IV
Kanin oc Horin-Gyre ran. The snow was thick on the ground here on the western fringe of the Karkyre Peaks, but still he ran, and took a bitter pleasure in the burning of his lungs and the aching of his legs. He pounded through the drifts, not caring whether his warriors kept pace with him, barely even remembering that they were there behind him somewhere. Past and future were gone from his mind, and only this momentary present existed for him; only the straining of his muscles, the heaving of his chest. And that small group of fleeing figures just ahead: the men he meant to kill.
One of them glanced back and staggered to a halt, shouting something Kanin could not make out. Several of the men kept running, but as many stopped and turned. It must mean, of course, that Kanin had left his Shield behind. These Kilkry peasants thought they had him outnumbered. Outmatched. He rushed on. They did not know him; did not know what cold passion burned in him. They could not see the embracing shadow of death that he felt all about him now, in his every waking moment.
He brushed aside a spearpoint with the face of his shield, slashed an arm with his sword. Snow sprayed up. Shouts crowded the still air. It was only noise, without meaning, to Kanin. Figures closed upon him. He did not see faces, only bodies to be cut at, dark forms to be broken. A second went down beneath his blade. A spear thrust glanced harmlessly off his mailed shoulder. His opponents seemed slow and clumsy to him. He, by contrast, rode a cresting wave of death-hunger. It sped his limbs, sharpened his eyes and mind. It made sense of the senseless world for him.
A man whose brown hair was speckled with the silver of age came towards him, gesturing ineffectually with an old sword. Kanin could see that the blade was notched and had no edge. He ran to greet it, unhindered by the snow that tugged at his ankles. He killed the man, and then another, and rejoiced in the shedding of their blood. And soon there were only bodies about him, and he could hear his warriors coming up behind him.
Kanin stood still and straight for a few moments, panting out great gouts of misting breath. Sword and shield hung slack on either side of him.
“Half a dozen must have escaped us, sire,” Igris said.
“So?” Kanin growled. “Send someone after them, if you wish. I’m done with it.”
“These’ll not be hunting any more of our scouts, at least,” Igris said, surveying the corpses laid out around his master.
“They’re nothing,” grunted Kanin, sheathing his sword. “Look at them. Farmers. Old warriors, perhaps, who’ve not lifted a blade for years. There’s none left north of Kilvale that are worth fighting.”
“Except those shut up in Kolkyre with their Thane,” the shieldman suggested.
Kanin shook his head, not in denial but frustration. He strode away, back down the trail of trampled snow the pursuit had created. Whatever warriors Roaric oc Kilkry-Haig had at his side behind Kolkyre’s walls were beyond reach. They could not venture out without risking destruction, but nor were the investing forces of the Black Road strong enough to storm the place. Not without a firm guiding hand to muster them all together and drive them into an assault, at least, and it seemed there was no such hand at work any more. Things had passed far beyond that. Forces more ferocious and unthinking held sway.
Kanin slipped and slithered down the rocky slope they had ascended to outflank the Kilkry bandits. He went recklessly, letting his feet stutter over slick stones, taking a slide of loose snow and pebbles with him. He hit the ground at the foot of the incline hard, punching his knees up into his chest. The cold-looking men who had been left to guard the horses watched in silence. Kanin ignored them and went straight to his mount. He hung his shield from the saddle and brushed dirt and grit from his elbows.
The urgency of the chase and the slaughter was leaving him, retreating like a slack tide. It left the familiar hollowness behind. Only violence seemed to fill him now; without it he had only an empty kind of longing. So it had been since his sister’s death. So, he knew, it would remain until Aeglyss was dead too.
There were a dozen or more tents around the huge farmhouse Kanin had slept in for the last couple of nights. Horin warriors were scattered amongst them, tending fires, clearing snow, sharpening blades. Three were deep in discussion with a band of Tarbains who had come up to the edge of the camp; negotiating, Kanin guessed, a trade of booty or food. Kilkry lands were thick with such roving companies of looters and raiders and scavengers. The army of the Black Road had once, briefly, been mighty and vast. Triumphant. That had changed since their crushing defeat of the Haig forces outside Kolkyre. Great fragments of the army had splintered off, becoming a thousand ravening wolf packs, uncontrolled and uncontrollable, seething back and forth across the land, almost delirious in their desire for blood.
