Bloodheir (26 page)

They rode through a tunnel. A few men with lanterns baffled against the wind lined the way, watching the band of riders with clear suspicion and puzzlement. Hoofs rang on the smooth stone floor and the echoes raced back and forth along the passage like a peal of harsh, tuneless bells. There was another gate, creaking back on ancient hinges, and then they emerged into a small courtyard.

It felt as if they were at the bottom of a great pit. On every side walls thrust up, climbing higher than anything made by men that Orisian had ever seen, save perhaps the Tower of Thrones itself. In places cliffs and boulders had been incorporated into the body of the castle, so that stonework flowed around outcroppings of the jagged pinnacle. There was a keep that seemed to have been built onto the face of a crag. No lights showed at its windows, despite the day’s gloom. The rushing clouds above looked very distant.

Orisian gazed around in wonder. He had not expected Highfast to be such a strange and massive beast.

He had never seen, or heard of, its like. Except, perhaps, for Criagar Vyne. That ruined city in the Car Criagar must once have had something of the same bleak magnificence, the same deep-rooted defiance of mountain and elements. But Criagar Vyne was empty; defeated. People still lived here in Highfast, still sheltered in its towering protection.

A short man, rotund but wearing a warrior’s jerkin and sword, came out from a doorway and conferred with Torcaill. They both turned and looked in Orisian’s direction. He swung himself out of the saddle and walked forwards, Rothe following close behind.

“I am Herraic Crenn dar Kilkry-Haig, sire,” the short warrior said, dipping his head respectfully.

“Captain of Highfast. It is an honour to have such visitors. I fear we’re not well enough provisioned to offer you the hospitality you deserve.”

The man sounded nervous to Orisian. “We don’t need much other than a fire and some food. We’ll be moving on in a day or two.”

He ducked and winced as cold water, shed in fat droplets from some protrusion on the walls far above, spattered down onto the back of his neck.

“Come, come,” Herraic said quickly. “Let’s get a roof over your head. My men will stable your horses and get your escort into the barracks. We’ve room enough for them, I think. Half my men are out chasing rumours of wights in the forest east of here. They’ll likely not be back for days.”

Torcaill went to see to the settling of his men; Rothe, Ess’yr, Varryn and the two
na’kyrim
followed Orisian. The passageways through which Herraic and Bannain led them were narrow and rough-cut.

They curved and twisted, rose and fell, in a way that left Orisian disorientated. And no matter how deep they went into the rock, there was still a breeze on his face; cold, wet air still stirred, tugging at the flames of the torches that Herraic and his men carried. The sound of the wind was distant but always present, a low tone at the edge of his hearing.

They emerged in a gloomy, low-ceilinged chamber. There were slitted windows in the far wall, admitting a little muted daylight. Other than that, the only illumination was from a brazier in which charcoal glowed, throwing off so much heat that it was almost shocking after the long hours on the road. Orisian and the others clustered around, spreading their hands towards the brazier. Hammarn chuckled to himself in pleasure at the warmth. A pair of serving boys came with jugs of tepid wine to share out. Bannain the
na’kyrim
murmured something to Herraic and disappeared through a narrow portal without waiting for an answer. Herraic himself edged diffidently closer to Orisian.

“You’re here for the
na’kyrim
, are you, lord?”

Orisian nodded.

“There’s no other reason for anyone to come, of course,” the Captain of Highfast murmured. “Not to say that many come to see Cerys and the rest either, mind you. Is there . . . should I know what brings you?”

Orisian hesitated. He had no real reason to be anything other than open with this man, yet found himself cautious. If whatever messengers Lheanor had sent ahead had been reticent, there was no need to undo that restraint. “Nothing of great consequence. I am heading for Kolglas, and wanted to speak with the
na’kyrim
here on my way. That’s all.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. Well, we will offer what comfort we can.”

“I didn’t mean to be a burden. There’re not as many of you here as I expected.”

Herraic gave a soft, wry laugh. “Not many. The loneliest posting, this. The garrison’s only two dozen here, sire. No need for any more. No one to man the walls against, you see.”

“It must be strange, so few of you in such a huge fortress.”

