They blundered through a bed of nettles. The grass was longer now, and tugged at their ankles. By some unconscious hint of sound or smell, Anyara could tell that they had reached the Glas before it was visible. The riverbank was studded by low bushes and fringed by a narrow strip of tall reeds and rushes. Beyond, the water moved thickly in the moonlight. They came to a halt and looked back, listening for a moment. The night was silent.
'We swim,' said Inurian breathlessly. Anyara turned to regard the black, silent river with some trepidation. There was no time for doubt, though. Inurian was already pulling her into the water.
'Swim downstream, across the current,' he said, and struck out from the bank. She followed. The cold embrace of the river compressed her chest and made her skin feel hard. The current pushed at her. Inurian seemed to be moving away from her and she had to bite back a rush of panic. She concentrated on her stroke, fighting to keep a rhythm against the weight of her clothes and the river's remorseless tug. At last more reeds loomed up out of the darkness, and a pale hand was reaching for her. Inurian hauled her out and she slipped and slithered through mud and up on to grass. She lay there gasping.
'No time to rest,' urged Inurian, dragging her to her feet.
She risked a glance back, but could see nothing.
'We have to hurry,' insisted Inurian. 'We have to run.'
'Are they coming?' asked Anyara as she rushed after him, away from the riverbank.
'I think she's here. I think I can find her.'
They made less than fifty paces. Anyara fell. Inurian helped her up. All she heard was a soft thud and a tiny, surprised sound from Inurian, and then the na'kyrim was slumping to his knees, his hand slipping from her shoulder and sliding down the length of her arm.
'I'm sorry,' he murmured as he went.
She grabbed at him, trying to hold him up, and looked around. Still she saw nothing. As she scrabbled for a grip on his tunic, Anyara felt the shaft of an arrow sunk deep into Inurian's back. She wanted to cry with frustration. He was too heavy for her to lift.
'Get up!' she shouted at him. 'Get up, Inurian! We have to keep going.'
She heard something: it might be the splash of somebody entering the river.
He did get up, leaning on her. His head was hanging low. She managed to move him forwards and they began a lurching progress through the fields. She had no idea where they were going, but knew that it was movement that mattered. If they did not keep moving they were dead. Nothing else mattered.
'She's close,' Inurian said weakly, and he breathed a name that Anyara did not catch.
'Keep moving,' she begged him. His weight was increasing. She was not sure how much longer she could bear him up.
She twisted her neck to look back, and she saw them. They were coming: Kyrinin coming out of the night. She took another step. Don't stop, she thought.
She almost screamed when, without a sound, two shapes rose up a few paces in front of her: a man and a woman. Kyrinin, not human. White Owls, she thought, somehow ahead of them and waiting here. A flurry of impressions told her something was wrong, though. The cut and shape of their clothes was different from what she had seen on the White Owls in Anlane; their eyes, as they lifted bows with arrows already nestled against the strings, were not upon Anyara and Inurian but upon the hunters behind them.
'Down,' the woman said. Anyara fell, taking Inurian with her, as arrows hissed by in both directions. The two Kyrinin sprang forwards, going to meet her pursuers. She could hear someone else moving closer.
'Anyara?' someone was saying. She could not believe the name that went with the voice. She looked up. A big man was rushing past, naked sword in his hand, and in his wake came a smaller figure. She cried out in a potent mix of release and relief, and rose to embrace Orisian.
IX
KANIN NAN HORIN-GYRE'S hands, so recently trembling with wonder at the victory he had won, shook now with anger. He strove to contain it. At this moment he should have been in the hall of Castle Anduran: they should all have been there, rejoicing in the destruction of the creed's foes, marking the day when the Black Road was at last restored to the lands that had once been Avann oc Gyre's. To feast in the halls of Anduran would realise the hopes of Tegric and his hundred when they sacrificed themselves on the march into exile; the hopes of generations of the faithful; most of all, the hopes of Kanin's father. On the foundations of this day, new and greater hopes could be fashioned. It might not be the end of their journey to the Kall, but they had taken a great stride down the path that led to the creed's dominion and the unmaking of the world.
Instead . . . instead, Kanin stood and glared at the nervous warrior who stood before him. She was one of the best of his Shield, and had been charged with bringing Anyara and the na'kyrim from the gaol to the castle. It was no distance: the work of minutes.
