'Help me because I can help you,' Aeglyss insisted. 'I cannot force you - I know I've not the strength for that, not yet - but if you help me to understand what I am capable of, you will benefit as much as I will. I know I can do things with the Shared no one has been able to do in years. I know it!'
Inurian regarded the other man. He could almost pity him. Almost, bur not quite.
'No,' he shook his head. 'I cannot help you.'
For an instant, a terrible fury burned in Aeglyss' grey eyes. Unable to help himself, Inurian glanced away. When he forced himself to meet the other's gaze again, that fury had gone.
'We can talk about it another time, perhaps,' said Aeglyss.
He left, closing and barring the door behind him.
*
In the first hour or two of daylight, the Children of the Hundred came out on to Anduran's market square. Kanin was there, organising a party of Horin-Gyre warriors who were about to head south down the valley. Anduran itself might have fallen quickly, but there was troubling, sporadic resistance throughout the countryside. The survivors of a minor battle near Targlas, halfway between Anduran and Tanwrye, had just straggled in: they had been victorious, and probably broken the will of that town's populace, but it had cost thirty lives that Kanin could ill afford.
Already in a foul mood, he watched the Inkallim taking up their sparring positions. Every morning they did this, performing their elaborate and precise ritualistic combats beneath the steely gaze of Shraeve, their leader.
She stood attentive and motionless as the first clash of blades rang out. She was a tall woman, lean and powerful. Her long hair, dyed black like that of all Inkallim, was tied back. Two swords were sheathed crossways upon her back. Never yet had Kanin seen her draw them. She would be lethal, he knew: lethality was the sole purpose of the Battle Inkall. Although only around eighty remained of the hundred or more who had joined the long march through Anlane - a dozen or so Hunt Inkallim had come too, but their business was not on the battlefield - eighty of the Battle were worth at least two hundred ordinary warriors, probably more. They followed Shraeve's command, though. Kanin could no more tell them when and where to employ their skills than he could order the passage of the clouds across the sky. He was not inclined to make the attempt, in any case; he would as soon trust one of the long-dead wolfenkind as the ravens' loyalty to his cause.
Wain put a hand on his shoulder, disturbing his dark musings.
'Come away,' she said. 'The time of our testing is here.'
He looked at her questioningly.
'Our scouts have found an army gathering, between Glasbridge and Kolglas. It's coming up the south side of the valley'
'So soon?' said Kanin. 'I'd hoped . . . well, no matter. How many?'
'Three or four thousand, they say. With Kilkry-Haig riders in the van.'
That was a bitter blow. Lannis alone, Kanin would have hoped to defeat; an army strengthened by the prideful horsemen of Kilkry was a sterner test. What was coming now would be utterly different from the skirmishing that had been going on up and down the valley for the past few days. He had, at best, equal numbers to stand against the enemy, and hundreds of those would have to remain in position around the castle to keep Croesan from sallying forth. Worse, almost a third of his strength was Tarbain tribesmen who would be grass beneath the scythe of Kilkry cavalry. Shraeve and her Inkallim might be enough to make a difference, but he would not ask for her aid.
'That will be enough to test us, indeed,' he murmured.
'We should send for Aeglyss,' Wain said. She shook her head slightly at the doubt on Kanin's face. 'He has not given up hope of winning our favour. We can use that. He may be able to persuade the White Owls to give battle once more. It probably won't work, but we lose nothing in the attempt. If he succeeds, we can dispense with him and with his woodwights just as we did before; if he fails, he fails.'
Kanin grimaced. 'Are we so desperate? We were going to do this together, for our father. For the Blood. I don't want it . . . fouled. In any case, what can a na'kyrim and a few woodwights do against an army?'
She shrugged. 'I do not know. Is there harm in trying, though? I like him no better than you do, but if fate dictates that Aeglyss is a weapon we are to use against our enemies, that is what he will be. It is not for us to choose.'
'I suppose they are good archers if nothing else, the woodwights.' Kanin glanced back towards the Inkallim. Their swords were flashing in the low morning sun. Shraeve was watching him, he saw. She ignored her warriors and stared directly at the Bloodheir.
