Valour by John Gwynne Page A

was standing before. Brenin’s choices had
sealed her death. If Brenin had allowed him to leave Dun Carreg, to take Fain away, to the cauldron, things would have been different. Fain had deserved a blood-price. There was some kind of
justice in the way things had turned out – Brenin dying by his hand.
    ‘My lord.’ A voice pierced his thoughts. Conall was limping towards him, a few of his warriors following.
    ‘It is time,’ Conall said.
    Evnis nodded curtly, crushed the rose in his hand and scattered it over the cairn. He stalked through the grounds of his hold, past the kennels where Helfach’s boy was feeding the hounds,
through the wide gates. Conall and the other warriors settled about him, a tension amongst them all. They knew the stakes as well as he. The fortress may have fallen but it was far from safe, with
many on both sides who would like Evnis dead. He glanced at the buildings either side, searching the shadows for assassins.
I have rolled the dice,
he thought.
No going back now.
    He glanced at Conall, who still walked with a limp. The warrior had fallen from the wall above Stonegate and had only survived because the crush of those fighting about the gates had broken his
fall.
    The warrior was all confidence and swagger, quick to laugh and quick to anger. Beyond the arrogance there was a keen intelligence. Conall saw much. It had been a wise choice, winning him over,
though he had needed a little help. He was learning the power of the earth, extracting secrets from the book he had discovered in the tunnels beneath the fortress. There were ways to influence a
man, even control him. He felt like a novice, struggling in the dark, but he had learned enough to add an edge of power, of persuasion to his voice, especially when the target’s will was
wavering. And so he had won Conall’s loyalty.
    ‘You have no regrets leaving your brother, Halion, opposing him?’
    Conall looked surprised and his mouth twisted, a haunted look sweeping his face. ‘No. I am glad to be out from under his shadow. He was turning from me, in deeds if not in words. It was
clear he’d chosen Brenin and flattery over me.’ He grimaced. ‘We all live with the consequences of our choices, eh?’
    ‘That we do,’ Evnis muttered, glancing at an old scar on the palm of his hand, a reminder of a glade in the Darkwood, of a pact made years ago to Asroth, his master, to whom he had
pledged his life, his soul. And Asroth had told him to aid Nathair, of that he was certain. So aid the young King of Tenebral he would. And if somehow that turned out to his benefit, then all the
better.
    Figures burst from an alleyway and Conall half drew his sword, but they were only children, running and laughing as they goaded a skinny hound with a bone.
    ‘Jumping at shadows,’ Evnis said.
    ‘Well, you’re not the most popular man in the fortress right now. Most of Dun Carreg must want you dead,’ Conall said, glaring at the children.
    ‘I’m more concerned over the quality of my enemies than their quantity,’ Evnis murmured, thinking of Owain.
    ‘I’ve heard something similar, though usually from the ladies.’
    Evnis snorted, almost smiled. Laughter rippled through the warriors behind him.
    ‘Enemies in high places. I’ve had that problem myself,’ Conall said.
    ‘Really? And what did you do?’
    ‘I ran away.’
    ‘I see.’ He regarded Conall silently, wondering about his new shieldman’s hidden past. ‘Perhaps I have a less drastic remedy.’
Friends in high places. Or in this
case friend. Nathair
. The young King had come to him asking questions about the Benothi, Dun Carreg’s ancient giant masters and their treasures, and that was a subject that Evnis knew
much about, possibly even more than old Heb or Brina. Evnis had hinted at his knowledge, given snippets of information, whispered promises of more, and it was those promises that he hoped would
keep him alive until Rhin arrived. Nathair would protect him, at