Winterbirth (28 page)

'What do you want?'

'So sharp. Gaol does not agree with you, perhaps?' Wain reached out and seized Anyara's wrist, making a show of examining her palms and fingers.

'You are a soft little thing, aren't you?' she mused. 'You would not last one winter in the north. Soft women make soft men, it would seem, since your Blood is so easily defeated.'

Anyara wrenched her hand away and glared at Wain.

'We are not beaten yet. Croesan will have Kanin's head and yours before he's done.'

Wain laughed. She ran her fingers over the gold chain at her neck.

'Your concern for our heads is touching,' she said, 'but I do not fear what will come to pass. The Hooded God read the tale of my life in his book on the day of my birth; its ending was fixed at that moment. My feet are on the Black Road and no wish of yours will change its course. Anyway, I think it is your death that is written for this time and place, not mine. I came to tell you that we have sent message arrows into the castle. We told your uncle that we have you, and that he must treat with us or see you skinned beneath his walls.' She paused as if to observe Anyara's reaction, but seeing none she carried on.

'What do you think? How soft have the men of Lannis-Haig become?'

'Not soft at all,' said Anyara, hoping that she kept her fear out of her voice. She had known this was how it might go - why else would they have kept her alive except for a game such as this? - but the thought was one she had almost managed to keep at bay so far. There was always hope, she told herself with little conviction. Only the adherents of the Black Road believed that events could follow but a single course.

'Well, you might be right,' Wain said. 'A pity for you. At least you can rest assured that Croesan will be following you into the darkness. Your precious Thane in his castle will not last long. This land will be ours once again.'

'It was never yours. You must mean that it will be Gyre's. The Horin family was nothing but thugs in Glasbridge before you fled into the north, I heard. At least the Gyre line springs from true Thanes, even if they lost the right to the title when they…'

Wain took a sudden step forwards and Anyara retreated, expecting a blow to come. Wain flexed her right hand, perhaps imagining what damage the heavy rings that adorned it might do. She seemed to think better of it, and laughed instead. She began to turn one of those rings around her finger thoughtfully.

'A little spirit left, then,' she said. 'It is true that Ragnor oc Gyre will rule here, but it will be my Blood, my brother, that returns his throne to him. But a throne is only the means, not the end. That is what you cannot see. We will rule only to spread the light of the true creed. When that light shines in every heart, then the Gods will return to us.'

'You're getting carried away. You can go no further while Anduran stands. And Tanwrye cannot have fallen yet.' Anyara saw the truth of it in the other's eyes. She saw danger there as well and did not press the point.

'Such confidence,' Wain smiled. 'Such arrogance, that you think even the strongest walls can stand if it is written that they should crumble. You think all your hope, all the striving in this fallen world makes any difference to the tide of fate? That is the kind of pride the Gods require us to set aside before they will return. The Black Road exists to teach us humility. If our ancestors had possessed more of it, the Gods would never have departed.'

She came forwards again, and Anyara fell back until she was pressed against the wall. Wain pinned her arms against the cold stone. Anyara felt an awful strength in the other woman; not just in the iron-hard grip of her hands but in the icy stillness of her eyes. She wondered what Wain was doing here. It could not just be a desire to frighten her or mock her. Perhaps it was just curiosity to see how this soft girl from Kolglas withstood captivity, or the desire to test the strength of her belief against Anyara's denial.

'The Black Road will triumph,' the Bloodheir's sister said, 'because it is truth, and until it rules the Gods will not return and the world will not be renewed. You and all your kind have nothing to set against that, and therefore you will fall.'

Abruptly, she released Anyara and turned her back on her. She left without another word. Anyara massaged her upper arms where Wain had gripped her. There would be bruises there, she knew. That was the least of her worries. No word would come from her uncle to spare her the attentions of the Horin-Gyre executioners. It could not, for her life was nothing weighed against that of the Blood itself.

* * *

There was no sickness in the castle yet. For that at least, the besieged could be thankful. But there was little food, either. The blow had fallen with so little warning that there had not been time to bring many supplies in from the great barns of Anduran. If no more than the castle's normal population needed to be fed, their stores would have lasted for some weeks; twice as many again had poured in as the enemy drew near. In the courtyard, the stables, the great rooms of the keep, people huddled together around whatever few possessions they had managed to salvage. Mothers fed their babies at the breast in the passageways. Rations of food were kept meagre to eke out the stores. Hungry children cried, tempers ran a knife edge.

