Winterbirth (41 page)

Naradin tried to lift him with his one good arm. A bolt darted down from the battlements and struck the Thane's son in the throat. He clasped his hand to his neck. He staggered backwards and collapsed.

Others helped Croesan to his feet. He could not free his sword, and snatched another from the hands of one of his helpers as he let his shield fall from his crippled arm. He looked for his son, but could not see him.

Fresh attackers kept coming. Inkallim were amongst them, and Wain and Kanin and his Shield. The courtyard was once more filled with tumultuous conflict. A ring of shieldmen gathered around Croesan.

The sea of invaders washed around it. One by one his guard was cut away, and Croesan the Thane of Lannis-Haig was surrounded by a dozen footsoldiers of the Horin-Gyre Blood. They cut him down with many blows.

The army of the Black Road swept through Castle Anduran like a horde of wild dogs. In stairwells and passageways silent, desperate battles were fought. In the kitchens and the halls, men, women and children were put to the sword. The door to the main keep was smashed open. Up through the keep the conquerors fought, hunting out those hiding in its corners. In the end it was Wain nan Horin-Gyre who led the way as a group of warriors broke down a small door at the head of the keep's spiralling stairway.

They found a chamber with bare stone walls and floors. Sitting in a simple wooden chair beside a bed was Eilan nan Lannis-Haig, cradling her son Croesan in her arms and staring at those who had burst in upon them. As they paused, she laid the baby down on the bed. She did it gently, unhurriedly.

'You are the Bloodheir's wife?' Wain demanded.

Eilan said nothing. Wain raised her already bloodstained sword and advanced across the room. Eilan lifted a short sword from where it rested by the chair and stood to meet her.

Afterwards, Wain nan Horin-Gyre cleaned her blade on the white bedsheets.

The Bloodheir stood in the centre of Castle Anduran's courtyard. He was afraid that his hands might be shaking, so strong were his emotions. The fighting had been done for almost an hour, but his sword remained unsheathed and his shield was on his arm. Sweat still ran down his back. He had to blink to clear his eyes of tears, blood or whatever it was that blurred them. There was a small glass vial tucked into his belt. It held dust: the dust of Castle Anduran, gathered and sealed away to be sent north as a gift to his father.

Wain joined him.

Kanin held out one hand, palm downwards, to her. 'Look. It's still, isn't it? I can't tell. Does it feel the same to you?'

Wain smiled at him. He almost wanted to sink against her, to take the weight from his legs and lean on her strong shoulders. All the tension, the fierce hope, of the last few weeks had washed out of him like a great ebbing tide. It had taken his strength with it, leaving a kind of elated exhaustion. Corpses littered the ground. They choked the castle's gate. Smoke still rose from charred wood. The castle's defenders had been weaker than they expected but the cost to Kanin's army had still been great. At least a third of all his strength lay dead around him. It had a sort of glory about it.

'It is more than we could have hoped for,' Wain said. 'Fate has some great purpose in mind, to grant us such victories.'

Kanin nodded. His thoughts were less on the Black Road than on his father today. Angain had dreamed of this day for years. Kanin and Wain had made his dreams real. For now, whatever happened next did not matter.

'We can feast in the halls of our enemies tonight,' said Wain.

'Yes. And send messengers north. Our father will rejoice. Ragnor oc Gyre will see just what is possible.

He must send us aid now; he cannot refuse the chance to hold what we have taken for him.'

'Perhaps. We should send the heads of Croesan and his son to Tanwrye. Let the garrison there see that their Thane is cast down. It will rot a little of their hope. And we killed Gryvan's Steward in the keep; he was hiding with his family in the kitchens. His head would make a fine gift as well.'

'I will have Igris see to it.' Kanin at last sheathed his sword. He set his shield down, resting it against his legs. He flexed the fingers of his sword hand. 'Have the girl from Kolglas - Anyara -brought up here tonight, for the feast. It will do her good to see the ruin of her Blood.'

He looked up at the keep. 'We should take ourselves some rooms up there,' he said; then, almost as an afterthought: 'Let's bring Kennet's
na'kyrim
here tonight as well. Aeglyss seems infatuated with him.

That's reason enough to put an end to him, I think.'

