Waves, dragged up by the storm, were slapping at the rowboat's prow. Water sluiced over the sides and around their feet. Spray misted around their heads.
Gasping, spitting salt water from his mouth, Orisian hauled at the oar with all the strength he had left. As they drew clear of Koldihrve he could see, through the teeming rain, the vague shape of Kanin standing impotent and dark over the water, staring out. The Horin-Gyre Thane watched them all the way.
They rode the tide out to the Tal Dyreen ship. The sailors, laughing and shouting excitedly, threw ladders over the side. As they tied ropes about Rothe so that he could be hauled aboard, the huge shieldman fainted away.
Epilogue
I ONCE SAW a fragment of a manuscript, found in the ruins of one of Dun Aygll's palaces. It may be truth, it may not, but this is the meat of what it said:
Minon, who was to be the Torturer, and was to cast a dark shadow across his times, gave no sign of what he was to become in his child-hood. He had woken only dimly to the Shared, had no talents in its use of any substance, and lived a quiet and gentle life in the woods of the Far Dyne hills.
His father was a man of wicked inclinations, though, and from the cottage where he dwelled with his Kyrinin wife and his na'kyrim son, this man went forth at night to practise murder and thievery. In time his deeds cast a shroud of fear upon those parts and an unnamed lord sent his warriors to rid the country of the bandit. They came one eve upon the cottage of Minon's father. The wife they slew before the hearth, the husband in the stable where he kept his horse. Minon put a knife into the heart of one of the attackers before they bore him to the ground.
Then, such was their anger at his slaying of one of their number, the warriors resolved to put Minon to a cruel death. They bestowed upon that child terrible tortures. But in the extremity of his suffering, there arose in Minon an unsuspected power. Fleeing from the pain and horror of his senses, he found some doorway into the deeper reaches of the Shared that until that moment had been hidden from him, and up out of those deep places there flowed an awful, potent river. All the cruelties his captors had practised upon him were then revisited tenfold upon them, for Minon broke his bonds and unveiled a terrible visage.
He alone walked away from that cottage and he left nothing but blood behind him. He went alone into the world and fear and fore-boding ran before him like fell hounds.
from Secret Tales of the Na'kyrim
collected by A'var of Highfast
I
THE HARBOUR OF Kolkyre was thronged with boats great and small. The whole city, and the harbour district in particular, was filled with warriors: not just those of Kilkry but also remnants of the army of Lannis-Haig and advance companies of Ayth, Taral and Haig. There were, as well, hundreds of fugitives from the fighting in the Glas valley. Never in living memory had the city been so overflowing with humanity.
Taim Narran pushed his way through the crowds on the water-front. So great was the press of bodies that he was in danger of losing track of Roaric nan Kilkry-Haig, who was guiding him on his way. Amidst all the grim rumour swirling around Kolkyre, today Roaric was the bearer of only good tidings. The message he brought to Taim in his borrowed chambers in the Tower of Thrones had been so unlooked-for, so joyous, that Taim hardly dared allow his weary heart to believe it.
'Where are they?' Taim shouted above the din.
'At the harbourmaster's house,' came the reply. 'They were on a Tal Dyreen ship that came in an hour ago. They tried for Kolglas, but the captain found out what had happened at Glasbridge from some fishermen and he wouldn't take them up the estuary after that. So he brought them here. They wished to bathe and change their garments before presenting themselves to my father.'
When they came to the house Taim could not contain himself, and brushed past the servant who guarded the door. He cast about, his heart thudding, in search of those he had never thought to see again. In the dining hall he found a stranger group than any he might have imagined. Anyara, the niece of his dead Thane, was at a table with two na'kyrim: one a small, dishevelled old man who looked to be asleep where he sat, the other a woman who turned and fixed him with a penetrating glare. Beyond them, by the fire that roared in the grate, stood two tall Kyrinin - a man and a woman - clad for the forest. They glanced up when he entered and he met their flinty eyes. The woman cast her gaze down again but the man did not, and the ferocious spirals of tattoos upon his face lent his glare a wild edge. Taim found that his voice had fled from his throat.
There were heavy footsteps upon the stairway behind him and Taim turned. Two figures were descending. Rothe Corlyn he knew at once, though his fellow warrior was a changed man: leaner, greyer of face and hair, with one arm bound up in a sling. The shieldman came unsteadily down the stairs, leaning on his companion. It was that companion - a youth, slight of build and tired of countenance — who seized Taim's attention. A youth whose eyes met the old warrior's with a mixture of sadness and resilience, leavened by a spark of recognition. A youth before whom Taim could only fall to one knee and bow his head.
'Orisian,' he said. 'My Thane. My sword, and my life, are yours.'
