Winterbirth (11 page)

'What else could you do?' his son asked. 'You could hardly refuse the High Thane's direct command in such a matter: we might argue over tithes and levies and the settlement of his warriors on our lands, but a call to arms is different. And Taim would never have allowed you to send so many of his men without him. You know what he's like.'

'Better than he knows himself. He hasn't the heart for the life of the sword any more. It's only his loyalty that's kept him from seeing it. This bloodletting in Dargannan-Haig will have been hard for him.'

'One more mark in the ledger against Gryvan oc Haig,' said Naradin.

Croesan ran his hand over the arm of the great chair and glanced across at his son. 'As you say. One more amongst many. Do not forget them. I hate to speak of such things on what should be a joyful day, but you should know that I fear Gryvan is not done with us yet. From the Steward's hints, I think our High Thane is about to demand extra tribute, to meet the costs of subduing Igryn.'

'The blood of our warriors is not enough for him, then,' muttered Naradin.

'Apparently not. A part of me would long to refuse him if he does make the demand, but I would have your counsel on it. These decisions are no longer mine to make alone. The safety of our Blood will fall to you before very many more years have passed.'

'Do you know where Lheanor stands?' asked Naradin. 'If Gryvan means to grind us down still further, he will have the same in mind for Kilkry.'

'He will,' agreed Croesan. 'He sees no difference between Lannis and Kilkry, and I would have it no other way. I have sent word to Lheanor. It is time he and I met again, in any case.'

Naradin shook his head. 'Has Gryvan really become so blind that he sees no danger in driving such wedges between the True Bloods? Does he no longer care that we are the ones guarding his borders against the Black Road ?'

'Ah well, there is the nub of it, isn't it? The Gyre Bloods have not bestirred themselves for thirty years. It seems they're more interested in arguing amongst themselves than in renewing their feuds with us. Only Horin-Gyre out of all of them even bothers to send scouts and raiders over the Vale of Stones any more.

I keep reminding Behomun that there are still skirmishes being fought up there, but I fear his master Gryvan knows as well as we do that - for the time being at least - the threat from the north is not what it once was. Thus he feels free to play his games. After all, with Kilkry at our side we could still turn back the entire Horin-Gyre Blood; Haig is a different matter. If it came to open war, Gryvan could count on Ayth and Taral to join him against us. We would last a few months at best.'

'So,' said Naradin, 'however we might long to defy Gryvan oc Haig, we will bite our tongues and do enough at least to avoid an open breach.'

'Yes,' Croesan sighed. 'I pledged loyalty to Haig when I became Thane, as you will no doubt have to do when my time is done and yours arrives. Gryvan may not put much store by that promise, but I hope we can hold to it even in the face of his provocations.'

The Thane clasped his hands together and shook himself, as if to shed such unwelcome thoughts.

'Let's not dwell on such things any more than we must,' he said. 'There are celebrations to get started, and I mean to enjoy them.'

Naradin rose from his seat and took his father's hands in his own.

'One day, your grandson will love you just as I do, and as Eilan does. Even the High Thane cannot deprive us of that.'

Croesan clapped Naradin on the shoulder.

'That is true, that is true. Now let us go and save your beloved wife from all the excitement.'

Rothe came to find Orisian in his chambers. During their stay at Anduran their routine of regular practice had all but lapsed, and the shieldman was insistent that it should now be resumed. Thus Orisian found himself out in the castle's courtyard, parrying the big man's weighty blows as they circled each other.

They used wooden practice swords, but still the impacts sent stinging shivers through Orisian's hand.

When he had been younger he had found such exercises embarrassing. They all too often attracted a small audience of onlookers. He had little instinct for swordplay, and it had been a long and sometimes painful learning process. He was at least good enough now that his work did not provoke outright mirth amongst any observers. Today, in any case, everyone was busy with preparations for Winterbirth and hardly a glance was spared for the two mismatched sparring partners. The one exception was Kylane, who paused to watch as he wandered past. His presence distracted Orisian, who at once received a cracking blow on the back of his knuckles. Kylane strolled off, chuckling under his breath and shaking his head; perhaps, thought Orisian, lamenting the ineptitude of his future charge.