“Oh, it suits some better than others, that’s true. It must have been quite a place, once. Filled with noise and bustle, hundreds of people. The road went from here all the way to Drandar, you know. The richest road in all the Kingship, some say. Enough wagons on it every day to carry all the wealth of a King.

That’s what I heard.” He gave an almost apologetic smile, a little shrug. “Now . . . well, you see for yourself. There’s no road, no riches. It’s just where folk like me get washed up.”

“And the
na’kyrim
? How many of them?”

The question clearly caught Herraic unawares, though he tried to hide it.

“I couldn’t say with certainty, sire. We see little of one another. They have the lower chambers, cut into the rock itself, and a few rooms high in the keep. Highfast is so large that . . . well, I meet with the Elect once or twice a month. Other than that . . .” He gave a faint shrug. His unease at the thought of those meetings with the Elect was evident.

Orisian knew well enough, from Inurian’s residence in Kolglas, that even sharing a roof for years was not enough to make some people comfortable with
na’kyrim
. No matter how self-evidently close the bonds between Inurian and Kennet, Orisian’s father, had become, there had been those who never reconciled themselves to the presence of a
na’kyrim
in the castle.

“You might want to give some thought to the lodging of those Kyrinin you brought with you, sire,”

Herraic whispered, leaning close to Orisian. “It would be best if they took shelter amongst the
na’kyrim
while you’re here. There might be some . . . well, some unrest amongst my men if we quarter them with the garrison.”

Orisian looked across to Ess’yr and Varryn. They were both watching the Captain of Highfast. Ess’yr’s face was as placid, as calm, as always, but he could not help wondering whether somewhere beneath that fair exterior, lit orange by the radiant charcoal, anger and resentment lurked. She and her brother had saved his life more than once, yet still met with nothing but suspicion and hostility wherever they went in his company. Perhaps they expected nothing more; perhaps it was only Orisian who felt wounded on their behalf by such things.

“I don’t think you could whisper quietly enough to keep what you say from their ears, you know,” he murmured to Herraic.

The stocky warrior glanced in the direction of the two Kyrinin. They stared back. The tattoos on Varryn’s face had a savage look to them in that light.

“No,” Herraic muttered, nodding to Orisian. “No, of course. Still, you might want to think on it.”

“I will.”

Bannain reappeared in the doorway.

“Come, Thane,” the
na’kyrim
said. “The hidden Highfast awaits you.”

They went deeper, along narrow, rough-hewn passageways, down dark stairwells. There was a door, massive and thick, that took them into a wider corridor where there were oil lamps and a paved floor.

And then Orisian saw something that brought him to a halt: a child. She was running towards them, smiling. She came on light, quick feet, arms outstretched and trailing the fine sleeves of an old, faded dress. A
na’kyrim
child; a pale, almost luminous presence amidst the shadows and weight of the fortress.

Orisian stopped so abruptly that Yvane walked into his back. She grunted in irritation and looked over his shoulder.

“What’s the matter?” she demanded.

“Nothing. It’s just . . . I’ve never seen one before.”

“One? The child? Ha! Did you imagine we sprang into being already haggard and aged?”

Orisian shook his head. He watched the young girl. She had wrapped her arms around Bannain’s thigh and grinned up at him as he ran a hand over her hair.

“It’s not surprising she’s the first you’ve seen,” Yvane said, more gentle now. “Too many walls between Huanin and Kyrinin these days. Half the babies that do get themselves born are probably killed as soon as they’ve drawn breath, still wrapped in their swaddling cloths. That’s the world we’ve all made for ourselves. That’s why, whatever its faults, I’d not unmake Highfast. There’s few enough places that girl could find safety: here, Koldihrve, Dyrkyrnon, one or two others.”

“How many children are there here?”

“I don’t know. When I left? Only three or four. We’re a rare breed, and growing rarer.”

The girl walked with them to the end of the corridor. She held Bannain’s hand. He halted outside a door and knelt to whisper something to her. She laughed and nodded, and then darted into the room beyond when Bannain held the door open for her.

“Our herald will announce our arrival,” he said with a smile.