He turned away. 'Very well. Let's talk to Aeglyss. If he can turn the White Owls to our cause again, he's got even more talents than I thought. But as you say, we lose nothing in the attempt.'
IV
THERE WAS NO singing or cheering in the ranks of the army that Kanin and Wain led out from Anduran. A grim silence hung over the tight-packed companies of warriors. There was a certain resolution in the quiet of the Horin-Gyre men and women; that of the Tarbain levies who swelled their numbers had more the feel of nervousness about it. Open, massed battle against a strong foe was not the way the tribesmen would choose to make war. They were still raiders and ambushers in their hearts.
Although Kanin and his sister had debated the wisest course almost to the last hour, the outcome had never seriously been in doubt. They both knew they could not retire northwards. If they did, Croesan and Lheanor oc Kilkry-Haig would just gather their forces and come after them. Standing and fighting, victory was still possible if fate allowed it. And if this one victory could be won, Castle Anduran might well fall before their enemies could mount another relief attempt. Wain resolutely confirmed Kanin's instinct: give battle. Test fate, and do it on open ground, too far from the city for Croesan to take a hand. The story of the Road's course was told long ago. It could not be escaped; only faced.
The Inkallim were taking the field, at least, with Shraeve at their head. Kanin had not asked them to come. In this as in all things the Inkallim did as they pleased. They had dyed their hair before marching, though: it was as glisteningly black as fresh pitch. That might mean they would fight.
Beneath heavy skies and a soft rain, they passed by Grive. The little town was still. No smoke rose from the chimneys, its streets were empty and the windows of the houses shut fast. Most of the inhabitants had fled. The remainder hid themselves away. The land here was flat, crossed by narrow ditches, dotted with tiny copses of willow and alder. Abandoned cattle lowed disconsolately as the army went by. Kanin dispatched a handful of warriors to round them up and return them to Anduran. A swirl of crows, kites and buzzards was circling above an unseen carcass. You will be gorging yourselves soon, thought Kanin.
They were not far beyond Grive when Kanin's outriders returned. They reported that the enemy was a few hours away, moving along the southern edge of the Glas Water. Kanin found a place where any attack upon his lines must come across the wet, heavy ground of a wide grass field, and drew up his forces. Ditches to the north and south would hamper any attempt to turn his position; bloody and bruising as it would be, a face-to-face confrontation, stripped of any subtlety or manoeuvre, seemed to offer his best chance of victory. His two hundred or so mounted men he kept in the rear, with his Shield. The Inkallim arrayed themselves upon his right, behind the main line. They squatted down on the grass. Kanin ignored them. He would not demean himself by asking Shraeve her intentions.
With so few riders, the Bloodheir could not hope to attack. Too many of the horses that had left Hakkan with him had died, or fed the hungry, in Anlane. All he could do was wait, and hope that spears, courage and the muddy ground would suffice against the charge that he knew must come. If Aeglyss could somehow produce some White Owls willing to fight it might help, but Kanin had all but resigned himself to the halfbreed's failure. Aeglyss had been gone for more than a day and time had run out. It was no great surprise: whatever subtle tricks of persuasion and deceit the na'kyrim could work with his half-human voice Ka
nin had never really believed he was equal to the task of convincing the woodwights to once again serve the purposes of the Black Road. His willingness to make the effort had been embarrassingly effusive, though. The halfbreed's urgent desire to ingratiate himself was pathetic.
Out in the distance to his right, he could see a dark mass looming over the flat expanse of the Glas Water. It could only be Kan Avor, the drowned city that had once been the Gyre Blood's home and now called like an imprisoned lover across all the miles to every northerner's heart. It would be fitting to test the fates here, within sight of those broken-backed towers. And so close to Grive: that had been the home of Tegric, whose hundred men held the Stone Vale against all the Kilkry Bloods for the day the people of the Black Road needed to escape into the north. It was the Inkallim who called themselves the Children of the Hundred, but any warrior might draw inspiration from Tegric's example. Here, today, Kanin would make his own stand.
*
Far from Anduran, beyond the vertiginous peaks and heaving glaciers of the Tan Dihrin, light snow was falling on the slopes around Castle Hakkan. In the night not long gone, for the first time in a week, the scouring northern wind had ceased to blow across Horin-Gyre lands and the morning's snow was settling on frost-coated ground.
