He pulled the door open and peered in. The stink of goats assailed him. The animals were long gone. The only light within came from a single tallow candle Yvane must have brought with her. K'rina was curled in the corner of the shed, on old straw, facing the wall. Yvane knelt beside her, sitting back on her heels. Neither of the na'kyrim stirred at Orisian's arrival. He stepped inside.
"No change?"
"No," said Yvane without looking round.
"You shouldn't be in here alone," Orisian said. "What if she attacked you? What if she tried to escape again?"
Yvane rose to her feet. There was just a hint of stiffness, the slightest unsteadiness, in the movement. Perhaps her years weighed a little more heavily on her now. Perhaps sleepless nights were taking their toll on her, as they did on so many others.
"She's not some wild animal," Yvane said softly. "Nor a prisoner, as far as I recall."
"Maybe not, but we've paid a high price to bring her here. If we lose her, that price was for nothing. She's tried to slip away once already."
Yvane hunched forward a little to brush straw and dirt from her hide dress. She gave the task more attention than it merited.
"What?" asked Orisian.
"You're wounded," the na'kyrim muttered.
Orisian put a hand to the side of his face, tracing the great welt that ran up his cheek, feeling the yielding gap left by lost teeth. That was not what she meant, though. He knew the shape of her concerns, and it had nothing to do with the punishment his body had taken.
"Some wounds grow thick scars," she said. "Enough wounds, enough scars, and you can hardly recognise the one who bears them. Ends up being someone completely different."
Orisian grimaced and stared down at the flagstone floor. He did not want to hear this. It achieved nothing, ploughing over and over the same small field of Yvane's preoccupations.
"When I first met you..." the na'kyrim began.
"When you first met me, all of this had only just started. I hadn't seen then what I've seen now."
Yvane sniffed and rubbed at her nose with the back of a grubby finger.
"None of us had, I don't suppose," she said. "I could see why Inurian had taken to you, back then. I could see a little something of what he must have seen in you. He always prized gentleness, thoughtfulness. Compassion."
"There are other things I need--we need--more now."
"Are there? You think Inurian would agree, if he was still here? You think he would find you as worthy of his affection now as he did..."
"Don't," Orisian snapped. He glared at her, and met those impassive, piercing eyes with a resilience he would once have thought impossible. He had much deeper reserves of anger to draw upon now, and it could armour him against even Yvane's fierce gaze.
She smiled, a gesture that started sad and became something much darker and colder before it faded away. She looked down at K'rina.
"None of us had any idea how far all of this would go," she muttered. "Except perhaps Inurian. He looked into Aeglyss' heart back then and saw the poison in it."
"We've got a prisoner. He talks of Aeglyss as a leader. A ruler, almost, in Kan Avor. As if they all follow him now."
"Oh?" Yvane sounded barely interested.
"It makes K'rina more important."
"As what? A club to beat Aeglyss with?"
"Or a key in a lock," Orisian said, exasperated. "I don't know. Something. It was you and Eshenna who told me she mattered in the first place. I didn't want to find her like this. None of us did. But now we know the White Owls--Aeglyss--were seeking her. We can see that something, whatever it is, has been done to her. She's important. Don't blame me for wanting to understand how, and why. For wanting to know that there was a reason for my warriors to die finding her."
Yvane held out a placatory hand. "We'll disturb her," she said, with a glance down at the prostrate woman in the straw. She bent and picked up the little candle. The flame died between her finger and thumb. For a moment there was only darkness and the wind rattling the roof shingles.
"Let's go back to the house," Yvane said.
They barred the door of the shed behind them.
"I need to know, Yvane," Orisian said as they walked. "We all do. There's no time left to be gentle, or cautious. Things are falling apart. If K'rina is to mean anything..."
"Mean anything?" Yvane snapped, coming to a sudden halt and jabbing Orisian in the chest. "She means as much as I do. Or you. That is precisely what she means. Or do you think a mere halfbreed must work harder than that to have meaning?"