Within, half a dozen
na’kyrim
were waiting. All were dressed alike in plain robes; all had the same still, erect posture. The little girl had run to the side of a woman who wore a crude, thick iron chain around her neck. The child spoke a few soft and excited words, then moved to stand apart, an expression of shy anticipation on her face. The woman took in Orisian and his motley companions with a single sweeping gaze. Orisian drew breath to speak, but she settled her cold attention upon Bannain.

“You left alone,” she said, “yet return with a multitude.”

To Orisian’s ears, her tone was level, impassive. It appeared that Bannain detected more pointed sentiments, for his shoulders sagged a little and he stepped forwards with none of the brashness that Orisian had come to expect of him.

“It seemed wise, Elect. It seemed prudent.”

“Prudent,” the Elect repeated. Her eyes were on Orisian now. “You are the Thane of the Lannis-Haig Blood?”

“Yes.” His voice came out with less authority than he would have liked. “I was told I might find good counsel here,” he went on with what he hoped was more firmness, “but if we are not welcome, we will not trouble you. There are other places I should be.”

“You are not unwelcome,” the woman said, though her tone hardly lent credence to the words. She signalled Bannain to stand amongst the little group of
na’kyrim
gathered around her, and he obeyed without hesitation. “I am Cerys, Elect of the Council of Highfast. You, Thane, I now know. And Yvane, of course. Who else has Bannain brought with him?”

“Rothe, my shieldman. Ess’yr and Varryn, of the Fox. And Hammarn, who came with us from Koldihrve.”

It was only Hammarn, Orisian noted, who seemed to earn some softening of the Elect’s demeanour. She nodded in the old man’s direction, to his embarrassment. He smiled, then frowned, then took on an empty, wide-eyed expression as if he had no idea what to do with his face.

“You have strange travelling companions, for a Thane of the Haig Bloods,” Cerys observed with a hint of a narrow smile.

“So I’ve been told before.”

It took Orisian a moment to realise that what he felt – a nagging sourness of the moment – was the crumbling of unacknowledged hopes. He had, without recognising it in himself, hoped he might find Inurian here: an echo of the warmth and understanding that he remembered. Ever since he had discovered that Highfast had once been Inurian’s home, he had vaguely imagined it to be a place of welcome and safety; a place suffused with all those things he had lost since Winterbirth, and since Inurian’s death. He felt, as those imaginings withered away, sadder and more like a child than he had done in a long time. He blinked at Cerys, and did not know what more to say.

“And what are these matters on which you seek our counsel, Thane?” she asked him softly.

“He came to speak of Aeglyss, Cerys,” Yvane said before Orisian could reply. “He’s as close to a friend as you’ll find outside the Tower of Thrones, and he’ll hear more of what you’ve got to say than Lheanor would.”

Slowly, deliberately the Elect turned her head to meet Yvane’s gaze with her own. To Orisian’s surprise, and unease, it was Yvane who looked away first.

“We did not expect to see you here again, Yvane. How many years have you been gone?”

“I told him he would be welcome here, even if I was not,” Yvane said. Still she kept her eyes down. “I’d rather you didn’t make me a liar.”

“Your preferences, and your reputation, are not our first concern here,” Cerys said.

“Elect,” Orisian said, a touch more sharply than he intended, “I came here because of what Bannain told me in Kolkyre. I wanted to learn what you know of Aeglyss, because he stands among enemies who have killed my family and my friends, and because
na’kyrim
whom I trust – Yvane, and Inurian too –

judged him a danger to me and to my people. If you are willing to talk to me, I will listen. If you are not, tell me now so that I can go where I am needed.”

Cerys regarded him in silence for a moment or two. Rothe was glowering at her. The Elect’s hand had gone to the chain around her neck, her elegant fingers brushing the dark metal.

“Has Herraic given you chambers above?” she asked.

“He’s looking after the warriors who came with me. I would be grateful if we” – he glanced around, including Rothe, Ess’yr and the others – “could be found somewhere to rest here, with you.”

“Of course,” the Elect said, with a subtle nod. “We will find room for you. I don’t suppose Herraic particularly wants
na’kyrim
or Kyrinin taking up room in his keep. I’ll send him a message that we’ll take care of you. Bannain will show you where to go. You can rest a little; we’ll have some food brought to you. Then I will talk with you, Thane, and we will see what help we might be to one another.”