Only at the very end, when the Horin-Gyre vanguard was over the walls and inside the town, had the castle gates been closed. Then, Croesan had thought there could be no more bitter sound in the world than the desperate voices of those left outside.

Hope had stumbled a little in the Thane's breast, this last day. If help was to come from Kolglas or Glasbridge it should have arrived by now, and in truth he was not sure how much they could offer anyway. Taim Narran had taken most of their fighting men south with him. The best, and greater, part of the forces left to Lannis-Haig had been on the northern border and must now be trapped in Tanwrye.

The real chance of aid was from Kolkyre, and the old Thane Lheanor oc Kilkry-Haig. He would come if he could, Croesan knew. Kilkry and Lannis had been closely bound since the very day Sirian was made into a Thane. It was all a question of time. The Black Road army that held Anduran in its grip did not have the siege engines to breach the castle gate or walls; such machines could never have been transported down through Anlane. If help came before they could be built, and before the castle's food supplies were exhausted, there would yet be a reckoning with the enemy outside the gate.

The seal of Lannis-Haig was about the Thane's neck. He lifted it in his hand. It bore the image of Castle Kolglas, the wellspring of his Blood. He wondered if his brother was dead, as the message from Kanin nan Horin-Gyre had claimed. It might be so. The fact that Kennet had not yet come to Anduran could only mean that something had prevented him, and it was hard to imagine how the enemy could have taken Anyara - as they also claimed in that arrow-borne message — except over her father's body.

Croesan let the seal fall back against his chest and looked around. The audience chamber had never been more finely decorated. Golden ribbons were strung from the throne up to fans of polished boar spears that glinted on the walls. Wreaths of greenery were hung with the banners of Anduran, Kolglas, Glasbridge, Targlas and Tanwrye, the five towns of the Blood. A red carpet, trimmed with gold, ran the length of the chamber.

It had been in this room that the seal was first placed around Croesan's neck. His father had been dead no more than a few hours, laid low by a fever only months after coming unscathed out of the Battle of Stone Vale. Now three more generations of the Lannis line stood in the magnificent chamber. Croesan looked upon Naradin and Eilan, the latter cradling their baby son in her arms. Husband and wife were dressed in plain white robes that brushed the floor. The baby was wrapped in a cream-coloured sheet.

Behind them was gathered a solemn group of officials and castle officers. It was a smaller gathering than the occasion warranted. In more normal times, every family of substance throughout the Thane's lands would have been represented here to witness what was about to happen.

To one side, close by the Thane, a silver bowl filled with water rested on an oaken stand. Athol Kintyne, the Master Oathman of the Lannis-Haig Blood, waited before it. His grey hair and beard, his stooped shoulders and his skin like well-worn hide bestowed an aura of aged wisdom upon him. His duties, shared with the dozen Oathmen who served him, lay at the heart of the Blood's life and history. One of those duties was the Naming of infants. That Naming most often took place at the end of the first three months of life. For reasons nobody felt the need to question, the Thane's grandson was to receive his name before he was even one month old.

'We should begin,' murmured Croesan.

Naradin and Eilan came forwards. They stopped by the silver bowl and bowed their heads to the Master Oathman.

'Who is the child?' asked Athol.

It was Eilan who gave the reply. 'He is the son of Eilan, daughter of Clachan and Dimayne, and he is the son of Naradin, son of Croesan and Liann.'

Athol nodded. 'Wash him,' he said.

Naradin and Eilan together removed the sheet from the baby and lowered him into the water in the bowl.

They handled him carefully. He made no complaint while Naradin held him and Eilan lifted water in her cupped hands and spilled it over his head. Naradin lifted him out again, and Athol proffered a new, immaculate sheet of purest white satin in which he was wrapped.

'Who is the child?' asked the Oathman again.

There was the slightest of hesitations before Eilan replied, in a clear and strong voice. 'He is Croesan nan Lannis-Haig.'

