Bloodheir

by Brian Ruckley

  He nodded.

  “I don’t suppose you wanted to be shieldman to a woman, did you?” Anyara asked. “You’re better at doing what is required of you than I am, clearly.”

  “I serve the Blood. I think guarding your back is good service. You and your brother are all we have left.”

  Anyara stared off over the undulating lowlands. Where moments ago she had seen escape in these huge spaces, now she felt small and exposed. It was absurd, unfair, that such burdens should have fallen upon Orisian’s shoulders. Armies moved, Thanes jostled for power, cities burned, and somehow amidst all of that her brother, and she, had become important. The boy and girl who stole bread from the kitchens of Kolglas, chased one another up and down its stairwells, played tricks on Ilain and the other maids: those people were no more, in the eyes of the world.

  Far off to the north, where distance blurred and muted everything, a stain was spreading across the land.

  Like a trickle of dark water, a mass of figures was slowly flowing down the road. Anyara narrowed her eyes. She could make out no detail.

  “Look,” she said.

  Coinach followed her pointing finger.

  “The Bloodheir. It must be.”

  “That or the Black Road,” Anyara muttered.

  The shieldman shook his head once, emphatically. “No. We would have heard long before now if it was them. It must be Aewult.”

  “Either way, it’s not likely to be good tidings. We’d have heard before now if Aewult had won a great victory, too. Wouldn’t we?”

  Coinach did not reply. Anyara was not even sure he had heard her question. He stared out, from that quiet rise of grassy ground, towards the distant, indistinct army moving down the road towards Kolkyre.

  “We should get back to the city,” he said. “Whatever’s happened, now’s not the time to be out here.”

  For an instant Anyara was in the grip of a child’s frustration at being deprived of some treasured possession. She did not want to return to Kolkyre. She wanted to stay here, with the grass and sky and the horses, and recover that brief feeling of freedom. She wanted to know nothing of armies and Bloodheirs and battles won or lost. The feeling subsided as soon as she told herself how foolish it was, but it left traces: a soft sorrow, a fragment of apprehension.

  She turned, heavy-hearted, back towards her horse.

  “Come, then. But we’ll go slowly. I want a little more of this air yet.”

  The mutual loathing that seethed between Aewult nan Haig and Roaric oc Kilkry-Haig was so potent as to be almost visible, like a sickly miasma staining the air. It made Anyara want to turn away or shrink back amongst the small crowd of officials and warriors that had gathered to witness the confrontation.

  Had the two men been lowly townsfolk, confronting one another on the street, their acid tones and blatant contempt would have presaged certain violence.

  Aewult was seated on a wooden bench outside his huge white tent in the midst of his army’s encampment. The Bloodheir’s refusal to enter Kolkyre had unsettled both the city and the Tower of Thrones. For the last day and night Anyara had heard many servants and officials muttering in consternation, asking one another whether Aewult’s rejection of Kilkry hospitality was studied insult, veiled threat or careless oversight. Or, perhaps, admission of shame; for everyone knew, by know, that the Bloodheir had been humbled by the Black Road. The story of the disastrous battle in the snowstorm was on everyone’s lips.

  It was not the state of Aewult’s mind that occupied Anyara’s thoughts, though, but the consequences of his failure; his betrayal, she was inclined to think, whether caused by incompetence or malice. Kolglas was gone, she heard. Drinan overrun by White Owls. Hundreds of Lannis folk dead or captive or unhomed. The battles still to be fought would not even be fought on Lannis ground now. It was too late for that. The Black Road had swallowed up her Blood, in its entirety. And of Orisian there was no word.

  Pennants flew from the poles at each corner of Aewult’s sprawling tent. They cracked in the wind. The heavy canvas walls shook and strained against the pegs and ropes that held them down. Anyara wished she had tied her hair back. It kept straying across her face.

  “I left a thousand men to stand at Hommen,” Aewult nan Haig was saying, “and twice that many stand astride the road between there and here. They will hold our enemy until I have the fresh companies I need. Nothing has been abandoned, Thane, and you’ll not speak such an accusation again in my presence.”

  “What makes you think a thousand men can hold back the Black Road at Hommen when you failed with ten thousand at Glasbridge?” demanded Roaric.