"You know that's not --" Orisian protested.
"Something's been done to her," Yvane rushed on, uninterested in anything he might have to say. "That's what you said. Well, she didn't do it to herself. The Anain have scraped out her mind, as best we can tell. As if she was nothing, as if whatever thoughts and feelings were in there before mattered not at all. She's a victim in all of this, as surely as anyone is. As surely as Inurian was, or Cerys or any of the others at Highfast."
She hung her head. The two of them stood there in the dark yard, the wind rumbling overhead.
"Nevertheless," murmured Orisian.
"Nevertheless," said Yvane dully. "There's always a nevertheless. But not tonight. Tonight, I'm going to try to sleep." She turned and walked away from him, towards the pale flame of a candle burning in the window of the house.
Orisian stalked back to his bedchamber with a familiar, imprecise anger churning in him. It was always there, always ready to fill any spaces in his thoughts if given the chance. Yvane would say it was the wake Aeglyss left as he moved through the Shared, discolouring everything--every mind--it washed up against. Orisian did not know. It felt like his own thing, crafted from his own experience, but he did not doubt that such a sense might be deceptive. It hardly mattered. It was there, in his heart and his mind, and he must deal with it, whatever its source.
Before taking to his bed he looked down on the orchard once more. The fire was still burning, a little beacon beneath the creaking and swaying apple trees. There was no sign of Ess'yr and Varryn. They had probably retired to the shelters they had made for themselves.
He laid himself out on the mattress and closed his eyes. He no longer expected any night to bring easy rest, for they were always full of frightening dreams and sudden wakings. Still, he could hope.
III
Orisian broke his fast the next morning in the main hall. The trestle tables were lined with Guardsmen, and with the homeless and destitute given shelter in the barracks. Orisian sat with Taim and Torcaill and the rest of the Lannis warriors.
The hall was filled with cacophonous activity. Plates clattered; arguments raged; cooks and servants rushed back and forth. Orisian's head ached, and he winced at each crash of a falling tray and each shouted insult. The night had not, in the end, been restful. Several times he had woken with a heart set racing by the horror of some forgotten dream. The wind had raged all through the hours of darkness, shaking the building.
"Two dead sentries on the edge of town last night," Taim said between mouthfuls of salted porridge.
"No one saw anything?" asked Orisian.
Taim shook his head. "But one of them was savaged. Had his hand almost torn off, and his throat bitten out. Dogs, it looked like."
"Hunt Inkallim," said Torcaill. He looked as weary as Orisian felt.
"Seems likely," agreed Taim. "There's a good chance one or more of them got inside the town. Not a good sign."
"I don't mean to be chased out of here yet," said Orisian quickly. Best, he thought, to anticipate the suggestion he could already imagine Taim formulating.
The warrior regarded his Thane for a moment or two, and Orisian could see his disagreement clearly in his expression, but when Taim spoke it was mildly: "The Hunt'd only be creeping around in here for two reasons I can think of. Either they meant to kill someone--you, most likely, if they know you're here--or they're scouting the place out for an attack. Neither choice bodes well for u
s."
"I know," Orisian said.
Although Ive was a substantial town, one of the Kilkry Blood's biggest, it was ill prepared to stand against an assault. It had long been remote from any disputed land or battlefield; it had no castle, and the wall that once ringed it had long ago been dismantled, its stones turned to more peaceful use in the skeletons of barns and farmhouses.
For days now, labourers had been toiling all around the edge of town, trying to encircle it with a ditch and timber palisade. Until that work was completed, Ive's only defence was the flesh and steel of the warriors gathered there, the Guard and the poorly armed townsfolk themselves. In all there were perhaps a thousand trained fighting men, and another two thousand untrained but willing and able to fight. More than enough to master the savage but disorganised raiding bands they had faced so far; too few to last long if the Black Road's full might descended upon them.