* * *

The long cacophony of the castle's fall reached Anyara in her gloomy cell. She did not know its exact meaning but the sound put an edge to her fear. She slumped down and sat with her back pressed hard against the wall of the prison. She covered her ears. The sound of slaughter was blocked out, and worse imaginings filled the void it left. She sighed and lowered her hands. There were cries upon the breeze now, the voices of the hurt and dying. It lasted for a long time but eventually the noise faded and gave way to a quiet that was in its way more grim. A battle was over, she knew.

Those who came for Anyara hours later were not ordinary warriors. They bore themselves with a haughty arrogance, and their heavy leather tunics were sewn with delicate chain that looked more suited to ceremony than battle. Round shields were strapped across their backs. Some honour guard of the Horin-Gyre Bloodheir's, perhaps, or his Shield, dressed for show.

They bundled her from the cell, along the passage and out into the gaolyard. It was near dark. She had only a moment to savour the longed-for sensation of open sky above her before they were pushing her onward. The yard was filled with people rushing this way and that. Amongst them, Anyara thought she glimpsed captives; frightened faces amidst the crowds of Black Road warriors. The cells were filling up.

She saw Inurian then, being driven towards her. He grimaced.

'Not the best hosts I have ever known,' he said.

Men pushed between them, and Anyara had no chance to reply before they were being hurried out from the gaol and into the streets of Anduran. They turned at once towards the castle. Anyara's heart quailed at the sound of celebration that assailed her ears. The last thin sliver of hope she had clung to was melting away. A group of warriors, whooping excitedly, rushed past. One trailed a long skein of material - a fine curtain torn from its place - behind him. An ornamental chain, the emblem of some castle official, hung about the neck of another. The guards escorting Anyara and Inurian moved them aside to let the celebrants go by.

Another burst of shouting came from up ahead and Anyara saw men pulling a wailing serving girl down the street. She looked away. One of her escort pushed her and they resumed their march up the Street of Crafts. The once elegant houses that lined it were now dilapidated and bedraggled like a row of poor mourners. Anyara felt fearful apprehension building in her. Soon they would be out on to the open ground before the castle, and she had no wish to see what awaited them there.

More warriors spilled down the street, clutching torches and capering about in a mad fashion. They were different to those she had seen before: Tarbains who looked like they belonged in some cave or hut of sticks. Some of them were naked to waist, their torsos streaked with ash and dirt. The tribesmen cried out to the Horin-Gyre warriors as they passed by, but got no response. They were drunk, giddy on the intoxicating combination of liquor, loot and evaded death.

Inadvertently, Anyara met the bleary gaze of one of the Tarbains. She lowered her eyes, but too late.

She felt a claw-like grip on her arm as she was dragged to one side. The Horin-Gyre warriors turned on the Tarbains. One of them struck at the man who had taken hold of Anyara with the flat of her sword.

Anger sparked between the two groups. They jostled one another as the tribesmen passed from raucous excitement to outrage. A warrior stepped in front of Anyara to shield her from further assault. There were men rolling on the ground, wrestling. Others rushed to pull them apart. Anyara was almost knocked over.

Some of the Tarbains had clubs or knives out now; there was a piercing yell as one of them struck home.

The Horin-Gyre warriors shed all restraint, and a savage melee began.

Anyara spun about, looking for Inurian. The
na'kyrim
stood a few paces away beside a female warrior whose attention was fixed upon her comrades' struggle. Even as Anyara turned to look, Inurian was sliding a belt knife out of its sheath at the woman's waist. Anyara's attention alerted the warrior and she swung around, grabbing at Inurian. The
na'kyrim
was faster. He stabbed into her throat and she fell, dragging the knife from his hand as she went.

Anyara leapt over the fallen woman. Inurian pulled her through the doorway of a fire-gutted house.

'Run,' was all he said as they crashed over blackened timbers in the hallway and stumbled past a ruined flight of stairs. Behind them, there were urgent shouts. Inurian thumped aside a door that hung loose and then they were spilling out into a black, tight alleyway. Inurian had hold of her wrist and she could only follow as he turned right and rushed a few strides along the cobbled alley before diving through another doorway. The voices behind them felt imminent. An open window led them out into another passage. A foul stench said there was an abandoned slaughterhouse somewhere near. Small shadows scattered as rats took flight.

