Aeglyss stopped. He stood there, his head bowed, his hands digging into his shoulders.
'Not just for your sake,' continued Inurian, 'but because of what you might do. It is too late, though.
Your heart, your intent — they're too... damaged. I have known little love in my life, Aeglyss. All our kind learn what it is to be feared, to be turned away. I am sorry for what you have suffered, but the pain need not lead to whatever place it is you have found yourself in. It need not have brought you to this.'
'Help me, then,' said Aeglyss urgently. 'Do not refuse me. Please, you are the only one who could understand. I will give you whatever you want.'
'Is that truly all you have seen in the Shared? Power? A way to bend others to your will?'
'You talk of power as if it is an evil thing. I see a strength that is given to me, but not to others. Only a fool would turn aside from such a boon. What else would you have me see?'
'That all is one. If you use the Shared to harm others, you harm yourself.'
'All is one. All is one! No. I don't think so. All is hate, fear, pain. If others seek to harm me — as they will, as they have always done — would you have me lie still and unprotesting beneath their blows?'
'Then I am sorry. I cannot teach you to see what I see; I cannot heal your wounds. You would not use anything I taught you well.'
Inurian stretched himself out on the floor and shut his eyes. He could feel Aeglyss standing there for a little while, feel the weight of his presence.
'I will wait for you to change your mind, Inurian,' Aeglyss breathed. 'But not for long. Not long.'
Then he left.
Inurian did not sleep for a long time. He lay awake, staring at the wall of his cell. For some reason, out of all that had been said, it was the names Aeglyss had spoken that haunted him the most: Dorthyn, Minon, and Orlane Kingbinder, most fearful of them all. Great powers they had been in their time; true shapers, who moulded the course of the world.
The na'kyrim now were but an echo of what they were when the world was younger, and it had always seemed to Inurian a good thing that it was so. The might of the great na'kyrim of old bred fear and loathing in those, Huanin and Kyrinin alike, who could never hope to understand it. Worse, it had corrupted the na'kyrim themselves, made them drunk with their potency. Many had become the eyes of bloody storms. Such was the company Aeglyss sought to count himself in, and Inurian could almost smell the truth of it. This marred young na'kyrim, burning with anger and pain, would cast a long shadow if he ever came by the power he craved. Inurian felt the awful horrors of history crowding in, clamouring to be unleashed once more upon the world.
He knew what it was to be shunned by all, shut out from both of the worlds from which he sprang. All the peoples of the world were outcasts — all craving other certainties to replace those that had departed with the Gods - but none were so bereft as the na'kyrim, with no places, no kind, no children to belong to. Yet in Kennet nan Lannis-Haig Inurian had found a man who could look upon a na'kyrim and see an equal behind the grey eyes that returned his gaze. He had found a whole family he could love in place of the one he would never have: Kennet and Lairis, whose devotion to one another had warmed all the cold halls of Kolglas; Fariel, wonderful Fariel, who had carried his gifts with a grace that belied his youth; Anyara, who could not hide from Inurian's inner eye the things she concealed so well from others. And Orisian. The boy who grew up in his brother's shadow, only to have his heart broken when it was taken away and he was exposed to the harsh, ferocious light. He had loved every one of them, but Orisian most of all.
And he had failed them, in the end. Lairis and Fariel had been carried off to The Grave, Kennet cut down, going too gladly to his death. Perhaps Orisian still lived - he would surely have known if that one had died - but if he did he was beyond any help Inurian could give for the time being. There was only Anyara now.
Somehow, if he was allowed the life to do it, he must find a way to shield her.
Outside the window of his cell there was the sound of flapping wings. He rose and looked up. He could not reach the window and saw nothing but the night sky. There was the soft, rasping call of a crow.
Inurian smiled sadly and lay down again.
His rest was fitful. The slabs on which he lay were unyielding and the thin blanket could not keep out the cold. What finally roused him was less immediate, less tangible: a calling in his dreams, as if some distant voice was summoning him. He pressed his hands into his eyes as he lay there in the semi-darkness. The feeble first light of dawn coming in through the high window illuminated the cell. There was no sound save the skittering of a rat's claws somewhere out of sight, and the tapping of half-hearted rain on the roof.
