Winterbirth (21 page)

There was a young woman there too, perhaps five years older than Anyara. She wore a light vest of delicately wrought chain metal. There was a golden chain about her neck, and thick, glittering rings upon her fingers. Her hair was long and blackly sleek, like strands of spun obsidian. When Anyara looked at her, she saw only a cold, dead arrogance and contempt.

'Welcome,' smiled Kanin. 'I have found a throne, as you see.' He ran his hands through the dark fur beneath him. 'Worth more than the one Croesan sits upon in his castle, I imagine. Had this been my house, I would not have left such booty behind.'

'It is your house, now,' the woman pointed out.

'Indeed. I suppose it must be,' Kanin glanced at Anyara. 'Forgive me. You have not been introduced.

This is my sister, Wain. And Wain, this is Anyara, the daughter of the late lord of Kolglas.'

Wain nan Horin-Gyre inclined her head in mock respect. She was turning one of her rings, round and round on her finger. 'A pleasure,' she said.

Anyara made no response, striving for an air of disdain despite being soaked to the skin and covered in scratches and dirt.

'Do not mind her rudeness, sister,' said the Bloodheir, rising to his feet. 'She has had a trying journey. I don't suppose Inkallim and wood wights make for the kind of travelling companions she is used to.'

That sent a ripple of wry laughs running around the others in the room. Anyara felt hemmed in, beset by a pack of wolves too well-fed to kill her but too enamoured of her suffering to let her go. Fear and anger vied for supremacy within her. Anger won.

'At least I had no choice in keeping their company,' she snapped. 'You have chosen ravens and woodwights as allies, and Tarbains too. Would none of the other Bloods come with you? Horin-Gyre has even fewer friends than I knew.'

Kanin smiled at her. She saw his teeth. 'We have those we need, it seems, to break you. And I've seen no men of Haig on the walls of Croesan's castle; no Kilkry horsemen in your valley. Where are your friends, my lady?'

'Coming,' said Anyara.

'As are ours,' said Wain with the kind of calm certainty Anyara wished she felt herself. 'Gyre will be here before Haig. Do you think us fools, playing at children's games? We have watched you for a long time, child, while the Heart Fever ate up your people, while your warriors were called away by Gryvan oc Haig. We have watched and waited for the right time. This is that time.'

'I do think you fools,' Anyara shouted. 'You'll die here. Whether you fear it or not, death…'

'Not before you,' Wain interrupted her. 'Or your father. Did he fear death?'

'Enough pleasantries,' Kanin said. Anyara's outburst had not unsettled him in the least, although she thought there was an acid edge to Wain's glare. 'I have little stomach for them at the best of times. Our guests had better be shown to their sleeping quarters. The town gaol. I hope you will find it to your liking.'

Guards moved to march the two prisoners out.

'A word to you before you go, halfbreed,' said Kanin, raising an admonitory finger to Inurian, acknowledging his presence for the first time. 'I imagine that you possess some of the little tricks of your kind, though I think Aeglyss once told me that yours is a paltry kind of talent. Still, we will keep guards out of your way, I think, and trust to bars and stone to hold you. Be assured that your young companion will be watched, though. She will die the instant there is any suggestion of trickery. If that happens your own death will be unpleasant. You may become a useful gift to someone one day, but do not make the mistake of thinking I value your life any more than that of a dog.'

'Such a thought would never cross my mind,' murmured Inurian.

'Excellent. Now I am afraid I must send you on your way. Should we meet again, perhaps some time in your uncle's prison cells will have blunted that tongue of yours, Anyara.'

He gave an exaggerated bow in her direction. She took a step backwards, shying away from the gesture, and cursed herself silently for the reaction. She caught a contemptuous curl at the corner of Wain nan Horin-Gyre's mouth as she was ushered out of the room.

Anduran's gaol lay off the long, broad Street of Crafts that passed from the square through the town's northern quarter towards the castle. As she and Inurian were marched towards it, through rain that was now hard and sharp enough to sting her scalp, Anyara stepped over and around the flotsam left in the wake of the town's foundering. As well as the fragments of broken and burned homes, the road was littered with debris dropped by fleeing townsfolk or looting soldiers: here a child's straw dolly, there a single cloth glove, a matron's cap, a baby's shawl. All were sinking, or had been trodden, into rivulets and puddles of dirty water.

