat up, blinking. ‘What is it?’
Meical leaped to his feet. ‘I know where he is. Corban. We must leave now; it may already be too late.’
‘What do you mean? Where is he?’ Tukul asked as he climbed to his feet, signalling for his Jehar to move about him.
‘He is in there,’ said Meical, pointing to the dark blur of walls and towers nestling amongst the white slopes of the mountain. ‘Dun Vaner. Rhin has him. And she knows who he is. He will not be drawing breath for much longer. If he still does.’
The camp moved into action, silent and efficient.
By the time the sun had fully crested the horizon they were riding across a featureless white plain, approaching the slope and road that led to the gates of Dun Vaner.
‘Those walls are thick, and the gates are shut,’ Tukul observed.
‘Yes,’ Meical said. His earlier sense of franticness had receded, although Tukul could sense it, lurking beneath a veneer of calm.
‘So how are we going to get in there?’
‘We know that the Jehar ride with Nathair, and that they came north with Rhin. The men who are standing on that wall will know that, too.’
Tukul thought about that. ‘So they will think we are their allies.’
‘Exactly. To be safer still, as I stand out a little from the rest of you, I am now your prisoner, sent back to Rhin for questioning.’
‘But what if Nathair and Sumur are in there?’
‘They are not. They are heading north, and I have a good idea why, but we shall think on that after.’
‘Excellent. So that’s getting in. What then?’
‘Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.’
‘With our swords in our hands?’
‘If needs be.’
‘Best you try and look as if you’re a prisoner, then,’ Tukul said.
Meical clasped his hands behind his back, underneath his cloak, as if they were bound. Tukul and a few of his warriors moved around Meical, giving the appearance of guarding him. They rode up the road that led to Dun Vaner’s gates, identifiable only because the snow lay more flat and even across it.
‘Remember,’ Meical said as they drew closer. ‘The Seren Disglair is in there. He is a captive and will soon be killed. We cannot fail in this.’
Tukul felt a shiver at those words, knew that it was passing back through the column of his sword-kin.
This is it. The moment I’ve waited for. All-Father, I will not fail you.
The world was quiet and still, a beautiful white as far as he could see. Even the clouds up above him seemed to glow.
A perfect moment. He drew a deep breath, as he did before he began the sword dance, then he rode ahead of the column, looking up at the walls above the stronghold’s gates. Heads peered over.