At the end, as Orisian sat breathless on the cobblestones, flexing and massaging his sword hand, Rothe grunted in muted approval.

'You'll be a swordsman yet.'

'If my arm doesn't fall off first,' replied Orisian.

Rothe offered him a broad hand. As Orisian took it and hauled himself upright, he could feel the hard ridges that scarred the warrior's skin. Rothe had spent most of his life with a sword in his hand, fighting Kyrinin in Anlane or Black Road raiders in the Vale of Stones, and had been marked by the weapon. He had never married; Kylane said - always out of Rothe's hearing - that his sword was too jealous of his company to allow anyone to come between them. Though it was not a life Orisian would choose he had never seen any sign of regret in Rothe.

'What would you be if not a shieldman, Rothe?' he asked on impulse.

A crude smile formed in Rothe's beard and the great man shrugged in a small, almost vulnerable way.

'There are other things of worth,' he said, 'but none I know anything of. How could I say what else I might be than what I am?'

Late in the afternoon of that day, Orisian looked down from a window in the keep upon a strange scene.

The acrobats who were to perform at the feast were filing through the castle gates and into the courtyard.

They were big men, their bulk accentuated by rough fur jackets and capes. They wore leather boots and trousers, and each carried a small pack over his shoulder. The last few to enter were laden with small chests, barrels and cloths and a pair of long, thick poles that looked freshly cut.

There were perhaps a dozen in the company. Orisian had never seen so many masterless folk together.

All were long-haired, their locks tied back and dyed in exotic hues of rust and gold. They walked lightly despite their size. When Orisian looked more closely he realised that there were a few women amongst them, a trifle smaller than the men but dressed just the same and looking no less powerful.

He found Anyara loitering in the doorway at the foot of the keep, watching the new arrivals with frank fascination.

'They're very . . . big, aren't they?' she said.

'I suppose. They all look the same.'

'Well, perhaps they're all related,' smirked Anyara. 'You know what they say about the breeding habits of masterless folk. Still, they look well enough put together to me.'

A few of the castle's guardsmen were gathered outside their quarters. Muffled laughter every now and again suggested some coarse discussion of the female newcomers, yet not one of the acrobats so much as glanced across. They worked with practised efficiency, in silence, as they arranged their equipment on the cobblestones and checked over it.

'It must be a good show, with so many of them,' mused Orisian. 'Where are they going to perform?'

'Ilain said they were going to give a show inside the hall, then do some tricks out here in the yard later.'

'Where do you suppose they're from? It must be Koldihrve, or somewhere near there, for there to be so many. Don't you think?'

Anyara shrugged. 'Or somewhere on the Kilkry coast. There are still masterless villages there, aren't there?'

As they watched, Bair the stablehand wandered across to peer at the collection of wares arrayed in the courtyard. He reached out to touch a coil of thick rope, but one of the acrobats flashed out a hand to seize his wrist. Surprise flung Bair's eyes and mouth wide, and had he not been mute he would surely have cried out. The man shook his head a little before gesturing Bair away. The boy edged backwards, continuing to watch with wondering eyes from one of the stalls in the stable block.

Orisian glanced up at the sky. It had darkened in the last half hour as the sun sank away. The castle yard was falling into shadow. Torches would be brought out soon, for Winterbirth was a night when darkness must be held at bay.

'We should be getting ready,' he said to Anyara. 'The feast will be starting before long.'

She nodded, turning to follow him into the keep with an almost wistful glance back over her shoulder towards the party of acrobats.

Inside, early arrivals for the night's feasting had begun to assemble, gathering in small knots in the great hall. There were bundles here and there of the gifts they had brought for the Thane. Already the mood was jovial. Animated conversations filled the hall with sound. Etha was moving along the tables, checking the trays of bread and flasks of ale and wine that had been set out. She was oblivious of the crowds around her as she muttered under her breath, no doubt compiling a list of reprimands for those who had laid the tables.

'It'll be a long night,' said Orisian, remembering Kylane's words at Glasbridge with a slight smile.