"There might still be time to get to Kilvale," Torcaill said, sounding almost hopeful. "For every score that turn up in Ive each day, there's a dozen leaving and heading south. They think the road's still open."
"But they don't know," Orisian said. "Nobody knows who's in control anywhere, not really. It'd take... what, two days to get there? If we're caught on the road, we'd be finished. And there's nowhere the Black Road will want more than Kilvale. It's their birthplace. If we did reach Kilvale, and it falls, where do we run to then? Dun Aygll? Vaymouth, even? What kind of a Thane would that make me?"
He glared questioningly at Torcaill. The warrior studied his bowl, stirring the porridge within it carefully.
Taim Narran was less reticent. "A living one, at least," he murmured.
Orisian looked at the older warrior, an angry retort boiling up towards his lips. But the momentary fury passed. He breathed deeply.
"I'm sorry," he said. He pressed finger and thumb to his temple, willing the throbbing in his skull to subside. "I just think... I think we lack the strength to make any difference in whatever struggles are to come between Haig and the Black Road. And we--you most of all, Taim--could hardly expect a warm welcome from Aewult, in any case."
"It's true Haig has no need of our few swords," Taim acknowledged. "Gryvan must wake to the danger now. Once he rouses himself and his people from sloth, the Black Road's ascendancy will be at an end, Aeglyss or no Aeglyss. But we--you--still need to survive long enough to see that day. I'd not choose Ive to make a stand, if that's..."
Erval, the leader of Ive's Guard, came hurrying down between the lines of tables. He stumbled over a sword someone had rested against a bench, but rushed on regardless. He was red-faced, plainly agitated. Heads turned to follow his progress. He came to a rather disorderly halt behind Orisian and dipped into a hasty bow.
"There are messengers come in search of you, sire. I've got them waiting in the courtyard."
"Who sent them?" Orisian asked.
The Guard Captain looked apologetic. "Aewult nan Haig, sire. They claim his authority, and through him that of his father, for the message they bear."
"Let them freeze the rest of the day in the yard, then," Torcaill muttered.
"I think they may have left their patience behind when they set out on their journey," said Erval.
Orisian sighed and swung a leg out over the bench.
"There's no point in delaying," he said as he rose.
"It might be best," Erval agreed, relief plain in his voice. "There's a fierce mood in the town, and word's already spreading that there're Haig men here. You know how that will taste to people. The sooner they've said their piece and gone, the better."
Torcaill and Taim were getting to their feet to follow Orisian.
"Not you, Taim," he said.
The warrior frowned.
Orisian smiled at him. "You're an escaped prisoner, aren't you? A fugitive from Aewult's version of justice?"
Taim sank heavily back onto the bench.
"I don't want any trouble if I can avoid it," said Orisian. "No more than we've already got, anyway."
"Take a few of the other men, at least," Taim said. "Let them think you've got some swords at your back. And remember they have your sister."
"That's not something I'm likely to forget."
Torcaill quickly assembled a little escort party, and Erval led them all out of the hall. The place was silent as they left.
The wide courtyard was dusted with snow. Most of it had been swept up by the overnight wind, and packed into corners and crevices. There was no wind now, but it was bitterly cold. As Orisian and the others emerged onto the cobblestones, the nearest of the messengers was clapping his gloved hands together to warm them.
The Haig Bloodheir had sent ten men. Six of them were warriors, standing back and watching over the party's horses. The other four were less martially attired, clad in fur capes, wearing gauntlets of what looked like velvet rather than leather. The one who stepped forward to greet Orisian had a gold clasp holding his cloak around his neck.
The man bowed more deeply and respectfully than Orisian might have expected from one of Aewult's household. Any appearance of respect was quickly dispelled once that formal gesture had been completed, however.
"This man," the messenger said with a jab of his chin in Erval's direction, "seems to think our business is best conducted out here in the cold. Perhaps you could prevail upon him to change his mind, Thane?"
