He and his sister went out into the courtyard. Night was coming on fast, and the temperature had fallen. The clouds of earlier had dissipated, unveiling a sky in which countless faint stars were already glimmering. Soon, that moon would turn, and winter would be born. Brother and sister stood in the centre of the yard, gazing upward. Anyara soon lost interest.
'How was Anduran, then?' she asked, rubbing her arms against the cold.
'Thriving,' said Orisian. 'Uncle Croesan is full of plans.'
'As always.'
'He's built a great hall on the square and new barns near the castle. All the forests to the south are being cleared for farmsteads and grazing lands. Everyone is busy.'
"Well, it's not before time. The Fever's long gone,' said Anyara in a matter-of-fact tone, as if she had never been touched by it. Orisian had not forgotten how it felt, when his sister lay at the very brink of death, to think that he was going to lose her as well. Perhaps it had been easier, in a way, to pass those long, terrible days inside delirium than to watch it from without.
Anyara sniffed. 'It's cold out here. Are you hungry?'
'A little.'
Anyara pulled him along by the arm.
'Let's go to the kitchens, see what's cooking.'
'Anyara,' protested Orisian, 'we'll only get in trouble.'
'Old woman!' grinned his sister.
The kitchens filled most of the ground floor of the keep. They were, as always at this time in the evening, a hive of activity. Young boys carried pots and pans from table to stove and back again, while cooks chopped and stirred, pounded and chattered in a frenzy of organised chaos. A row of fat forest grouse were hanging from hooks along one of the roof beams. On one of the tables, a dozen loaves stood cooling, filling the air with their delicious aroma. At first no one seemed to notice that Orisian and Anyara had arrived. A moment later Etha the head cook was hobbling over, wiping her hands on her apron. She was a small, ageing woman, whose joints were seizing up and giving her a clumsy stride as time went by. Her spirit, however, was uncowed by such assaults. She clapped Orisian on the arm with a crooked hand.
'Back at last,' she said. 'Just in time, too. It'll be a fine feast this year. Wouldn't do to miss it.'
'I wouldn't want to,' he said seriously, and waved at the black-feathered birds above their heads. 'Looks like we'll be eating well.'
'Yes, yes. And plenty more.'
She was interrupted by an angry shout from behind her. Anyara darted past, juggling a still-hot loaf of bread from hand to hand. One of the other cooks was waving a soup ladle after her, flicking thick drops of broth in all directions.
'Why, that girl,' muttered Etha. 'Still acting the child.' She turned on Orisian and poked a stiff finger into his chest. 'And you, young man. A year or two younger, but no better excuse than she. You've not been back a day and already the pair of you acting like a brace of thieves!'
Orisian retreated, trying to look abashed. He found Anyara sitting outside, chuckling to herself and tearing off chunks of bread. He joined her, and they devoured half the loaf in silence. It was warm and comforting and tasted wonderful. They chatted for a while, almost shivering in the night air. They could have been children once more, teasing one another and whispering together as their breath formed little plumes of mist between them. Then one of the kitchen boys came out into the yard, banging a big copper pot with a spoon to signal that the night's meal was ready, and they joined the soldiers and stablehands, maids and servants filing into the common hall.
Beyond the walls, the tide had come in. The waves, dusted with moonlight, closed over the causeway, and the castle was alone on its isle of rock.
III
GRYVAN OC HAIG, High Thane of the Haig Bloods, was roused from a shallow, fitful slumber by his footman's voice. He rolled over and shielded his eyes from the light of the oil lamp the man carried.
'A messenger, my lord,' said the footman, 'from the fort.'
Gryvan pressed finger and thumb into his eyes.
'What's the hour?' he asked.
'Three from dawn, my lord.'
The Thane of Thanes grunted and sat up. He moistened his lips, finding his mouth dry and stale from the wine he had drunk the night before.
'Fetch me some water,' he said.
His attendant turned and went out of the great tent. The light went with him. For a moment Gryvan sat with his eyes closed, listening to the heavy shifting of the canvas in the night breeze. He felt himself slipping back towards sleep. In the darkness he wrapped his sheet about him and rose, a little unsteadily, to his feet. He was standing thus when the footman returned, seeming more nervous than he had before; knowing, perhaps, that he would have done better to leave the lamp. He held out a tankard of water. Gryvan drained it.