He rolled on to one side and sat up. Looking around, his eyes still bleary with sleep, he saw nothing at first. Then the faintest distortion of the air on the far side of the cell caught his attention.
He watched as a shape formed itself out of nothing. It was too tenuous, and the cell too gloomy, for any detail to be visible, but he could tell that it was a female figure that now wavered before him. The rain outside was worsening, its drumming on the roof growing louder.
'I had thought you might be dead,' said Inurian.
'I doubt you thought of me at all,' came the almost vanishingly soft reply, as if from the walls themselves.
Inurian grunted and rubbed at his shoulders.
'And I had not troubled myself to think of you in some time,' continued the female voice, 'until I stumbled across you now.'
'Well, I'm not sorry to see you, Yvane.'
There was the thinnest thread of laughter in the cell for a moment, and then a pause. 'That's kinder than I would have expected.'
Inurian waved a hand irritably, though he knew his visitor could not see him. Not in the way that eyes saw, at least.
'This is not the time to renew old disagreements,' he said. 'You have come looking here because you felt something in the Shared.'
'I know you can't be the source, unless you've changed a good deal since I saw you last.' The question had more than a hint of confrontation in its tone.
'Yvane, Yvane, please. I will not argue with you.'
There was silence, and then the flat reply: 'Very well.'
'There is another here. He is what you have felt. His name is Aeglyss. He is young, very raw, but the Shared runs strong in him. Perhaps more strongly than it has in anyone for years.'
'Does it indeed,' said Yvane. The scepticism in her voice was clear.
'Yes,' insisted Inurian. 'We were arguing. His anger disturbs the Shared. He's filled with hate, with resentment. It's crowded everything else out of him. You know my gifts, and I tell you truly what he is.'
'What's he doing in Kolglas?'
'I'm not in Kolglas,' said Inurian wearily. 'I'm in Anduran. The Black Road has me.'
'The Black Road ? Is Anduran taken?'
'It is close.'
'Hmph. It never ends, does it? Your precious Huanin live for the chance to wade around in one another's blood. How do you come to be in the middle of it? What about that miserable old chiefling who kept you under his roof?'
'Ah, Yvane,' sighed Inurian. 'Please.'
He bowed his head, shorn of all strength. His visitor's image shimmered as if touched by a breeze, though the air was still.
'Are you a prisoner, then?' she asked.
'Yes. Yvane, if I do not come out of this alive, Highfast should know of Aeglyss. Perhaps even Dyrkyrnon: I think he may have lived there for a time. He said they cast him out. If he continues down the path he's following, it might take Highfast or Dyrkyrnon to rein him in.'
There was no reply for a time, then: 'They long for these bloodlettings. Gyre, Haig, Lannis, all of them.
From the crib they dream of vengeance for some crime or other committed in the distant past. Father kills father, and so child must kill child. It never ends. Leave them to their cruel games. Nobody will thank na'kyrim for interfering.'
'Aeglyss has al
ready interfered,' said Inurian, gazing at the floor. 'The Gyre Bloods might think he is their puppet, but I doubt they understand what they're dealing with.'
When Yvane did not reply, Inurian looked up, thinking for a moment that she had left him. The outline of her form was still there, a fragment of cloud glowing palely from within.
'I would... regret it if you died,' she said quietly.
'As would I.'
'Perhaps I should see for myself,' she said. The pale figure began in that moment to fade.
'No,' hissed Inurian, reaching out an arm. 'You'll only alarm him. He's dangerous. Yvane!'
But she was gone, and he was alone again.
He sat without moving for a long time. Then he unpicked the lace from one of his boots, and drew it out.
Closing his eyes, he began to knot it. One small, tight knot after another along its length, pausing over each to savour its shape beneath his fingertips. Outside, dawn was breaking.
* * *
The Horin-Gyre Blood held its council of war in the feasting hall that Croesan oc Lannis-Haig had prepared for Winterbirth. The high-roofed chamber was in disarray. Tables and chairs had been overturned and all its decorations torn down. A single huge table stood in the centre, a dozen or more people gathered around it.