The enemy lurked in many of the buildings, sheltering from the rain. Grim, hostile faces regarded Anyara and Inurian from doorways. Once, from the upper floor of one of the houses, someone threw a half-eaten hunk of bread that bounced off Anyara's shoulder. She trudged on.

The gaol had the look and feel of a fortress or barracks in miniature. Anyara and Inurian were led through the gate in the long outer wall. Within, two separate blocks of cells lay on either side. Tight, metal-barred windows fixed the newcomers with a gloomy gaze. Guardrooms and sleeping quarters were attached to each of the blocks, but the house of the head gaoler stood alone. A group of Horin-Gyre warriors had gathered outside it. They were watching as the bodies of two young men were cut down from the makeshift gibbets that flanked the building.

It was a moment or two before Anyara realised that she and Inurian were being separated. Their captors were steering them apart, Anyara towards the cells on the right and Inurian to the left.

'Inurian,' she called.

He was looking at her with something close to anguish upon his face.

'Be strong,' he said. 'It is not over yet.'

Anyara managed a nod, and then someone was pushing her head down and forwards as she was forced through a low doorway and swallowed whole by the gloom of her prison.

Later, cast down upon the hard floor of a narrow cell - the door slammed shut and barred, drops of rain splashing in through the tiny window high in the wall - and with no one there to see, she wept at last.

LHEANOR OC KILKRY-Haig had been arguing with the High Thane's Steward for some time. Lagair Haldyn dar Haig was not the worst Steward Lheanor had been forced to deal with in his time. Since he became Thane of his Blood, there had been three holders of that office, and by the end of his tenure the second - Pallick - had been almost impossible. Even Gryvan oc Haig had eventually accepted that the man's presence in Kolkyre served nobody and had sent him instead to Igryn oc Dargannan-Haig's court.

It was without great surprise that Lheanor later heard that Pallick had been thrown into a gaol cell by Igryn. He sometimes wondered if the man's appointment to the post of Steward in Dargannan lands had not been a deliberate ploy to provoke Igryn to rebellion. Gryvan oc Haig, or his Shadowhand, were certainly not above such manipulations, and although few men could singlehandedly cause a revolt through their obstinacy and arrogance, it was probably not beyond Pallick.

By comparison, Lagair's failings were limited to indolence and an all-encompassing indifference to the concerns of others. It made arguing with him a thankless task. Lheanor was an old man, and he found the effort wearying. He was thankful that his son, the Bloodheir Gerain, was here with him, to share the burden.

'I am not disputing your right to act,' the Steward was saying. For some reason he was not looking at the Thane, or at Gerain, but staring vacantly at the fire burning in the grate. 'I merely insist that you refrain from marching your entire army into the Glas valley until we first have a better idea of what exactly is happening there and second, have word from Vaymouth regarding the High Thane's intent.'

'We already have riders on their way to find out what is happening,' replied the Bloodheir levelly, 'but whatever the details, you cannot deny the need to act. You have seen the same messages we have: more than a hundred people from Kolglas and the villages around there have already crossed our borders.

Others are on their way. Kolglas itself has been attacked, the castle and half the town burned, and Kennet nan Lannis-Haig has been killed. White Owl Kyrinin are looting farms, and Inkallim are loose in Anlane. Inkallim, Steward! If the ravens of the Black Road are fighting pitched battles as far south as Kolglas, how can you doubt that disaster threatens?'

Lagair scratched at the side of his nose, frowning with concentration.

'If there is one thing I have learned in all my years,' the Steward said - and Lheanor groaned inwardly at this repetition of a phrase Lagair used with self-important frequency - 'it is that the obvious conclusions are not always proved correct by subsequent events. I mean, think on it for a moment. Kolglas has been raided, not captured. The entire Battle Inkall numbers no more than a few thousand, to the best of our knowledge, so they can hardly be planning to march all the way to Kolkyre on their own. No, this looks more like a piece of clever hubris, to me. A few Inkallim have somehow managed to sneak to Kolglas, kill the Thane's brother and have now snuck off back to Kan Dredar or wherever they call home. At the same time they've managed to stir up the woodwights, which I freely admit is surprising but hardly a disaster.'

