Winterbirth (62 page)

'What news?' Orisian asked, but the Kyrinin ignored him and went to speak with Ess'yr. The language was incomprehensible, but for once the expressions upon their faces were almost eloquent. An intensity entered their eyes as brother and sister talked. There was urgency in their tones. Yvane had stirred herself, and as she listened to the discussion Orisian saw her begin to frown.

Varryn and Ess'yr came to some conclusion, and began rapidly to prepare themselves to move on.

'Will we not wait for the weather to improve?' asked Anyara, contriving a note of innocent enquiry.

'No,' Ess'yr said. 'We go quickly now.'

'What's happened?' said Orisian.

'The enemy are coming.'

Yvane was thoughtful as they hastened to keep up with the two Kyrinin, who set a hard pace away from the barn.

'The Inkallim?' Orisian asked, but Yvane shook her head.

'It seems there is war in mountains. Not just a raid: hundreds of White Owls have come north, from the sound of it. I've never heard of so many coming into Fox lands. It's not how the Kyrinin fight their battles, not these Kyrinin at least. They prefer sneaking about in little groups.'

'Are they coming this way, then?'

'Probably. The greatest Fox
vo'an
is beside Koldihrve. The White Owls will want that if they've blood on their minds, and they must have a powerful thirst for the stuff for so many of them to come so far. It smells bad to me. Like everything else. If you're not aboard a boat heading south soon you may not be going anywhere.'

A strange scene greeted them as they rounded a drift of alder trees and came at last within sight of the sea. Two very different settlements flanked the broad mouth of the River Dihrve. Upon its northern banks lay a chaotic jumble of houses and shacks, sheltering behind a crude ditch and dyke: the masterless town of Koldihrve. To the south of the river was a
vo'an,
a sprawling mass of tents and huts much larger than Orisian had expected. A long wooden trackway raised on poles connected the two settlements across the river. It might have been a vision from the distant past, from the time before the War of the Tainted, when the two races had more in common than distrust and bitterness.

And beyond the ramshackle roofs of Koldihrve was a sight more welcome, and more unexpected, still: the tall masts of a fine sea-going ship at anchor in the estuary.

Cerys, Elect of Highfast, ran a finger down the hem of her plain brown robe. It was fraying. She must mend it soon, as she had done several times before. Few amongst the
na'kyrim
of Highfast would have begrudged their Elect a new robe but Cerys preferred to set an example. The Thane of Kilkry-Haig still sent an annual boon of coin, and lesser gifts could usually be expected from Kennet nan Lannis-Haig -

Inurian's doing, of course — and one or two of the Marchlords on the northern frontier of Taral-Haig. All of that, however, went on food and the materials needed for the great tasks of chronicling and copying.

There was little left over for luxuries such as new clothing. When Kilkry had been highest of all the Bloods, things had been easier. Nowadays Lheanor oc Kilkry-Haig must send an ever-growing tithe south to Vaymouth; he had less to spare for the secretive workings of Highfast.

The Elect let the hem fall from between her fingers. She was allowing idle musings to distract her from the demands of the present. Gently, she reached out into the Shared, letting her senses flow with its currents. She felt the presence of those she sought: the Conclave was gathered in the room that adjoined her own chambers here in the castle's keep.

She did not relish the prospect of this meeting. Disquiet was abroad in Highfast, and it made people irritable and argumentative. There had been too many rumours circulating in recent days; perhaps that at least could be ended by this gathering.

She lowered her chain of office about her neck. It was very simply made — nothing but unadorned links of iron - as befitted what was a symbol of servitude rather than of elevation. To be elected as head of the Conclave lifted the candidate above others only so that the burden of preserving Highfast and its accumulated wisdom should fall more heavily upon their shoulders. The chain's weight tired Cerys, and she never wore it save on official occasions such as this.

Soft conversations died away as she entered the meeting chamber. Every eye was turned upon her. She smiled more resolutely than she felt. There were five other
na'kyrim
present. She would call most of them friends, but that did nothing to dilute the air of tension that filled the chamber. Cerys took her seat at the head of the table and poured herself a beaker of water. A platter of thick-crusted bread was passed to her and she tore off a piece and swallowed it down. A small ritual going back two and a half centuries to the first days of the Conclave in Highfast: that hunger and thirst should be sated, lest their pangs distract from the deliberations to follow. Cerys had little real appetite these days, but the traditions must be respected.

