Valour by John Gwynne Page A

away.
    ‘What’s this all about, Corban?’ Halion asked.
    Corban shrugged.
    ‘Well, whatever he has to say to you, let him say it.’
    With a grunt Corban followed Gar back to the camp, where everyone was making ready to leave. Amidst it all Edana sat huddled against a tree. Brina returned and set to helping Gwenith prepare
some food – cold venison that still tasted good.
    Corban’s mam tried to catch his eye but he looked away, immediately experiencing a rush of guilt.
She’s lost her husband. My da . . .
    But somehow his feet would not take him over to her.
    In no time they were all clambering back onto the boat. Mordwyr and Dath set the sail to catch the wind, guiding them out of the cove they had sheltered in, and soon they were scudding along the
coast. The sky was a clear, sharp blue, wave tips glistening in the sun. Corban burrowed into the pile of nets towards the rear of the boat, Storm curling beside him, her nose twitching at the
scent of fish.
    Days passed like this, the boat hugging the coast, moving ever further from Dun Carreg, from home. Nights were spent huddled around small fires, when they dared, eating
whatever Marrock and Camlin could provide. Storm was usually more successful in the hunting. Corban maintained his silence with his mam and Gar, though his mam tried more than once to pull him away
from the small company. He always refused, though he was starting to hate himself for it. But no matter how he thought of things, as soon as the suggestion of leaving their small band of friends
rose in his mind, he felt an instant surge of anger. Everything else had been taken from him. He would cling to this last remnant of home like a drowning man in a stormy sea.
    Every morning Gar would prod him awake and work through the sword dance with him, but the stablemaster did not try to drag him into conversation. His look was enough. It said,
We will talk,
whether sooner or later
, as patient as a hovering hawk.
    On the fifth day after Dun Carreg’s fall Corban was sitting in his customary position on the fisher-boat, Storm beside him. Dath was a half-visible figure climbing on the mast up above.
Farrell walked unsteadily towards him, swaying as the boat rose and fell.
    ‘Thank your wolven for me,’ Farrell said as he settled into the nets beside Corban.
    ‘For what?’
    ‘Food to break our fast with this morning, and dinner last night. I don’t like being hungry. Makes me angry.’
    ‘Well we wouldn’t want that. Not while you’ve got that hammer strapped to your back, anyway.’
    Farrell chuckled, patting Thannon’s hammer-head which poked over his shoulder.
    Corban thought of his da, lying in the keep at Dun Carreg, Buddai curled beside him. He felt a stab of guilt, that he could be making jests so soon after his da’s death. He shook his head.
‘How’d you get so big, anyway?’ he asked, glancing at Anwarth, Farrell’s da. He was a short man, the absolute opposite of Farrell, although they shared something in their
features, the angle of their jaws, eyes set beneath heavy brows.
    ‘You haven’t seen my mam, then,’ Farrell said. ‘She always said I got my big bones from her. Da must like big women . . .’
    Corban smiled, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders begin to lift. It was good, somehow, just to sit and talk with a friend.
    ‘Hope she’s all right,’ Farrell muttered, his face creasing. ‘Mind you, she can look after herself. Me and da can vouch for that.’ He tried to smile, but
wasn’t completely successful. ‘Saw you training, this morning.’
    Corban nodded.
    ‘It was quite something. Never seen anything like it.’
    ‘Gar’s been training me a while now. About two years.’
    ‘Explains why you’re so good with a sword, then. I couldn’t believe it when you beat Rafe.’
    Corban shrugged. ‘I don’t know where Gar learned all that stuff, though. Always thought it was from Helveth . . .’ He trailed off. As it turned out Gar wasn’t from