Kanin nan Horin-Gyre was seated in the great carved chair that was to have been Croesan's. His sword lay on the table in front of him. Wain was to his left, his shieldman Igris to his right. Shraeve was there, wearing a cuirass of hardened black leather like the carapace of a martial beetle, and all the captains of the Bloodheir's army. A single Tarbain chieftain, old and haggard in a jacket trimmed with moth-eaten bearskin, occupied one end of the table. He looked as if he might fall asleep at any moment. Aeglyss the na'kyrim sat a little apart from the others, his chair pulled back: he was here only by the indulgence of the Bloodheir's sister and Kanin would not grant him a seat at the table.
'We must make the attempt,' Wain was saying. Her eyes had a fierce intensity and certitude. 'We will not be granted enough time to sit here and wait for the castle to be delivered to us. We must reach out and take it.'
Nobody seemed to be inclined to challenge her judgement, though Kanin knew not everyone here agreed with it. He had his own doubts.
'Is there any fresh word from the scouts this morning?' he asked.
One of the warriors shook his head. 'There are bands of farmers and villagers roaming around beyond Grive and the Dyke, but no sign of any army yet. They will spend a while longer licking the wounds we gave them at Grive.'
'Only until another few thousand Kilkry horsemen turn up,' muttered Wain. 'Then what? We can't fight them with Tarbains and woodwights.'
She cast an angry glance at the Tarbain chieftain at the end of the table. He grinned back at her and said nothing. There were many gaps amidst his teeth.
'We don't know yet how long it will be before help comes to us from the north,' Kanin said. 'Tanwrye has not fallen, and will not do so for days — perhaps weeks - yet. It can't be taken by storm, unless Ragnor oc Gyre changes his mind and sends his whole army to do the deed. The besiegers may be able to spare us a few hundred spears but it will be no more than that, for the time being at least.'
He turned to a small, slender man who sat beside Shraeve.
'Cannek, what do you know of the castle's strength?'
The man looked up. He wore nondescript clothing of hide and soft leather; his face was plain, without distinguishing features. Someone passing him in the street might do so without noticing him, but for the long, sheathed knives that were strapped to each forearm. He was the leader of the dozen Hunt Inkallim who had accompanied the army. The Hunt had its own methods for gathering information, and though Kanin had no wish to know what they were, he was happy to derive whatever benefit he could.
'Well, we cannot be certain, of course,' Cannek said with a faint, disarming smile. 'We have questioned many of the city's inhabitants, but really they are poor material for us to work with. The common folk, you know, rarely pay enough attention to important matters such as food supplies and garrison strengths.'
Kanin nodded with as much patience as he could muster. The Hunt was the least of the three Inkalls that together made up the Children of the Hundred — both Lore and Battle came before it in numbers and seniority - but it had gathered perhaps the darkest tales of all around it. Whatever Cannek might imply, he would not be relying solely on rumours extracted from prisoners. The Hunt had dozens, perhaps hundreds, of ordinary people in their pay throughout the Bloods of the Black Road and, if rumour was to believed, even amongst the so-called True Bloods. If anyone at this gathering would know what lay behind the obstinate walls of Castle Anduran, it would be Cannek.
The Inkallim flicked a stray hair from the back of his hand.
'They are short of food, though,' he said. 'Of that we can be fairly sure. As to numbers, it's a matter for guesswork in the main. Few warriors, we think. But how many men were taken in through the gate in those last hours before it closed? Can't say.'
Kanin frowned, but quickly forced his face to relax. It would not be wise to show displeasure. Falling out with the Hunt Inkall could only create difficulties. Still, he suspected Cannek could be more forthcoming if he wished.
'Perhaps you should execute that Lannis girl under the walls, as you threatened,' mused Cannek.
'That'll achieve nothing,' Kanin said. 'She's more useful alive, for the time being. Since he was not taken at Kolglas' - he glanced at Shraeve, who ignored him - 'we may yet find ourselves dealing with her brother before long. She might have value as a bargaining piece then.'
The slight sound of a chair leg scraping on stone from some little way behind him drew Kanin's attention.
