Winterbirth (30 page)

Wain's hands had become still. As a rule, it meant she had reached some conclusion. Kanin met her reflected eyes. She was excited.

'It's coming soon,' Wain said. 'I can feel it in my bones. The Road is going to turn, one way or the other.

What do you think? Light or darkness for us?'

'One or the other, Wain,' he said. 'One or the other. Aid will come to us from the north, or to Croesan from the south. This is a horse we can only stay astride. We cannot lead it where we will.'

'Yes, yes,' and he heard that fierce certainty in her voice that he knew so well, 'but still I say something is coming. One way or the other.'

A huge man, all muscular bulk, appeared in the doorway: Igris, chief of Kanin's shieldmen. He waited in silence, staring rigidly ahead. Kanin set aside the comb.

'What is it?' he asked.

'The halfbreed asked for an audience. We told him you would not see him.' The man's voice was deep and strong.

'Very well,' said Kanin. Wain rose and began buckling on her sword belt.

'He's insistent, though,' Igris said. 'He still waits outside. He asks that he be allowed to speak with the other halfbreed, the one from Kolglas. The guards turned him away when he tried to get in to the gaol.'

Kanin sighed in irritation. 'So he has you running around as his messenger, does he?'

For the first time, the shieldman glanced at his master. His face was impassive, but there might have been the faintest flicker of doubt in his eyes.

'Perhaps he charmed you with that voice of his?' Kanin suggested. 'Perhaps you listened a little too closely when he suggested you should pass on his request?'

'No, my lord. I do not think so.'

'Well you wouldn't, would you? What do you think, Wain? Perhaps we should rid ourselves of Aeglyss.'

His sister was testing her blade's edge with her thumb.

'He's obsessed with Kennet's tame halfbreed. Let them talk to each other. What harm can it do? It might keep Aeglyss quiet for a while, at least.'

* * *

There was room in the Shared for Inurian to find peace. By stilling the chatter of his senses and freeing his mind of all contact with the world about him, he could sink back through deep strata of silence and darkness. He could bring about dissolution. It was a feeling none save another
na'kyrim
could hope to understand, and even amongst them precious few could attain it as he did. Time lost its meaning there, in the abyssal places, and the mind could find solace. It was a respite he needed during his incarceration in Anduran.

On the fifth night of his imprisonment he lay down upon the floor. He let his awareness of the cold and of the stone beneath him fall away. He shut out the harsh voices in the yard outside and the whispering rivulets of rainwater trickling down the walls of his prison. His breathing shallowed, taking on a steady trance-rhythm. His thoughts slipped away behind him, like eddies in the wake of a ship. His mind was smoke, attenuating. He was thousands, thousands of thousands. He was Huanin, Kyrinin, even joyful Saolin. He ran within Kyrinin hunters, felt the lovestruck awe of every Huanin mother, the abandoned exultation of the Saolin's shapeshifting.

Even the Whreinin had left their traces in the eternity of the Shared. Although the wolfenkind were long gone, they had once walked the world and the Shared would never forget it. He could sense the wolfenkind's savage cruelty, that had finally driven the Tainted Races to hound them to extinction, but there was no judgement in the sensing of it. The Shared was all things, and there was no good or evil in it, no right and wrong. There was only existence, or the memory of existence.

The Anain alone lay beyond him. They were there, like the rest - theirs was an immeasurable, illimitable presence - but their nature was of a different kind, and not something any
na'kyrim
could comprehend or taste.

Inurian faded, dispersing into the seamless unity that underlay thought and life. He had surrendered himself thus to the Shared many times in his life, but on this occasion the experience was marred.

Something tugged at his awareness, refusing to allow its cleansing dissolution. It was as if the last flimsy threads of his mind caught upon some snag and were held. For a moment he strove to dissipate those final elements of his self. The focus grew stronger. The sensation of his thoughts recoalescing was almost physical. It grieved him to be thus denied release. As he ascended towards consciousness, he felt that which had prevented his escape drawing closer: a turbulent shadow casting itself over him and wrapping the sharp stench of corruption around him. Like a drop falling upon the still surface of a pool, something had marred the perfection of the Shared.

He opened his eyes to find Aeglyss standing before him.

'I am not sure what you were doing, but I would like to learn the way of it,' Aeglyss said quietly. A faint smile was playing across his pale, thin lips.

Inurian rose and flexed his right knee to ease its protests. The long walk through Anlane, and the damp and cold of his miserable cell, had reminded the joint of a twisting fall long ago on the rough slopes of the Car Anagais. He returned his visitor's gaze unresponsively, burying his surprise and the sudden presentiment of horror that accompanied it. It was clear that Aeglyss was the cause of the turbulence in the Shared; what that implied about the man's potential potency put a sliver of fear into Inurian's heart.

'Can we not even talk to one another?' Aeglyss persisted. 'I wish only to learn from you. I need your help - your guidance - to harness the strength I know I possess.'

He took a short step closer to Inurian. 'Our interests run in the same channel. These people would kill you without a second thought: I have been arguing on your behalf ever since we arrived here.'

'That's a lie,' Inurian said evenly.

'Ah, so you're interested enough to go scrabbling about inside my head. What do you see there? I could keep you out - I did at Kolglas - but there's no need to. You must know I mean you no harm.'

'I don't need the Shared to tell me that you are no friend of mine,' replied Inurian. It was true only in part.

He was not prepared to give even a hint of how unsettling the things he sensed in Aeglyss were. The younger man carried such a roiling knot of anger and resentment in him that Inurian could almost taste it.

'Use me, then, if you refuse my friendship,' snapped Aeglyss. 'I hoped for more from another
na'kyrim,
but I should have known better. I've had no better from
na'kyrim
than from anyone else. Why should you be any different?'

It took an effort of will for Inurian not to wince at the sharp, sudden pain that flared in Aeglyss as he spoke. That was what underlay all the more ferocious emotions that burned in Aeglyss. Beneath the bitterness was pain: a deep-rooted hurt, profound and lonely.

'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.'

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.