II
THE NA'KYRIM HAD been upon the Breaking Stone for a full night. Two White Owl warriors sat upon grassy hummocks, watching him. Through their vigil they would neither eat nor sleep nor speak; they would simply wait for the Stone to break the man. They had watched others meet the same end. It seldom took a long time. A mere body could not resist the strength of this boulder, this ancient cage of souls.
Waterskins lay by their sides, along with the fur cloaks they had needed in the coldest depths of the night. Their bows and spears rested against their shoulders. They had barely moved all through the long hours of darkness. The man on the Stone had stirred only briefly in the night, groaning despite the gag that remained in his mouth.
Grey clouds had mustered to stifle the rising sun. The wind fell away. The treetops grew still and a heavy silence descended. The man's blood dried in crusted black rivulets where it had run down from the wounds in his wrists. His head hung forwards. He had not moved now for many hours, but still the Kyrinin watched, their eyes caught upon the hook of his naked form. He looked half-dead already.
A buzzard drifted across the sky. It circled, slipping lower and lower by degrees. At length, it glided in towards the Breaking Stone. One of the watchers stretched a leg out and took his bow in his hand. It was not time for the eaters of the dead yet. The bird gave a couple of flaps with its broad wings and lifted itself upwards again. It circled a few times more and then headed out over the wide expanse of Antyryn Hyr, searching for unguarded prey.
Time passed. The na'kyrim moaned but did not wake.
The day moved sluggishly towards night. The grey light faded until the trees and stones lost their shape and detail. Somewhere far away, an owl was calling. It was answered by another, still more distant, and their duet persisted for long minutes. The clouds began to part and through each break in them, starlight shone. The part-moon appeared, spreading a white glow around itself.
The Breaking Stone was bathed in colourless light. The watching Kyrinin saw that the man on the Stone had raised his head. His eyes were unfocused, as if his gaze was fixed upon something far beyond them.
A convulsion ran through his chest and upper body, pulling his arms against the stakes that pinned them.
His head fell forwards again. The watchers unfolded their fur capes, spread them over their shoulders and waited.
In the coldest hour before dawn, the hour when the world was as close to death as it came, the na'kyrim began to weep. With their night-tuned sight, the Kyrinin could see the tears coursing down his face, the feverish tremors shivering through his frame. Spittle was foaming around the cloth-wrapped stone that blocked his mouth. The White Owls glanced at one another. It would not be long now.
Yet when the muted, half-hearted daybreak came, the na'kyrim still lived. The flow of tears had stopped. He regarded his Kyrinin guards, his eyes b
leak and despairing. The White Owls returned his gaze impassively, unflinching.
By the time the day had turned again, falling back towards night, the na'kyrim had lived longer than any victim of the Breaking Stone in many years. The clouds scattered in the evening and an orange-yellow light fell upon the great boulder and its burden. Death came stalking across the grass, and breathed upon the na'kyrim. Air rattled in his clotted lungs, the muscles in his impaled arms slackened, his head lolled loosely. The two Kyrinin rose and stepped forwards to witness the end.
But the end that was coming was not what they thought. The rattle in the na'kyrim's chest stilled. An immense silence fell, and with it the darkness. Tears once more began to fall, but they were of blood, not water. The gaunt head was slowly raised, as if struggling against some awful weight. As the sun slipped away and shadows massed all around, the na'kyrim opened his bloody eyes and fixed the Kyrinin with a gaze that spoke no longer of despair, but of a terrible, revelatory horror.
From the balcony on the west face of Highfast, Cerys and Amonyn could see the peaks of the Karkyre Mountains starkly silhouetted by the last vestiges of the fire-red dusk. They stood together, wrapped in a single woollen blanket, snow swirling lightly about them. The heat that Amonyn had woven out of the Shared warded both of them against the elements. It was the faltering of that heat, the sudden intrusion of the winter's biting chill, that warned Cerys. In the next moment she had the lurching sense of the world slipping away from her and but for Amonyn's strong arms holding her up she might have fallen.
'Ah,' she breathed as she leaned against him. 'What was that?'
'Something . . . someone . . . changed,' he whispered, and she could hear the sudden strain in his voice.
Tiny tears were beading at the corners of his eyes. 'Such suffering. Such . . . wonder.'
'Elect,' someone was calling from the chamber within. 'Elect, the Dreamer . . .' The man's voice was filled with urgency, with fear. 'The Dreamer . . . weeps.'
In a bedchamber high in the Tower of Thrones , Yvane the na'kyrim woke from sleep with a piercing scream. The crisp white sheets fell from her as she jerked upright, her face slick with sweat. For long moments she sat thus, her hands clawing at the bedclothes. Breath would not come to her and she gasped for air.
The door burst open and a guard rushed in: one of Taim's men, posted outside despite her protestations.
He came to the side of the bed. She turned and stared at him, uncomprehending, still lost in black nightmare.
'I dreamed of darkness,' she said in a cracking, enfeebled voice. 'A man. A terrible, broken man, with nothing but rage in his heart.'