And in that one instant Orisian was vividly transported back to Kolkyre, to the entirely uncomfortable company of Aewult and Gryvan's Chancellor Mordyn Jerain. Evidently disdain and casual self-importance were traits shared by all ranks within the Haig Blood. Back in Kolkyre, he had been somewhat cowed by it. Now, his mood merely soured, and his headache asserted itself.
"I imagine the Captain anticipated your desire to be back on the road south as quickly as possible," he said. "You seem to know my name, so perhaps you could allow me the same privilege."
The messenger stood a good head taller than Orisian, but the reprimand narrowed his shoulders slightly, put the faintest hint of submission into his posture.
"I am Gorred Mant dar Haig, sire. Emissary of Aewult nan Haig. These men are --"
He gestured towards his companions, but Orisian cut him off. It was indeed cold out here beneath the cloudless winter sky. For that and other reasons, brevity appealed greatly to him.
"You came seeking me, did you?" he asked.
"Indeed, sire." Gorred had recovered a little of his composure now. He stood straight once more and Orisian suspected that beneath that voluminous cloak his chest swelled. "Rumours reached Kilvale mere days ago that you were here in Ive. There was great relief, of course. People have been concerned for your safety since you left Kolkyre."
"You may report that I am in good health, then."
"Indeed." Gorred extended an arm, flapping his hand. One of the other Haig men stepped forward, hurriedly dragging out two scroll cases from some hidden pocket or bag and passing them over.
"I bear two messages, sire," Gorred said, proffering the two tubes to Orisian.
"Just tell me," Orisian said.
"I do need to hand them over, sire." That welcome trace of discomfiture was back in the emissary's voice. "I will not be deemed to have discharged my duty if I don't put them in your hand."
Orisian took the cases from him, and passed them at once to Torcaill, who casually tucked them under his belt.
"Tell me," Orisian said again.
There was an abrupt flurry of noise from beyond the open gate. Loud but indistinct voices were battling one another in the street beyond. Gorred glanced over his shoulder in irritation. Several of Erval's Guards were clustered in the gateway, in animated discussion, gesticulating towards something out in the street. Gorred turned back to Orisian.
"These are delicate matters, sire. Perhaps best discussed in a more private setting."
"The sooner we are done, the sooner you can be on your way back to Kilvale. You'll know better than I that the roads grow more dangerous with every pas
sing day. Every hour, even."
Gorred looked distinctly unhappy but did not press the point any further.
"Very well. First an assurance as to the well-being of your sister, who is protected from all harm within the walls of Vaymouth itself, under the attentive care of --"
"Move on," barked Orisian. It was a struggle--one in which he was not entirely successful--to keep the anger that welled up within him out of his voice. The mere mention of Anyara, especially in the mouth of one whose master had made her a virtual captive, or hostage, was enough to shake his precariously maintained balance.
Gorred blinked. "Ah. Well, the substance of the first message is an invitation to join with the Bloodheir at Kilvale. It is his hope that you and he could then discuss the possibility of your attendance upon the High Thane in Vaymouth. You would thus be able to satisfy yourself as to your sister's..."
Another surge of agitated cries disturbed the messenger's flow. Gorred grunted in irritation. Everyone looked towards the gate, for the voices drifting in from the street unmistakably now carried an undercurrent of violence and anger.
"Forgive me," Erval murmured in Orisian's ear. "I should see what's happening."
Orisian nodded, and the Captain of the Guard went trotting over to join his men at the gate.
"What's your second message?" Orisian asked, before Gorred could resume.
"It was hoped you might be able to accompany us on our return to Kilvale, sire. The Bloodheir was very hopeful of that."
"I am needed here for a little while yet," Orisian said. "I will have to follow after you when I can. If I can. What's the second message?"
Gorred's eyes flicked momentarily away from Orisian, scanning Torcaill and the other warriors behind him. There was clear unease in the glance.
Godless World 3 - Fall of Thanes Page 3