'Has everyone taken food and drink?' she asked, and when all gave their nodded or murmured confirmation, she said, 'Let us make a start, then.'

She turned to an old, frail-looking man seated beside her. His long hair was cloud-white and his eyes almost entirely misted over. The skin of his face was seamed by a thousand vanishingly fine lines. Olyn was beyond his hundredth year - aged even by the standards of the long-lived
na'kyrim
- and Cerys had hesitated over whether or not to burden him with the delivery of his ill tidings. Even if his body was failing him, however, his mind and his will were as strong as they had ever been. It was his own wish that he should be the one to repeat to the Conclave what he had whispered in the Elect's ear two days ago.

'Olyn has news that I thought all of you should hear,' Cerys said. 'Olyn, if you please?'

Olyn straightened in his seat and ran a swift tongue over his lips to moisten them.

'The crows have been uneasy this last little while,' he said in a wavering voice that ill matched the clarity of the thoughts beneath it. 'I have spent much time in the roost, to soothe them. I have slept there on some nights when they have been particularly restless. Four nights ago, I was woken by a great clamour.

When I sought its cause, I found that one long gone had returned. Idrin. Inurian's companion.'

There was no sound greater than an intake of breath in the room, but Cerys felt the undercurrent of regret. None would fail to understand the meaning of the crow's return. It extinguished, irrevocably, any faint hope that Inurian might still be alive.

'That is a great loss to us,' murmured Alian, a beautiful, slight Woman. Her head was bowed as she spoke. She would have been too young to have seen much of him when Inurian dwelled here, Cerys thought, yet she feels her life is reduced by his death. Everyone feels that, and rightly.

'We do not know what has happened, but there is no doubting that Inurian is gone,' Cerys said. 'I have reached out for him - I know others have done the same - and there is no sign. It is, as Alian says, a great loss. He chose to leave this place, but he left his mark upon it just as it did upon him.' She glanced at the keeper of crows. 'There is more that I wished Olyn to share with you, though.'

'It leads us away from the certain,' croaked the old, blind man. 'I believe that I . . . caught the moment of Inurian's death. There was an instant, a few days ago - I had sunk myself into the Shared - when I think I felt his passing. He ceased to be a presence in the Shared, became a part of its memory.'

'That must have been painful,' said a tall man whose pale hair was tied back in a braid.

'It was, Mon Dyvain. It was. But there was more to it: another presence, faint and obscure. I do not think Inurian was alone when died. One of us was there. A
na'kyrim.'

That took a moment or two to sink in. Eshenna broke the contemplative silence. She was the youngest of the Conclave, and had risen to its ranks after being in Highfast for only four years. Her speed of thought and talent in using the Shared had much to do with her rapid elevation, but so did her background: Eshenna had come to Highfast from Dyrkyrnon. That
na'kyrim
sanctuary deep in the marshes of the Heron Kyrinin was a world away from the austere and disciplined atmosphere of Highfast. Only the hidden Inner Court of the Adravane Kingship held a greater concentration of gifted
na'kyrim
than Dyrkyrnon.

It was Eshenna who, of all the members of the council, gave Cerys most cause for concern. The woman had a fire in her that Highfast had not yet turned fully to its own ends. She was as passionate as any in her studies and researches, but the outside world still called to her more strongly than was quite fitting for one of the Conclave.

'Forgive my slowness, Elect,' Eshenna said, 'but we should be clear about what is being said. Are we to take it that Inurian was killed by one of our own kind?'

Cerys sighed. 'As Olyn said, we have left certainty behind. But it seems . . . possible.'

'It's hard to believe,' Eshenna said. 'It must be a long time since
na'kyrim
killed
na'kyrim.'

'It happened in Koldihrve, years ago,' said Olyn. 'Before that, as far as I know, one would have to go back another two centuries or more, to the early Storm Years. Hyrungyr killed at least two
na'kyrim
on behalf of Amgadan the Wheelwright, who held the castle at Asger Tan. Of course, it was not uncommon before that, during the Three Kingships and the War of the Tainted.'