To be continued . . .
Acknowledgements
I AM VERY grateful for the contribution others have made to the creation and publication of this book.
Those I want to thank include:
My agent Sacha Elliot, without whose enthusiasm this might never have happened, and her colleagues Anne Dewe and Tina Betts;
Tim Holman, Darren Nash and Gabriella Nemeth at Orbit, all of whom have made the book better than it would otherwise have been, and Chartwell Illustrators for providing the maps; Steve Griffin and Criana Connal, for sharing the idea that being a writer is a worthwhile ambition; My parents, to acknowledge whose contribution in full would need more pages than are available; And Fleur, who makes no complaint at having to share me with a computer.
Meet the Author
BRIAN RUCKLEY was born and raised in Scotland. After studying at Edinburgh and Stirling Universities, he worked for a series of organizations dealing with environmental, nature conservation, and youth development issues. He lives in Edinburgh. Find out more about him at www.brianruckley.com [http://www.brianruckley.com].
The Passage of Time
The First Age
Began when the Gods made the world and put the One Race in it to inhabit it.
Ended when the One Race rose up against the Gods and was destroyed.
The Second Age
Began when the Gods made the Five Races: Huanin, Kyrinin, Whreinin, Saolin and Anain.
The Huanin and Kyrinin made war upon the Whreinin and destroyed that race, and were thereafter named the Tainted Races for their sin, and forfeited the love of the Gods.
Ended when the Gods departed from the world.
The Third Age
Began with the absence of the Gods, and with chaos.
Year
280 The Adravane and Aygll Kingships arose
398 Marain the Stonemason began the construction of Highfast, at the behest of the Aygll King
451 The Alsire Kingship arose, and the era of the Three Kingships began
775 The three Huanin Kingships united against the Kyrinin clans and the War of the Tainted began
787 Tarcene, the Aygll King, was bound, his mind enslaved, by the na'kyrim Orlane; his own daughter, in despair, killed him
788 Tane, the Kyrinin's Shining City, was captured by the Huanin armies, the Deep Rove was raised by the Anain, and the War of the Tainted ended
792 Morvain's Revolt, a rising against the faltering Aygll Kingship, culminated in a failed siege of Highfast
793 The last Aygll monarch--Lerr, the Boy King--was slain at In'Vay, and the era of the Three Kingships ended; Aygll lands descended into chaos and the Storm Years began
847 The Bloods--Kilkry, Haig, Gyre, Ayth and Taral--were founded in Aygll lands, and Kulkain oc Kilkry became the first Thane of Thanes; the end of the Storm Years
849 Kulkain oc Kilkry bade Lorryn the na'kyrim establish at Highfast a library for the preservation of learning and knowledge
852 The last Alsire King was slain, and the first King of the Dornach line took his throne in Evaness
922 The Black Road heresy arose in Kilvale; Amanath the Fisherwoman, its originator, was executed and the creed outlawed by the Bloods
939 Avann oc Gyre-Kilkry, Thane of the Gyre Blood, adopted the creed of the Black Road
940 Civil war broke out amongst the Kilkry Bloods, between the adherents of the Black Road and those opposed to the creed
942 Following their defeat in battle at Kan Avor, the Gyre Blood and all adherents of the Black Road were exiled beyond the Vale of Stones, and founded there the Bloods of the Black Road: Gyre, Horin, Gaven, Wyn and Fane
945 The Lore and Battle Inkalls were founded by the Bloods of the Black Road
948 The last attempt by the Kilkry Bloods to crush the fledgling Bloods of the Black Road in the north ended in failure; their armies retired south of the Vale of Stones and the fortification of Tanwrye began
959 The Hunt Inkall was founded by the Bloods of the Black Road
973 The Lannis Blood was founded, in reward for Sirian Lannis dar Kilkry's defeat of the invading forces of the Black Road at Kolglas
997 Haig replaced Kilkry as first amongst the True Bloods
1052 The Dargannan Blood was founded
1069 The Lannis-Haig Blood defeated Horin-Gyre in the Battle of the Stone Vale, near Tanwrye
1070 Tavan oc Lannis-Haig died, and his son Croesan succeeded him as Thane of the Lannis Blood
1097 The Lannis-Haig Blood was afflicted by the Heart Fever, which killed almost one in six
1102 The Dargannan Blood rebelled against the authority of Haig, and Gryvan oc Haig, Thane of Thanes, summoned the armies of the True Bloods to march against them
Table of Contents
Winterbirth
Contents
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Preface
Prologue
I The Third Age: Year 942
II The Third Age: Year 1087
Chapter 1
The Third Age: Year 1102
I
II
III
IV
V
Chapter 2
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
Chapter 3
I
II
II
I
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
Chapter 4
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
Chapter 5
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
Epilogue
I
II
Meet the Author
The Passage of Time
Winterbirth Page 55