'You hold the Tarbains?' Kanin asked. The words had to force their way out past the rigidity of his jaw.
'We killed two. We have the others.' She spoke quietly, with downcast eyes.
'I want their heads on spikes above the gaol by dawn,' Kanin hissed. 'But others can see to that. You . . . you are dismissed, from my Shield, my army. You will walk back to Hakkan and kneel before my mother and tell her that I have commanded you to serve her as chambermaid and washerwoman.'
The woman did not need to be told to leave. She backed silently out of the room.
Kanin sat heavily in a chair. This room, a small one in the heart of Castle Anduran's keep, had little left by way of furnishings. Most had been stripped out. Only a chair and table remained. The Bloodheir thumped his fist on the table. It did little to dispel his anger. Restless, he sprang to his feet again. He had promised his father that he would destroy the Lannis Blood, or die in the attempt. Now some girl, and the idiocy of his own people, was making it a lie.
'Where is Cannek?' he demanded of Igris, who stood unobtrusively in the corner. The woman who had failed Kanin so grievously was his responsibility, and Igris knew it as well as Kanin did.
The Hunt Inkallim entered even as his name was uttered. If Igris was relieved at the opportunity to stay silent, he did not show it.
'You wished to see me?' Cannek said. He glanced quickly around the room and, seeing only one chair and the Bloodheir pacing up and down, he stood where he was.
'Every tracker you have, every dog, is to be on the trail. Find them for me.'
'Yes. It is being done even as we speak, Bloodheir. They will not get far: a girl and a na'kyrim are not likely to escape the Hunt.'
'Shraeve told me none would escape the Battle at Kolglas, but one did. They say the boy was mortally wounded but they can't show me the body, can they? See that the Hunt does better, Cannek. I want to see that girl's body.'
The Inkallim was unmoved by the bitterness in Kanin's voice. He smiled: a faint, equable gesture.
'If fate favours us,' he murmured. 'You may be interested to know others are already abroad. The woodwights are busy emptying their camp: dozens of them are making for the river. Quite why they're so agitated, I don't know. They are good trackers, though. It may help us.'
Kanin ceased his pacing and stared at the Inkallim.
'Woodwights!' he spat. I'll not have them interfering. This is nothing to do with them.'
Cannek spread his hands in a gesture of impotence. The knives that lay along his forearms pointed out at an angle.
'I am not sure you can prevent them, unless you wish to do so by force. As I say, they are already on the move. And... well, I dislike being the bearer of unwelcome news, but that na'kyrim of yours, who put on such a performance in the hall: he is with them.'
'Aeglyss is not mine,' Kanin snapped. 'I thought he was in his sickbed.'
'So he was,' agreed Cannek. 'The woodwights were caring for him, I believe. Anyway, he seems to have recovered. Enough to ride with them on the pursuit, at least.'
Kanin kicked the chair and sent it spinning across the room. Cannek watched it go with a neutral expression.
*
Orisian leaned against the bole of a great oak. He fought the urge to vomit. The wound in his flank was throbbing, and he feared he had torn the new flesh there. The pain, and the head-spinning exhaustion he felt, had brought on waves of nausea. Never in his life had he run so far and fast.
Their flight from the river had been punishing. Varryn set a stern pace. His features showed little hint of it, but Orisian knew the Kyrinin was frustrated at their slowness. There was nothing to be done about that. At the best of times, no human could match the night vision of a Kyrinin, or their speed through the darkness. As it was, Orisian was hampered by the imperfectly healed wound in his side, Anyara was already weary and, most of all, there was the fact that Rothe was carrying Inurian in his arms.
The fighting by the river had been over quickly. Ess'yr and Varryn, with Rothe close behind them, had darted into the darkness. Orisian held Anyara. Even as he registered Inurian's slumped form at his feet, the indistinct sounds of struggle reached him. There were fierce impacts, stifled cries and grunts, then a fearful, leaden silence. Rothe reappeared first. He turned this way and that, his unbloodied sword ready.
'I couldn't find them,' he muttered. 'Too dark for me.'
Ess'yr and her brother returned. The two of them whispered to one another, and then Ess'yr gave a sharp nod.
'To the forest,' she said. She was distracted in a way Orisian had not seen before, as if her thoughts were elsewhere. 'One escaped. Many spears will come soon.'