'Give me my cloak,' he said.
The footman hurried to gather the thick fur cape from where it lay by the High Thane's mattress. They were high in the mountains here in Dargannan-Haig lands, and the altitude lent the autumn nights a cold edge even this far south. Gryvan settled the cloak on his shoulders. He took its gold-trimmed edges in his hands and crossed his arms. A brief, involuntary shiver ran through him and he puffed out his cheeks. Feeling clumsy, he hauled on his boots. Their leather was cold and stiff.
'So, where is this messenger?'
'He waits outside your council tent.'
'Light my way, then.'
Hann nodded and Gryvan followed him out on to the hillside.
The High Thane shivered again as if to shake off the weight of sleep. When he had been young, sleep had fallen easily from him. In his sixth decade it seemed to settle ever deeper into his bones. Cold nights far from the comforts of his court taxed him.
The small fires of his army dotted the rocky slopes around him. Faint voices rose here and there from amongst the host of tents. He glanced up at the dark outline of the besieged An Caman fort far above. There were few lights there.
Outside the council tent, flanking the opening, two torches stood in tall metal holders, their flames snapping to and fro in the wind. Guards stood beside them, erect and alert though they were deep into their watches. Kale, Master of the High Thane's Shield, was there too, and a tall, dark-haired man who must be the messenger. Gryvan ignored them as he went inside. He settled himself into a high-backed wooden chair.
'Bring them in, then,' he said to his footman.
Kale was first to enter, looking gaunt in the flickering light. His features could have been cut from the granitic hills of Ayth-Haig. Behind him came the messenger: a young man, Gryvan could see now, perhaps no more than twenty-five. The red badge on his breast -- a sword and spear crossed -- marked him as a mercenary out of the Dornach Kingship.
Gryvan scratched his chin and yawned. The messenger stood before him, some uncertainty betraying itself in the darting movement of his eyes. Kale, as always, was a model of silent, still observation.
'So,' said Gryvan, 'you've brought me from my bed, when my old limbs crave rest. The urgency must be great, the import of your message truly overwhelming. Let me hear it.'
The mercenary ducked his head a fraction. 'I am Jain T'erin, captain of one hundred men of Dornach. I speak for them alone, and am here without the knowledge of the Dargannan men in the fort.'
'Dargannan-Haig,' corrected Gryvan smoothly. 'They owe me obeisance still, even if they have forgotten it.'
'As you say. They fight for their reasons, my men and I for ours. We have held the fort against you for three weeks, and might do so for another three, but it seems a needless fight. Your armies to the south seek the Dargannan-Haig Thane, and though he is kept from the coast for the time being, he may yet slip away across the water. You would no doubt prefer the men you have encamped here to join the hunt. Our interests may both be served by an understanding?'
Gryvan raised his eyebrows. 'So you seek what? Safe passage back to your own lands? Or to exchange Dargannan-Haig gold for mine?'
Jain T'erin smiled slightly, the nervousness all but gone f
rom him now.
'If I have your word on the safety of my men in what would follow, I will deliver the fort to you. After that, we would take service with you if that was your wish. Or return to our homeland.'
'Igryn's judgement was ever poor. He cannot even buy loyalty, it seems.' Gryvan regarded the messenger for a moment. 'You are young to lead a warrior band. Old enough, at least, to see how this battle must fall out, and old enough to try to bring your men safe out of it. There is some courage in venturing out to stand before me, I suppose.'
The High Thane closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he fixed T'erin with a cold glare, his face now stern.
'I will tell you my answer,' said Gryvan. 'You took the coin of my enemy and your men stand alongside his behind walls I have sworn to bring down. Igryn oc Dargannan-Haig mistook himself when he disavowed his oath to me and sought to set aside the obligations his Blood owes mine. He kept for himself taxes that are rightfully mine, for no better reason than greed. He gives sanctuary to pirates and brigands who prey upon the merchants of Vaymouth and Tal Dyre, and the goods they have stolen find their way into his treasury. And when I demand recompense, he imprisons my Steward and denies my authority. The gold Igryn has bought you and your warriors with is mine, little whoresoldier.