Aeglyss was leaning forward in his chair, as if straining to close the gap between himself and the rest of them. He should have refused Wain's suggestion that the halfbreed attend, but she had been so calmly persuasive he had given in. She persisted in her belief that he might prove to be of some further use, and Kanin had no stronger argument than his dislike of the man to set against that belief.
'It matters little whether there are fifty or five hundred swords to defend the castle walls,' Wain said. 'We have been in the hands of fate since the day we marched out from Hakkan. Why turn aside now?
Whether we succeed or fail we will have lived out the tales told by the Hooded God willingly and with courage.'
She is always so certain, Kanin thought. Always the first to test fate. If all of us could surrender ourselves so willingly to the Road our armies would be an unstoppable flood sweeping away Kilkry, Haig, even the Kingships in the south. If all of us had been as steadfast as Wain, perhaps the Kall would have come years ago.
'There is someone here.'
The words were so unexpected, so disconnected, that at first no one was certain where they had come from. Then, one by one, everyone turned their eyes to Aeglyss. The na'kyrim was sitting erect in his chair, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. He cocked his head to one side as if trying to catch the faintest of whispers. He looked up to the roof beams, around to the furthest corners of the hall.
'An uninvited guest,' he murmured
'What are you talking about?' demanded Kanin.
'Hush,' said Aeglyss.
The Bloodheir's eyes widened and he surged to his feet.
'Do not presume...' he started, but fell silent as the na'kyrim suddenly grimaced and staggered upright himself. A ripple of disquiet ran through the hall. Aeglyss took a couple of steps towards the doorway, his right hand clasped to his temple.
'Looking for me...' he said to himself. It was clear he was barely aware of the presence of Kanin and the others. He halted and suddenly looked at the dais at the end of the hall. He laughed, though it sounded strained. 'How clever, whoever you are. Like smoke ... a woman, if I see you right.'
Following the line of the na'kyrim 's gaze, Kanin saw nothing. The dais was empty, occupied by nothing but dust and the fallen decoration
s of Winterbirth. Igris had risen from his seat and stepped forwards.
The shieldman looked questioningly at the Bloodheir.
'That is an admirable skill,' said Aeglyss as he took a step closer to the dais. 'I would dearly love to know the trick of it, my lady, if we meet some time. But not now, I think. No, whoever you are, I'll not have you looking over my shoulder.'
His hands twitched at his side as if they wanted to reach for whatever he thought he saw on the dais. His shoulders went taut and his jaw locked in concentration and effort.
'Begone,' he spat through gritted teeth. 'Begone.'
'He has lost his mind,' Igris whispered in Kanin's ear. 'Let me kill him.'
Kanin hesitated, minded to grant his shieldman's request but held by a kind of morbid fascination. Before he could speak, Aeglyss gave a sudden cry and slumped to the ground. He lay motionless. There was blood on his face: he had bitten through his lower lip.
Many miles away, amidst ancient ruins high in the snowbound peaks of the Car Criagar, there was the piercing sound of a woman crying out in pain. It lasted for just a second or two and then died, falling away beneath the wind that surged around the mountains.
In the hall in Anduran, Kanin stared at the unconscious form on the floor.
'Extraordinary,' murmured Cannek.
Kanin blinked.
'Take him away,' he said to the nearest of his captains. 'Give him back to his woodwight friends, or leave him in some hovel. I don't care.'
As Aeglyss was dragged out Kanin resumed his seat.
'As my sister was saying . . .'he began.
'I believe the castle can be taken,' Shraeve said quietly.
Kanin looked at her in surprise. She had not spoken since they first entered the hall. He had not expected her to take any great interest in proceedings.
'It may cost you most of what strength you have left, but then if you fail you will have no need of strength,' the Inkallim said. 'And if you succeed . . . well, who knows what may happen after?'
'We are of one mind,' said Wain. Kanin glanced at her and saw how chill was the look she fixed upon Shraeve. The two women did not like one another, Kanin knew. Too much alike to rest easily in each other's company, perhaps. But they were alike in determination, in implacability. If both of them were going to argue for the storming of the castle, Kanin already knew the outcome of this council.
Winterbirth Page 28