That frost crackled beneath his feet as Ragnor oc Gyre, High Thane of all the Bloods of the Black Road, strode towards the entrance to the catacombs. His cape of sable fur skimmed across the ground, stirring the thin layer of snow like dust raised into pirouettes by a broom. Behind him marched Angain oc Horin-Gyre's household. The late Thane's Shield came in the midst of the procession, bearing his shrouded body on their shoulders. There was no sound save the trudge of feet and the tolling of the bells that rang from the castle below and all the rocky crags around. The low, flat clouds trapped the sound of the bells in the valley, building echo upon echo until the air shook with it.
The High Thane led the way up to the mouth of the tunnel. It gaped like the bolthole of some huge mountain beast. Torches were burning inside, lighting the passage to the chamber where Angain would join those who had travelled this way before. Ragnor did not enter. He stood to one side of the entrance as the corpse-bearers came forwards and went in. Angain's widow, Vana, dressed in the ermine only widows wore, followed them. She went past the High-Thane without looking at him. Her dead husband's oldest hunting dog - the grey hound that had kept vigil at the foot of his bed throughout his last days - walked at her side. Its tread was sluggish and weary.
The only other to enter the catacomb, walking behind Vana, was a figure hidden from view by a capacious grey cloak. A great hood covered his face. This was Theor, the First of the Lore Inkall. There was nothing to distinguish his robe from that of the lowliest Inkallim in the earliest years of service; nothing to say that he held a power in these lands as great, in its way, as that of the High Thane.
The rest of the dead man's household waited a short distance from where Ragnor stood. The flecks of snow began to crowd in the air. Nobody spoke. The bells rang and rang, distant celebratory peals now. Ragnor waited.
Angain's Shield, having discharged their final duty, emerged first. A short time later Vana and Theor followed. As they walked up the passage they doused the torches that lined its walls, so that as they moved back towards the light, darkness reclaimed its territory and took possession of the dead Thane. Ragnor inclined his head as Vana drew near to him. He offered her his hand and she fleetingly took hold of it. The dog at her side looked up at Ragnor with torpid eyes.
'He waits in peace, my lady,' the High Thane said. 'A fortunate man, to leave this bitter world behind.'
He was looking at the back of her hand. Many years ago, before she was betrothed, he had tried to bed this woman himself. She had been a magnificent, haughty girl, and she had refused him. That had taken courage, since his temper in those days was extravagant. He looked now at the back of her hand, and wondered at how small and old it was, lying there in his grip.
'Fortunate indeed,' she said. 'I will see him again. I look forward to that.' Her voice was not so frail as her hand. That girl Ragnor remembered was still within. She went to join the others, who crowded around her.
The First of the Lore Inkall stood at Ragnor's side. They watched as the crowd shared out sweetmeats and small beakers of grain spirit. A soft murmur of conversation began to rise, a touch of laughter here and there. They would be telling Vana tales of her husband's first life now, and looking forward to his second. Death was not an occasion for too much mourning in the lands of the Black Road. One by one, the bells around the valley fell silent.
Theor slipped back the hood of his cloak to reveal startlingly silver-grey hair. His lips, nestled within a short beard, were stained black by years of seerstem use. His skin had forgotten its youth and sagged from his cheekbones. Only his eyes retained some semblance of vigour, for they were bright and would have sat well in a face thirty years younger.
The creaking sound of a heavy-laden wagon drew his attention down to the track running along the valley floor. Two horses, whipped on by a group of Tarbains, were straining to haul a flat-bedded cart over the uneven surface. It bore a cage in which a massive bear swayed, giving out a long, low rumble of suppressed fury.
'Destined for Castle Hakkan, no doubt,' sighed Theor with a slight shake of his head.
'You disapprove,' said Ragnor, eyeing the creature in the cage.
'This baiting of bears upon a lord's death is a relic of Tarbain beliefs from before we came, when the bear was the symbol of their chieftains. Should the Lore Inkall approve of its adoption by a Blood of the Road?'