'Of course it will,' said Anyara. 'It always is.'

Inurian intercepted them as they made their way up to their rooms to change.

'There you are, there you are,' said the
na'kyrim.

'Here we are indeed,' Anyara agreed with great gravity.

'Your father asked to see you both,' Inurian said. 'He sent me to find you.'

'He's up, then?' Orisian asked, feeling a little surge of hope. Perhaps the clouds had lifted at last.

'Come and see,' Inurian told him, beckoning them to follow as he set off up the stairs.

They found Kennet standing in the middle of his bedchamber, frowning in concentration as he examined the fur of the heavy cloak he wore. He looked up as the three of them entered, and even in that first glimpse Orisian could see that his father had come back at least some way to himself. His eyes had a focus and life that had not been there for a long time.

'This cloak is not what it once was,' the lord of Castle Kolglas said glumly.

Anyara ducked under his arms and hugged him around the chest. Kennet swayed fractionally and for a moment seemed unsure what to do; then he returned the embrace.

'There are plenty of furs in the market,' Anyara said as she stepped back. 'We'll buy you a new one.'

Kennet smiled at his daughter and cupped her face for a moment in his broad hand. 'Very well, then.

That's what we'll we do.'

As Orisian watched him, he could not help but think how old Kennet looked. He might have hauled himself out from under the shadows once again, but there was a price to be paid. However much brighter his eyes were, the skin beneath them was dark, the lids above them limp and heavy. When Kennet smiled, as he did now, turning to Orisian, the expression had to work its way up from some deep place where it had been left, forgotten and unused, for many weeks.

'Orisian,' Kennet said, 'come here and let me see you.'

He regarded his son with gently appraising eyes.

'You look well,' he said.

'And you look better,' Orisian replied. He felt a familiar relief settling into him, tension easing. It was what he always felt when his father recovered from one of his dark moods: the lifting of the fear that one day the paralysing grief would not retreat, but would settle forever into Kennet's heart and bones.

'I am,' Kennet said. 'Perhaps it was those honey cakes you bought for me that did it, eh?'

'Or the promise of eating and drinking to wild excess tonight, perhaps?' suggested Inurian.

'Be still,' Kennet chided the
na'kyrim.
'Just because you do not share our human failings is no reason to spoil our enjoyment of them, old friend.'

He cast an arm around Orisian's shoulder, and reached out to draw Anyara close on the other side.

'Will you forgive me my weakness this last little while?' he asked them softly.

'There's nothing to forgive,' murmured Orisian.

'And it is not a weakness to be sad,' Anyara added emphatically.

Their father squeezed them tighter for a moment and then released them.

'Whether it's a weakness or not, you should know I am sorry for it. I would spare you it if I could. I love you both dearly, and you deserve better . . .' His voice faltered, and for the briefest of moments a kind of anguish was in his face. He shook his head sharply, almost angrily. 'I must rest a little before the feast.

Just a little. But listen, first let us make a plan. Once Winterbirth is done, we will make a journey. It's been too long since we were outside these walls together, the three of us.'

'Where to?' asked Anyara. 'Anduran?'

'No,' said Kennet a fraction too quickly. 'There will be time enough to see my brother later. Just the three of us.'

'Let's go to Kolkyre,' Orisian said quietly. 'To the markets, and the harbour.' He had visited the seat of the Kilkry Thanes only a couple of times himself - he liked it for its vigour - but he knew his father loved it. Kennet had always said the winds there came clean from beyond the western horizon: the air you breathed there was new, without a past.

'Yes,' smiled Kennet. 'Kolkyre. That's a fine city.'

Far away in the north, beyond the Vale of Stones, a sprawling, gargantuan castle - a labyrinth of angular walls, towers and rough stone - lay across the bare rocky slopes of a mountain. Points of fiery light stood out where torches burned against the impending night, their flames tossed to and fro by the wind. Flecks of snow spun around the fortress. Here on the northern flanks of the vast Tan Dihrin, winter's cold breath had begun to blow many days ago. But still, by ancient lore this was the night of Winterbirth, and only with the new moon could the season of ice truly be said to have arrived.