Naradin glanced across to his father. There was a sad smile on the older man's face. He had not known of this. He blinked. His eyes had taken on a watery sheen.

Athol stepped forwards and tied a fragile strand of cloth about the infant's wrist.

'Croesan nan Lannis-Haig, son of Naradin and Eilan, be welcome amongst us. Bear your name with honour.'

There was a ripple of soft approval and congratulation from the onlookers as the Master Oathman straightened and smiled at the mother and father. 'A well-chosen name,' he said.

'We think so,' smiled Eilan.

'There is one other thing,' said Naradin. He turned to his father. 'Thane, it is my wish to stand in place of my son and to take the bloodoath on his behalf.'

Croesan raised his eyebrows. 'It is unusual . . .' He looked to Athol.

'But possible, of course,' the Oathman confirmed. 'It is permitted for one to stand in another's place in some circumstances.' He paused for a moment, a trace of uncertainty crossing his face. 'If... if there is the likelihood of death before they are of an age to do it for themselves.'

Eilan was stroking the baby's face. She bent over him as if he was all that there was in the world. 'Our son has a name,' she said, without looking up, 'but that is not enough for the grandson of a Thane in such times as these. It would not be fitting should he die with a name, but without a master.'

Croesan sighed. His mouth trembled, and for a moment it seemed that he might not be able to speak.

'Very well,' he said thickly. 'There is no need, since no harm will come to the child, but it is a choice for the parents. Athol, you will accept the Bloodoath from my grandson. Naradin shall stand on his behalf.'

'Place the child on the floor, Bloodheir, and kneel at his side,' Athol said.

Naradin did as he was told. The white sheet shone against the dark red carpet. The Thane pressed his lips tight together and turned away, fighting in that moment to calm powerful emotions. The baby was making small, inarticulate sounds. His minuscule hands pawed the air as if he strove to grasp some drifting motes that only he could see.

Athol stepped forwards, interposing himself between the Thane and Naradin. He spoke in a deep, impersonal voice.

'In the name of Sirian and Powll, Anvar and Gahan and Tavan, the Thanes who have been; of Croesan oc Lannis-Haig, the Thane who is now; and of the Thanes yet to come, I command you all to hear the Bloodoath taken. I am Thane and Blood, past and future, and this life will be bound to mine. I command you all to mark it.'

He reached out an open hand to Naradin. 'Have you the blade?' he asked. Wordlessly, Naradin withdrew from a sheath at his belt a short, flat-bladed knife with a handle carved of antler. He laid it hilt first in the Oathman's palm. Athol held the knife up and examined it.

'The blade is fresh-forged? Unbloodied? Unmarked?' he asked, and Naradin avowed it was.

'By what right do you speak for the oathtaker?' Athol asked.

'He is my son', replied Naradin.

'It is fitting.' Athol went down on one knee beside the baby. He held the knife poised by little Croesan's chubby arm.

'You will give of your blood to seal this oath?' Athol asked.

'I will,' said Naradin on behalf of his child.

'By this oath your life is bound to mine,' the Oathman intoned. 'The word of the Thane of Lannis-Haig is your law and rule, as the word of father is to a child. Your life is the life of the Blood Lannis-Haig.'

He laid a tiny cut into the skin of the baby's arm. A bead of blood formed. An expression of offended puzzlement appeared on little Croesan's face. He made a coughing noise that threatened to develop into sobs. Athol caught a fraction of the blood upon the very tip of the oathknife. With his thumb he began to rub the liquid into the blade.

'You pledge your life to the Lannis-Haig Blood?' asked Athol, and Naradin agreed softly.

'You bend your knee to the Thane, who is the Lannis-Haig Blood?'

'Yes,' Naradin said.

'None may come between you and this oath,' said Athol sternly. 'By this oath you set aside all other allegiances. The Blood shall sustain you and bear you up. You shall sustain the Blood. Speak your oath.'

Naradin took a deep breath and said, 'I speak in the name of Croesan nan Lannis-Haig, son of Naradin and Eilan. By my blood I pledge my life to Lannis-Haig. The word of the Thane is my law and rule; it is the root and staff of my life. The enemy of the Blood is my enemy. My enemy is the enemy of the Blood.