'Whatever cave or hovel he is hiding in, my armies will have him soon and he will learn the price of betrayal. As will all who stand against me. Not one stone of the fort above us here will stand. Not one of those within its walls will see another dawn after I have torn them down, and you will be brought before me with your hands struck off and your eyes put out. I will gut you myself and send your head back to your kingling in Dornach.'
'But . . .' stammered T'erin, 'I will give you An Caman. You need spend no more of your people's blood upon it . . .'
Gryvan laughed harshly.
'You think a High Thane is so feeble a thing, so fearful or soft, that the sight of blood would concern him? Has Dornach forgotten so easily the mettle of the True Bloods? If I have to swim through the spilled blood of my own men to do it, I will see every living thing within those walls dead and laid out at my feet. Go back and tell your people they can expect nothing from me but a swift journey to the Sleeping Dark.'
The mercenary held out his hands and started to speak. Before he could do so, Kale seized his arms and pushed him from the tent. The High Thane sighed and sank a little deeper into his chair as his bodyguard returned. He sent the footman away with a flick of his wrist.
Gryvan beckoned Kale closer and the warrior stepped forwards, inclining his head a touch that he might hear the Thane's soft-spoken words.
'Our friend from Dornach is unfortunate to find himself in a more tightly woven web than he knew. In other times his would have been a welcome offer, but Dargannan is not the only Blood with lessons to learn. I am not done with Kilkry and Lannis. I will see their strength spent and broken on these slopes yet.'
'That strength is all but gone, my lord,' said Kale. 'They sent two thousand men apiece to campaign with you. Less than half that number could now take the field.'
'Still, that is more than I will send back to them. They may conceal them better than Igryn, but their instincts are still those of rebels.'
The Thane pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes.
'Ah, Kale,' he said, 'my bones are too old for plotting in the depth of the night. I long to be back in Vaymouth. It's been too long this time.'
'Your bones are not so old,' said his bodyguard unsmilingly, 'and to be always plotting is the fate of the Thane of all the Bloods. Igryn is almost finished. He cannot hide forever. We could be back in Vaymouth in a month, I think.'
Gryvan yawned, putting his hand to Kale's shoulder for a moment.
'No doubt,' he said. 'Well, I'll not sleep again now I've been woken. Slumber's an unreliable companion as the years go by: irresistible when you're in its embrace, then irrecoverable when you're parted from it for a while. Send for our loyal northern captains, and have someone bring me clothes more fitting to receive them in.'
Kale gave a shallow bow as he backed away, then turned and passed out into the night.
Taim Narran dar Lannis-Haig, captain of Castle Anduran, was ushered into the council tent by Kale. The two exchanged a loveless glance. Close behind him came Roaric nan Kilkry-Haig, the younger son of Lheanor, Thane of the Kilkry Blood. Gryvan awaited them on his wooden throne, now wearing a fine ceremonial cape and with his sheathed sword across his knees. On either side of him stood Shield guards, resplendent in formal dress as they stared ahead.
'A cold night to be making plans,' said Gryvan, 'but war makes harsh demands upon us all.'
Taim said nothing. Roaric shifted uncomfortably at his side.
'Too cold for pleasantries, I see. So,' continued the High Thane, 'when light returns, we attempt the walls again. Your companies shall lead the assault.'
Taim lowered his eyes, his teeth clenched and his knuckles showing white as he gripped the hilt of his sword. The faintest of winces crossed his face as he heard Roaric draw breath at his side. Taim knew only too well how loosely Lheanor's son held his temper when it stirred within him. The younger man let anger colour his voice as he spoke.
'My father gave me two thousand of our finest men to bring in answer to your summons to war,' Roaric said, 'and hundreds of them have surrendered their lives in your cause. More than half a thousand dead from plagues and fevers or on the battlefield, the same again unable to rise from their sleeping mats. In every battle, and now in every attempt upon the walls of this petty castle, it is Kilkry and Lannis that must be to the fore. Am I to leave every one of my men dead in these hills? When will the other Bloods lead the charge?'