Mon Dyvain was tapping the ancient wood of the table distractedly.

'Ancient history come to life, then,' he murmured.

'I think so,' agreed Cerys. 'Some of you know already, but perhaps others do not: when the Dreamer spoke of Inurian's death, he also referred to someone else. A man, whose presence in the Shared Tyn seems to find . . . unsettling.'

'Then it must be true,' Eshenna said at once. 'Surely it's clear that this man - this
na'kyrim
- the Dreamer spoke of is responsible for Inurian's death.'

Cerys regarded the younger woman in silence. There was little more to say.

'What must we do, then?' Eshenna asked.

'There is nothing to do but watch and learn, and seek to understand, as our duties here demand,' said Alian.

It was well concealed, and perhaps the others did not notice it, but Cerys caught the slight twitch in Eshenna's face as the young
na'kyrim
suppressed an instinctive, dissenting, response.

'You are most likely right, Alian,' Mon Dyvain was saying, 'but there are complications here. We know Anduran has fallen to the forces of the Black Road . We know Inurian - peace to him - is dead. The two can hardly be unconnected.' He looked around at the other Conclave members. 'Well, it must be so, must it not? There is a
na'kyrim,
a murderous one, in the service of the Black Road .'

'It must be so,' agreed Eshenna. Out of the corner of her eye, Cerys could see Olyn nodding glumly.

'But why would a
na'kyrim
serve the Black Road ?' continued Mon Dyvain. 'They are not famed for their affection toward us.'

'Who is?' Alian asked quietly.

Cerys held up a calming hand.

'Let us not be too hasty with our assumptions,' she said. 'I share your instincts in this, but true understanding may be hindered by rushing to judgement.'

Mon Dyvain inclined his head to acknowledge the soft rebuke.

The Elect's gaze lingered upon one of those who sat around the table: Amonyn. The muscular, elegant man had said nothing so far. That was his way. He listened, and he thought, and he was never anything other than calm. He was also, by the fine margins on which such judgements rested, probably more powerfully imbued with the Shared than anyone else in Highfast. Cerys had seen him quieten a wailing child with a single soothing touch, and bring back from the very edge of death a Kilkry-Haig warrior crushed by falling rocks on one of the mountain trails. She had, for a long time, loved him in the distant, ill-defined way that came easily to the forever childless
na'kyrim,
and they occasionally found solace in one another's arms.

He stirred beneath her questioning look.

'Has the Dreamer spoken again?' he asked.

'He whispers and mumbles. His rest certainly seems disturbed, but the scribes have caught little of it.

Nothing of consequence.' .

Amonyn bestowed a rather sorrowful smile upon her.

'Then I think there is little enough that we can do. It is best to hold fast to our solitude and silence. With the one exception: perhaps Lheanor oc Kilkry-Haig should be told of our suspicions.'

Cerys smiled. They thought alike, she and Amonyn.

'With the Conclave's consent, I have a message ready to be carried to the Thane,' she said. 'It tells him that we believe there to be an unknown
na'kyrim
in the Glas valley and that it is possible - only possible

- that he or she is working in the service of the Black Road . We owe the Kilkry Blood that much for maintaining the safety of Highfast for all these many years. What good the warning may do Lheanor, I do not know.'

'And that is all we do?' asked Eshenna.

'That is for the Conclave to decide, but I would propose that for now we watch the Dreamer closely and study his words; we remain alert to any further disturbance in the Shared. That, as befits the purposes for which Highfast was first given over to the
na'kyrim
by Kulkain oc Kilkry, we wait and we observe and we learn.'

The Elect saw the doubt in Eshenna's eyes. Not outright disagreement, but doubt at the least. She turned to her right. 'Alian?' she asked.

'Wait and watch,' said Alian without hesitation.

'Wait and watch,' agreed Mon Dyvain, and Olyn and Amonyn. And, after only the slightest of pauses, Eshenna.

After the Conclave had dispersed, Cerys retired once more to her austere chambers. She was weary.

She carefully lifted the chain from around her neck and returned it to its oak casket. She was the ninth person to hold the office of Elect in Highfast; she often wondered if all those worthy predecessors had felt as unequal to the task as she sometimes did.