Clouds piled up around the summits of the Car Criagar to the north. The men atop the battlements shivered and peered out over the town as it emerged from the darkness. The catapults had fallen still, and there was no sign of movement around them. Here and there in Anduran the odd light glimmered.
Somewhere a fire-weakened timber gave with a resounding crack.
It was a calm scene, until the eye looked closer. Amongst the barricades and low earthworks that had been thrown up beneath the walls, crowds of Tarbain tribesmen were packed more thickly than ever before. They thronged the ground, pressing themselves down and jostling for any scrap of protection. A few arrows flashed down from the walls, until hurried commands were shouted to save them. Figures were moving amongst the houses that fronted on to the castle; not many, but they moved with haste and purpose. The sentries looked more closely, and they saw spears and polearms. They saw more figures, pressed in beneath overhanging eaves. The Black Road had gathered its full strength.
Word ran through the castle like wildfire. 'They're attempting the walls,' some cried; 'They'll force the gate,' others. Most of the shouts were nothing more than: 'To arms, to arms!'
Warriors and farmers, shieldmen and townsfolk took up whatever weapon they had to hand and went to the walls. They were hungry and cold. They were tired, for the bombardment had denied many sleep.
But they went to the walls and they promised one another the Black Road would be bloodied today.
Croesan and Naradin, Thane and Bloodheir, stood together atop the gatehouse. They risked no more than the briefest of glances out over the grim scene.
'They grow impatient,' murmured Naradin. 'That's a pity.'
Croesan grunted. He wore polished mail; a gleaming silver shield hung on his arm.
'They'll not find us easy,' said the Thane.
Naradin looked around and back, over the courtyard of the castle. Most of the wooden outbuildings by the keep - stables, blacksmith's forge, hay store - were ruins, burned out during the night's incendiary bombardment. A new fire was being kindled even now: a pyre, on to which the bodies of men and horses had been piled, along with the heads thrown into the castle by the catapults. The keep itself was intact, though it bore the scars of several impacts. A fire had started on one of the upper floors in the night, but it had been quickly extinguished. Naradin cast his gaze along the walls that flanked the gatehouse. More than half of those now gathered to defend them were not warriors at all. They were townsfolk trapped here and left with no choice but to take up arms: apprehensive, exhausted.
'If we had only another couple of hundred trained spearmen they'd find us impregnable,' the Bloodheir reflected.
'Well, we don't have those men,' said Croesan firmly. 'So we trust to the courage of those we do have.
If we fail, there'll be others to avenge us: Lheanor, Kennet if he lives. Taim Narran. First, though, let us try to ensure that their vengeance is not required. Our Blood has life in it yet.'
Naradin nodded.
'Go to the keep,' Croesan said. 'Wait there with your Shield, and anyone else you can find in there.
Keep Eilan and your child safe. Leave the courtyard and the walls to me. We will meet again once all is done.'
Naradin embraced his father. They stood thus for a few moments, clinging to something, then parted and went their separate ways.
The arms of the catapults were cranked slowly back. Baskets of rocks and rubble were manhandled into place. Kanin nan Horin-Gyre stood at the mouth of an alleyway, within sight of Castle Anduran's gate but shielded from arrows by the overhanging roof. A man standing by the nearest of the catapults, twenty paces ahead, watched the Bloodheir intently. Kanin nodded, and in a great crash the three machines sprang once more into life.
Kanin turned to the thin, gap-toothed figure at his side.
'Go, then,' he said to the Tarbain chieftain.
The man's eyes were hostile, his lip curled as if preparing an angry response. But he bent his grey head and took a single long stride out into the open. He sucked in a rasping great breath, spread his arms and howled with all the strength his ageing lungs could muster. It was a wordless, formless cry.
Hundreds of Tarbain warriors huddled amongst the siegeworks rose up as one, howling in their turn, baying in the sudden release of tension. A seething mass, bearing huge ladders that rocked like twigs on a fast-flowing stream, they poured forwards to the castle walls. Many fell, trampled or brushed aside by their comrades. Arrows and rocks showered down from the battlements. Boulders flung by the catapults rebounded from the walls and fell amongst the tribesmen. Still, the ladders reached the castle and were flung up against it.
As the Tarbains scrambled upwards, ants on a great boulder, another band of thirty or more men - the strongest of Kanin's own warriors - barged through the throng and up to the gate. They pushed a massive wheeled ram, fashioned from a single straight oak and capped in iron. Before they could bring it to bear on the great timbers of the gate, a cascade of stones and arrows had felled a dozen of them. Others ran up from behind to take their place.
