Valor (The Faithful and the Fallen, #2)

by John Gwynne

‘A man with revenge in his heart should dig two graves, my old mam used to say to me.’

‘You’re lucky I arrived when I did,’ he said. ‘She is worth more than your life to my King.’ He took a step away from Conall, looked closely at Cywen, who had blood trickling from her nose and mouth. He frowned. ‘Are you all right?’ ‘Gave as good as I got,’ she mumbled. The giant laughed.

‘Not that it seemed to bother you,’ Tahir added. ‘You’ve managed to sleep through most of their hammering.’ ‘I was just resting my eyes,’ Maquin said. ‘Wish you’d have rested my ears–your snoring’s been loud enough to wake the dead.’

Come then, Death, take me across your bridge of swords, but know this: I won’t be coming alone.

Will death follow us wherever we go?

She flashed him a smile at that, a rare sight from her. It scattered his thoughts for a moment.

‘I see. Well, before this conversation takes us into unpleasant waters, let me give you my news.

‘Time will be the judge of that,’ Rhin said. ‘You look tired, kinsman. Age knocking at your door?’ ‘I’m not the only one getting older,’ Eremon called back. ‘Your face looks like my arse–saggy and creased.’

He felt a pressure in his chest, the flush of tears rising to his eyes. Strange how a memory can do that to you, he thought, catch you unawares, like

‘Memory is a double-edged sword, Uthas. It can keep you strong through dark times, but it can also cripple you, keep you locked in a moment that no longer exists.’

‘Good t’see you, Cam, you traitorous runt.’ ‘Always knew you couldn’t shoot an arrow worth a damn,’ Camlin shouted. ‘Be fair now–I’m sliding down a mountain.’