  The Kilkry Thane was a splendid sight. Anyara had never seen such a luxuriant cloak – black velvet and fur, trimmed with gold thread – nor gloves of such fine leather, nor a scabbard so encrusted with silver and gems. For once, Aewult was overshadowed.

  “Taim Narran is there too, with what’s left of Lannis strength,” the Bloodheir snapped. “They need hold only for a few days. Long enough for more companies to come up from the south. Once I’ve made good my losses, we’ll drown the Black Road in its own blood.”

  “I’ve close to five thousand men gathered in the city. I mean to send some of them to Hommen. It’s my town. My border. You cannot forbid that.”

  “I ordered your army disbanded, Thane. I forbade its assembly. Little good that did me! It was not needed, and still it is not needed. This is the army that will break our enemy.” Aewult flung out an arm, clenching his fist as if to take hold of all the men and horses and tents and wagons arrayed around him.

  “This is the host of the True Bloods, and I am its master.”

  “This is a beaten army. That’s all.” Roaric’s voice was rising perilously, punching out against the wind.

  There should be no audience for this meeting, Anyara thought, but Aewult had insisted on receiving Roaric and his entourage in the open. He meant, perhaps, to ensure that everyone saw and heard his resilience, his steadfast determination. Having lost one battle, he was intent on proving that he could still triumph in a contest of wills, even when his opponent was a Thane. It did not bode well for Roaric oc Kilkry-Haig. Anyara wondered if he understood that. She wondered, too, at Aewult’s insistence that she should accompany the Kilkry Thane. That did not bode well, either, but exactly what it foretold, she was not sure.

  “It was not our enemy that defeated this army, but foul weather and foul friends,” rasped Aewult.

  Anyara blinked at that, wondering for a moment whether she had misheard the Bloodheir in the blustering wind. She glanced at Coinach, but her shieldman was glaring at Aewult nan Haig. Looking around, Anyara saw much the same rapt expression on almost every face. In some, it was tinged with hostility or contempt; in others, a harsh approval. Anyara found herself afraid of what might happen.

  There were many armed men here, of both the Haig and Kilkry Bloods, and the pervasive tone of anger and accusation was taking them in its grip. The only people present who seemed to be truly relishing the course of events were Lagair Haldyn and Ishbel. The Steward bore the look a man who thought himself vindicated. Aewult’s graceful lover, standing as close to him as anyone, had an expression of glee, as if the malign energies imbuing the scene filled her with a kind of intoxicated joy.

  “But for the snowstorm, I would have had the victory,” Aewult continued. “And but for Taim Narran’s tardiness, and disobedience, I’d have had it still, no matter what obstacles the sky put in my way.”

  The anger that filled Coinach at her side was all too obvious to Anyara. She shared it, but knew that now was not the moment to let it show. Aewult was goading, goading. Like a man provoking fighting dogs to violence, he would not rest until this contest had been won and lost. His pride required it; nothing less would ease the humiliation he must feel at having failed on the field of battle. We’re all to pay the price for the Bloodheir’s shame, Anyara thought.

  “Your army’s not marching anywhere, Thane,” Aewult muttered. “Not yet. T
here are matters we must discuss, matters the Steward tells me have not been satisfactorily resolved in my absence.”

  Roaric cast a baleful glare in Lagair Haldyn’s direction.

  “It is being dealt with,” the Kilkry Thane growled. “There is nothing to discuss.”

  “I disagree,” Aewult snapped. “I disagree. I am told there has not yet been justice. Punishment. I am told the murderers of Haig men remain free. Therefore there are matters to discuss. Don’t test me, Thane. I will not be tested, and if you insist upon the attempt, you will lose.” Those last words were precise, pointed; each one a finger jabbed at Roaric oc Kilkry-Haig.

  The Thane looked enraged, but somehow he restrained himself. Anyara did not see how he could win this argument. Sooner or later, he must give way to the demands of the Haig Blood. But there was something in Roaric’s nature that rebelled at the thought of bending with the wind. Perhaps he imagined that he could make the world other than it was, rebalance its various powers, by sheer force of will. If so, he was mistaken. Anyara could have told him all he needed to know of the inadequacy of will in the face of obdurate fact. But he would not have listened. She could almost see, in front of her now, any gains won by Ilessa’s calming influence being swept away on the rising tide of Roaric’s anger.