'The hunger for glory of our northern brothers is not what it once was, I see,' said the High Thane in a level voice.
Roaric started to reply. Gryvan cut him off. 'You should choose your words with more care when addressing your High Thane. It is a long time since yours was first amongst the Bloods. Your father took an oath to me, as did Croesan, the master of our friend Taim here. You stand now under that oath. You are young, and for the sake of your father I will overlook it, but you speak poorly when you call this my cause. It is in the cause of all the Bloods and all the Thanes that one who forgets his duties, as Igryn oc Dargannan-Haig has done, must be brought to heel. There can be no order if such as he go unrestrained. You do not desire chaos, I assume?'
There was a flush of colour in Roaric's cheeks and his eyes showed a wildness for an instant before he mastered himself. 'We have not the engines to break An Caman,' he said tightly.
Gryvan gave a half-laugh. 'This is no Highfast, to shatter armies upon its walls. It is fit only to frighten bandits and robbers. You have scaling ladders, and the courage of your men: take an arm's width of the battlements and the army will be a flood following in your wake.' He turned to Taim Narran. 'And does our captain of Lannis-Haig share your fears?'
Taim looked up. His face bore deeper lines and darker shades than did Roaric's. His short hair was fading to grey from the black of its forgotten youth. Nothing about his expression betrayed his thoughts save for his eyes. There was a measured, deep-rooted strength about them as he met the High Thane's gaze.
'Neither I nor any of my men fear to die,' he said, 'though I, and they, would rather have a better reason to greet the Sleeping Dark. They lack the stores within the fort to last another month, and if we waited they would come out of their own accord. Igryn himself is beaten, a fugitive with only the mountains themselves to keep him from capture. You have half a dozen companies out hunting him in the mountains south of here. He will be yours in a day, or a week, and then again this fastness will mean nothing.'
Gryvan oc Haig spoke slowly and clearly.
'Perhaps you speak the truth, Taim Narran. I do not care. Understand me well: it is my will that the walls above be broken and that Lannis and Kilkry lead the way. And here and now, my will rules. Your domain is the precincts of Castle Andur
an, and they lie very far from here. My domain runs from the Glas to these very hills. I am Thane of Thanes, lord of your lord. Every one of your men who can walk and hold a sword will stand ready at dawn.'
'I understand you well, my lord,' said Taim, bowing his head. Roaric once again started to speak. Taim touched his arm and turned him away. He liked Roaric despite his youthful failings, and had no wish to see him harm himself still more in the High Thane's eyes. They walked out of the tent, to wake their men and await the day.
Gryvan grunted and glanced at Kale.
'Roaric is a fool,' he said. 'It's as well there's another between him and his father's high seat. Our friend Taim Narran is of better stuff, I think.'
Kale shrugged. 'He knows no loyalty save to Lannis-Haig, lord. Let me set a knifeman on him. It could be done with no finger to point at us afterwards, and his loss would wound Croesan to the quick.'
'Indeed,' laughed Gryvan, 'but you allow your dislike of the man to cloud your judgement. My Shadowhand back in Vaymouth would never forgive such impulsiveness. No, we need not take so hasty a step. Taim will lead his men to slaughter tomorrow, though in his heart he would rather strike my head from my shoulders. We should be thankful that the old traditions bind them still in Lannis and Kilkry. Because Croesan has bent the knee to me, Taim will in his turn do my bidding. It would strain his precious honour beyond the breaking point to do otherwise.'
The Thane of Thanes rubbed his hands together. 'This cold could crack a mountain pine. Have a brazier brought in here. And bread. I must be strong and hearty if I am to savour what the morning will bring.'
IV
ORISIAN WOKE LATE, from a dream that slipped away before he could grasp it. In those first bleary instants of wakefulness there was a fleeting memory of his brother's face. He sat up in his bed and looked about the room. He had shared it with Fariel when his brother lived. While the sickness had been stalking the passages and chambers of the castle, this was where Fariel had lain: sweating, muttering, drifting in and out of violent sleep. During those awful weeks Orisian had slept instead in Anyara's room, until she too had fallen sick. Then he had gone with Ilain to the chambermaids' quarters.
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