'We must get to Anduran . . .' Rothe started to say.
'You will die,' Varryn said.
'There is nothing left in Anduran,' said Anyara, and that had been the end of it.
Rothe stepped forwards to carry Inurian as soon as it was obvious that he could not stand, let alone run. Ess'yr snapped the shaft of the arrow in the na'kyrim's back. Inurian groaned. Orisian felt an awful emptiness at the sound.
'Shouldn't we get the arrow out of him?' Anyara asked him.
'Not now,' said Varryn before Orisian could reply. And with that he was off, plunging into the night.
Orisian kept as close to Anyara as he could. He longed to speak with his sister, to ask her what had happened since that terrible night at Kolglas, but there was not a moment to catch breath. He could only stay by her, make sure she knew he was there.
Now, panting and aching amidst the first trees of the forest, it was a struggle for him to stay on his feet. Varryn and Ess'yr stood together, gazing back the way they had come. Anyara flung herself down at the base of a tree nearby, her head resting against its bark, rasping breaths rushing in and out of her. Rothe laid Inurian down on the turf, and sat beside the na'kyrim. The shieldman's great frame was hunched and shrunken, his arms hanging limp. Orisian stumbled over and knelt next to him.
'Are you all right?' he managed to ask.
Rothe nodded. Even in the gloom, Orisian could see that his shoulders were heaving as the big man struggled to regain his breath.
'Inurian?' Orisian asked.
'Still lives,' Rothe said. 'But he is badly hurt. I'm sorry.'
A sudden flapping sound, and a shape leaping towards him, made Orisian cry out. A scrap of the blackest shadow swept down from amongst the trees and folded itself noisily on to the ground. Rothe too had started away, but then there was a sharp croaking noise, and the shieldman gave a pained laugh.
'It's that cursed crow,' he muttered.
Anyara came over. 'Idrin. It's Idrin. He followed us all the way.'
And then, as the very first smudge of light appeared in the sky, she told them what had happened. Neither Rothe nor Orisian, nor the two Kyrinin when they came and squatted down to listen, said a word as she spoke of Inkallim and White Owls, of Aeglyss the na'kyrim and Kanin the Bloodheir. When she had finished Orisian told his own tale.
They were quiet for a little time. Ess'yr crouched at Inurian's side. She laid a hand upon his cheek. They could all see that the na'kyrim's face was tight and washed out of any trace of colour. His breath rustled. There was an extraordinary tenderness in Ess'yr's touch upon his face and the still, strange set of her expression. For some reason he could not quite identify, that scene - the Kyrinin woman and the ailing na'kyrim, the leafless trees crowded round and the midnight-black crow that stood close by its master, all illuminated by the tenuous, mournful morning light - made Orisian's heart ache acutely. He turned away.
Varryn roused himself. Almost hidden amidst the densely woven tattoos, there was a grave look upon the Kyrinin's face as he regarded his sister.
'We must move,' he said. 'We lose time.'
'Perhaps they are not following,' said Orisian, craving even a few more moments' rest.
It was Ess'yr who replied, though she did not raise her eyes from Inurian's pale face. 'We killed three,' she said. 'They will come.'
'We go higher,' Varryn told them. 'Then follow the sun. Back to the vo'an.'
'Wait,' snapped Orisian. He could feel a sudden surge of anger colouring his cheeks. He was tired, and for this moment at least did not want to be ordered about by Varryn. 'We have to think. Rothe, we have to head for Glasbridge now, don't we?'
'There's nowhere else, if Anduran's taken.'
'We could try for the road, follow it down.'
'Perhaps, but not yet. Better to keep to the trees until we're further south. If we can get close enough to Sirian's Dyke, we could make a run for it, join the road there. They can't have taken the Dyke yet?' He looked questioningly at Anyara. She shrugged.
'All right,' said Orisian. He was avoiding Varryn's gaze now, afraid that if he met the Kyrinin's eyes he might falter. 'We'll do that. We stay together until then. What about Inurian? Can we get the arrow out?'
'Leave it,' said Ess'yr, and though her voice was calm it was firm. 'He dies if it moves.'
It drained Orisian's assertiveness away. He looked at Ess'yr, and saw how her hand lay on Inurian's chest, like a mother's on her sick child.