  “Come away,” she whispered to Coinach.

  He hesitated, but she was insistent. “I’ll not listen to this nonsense any more. We’re serving no purpose here except to give Aewult an audience for his play-acting. He won’t even notice I’m gone.”

  They slipped back through the few ranks of onlookers, and retrieved their horses from the care of Aewult’s grooms. They began to pick their way out through the maze of the vast camp that lay like a stain across the ruined fields.

  This was a world unfamiliar to Anyara, and one far more unsettling to her than she had expected. A world of haggard, stubbled men who watched her pass with hungry eyes, of stinks and raucous noise, mangy dogs and dull-eyed horses. She heard soft curses, in distant accents, and ribald laughter. She saw men arguing over a dead goat, and playing dice, and eating mud-like stew from wooden bowls. The smoke of a hundred campfires, whipped along by the gusting wind, needled her eyes.

  A flock of children, filthy and excited, spilled across the path in front of her. They were in their own world of adventure, blind and deaf to the harsh scene all about them. Two of them, wrestling, spilled a pot that had been warming by a fire. They were chased off with a torrent of abuse boiling about their heads.

  “What a place for children,” Anyara murmured to Coinach.

  “They might not have known any other life,” he said. “There are worse ways to grow up.”

  They could see the long line of Kolkyre’s wall, the lean spike of the Tower of Thrones jutting up beyond it like a watchtower of giants. Just this once, the city looked appealing, the wall a comforting promise of seclusion and safety. It was to be denied them, though.

  Aewult’s shieldmen came running down the track, mud spattering their greaves and breastplates. Half a dozen of them blocked Anyara’s way. They stood, she thought, with comical rigidity, like an honour guard arrayed for some grand occasion. Somewhere amongst the tents crowded along the side of the track, someone laughed and mockingly applauded. One of the armoured manikins stepped forwards and grasped the bridle of Anyara’s horse.

  “The Bloodheir requires your—” the man began, peering up from beneath the rim of his polished helm.

  “Release the lady’s horse,” Coinach said levelly, nudging his own mount forwards to loom over the shieldman.

  The man’s mouth gave an irritated twitch, though he continued to watch Anyara rather than Coinach.

  “Your presence is required by the Bloodheir. Turn about, and we will lead you to—”

  Coinach’s horse eased forwards, its chest brushing the warrior away from Anyara.

  “Coinach . . .” she began.

  “You should not address a Thane’s sister with so little regard for her station,” he was saying, loudly but still quite calm. “Nor take hold of her horse without invitation, I think.”

  “Coinach!” she snapped, fearful for him. He looked around at once, attentive.

  “Don’t,” she said.

  He looked a fraction disappointed.

  The two of them turned their horses and headed back into the heart of the great army, escorted by Aewult’s Palace Shield.

  “Perhaps you misunderstood,” Aewult said, smiling. “Were you not told I wished to speak with you, lady?”

  Anyara tried to smile as well, but her lips were stubbornly set in a half-frown. At least Aewult had brought them inside his huge tent, and spared her the misery of a crowd of onlookers. But Roaric was gone, and all his attendants and officials. She and Coinach were alone here now, and she felt as if they had been abandoned amidst enemies. It was foolish, she told herself. However hateful he might be, Aewult would not dare to harm her. The two warriors of his Palace Shield who flanked him looked more like ornament than threat. The one other person present did, however, exude vicious intent: Ishbel, dazzling in a finer dress than any Anyara had ever worn, wore a look of such poisonous hostility that Anyara found it almost laughable.

  “You were bored, were you?” Aewult asked. “By my discussions with the Thane?”

  Anyara shrugged a little, nodded a little. Suitably ambiguous and inoffensive, she hoped.

  “Not the sort of thing likely to entertain ladies, I know,” Aewult said, smirking.

  An oaf, Anyara concluded. She finally managed a smile. Let him think me empty-headed if it pleases him, she thought. He appeared to like his women thus.