Atop the walls, blows were traded, blood shed. Tarbains fell screaming from the ladders back into the press of their kin below. Some spilled out on to the battlements. Against them, women, old men and boys fought alongside the castle's warriors, hacking and swinging with staffs and clubs, axes and kitchen knives. They killed and were killed.
Croesan the Thane came surging along the wall, his Shield all about him. They pushed to the fore and swung their long-bladed swords. The Tarbains had no protection save their tunics of marten and lynx fur.
The dead piled up. The wounded groaned and writhed, and were trodden underfoot. Croesan came to the head of a ladder and shouted out in fury as he slashed at the man ascending it. His shieldmen levered the ladder away from the wall with poles and it toppled. Below, the battering ram was crashing against the gate.
The Thane wiped flecks of blood from his eyelashes. He looked to left and right. There was still fighting, but the castle's defenders had the upper hand. Nowhere had the Tarbains gained a secure foothold. A great boulder smashed against the battlements nearby, and spun on and over down into the courtyard.
Croesan glared out at his besiegers, and saw that there was to be no respite. A host of Horin-Gyre warriors was now drawing up in open sight, spears to the fore, swords and axes behind. A desultory volley of arrows came down from the sections of castle walls that were not yet beset. The crack of splintering timber said the castle gate was yielding. The army of the Black Road were swarming around the foot of the walls; more ladders were being thrown up. A flurry of crossbow bolts hissed overhead as Croesan turned away. One of his shieldmen fell at the Thane's side, his helm stove in by a bolt.
When the main gate broke open, Horin-Gyre warriors poured into the breach, pushing back the fractured timbers and spilling through into the passageway beyond. Their way was blocked by the inner gate and there, in the gloom beneath the great mass of the gatehouse, dozens died as missiles darted out from holes and alcoves. The ram rolled in, grinding the dead and wounded beneath its wheels.
The strength of the Tarbains on the walls was spent. They died, or fell back. They had served their purpose, though. The mail-shirted warriors of the Black Road who now swarmed up the walls to take their place found fewer, tired defenders. Croesan was drawing up his Shield, and as many other fighting men as he could muster, in the courtyard, facing the inner gate. When he lifted his eyes to the walls he could already see how this day would end. The Black Road would pay a heavy price for Castle Anduran, but it would be theirs. There were too many of them. However much courage and determination burned in Lannis hearts, it was not enough to outweigh the enemy's numbers. The inner gate shook, shedding splinters and dust as the ram smashed against it once more.
'Lannis!' cried the Thane. He held his sword and shield above his head.
'Lannis!' he shouted, and the men all around him took up the cry.
Then the inner gate surrender
ed. Croesan charged forwards to meet the Black Road .
In the shadow of the gatehouse, around the abandoned ram, back into the passageway, the battle crushed itself into chaos. Spears crashed against shields, were parried, broke, drove through into flesh. It came to the push of body against body. Knives came out and stabbed and slashed furiously amongst the press of legs and bodies. The attackers were driven forwards by those coming up behind them, and the fighting began to fragment as the Lannis-Haig defenders were overwhelmed. Entangled groups of combatants spilled back into the courtyard.
Naradin the Bloodheir burst from the keep with a score of men. They cut a swathe through the ranks of the enemy and fought their way to the Thane's side. A spearpoint gouged a bloody track across Croesan's cheek. He slashed it away and hacked down the woman who directed it. Naradin, unbalanced, took a savage axe blow upon his shield, and his arm broke behind it, but he cut through his assailant's wrist, and sent hand and axe tumbling. The Horin-Gyre attack faltered, and was pressed back. The cobblestones were slick with gore; the dead formed banks like windblown leaves. Fighters lost their footing and were pinned down and killed. The Lannis-Haig warriors pushed on.
'To me! To me!' Croesan was crying, at the heart of the fighting. He buried his sword deep in the side of a foe. The blade caught between ribs, and when the man slumped to the ground the Thane for a moment could not free it. He cursed, and hauled at it, and in that moment a sword came down on his shoulder, snapping bone and driving jagged edges of metal into his flesh. Croesan fell to his knees, and took his hand from his sword to steady himself. His shieldmen brushed past him, guarding him as best they could.
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.
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