Inurian closed his hand over Anyara's mouth and pulled her down, pressing her into the blackness that had pooled at the angle of walls and ground. She stirred uncomfortably, but he whispered in her ear,

'Still.'

She could hear his deep, even breathing. The sound of pursuit grew louder. Feet hammered into the alley; muttered curses and urgent exchanges. Some of the hunters ran off. Other, softer treads came closer, and there was the startling crash of doors being thrown open as they peered inside the buildings that lined the passage.

She pressed her eyes tight shut, as if it would in some way mar the sight of those who searched for them.

Inurian was as still as a corpse beside her. Someone standing nearby shouted out. Then they were moving away, their voices receding, their footsteps fading into the night. Inurian exhaled and Anyara opened her eyes. Inurian rose to a crouch, glancing up and down the alleyway.

'Quickly,' he whispered, 'they'll think we are ahead of them for a little while yet. We must get out of the town if we can. I don't know if there are any Hunt Inkallim here, but if there are we'll not be able to hide from them or their dogs. We need to get over the walls.'

They scurried along the back streets of Anduran, darting from doorway to doorway and shadow to shadow, seeking always the deepest dark. Where burned-out ruins had replaced buildings they scrambled over and through the rubble, finding shelter in its nooks and crannies. Twice the groups of warriors criss-crossing the city almost had them, and each time they huddled down as small as they could, holding their breath while their pursuers went past.

The minutes stretched as they worked their way closer to the western edge of Anduran. Once there was, from some little distance away, the sound of barking dogs and they glanced at one another. It could mean nothing, but it put the same thought in both of their minds: the Hunt was to be feared at least as much as the Battle Inkall. Assassins and torturers, hunters and trackers, the Inkallim who served in it were said to be an elite amongst the elite. Once marked by the Hunt Inkall, a life had no more value than a Whreinin's promise.

'We must get across the river,' said Inurian. 'If we can reach the forest, there are Kyrinin tracks I know.

We might be able to lose ourselves for a time.'

Anyara nodded dumbly. She knew Anduran well, but in the darkness, with the enemy upon them and so much of the town disfigured by fire and battle, she had little idea where they were. Inurian seemed confident of his route, though. She followed without hesitation, trusting in his instincts.

They came to a place where the city wall was crumbling and half-fallen. For a few, tense seconds, they crouched in a doorway, straining their ears and eyes for any sign of watchers. There was only the faint sound of voices far behind them. They clambered up a pile of rubble, grabbing at stems of ivy that had colonised the city's fortifications, and then they were up and through the breach and tumbling into the ditch outside the wall. Anyara could have laughed as she rolled, filled with the heady sense of escape.

Inurian was on his feet again in an instant, scanning the night.

'Stay close,' he said to her, and he was off before she could reply, racing up and out of the ditch and into the fields beyond.

The moonlight was stronger here, with no buildings to cast their shadows. It made the bushes and trees, barns and distant farmhouses into sinister shapes somehow filled with threat. They waded along a water-filled field drain. When at last they clambered out, Anyara's legs felt numbed to the bone. Her ragged skirt clung to her skin. She was about to ask if they could rest for a moment when Inurian crouched and gestured at her to follow suit.

'See?' he asked, pointing out across the flat fields. At first Anyara did not understand what he meant, but then she picked out the yellow pinpricks of firelight in the darkness.

'Kyrinin fires, I'd say,' murmured Inurian. 'A White Owl war party, and a huge one.' He turned to Anyara and whispered with steely intensity. 'The world is turned upside down for them to be out here in such numbers. Aeglyss has a great deal to answer for. He could be as great a threat as the Black Road , Anyara: the more so because he's unstable, unpredictable. Remember that.'

'I will,' she whispered, taken aback.

'One more thing,' Inurian said. He was pressing something into her hand. 'It's a foolish thing, but I would be grateful. Take this.'

She closed her fingers about the knotted lace.

'If something happens to me,' the
na'kyrim
was saying, 'and you have the chance, afterwards, bury this somewhere where the earth is wet, and plant a willow stake over it. Will you do that?'