  “Well, you’re here now. Were you offered wine? Or some dainties, perhaps? I have cooks who can make pastries even out of mud, you know.”

  “I don’t need anything,” she said as gracefully as she could manage.

  “Very well. I am concerned, Anyara. The Thane has not been able to allay my concerns, but I expected nothing else. You, though . . . I am sure you are of more reasonable character. I am certain of it.

  However, you must be frank with me. Will you be so?”

  “Is there something you wished to ask me, then?”

  “Your tongue seems to have softened a little since we last spoke. That is encouraging. Perhaps it was the wine that spoke then, was it?”

  Had the Bloodheir known what barbs of invective seethed behind Anyara’s clamped lips, clamouring for release, he would not have been so encouraged. But she was determined to maintain a placid demeanour. The days when she could afford to speak without thinking, and without care for the thin skin of others, were gone.

  “Anyway, here is the matter that concerns me.” Aewult leaned forwards in his great chair, resting his elbows on its carved arms. “Your brother seems to have disappeared. And I have heard – this is not something to be repeated in other ears, lady – I have heard that my father’s Chancellor, who followed in your brother’s wake, has suffered a most unfortunate accident.”

  “I am sorry to hear that,” Anyara lied.

  “Indeed. I am sure. As, no doubt, Roaric in his little tower will be when he hears of it. Neither of you as sorry as I am, I suspect. Not, I can assure you, as sorry as my father is going to be when word reaches Vaymouth. And my father’s anger can be a terrible, terrible thing. You understand my difficulty?”

  “I am not sure I do.”

  “Ah. I am told Mordyn Jerain was taken to Highfast, but whether he will live or die I do not know. He was gravely injured, my lady. Gravely injured. Nobody seems to know how or why this has come about.

  Perhaps your brother might be able to shed some light in the shadow. I would ask him if I could. But I am told he is no longer at Highfast. We do not know where he is, and cannot ask him the question. Can we?”

  “I do not know where he is, if that is what you want to ask me,” Anyara murmured. To have this loathsome man scratching at wounds so raw and painful was sickening.

  Aewult’s dissatisfaction wa
s obvious in his face. He sat back in his chair, tapped his heel a few times at the hard earth beneath him. He stared at Anyara, his brow clenched into a frown.

  “She’s lying,” said Ishbel.

  “Don’t you dare . . .” Anyara snapped, all restraint lost and forgotten in that one moment.

  “Quiet! Quiet!” Aewult cried. To Anyara’s relief and bitter pleasure, he turned his ire on Ishbel. “Keep quiet. Don’t interfere in this. It’s not your place.”

  The woman’s face burned, and Anyara saw in that angry glow a promise of lifelong enmity. She did not care; relished the thought, almost.

  “I was not served as well as I thought to be by your esteemed captain Taim Narran, in the battle,”

  Aewult said. “And our cause was not served at all by your absent brother. The High Thane’s Chancellor himself, riding after your brother, has been struck down by some unknown hand. I find myself suspicious; my trust thinning. There are questions here that require answers. Sureties that must be given, I think.”

  “Sureties?”

  “Indeed. You, in fact. If your brother cannot be found, I must invite you to attend upon your High Thane in Vaymouth. To give reassurances and to offer some explanation. There must be some explanation, you understand, for recent events. Good faith must be demonstrated. Loyalty proven.”

  Anyara’s mind was racing. For all that Aewult appeared calm and collected, there was panic in this. He feared the blame, and judgement, and shame, that would come from defeat, and from the loss of the infamous Shadowhand. He was lashing out in all directions, fumbling for others to shield him from it all: condemning Taim Narran, pushing Roaric to utter rebellion or disloyalty, casting the Lannis Blood in the role of traitors or cowards. It was clumsy, blundering, but dangerous too.

  “You cannot refuse,” Aewult said quietly. “You know that, of course. I speak for my father in all things.

  And I wish you kept close to my Blood, lady, henceforth. Until matters become clearer, at least. I have already sent to the Tower of Thrones to have everything you might need brought out. I am sure Roaric will understand that you choose to be the guest of the Haig Blood for a little while.”