The wagon rocked, one of its wheels thumping down into a rut. The bear bellowed and its Tarbain captors yelled back and rattled the bars of the cage with their spears.
'It means nothing now,' said Ragnor. 'Sport for drunkards toasting their master's passing. And good sport, too. Have you seen the dogs they breed in these parts, First? Vicious. They'd give even those monsters your Hunt uses pause for thought. Still, that bear looks as though it will take more than a few of them with it.'
The Inkallim's dark lip curled with distaste. 'Whatever its merits, it is a corrupt tradition. Angain has gone to await rebirth in a brighter world, not to some mountain guarded by the ghosts of bears. We have enough trouble bringing the Tarbains out of the darkness of their ignorance without our own Thanes endorsing their rites.'
Ragnor snorted. 'We are all Tarbains now, Theor.'
Theor glowered at the High Thane. 'There is no Tarbain blood in my lineage. Nor yours.'
'If you say so, Lorekeeper. Makes ours the only two pure lines in the north, though. What does it matter? Fane and Wyn, even my own Blood, count many Tarbains amongst their oathbound followers. I've plenty in my Shield who're part Tarbain. And you know as well as I do that man we just laid to rest, may he moulder and never wake' - he saw, but ignored, Theor's twinge of distaste at the phrase - 'had more than a trace of the wilderness in him. His grandmother's appetites were not very particular, they say. Anyway, if we'd not had the savages' blood to renew our own we'd be breeding nothing but freaks and idiots by now. Looking at some of the offspring my liegemen have produced I wonder if we've had enough of it.'
Theor gathered himself for a riposte, but changed his mind and looked back towards the bear.
'Perhaps you are right,' he said. 'There are few of the Tarbain left who do not bend the knee to you now, in any case. Most are Saved.'
'Indeed.' Ragnor produced a flask from deep within his heavy cape and unstoppered it. He took a long drink of its contents and wiped his lips with satisfaction. He offered the flask to Theor, who declined.
'Your loss,' muttered the High Thane. 'A powerful protection against the chill, this stuff. Will you walk with me a way? No matter how keen they are for the revels, the rest will not dare return to the castle until we move, and I'd hate them to get themselves frost-bitten.'
They walked side by side, the lord of the Gyre Bloods and the lord of the Ink
allim, and the rest fell in behind them like a well-drilled company of soldiers. The High Thane's Shield ensured that a respectful distance was maintained, to give the great ones their privacy. Down at the foot of the slope the bear in its cage followed a parallel course, matching their pace towards the castle where its bloody end awaited.
'You were within the catacomb with Vana for some time,' the High Thane mused.
'We spoke a little,' Theor said. 'She sought my views on whether her husband had been true enough to the Road to earn his rebirth in the new world.'
'Can't say I'm sorry to see the back of Angain,' Ragnor said. 'His was a miserable spirit.'
'He was true, in his heart, to the Black Road.'
'That he was. Here's to him,' and the High Thane took another great swallow of fortifying liquid. Snow was matting down his hair, melting and running on to his forehead. 'Bad time to die, with his children off on this mad adventure in the south.'
'They do as their fates require,' said Theor. 'But, yes, it might have been easier for all of us if he had lived a while longer, or if Kanin at least had remained in Hakkan.'
'Yet you've got your little war maiden down there with them,' chuckled Ragnor. 'What a woman that one is! I'd give a lot for a few like her in my Shield.'
'Shraeve is . . . her own woman,' murmured Theor, 'and not easily dissuaded from a course once she is set upon it. She believed Kolglas could be taken. When someone wishes so fervently to test their fate it is their right. Anyway, I do not interfere in the doings of the Battle Inkall. That is Nyve's domain.'
'Well, he's trained himself a fierce raven in Shraeve. Still, she might have met her match in Wain. I pity poor Croesan. With Shraeve and Wain for enemies, and Gryvan oc Haig for an ally, he's about as lucky as a man beset by wolves and finding nothing but a donkey to ride away on.' He emptied the drinking flask and tossed it away to shatter amongst the rocks. He blew his cheeks out and turned up his collar. 'It'll be cold tonight. This cloud won't last once the stars come round.'
Godless World 1 - Winterbirth Page 23