'Rothe, can you carry him further?' he asked quietly, and the shieldman nodded.
Varryn and Ess'yr led, as always. Sometimes they ran, sometimes they slowed to a long-strided walk. Much of the time, they were travelling uphill. Orisian noted it, and knew it was adding to the distance they had to cover to Sirian's Dyke, but he said nothing. It took all his energy to keep moving forwards. In any case, he could see the sense in putting more rough ground between them and any pursuers. It might not make a difference - his father's shieldmen used to say that a White Owl could follow the trail left by a wind-borne leaf - but any chance was better than none.
Orisian's legs had nothing left to give him and he could see that Anyara had passed into a place where will alone kept her from falling. Rothe's breathing was becoming tortured, as if each step drained the air out of him. On they went, in spite of it all.
Some time after noon they began to track more directly across the face of the slopes. It was less punishing upon the muscles, but their exhaustion was such that each footfall became treacherous. Slick grass, unseen roots and the angle of the ground tricked the weary eye, betrayed heavy legs. Orisian and Anyara almost fell several times, their feet sliding away beneath them. Even Rothe, burdened by Inurian's insensate form, stumbled more than once, lurching like a drunken man but always just keeping his balance.
Finally, when Orisian, Anyara and Rothe had slowed to no more than a clumsy plod, the two Kyrinin came to a halt at the base of a leaning tree. The three humans slumped down and stretched themselves out. Orisian was not sure if he would ever be able to rise again. As he stared up, Idrin flapped in across his field of vision and settled on an overhanging branch. The great black bird cocked his head, looking down at the pitiful figures strewn on the ground beneath him. Orisian closed his eyes.
'An hour. No more,' he heard Varryn saying.
It was not sleep that came upon Orisian then, but a kind of daze. His mind fogg
ed over and he thought he was floating upon some river that gently rocked him to and fro. Time slipped by. He heard Idrin cawing, and in his dreamlike state the distant sound was transformed into a man calling out over a great distance. He thought he heard his father, far away.
It was Inurian's moans that roused him at last. He looked around. Anyara was sprawled across the turf, far into slumber. Even Rothe had succumbed, his barrel chest rising and falling to sleep's unique tempo. Inurian had not moved from where he had been set down. Vague, disjointed sounds were slipping from his lips. It was the sight of Ess'yr that caught and held Orisian's attention. Again she was at Inurian's side. She gazed down into his face, and stroked his brow. She was whispering to him. As Orisian watched, she looked up and met his eyes. The flow of her murmurings never faltered. There was no blame or accusation in her gaze, yet Orisian felt a sudden flush of embarrassment, almost shame. He closed his eyes once more. There was something between Inurian and Ess'yr that demanded privacy.
When Orisian woke, befuddled and cold, he was confused for a moment, wondering why it was a clouded sky that greeted him and not the stone of Kolglas, and why he felt hard ground beneath him and not his bed. Aching, he lifted himself up and remembered.
Anyara, Rothe and Ess'yr were all awake, sitting near Inurian. Above, Idrin was hopping from branch to branch. Almost before Orisian had noticed his absence, Varryn was bounding up out of the forest. He gave the curtest of nods to his sister, who rose lithely to her feet and hefted her bow.
'We turn back,' Varryn said to the rest of them. 'The enemy are below, and ahead. We are too slow.'
'Turn back?' gasped Anyara in disbelief.
Varryn ignored her. 'We go higher.'
Rothe groaned. 'That is madness,' he said. 'We can't climb forever. There must be a way on to Glasbridge.' For the first time in his life, Orisian heard a raggedness in his shieldman's voice. He could only guess what it must have cost the man to carry Inurian so far already.
There was a sharp, still moment in which the Kyrinin and Huanin warriors stared at one another, neither willing to break off the gaze. It was sundered by a sudden croak from Idrin as the crow dropped from his roost and swept down to the grass at his master's side. Inurian stirred, a breathy murmur escaping from his lips. Ess'yr was the first to reach for him, and Orisian looked worriedly over her shoulder as she felt for the na'kyrims pulse at the hinge of his jaw. His delicate eyes opened. They flicked about as if he did not know where he was. They darted from Ess'yr to Orisian, and a weak smile appeared upon his colourless lips.
Godless World 1 - Winterbirth Page 32
