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 h
ave 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.
'Not an accusation, but a threat perhaps? I would kill any man who suggested that any action of mine weakened the creed. Save one of the Lore Inkallim, given the privileged position your people enjoy in such matters.'
The First of the Lore smiled.
'Such privileges do not extend beyond matters of the creed, of course,' continued Ragnor.
'Of course. But do not misunderstand me, High Thane. I make neither accusation nor threat. My only desire is to see an absence of secrets between Gyre and the Inkallim. We are the roots and boughs of the Black Road , the Gyre Blood and the Inkallim. In years past the creed has been saved, or renewed, time and again by the two of us acting in concert. Anything that undermines that unity gives me cause for concern.'
'Yes. Well, you are custodian of the creed, and...'
The High Thane's words were interrupted by a sudden chaos of cries and creaking wood. He and Theor both turned to see one of the carthorses rearing in panic. Its companion started forwards, twisting the cart round. The stuck wheel came free and bounced against a rock as it scraped sideways. The bear was roused by the tumult and half-rose on to its hind legs. The tribesmen yelled furiously. Ragnor saw what was going to happen a moment before they did, and muttered, 'What fools.'
The bed of the cart tilted, shifting the cage, and the bear reeled sideways. With a slow inevitability, accompanied by a thunderous, splintering crash, cart and cage toppled over. The Tarbains shouted louder still. Both of the carthorses began to buck and struggle. Roaring, the huge bear tore its way out of the wreckage and raised itself up to its full height. The men scattered. One was a fraction slow, and the beast ran him down in a few strides. A single sweep of its paw knocked him flat and its jaws engulfed his head. The bear shook its prey from side to side, and the sharp snapping of the Tarbain's neck was clearly audible to all in the funeral party. As the surviving tribesmen fled down the track, the bear stood over the body for a moment or two then swung around and glared at the throng a hundred yards or so up the slope.
'I suppose we had better do something,' said Ragnor. He gave a flick of his head and his Shield separated themselves from the other mourners. Crossbows were released from their bindings. The bear shook itself and came a few paces towards them. It reared up once more and roared.
'Magnificent,' the High Thane murmured. Some of his warriors knelt, the rest stood in a rank behind them. They were slotting bolts into place. The bear dropped on to all fours and bounded closer over the rocks. It rose again, bellowing defiance. Angain's hound was barking furiously, as if imagining that his dead master was at his side still.
A dozen crossbows sang and their shafts flowered together in the bear's chest. It swayed, fell forwards on to its forepaws, took a few unsteady steps and then slumped down. Its great flank heaved and they could hear its rasping breaths. One of the shieldmen drew his sword and strode down to administer the final blow.
'A magnificent animal, don't you think?' Ragnor said to the Lore Inkallim. 'As fearless in the face of death as any true believer could hope to be.'
'Fearless or ignorant,' Theor said absently. His eyes never left the bear as the warrior sank his sword into its neck. A slight frown settled over his features.
'It's as well you don't hold with the old Tarbain symbols,' said Ragnor. 'On a day such as today, that might look an ill omen to those inclined to see it that way: presaging the death of a great lord, or changing times or some such nonsense.' He turned and marched on towards Castle Hakkan, laughing to himself.
The master of the Lore Inkall did not follow at once. He watched as the shieldman drew his blade across the thick fur of the corpse to clean away the blood. When he did follow in the footsteps of the High Thane, he bore a thoughtful expression. He drew his grey hood up once more to shelter his face from the elements. The snow was getting heavier all the time.
* * *
A black line emerged out of the drizzling mist. More than three thousand, Kanin estimated as the companies fell into position facing his own. Some of them looked to be common folk: farmers, fishermen and villagers gathered from the southern Lannis-Haig lands. Many, though, were fighting men. The two lines were not far apart, and despite the leaden air he could hear shouts running to and fro along the enemy ranks, and the stamping of horses and the clatter of their harnesses. He saw a few banners hanging limply. He could identify only a few of them. At the centre amidst a mass of horsemen stood one that bore the insignia of Kilkry-Haig. Kanin sniffed and shook raindrops from his hair. He glanced across to Wain. She sat astride her horse close by, the half-dozen warriors of her Shield in attendance.
'It seems we have the chance to make a name for ourselves,' Kanin said. 'That's the Kilkry Bloodheir, isn't it?'
His sister grinned. 'It would be sweet-tasting to win this one.'
'As fate falls,' murmured Kanin. 'We can hope.'
The waiting was a torment. The rain eased off, leaving wet clothes plastered to bodies. Kanin could feel his muscles growing stiff in the saddle. The Tarbain men before him were becoming restive, shifting about, muttering and shouting at one another in their barbarous tongue. Kanin rode down the line, quelling them with a fierce glare. The Horin-Gyre warriors amongst the tribesmen were still, quiet. He saw some of them murmuring under their breath as they stared fixedly ahead. He found his lips moving of their own accord, the whispered words coming without thought: 'My feet are on the Road. I go without fear. I know not pride.' Again and again, over and over. The Hooded God would hear and approve, if the words were spoken with true belief. And if that belief was still in the heart when the moment of death came, he would gather the fallen in to him to rest until the renewal of the world.
Finally, after an hour or more, there was movement. Horsemen began to stream across behind the opposing army, gathering on its left flank. They mill
ed about there as minute by minute their numbers swelled: a hundred, two hundred, and more. At the same time, a line of archers were coming forwards, strung out across the field. They advanced to within a long bowshot before kneeling. Kanin felt his pulse speeding, the sense of impending release building within him. Now the answer would come. Whatever happened, it was better than the waiting.
A hissing flight of arrows arced up and over. They pattered down, many falling short, others rattling against uplifted shields or smacking home in thigh or chest. It was a sound unlike any other, the thudding of an arrow into yielding flesh. Kanin's horse skittered sideways as the first cries rose up and it caught the scent of battle. He patted its neck. There was a second volley of arrows, and a third.
'More crossbows to face the horsemen,' he called to Wain, and she nodded and cantered off. A few shouted commands sent cross-bowmen scurrying from left to right to take up positions opposite the Kilkry horsemen. There was barely time, for a great clamour and blowing of horns rose up amongst the riders, and they wheeled their mounts about and began to advance across the field. Another shower of arrows came in. A stray one passed well over the line and felled a Tarbain warrior standing close by Kanin. He looked up at Kanin with a fixed expression of shock on his face as he died.
The riders came slowly at first, holding their horses on tight reins. Their speed picked up until, in a thundering burst of hoofs and flying clods of earth, they broke into a gallop. And here was another sound that had but one meaning: the visceral, swelling rumble, felt through ground and air, of the charge. It touched upon some leashed part of Kanin, shivering through his breast-bone, and he felt it raising him up, bearing him in wild anticipation towards the clash that must follow. A volley of bolts flashed out to meet the charge. Horses crashed down, ploughing into the soft ground, flinging their riders beneath the stamping feet of those who came behind. The crossbowmen stepped back, hurrying to reload, and spears sprouted along the front rank. When it came, the impact was like the wordless roar of a thousand voices.
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