Winterbirth (31 page)

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 Kanin 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 Inkallim, 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.'

They walked in silence for a short distance. The cart carrying the bear had become stuck again, and Ragnor glanced down the slope as its Tarbain escort strove to lever the jammed wheel free. They were shouting curses in their harsh language. The cart rocked forwards and back again. The haunches of the horses were turning bloody beneath the switches of their handlers. Ragnor gave a snort of disgust.

'Never known how to manage horses, those people.'

'There were none here until we came. Tell me, what do you think will happen if Wain and Kanin do not return from south of the Vale?'

'Ah, you want to trade tales of spies? Well, I'm willing. Mine say those Gaven buzzards are eyeing up Horin lands already. Supposedly, Lakkan has ten years' production from his silver mines put aside to offer me for them if Angain's children die. What has the Hunt Inkall been whispering in your ear?'

The Lorekeeper shrugged. 'Similar. But Orinn oc Wyn-Gyre covets them too, and would not willingly see them pass to Gaven-Gyre. Angain would have served you better by having a larger family, or keeping the heir he did have safe, at least.'

'It's his children who've failed me there,' smiled Ragnor. 'Kanin's eyes are focused too close to home, and Wain herself is about as welcoming to suitors as that brute in the cage down there. It's a poor example they set, when we spend so much time telling the common folk they have a duty to breed. Horin has always been a Blood to make more problems than it solves. I'd not shed many tears over its demise, even if it sets Gaven and Wyn at each other's throats.'

'No more than Gryvan oc Haig would shed for the Lannis Blood, I imagine,' said Theor pointedly. 'Do you think so?'

'Your father always embraced the Inkallim with his confidence. There were no secrets between him and my predecessor, yet I find myself uncertain of your intent in allowing this war to begin.'

'There were ravens there when Angain and I discussed it. Nyve himself on one occasion, I seem to recall. He made a number of helpful observations on Tanwrye's defences.'

The First of the Lore Inkall looked grave. 'And I am sure Angain was aware of your full intent, of course. Nevertheless, there were occasions when your father had plans afoot that did not find their way into the ears of the lesser Thanes. At such times, it was to the Inkallim that he turned. He did so when the Horin-Gyre Blood required chastisement in the past, you will recall.'

'I do recall,' the High Thane said lightly. 'They were a still more unruly brood in those days. But come, if you suspect me of keeping secrets from you, say so. The Lore Inkall has always enjoyed the liberty of plain-speaking.'

'I make no accusation. I am sure that whatever plots or devices you may have in progress are intended to further the cause of the Black Road . To strengthen the creed, rather than weaken it. Or give succour to its enemies.'

Ragnor stopped. After a couple of strides, Theor turned and looked back at the High Thane. Behind them, Ragnor's Shield halted and the entire funeral procession shuffled to a standstill, puzzled at the sudden delay. No voices were raised in query or protest, though. The crowd simply stood in the gently falling snow and waited. When Ragnor spoke his voice was low, ensuring none save Theor could hear, but it was icily precise.