Gerain was hiding it well, but Lheanor could see that his son was only a few minutes away from losing his temper. The Bloodheir had a generally equable temperament - certainly in comparison to his brother Roaric - but was quite capable of the occasional ill-judged outburst. There had probably been enough talking in any case.

'Well, we shall know the truth of all this before too long,' Lheanor said quietly.

The Steward glanced up and gave the Thane a vacant, pointless smile.

'Our finest scouts are on the road even now, and we'll have their reports within a day or so,' Lheanor continued.

'Yes, lord,' agreed Lagair. 'Quite true. A day or two's patience will cost us little.'

'There's a difference between patience and inactivity,' Lheanor said. 'Whatever the uncertainties, I am entitled to do as I see fit to protect my own borders, and to see to the safety of the Lannis Blood as well.

You would not expect me to stand by while another of the True Bloods faces . . . well, whatever they are facing.'

Lagair looked doubtful but held his tongue.

'I will look forward to hearing the High Thane's opinions on the matter - no doubt you already have detailed reports on their way to Vaymouth — but in the meantime, I shall take such action as seems to me wise and prudent. I can assure you,' Lheanor said with studied clarity, 'that I will not go so far as to march my entire army into the Glas valley. You've made it clear you, and therefore Gryvan oc Haig, would disapprove of such a step, and as it would in any case be the act of an idiot, I am happy to promise to refrain from it.'

'Yes, very good,' said Lagair. His expression suggested he put little value on Lheanor's promise.

'Of course,' the Kilkry Thane said, 'if, once we know what is actually happening, it no longer seems idiotic, then I will march my entire army wherever I wish. Since it is, after all, mine. That part of it which the High Thane has left me with, at least.'

After the Steward had gone, Lheanor took a private meal with his son and his wife, Ilessa. They were all subdued and their mood communicated itself to the servants, who stepped lightly around the table and took care to stay out of sight until they were needed.

There were close ties of friendship and history between the Kilkry and Lannis Bloods. Kennet nan Lannis-Haig had been a frequent, and well-liked, visitor to Kolkyre before the Heart Fever. Lheanor had never known him as well as he knew Croesan, but had believed him to be a good and reliable man.

It meant nothing to Lagair Haldyn - and nor would it to the High Thane the Steward served - but for Lheanor and his family, Kennet's death was cause for great sorrow. All the more so if it was truly the work of the hated Bloods of the Black Road .

Gerain was uninterested in his food. He took only a few desultory mouthfuls.

'Will you let me go?' he asked.

Ilessa looked up from her platter to her son, but his gaze was fixed upon Lheanor. For a moment or two, the Thane seemed not to have heard the question. He prodded at the meat in front of him, his brow furrowed.

'How many men do you want to take?' the Thane asked at length.

'Only two or three hundred,' Gerain replied at once. He sounded eager, though he was trying hard to maintain a level tone. 'My own men: none from the border watches or the castles. Just my own company.'

Lheanor sighed and gestured for one of the attendants to remove the unfinished meal before him. He poured himself some wine. A little of it spilled, his hands made slightly unsteady by age.

'Still no word from Roaric,' he murmured. 'We've heard nothing from him for . . . what? Two weeks?'

'Three,' Ilessa said quietly.

'We cannot just sit and wait, no matter how much the Steward may complain,' Gerain said. 'You told him as much yourself, Father. Out of all the Bloods, Lannis is the only one we can truly call our friends.'

'You think I don't know that?' The Thane could not keep irritation out of his voice, but his expression showed that he immediately regretted it. He half-raised a placatory hand. 'What times we live in. Both my sons must go into harm's way? You'll allow me to regret that.'

'They are their father's sons,' said Ilessa. 'That is why they do as they do. When you were Gerain's age you would have been the first to ride out.'

The Thane returned her gentle smile. They had married young, Lheanor and Ilessa, too young almost to understand what they were doing. Neither had ever suffered even a moment's regret. They had grown old together as willingly as any two people ever had.

'I remember well enough,' Lheanor said. His blood had sometimes run hot when he was young. When he was Bloodheir he had been at least as eager, as fired by passion, as Gerain. Looking back from the lofty vantage point of his now advanced years he could not remember when caution - something that could almost be called fear, even - had started to erode that youthful vigour. Perhaps it had been the moment he became Thane.