He reined his horse in outside the stables and left it to a stable boy to feed and water the animal. It was the third mount Kanin had had since marching out from Castle Hakkan in the far north all those months ago. The first, he had felt some affection for, but it, and the second, had been killed beneath him. This one would no doubt suffer the same fate soon. He felt nothing for it.
Icicles bearded the eaves of the farmhouse. Kanin heard laughter from within: a brief outburst in response to some jest or mishap. It was like hearing a language he did not know. Beyond the building, a column of men and women trudged through the shallow snow. They were folk of the Kilkry Blood, pressed into service as pack animals by their captors. Each carried a deep, wide-mouthed basket strapped to his or her back. They bore firewood and grain down towards the sprawling Black Road camps on the plain around Kolkyre.
Their escort looked to be mostly Wyn-Gyre warriors, but there were several overseers who carried no weapons at all save stubby whips. One of these men was standing off to the side of the column, flailing away at some fallen victim. Kanin paused to watch. The whip cracked back and forth. None of the other guards so much as glanced at the scene. Many of the passing prisoners did, but their burdens were heavy and they could spare no more than a moment’s attention for fear of losing their footing on the path of hard-packed snow. No matter their age, Kanin thought, they all looked old: bent and ragged and gaunt. The badge of defeat.
He found himself becoming irritated. The blows from the whip were having no effect on the prostrate form at the overseer’s feet, yet the man went on and on, his exertions becoming wilder and more frenzied with every stroke. The futility of it angered Kanin.
He walked closer, approaching from the side to avoid the flailing whip. The man curled in the snow was folded down into a small, pathetic bundle like discarded sacking; unmoving beneath the increasingly savage blows. Kanin did not need to see his face to know that a whipping was not going to bring him back to his feet.
“Enough,” shouted Kanin. “He’s dead. You’re wasting time.”
The overseer ignored him. He lashed the corpse again, and then again, each strike accompanied by a grunting snarl that took to the air in a cloud of mist. As the man drew back his arm once more, the whip curling around and out behind him, Kanin stepped forwards and seized his wrist.
“Enough, I said.”
The man spun about, his face contorted by rage. He shrugged off the Thane’s grasp and stumbled back a few paces as if unbalanced by the ferocity of his emotions. Such ire burned in his eyes that Kanin could see nothing beyond it: there was no spark of recognition, no glimmer of anything other than animal fury. The man came forward. He raised his arm, the whip quivering with all the anger it inherited from its bearer.
Kanin arched his eyebrows in disbelief, but did not move aside or raise any defence against the imminent blow. Igris, his shieldman, was quicker. The warrior stepped in front of his Thane and, even as the whip began to snap forward, put his sword deep into the overseer’s belly. The man fell to his knees. The whip snaked out feebly across the white snow. Igris pushed, tipping the man onto his back, then set a foot on his chest and pulled his blade free. The overseer gently placed his hands across the wound in his stomach, interlacing the fingers almo
st as if he were settling himself to sleep on a soft bed. He blinked and panted. Tears ran from the corners of his eyes. His blood trickled into the snow and stained it.
Kanin turned and walked away. The column had shuffled to a halt, both guards and bearers watching. Their interest was desultory, remote. Kanin ignored them. Igris came hurrying after him.
“Did you see his eyes?” Kanin asked.
“Yes, sire,” Igris answered.
“Nothing in him but bloodlust. Didn’t even know me; blinded by it. That’s what we’ve come to. We turn on each other, like starving dogs.”
“Perhaps you’ve some ale you could offer me, Thane?”
Kanin looked up from the platter of goat stew he was hunched over. Cannek was standing in the doorway of the farmhouse. Over the Hunt Inkallim’s shoulder, Kanin could see snow falling. Cannek’s cloak-a heavy, rustic garment more suited to an impoverished farmer-was smeared with melting flakes. The Inkallim was smiling. He smiled too much, Kanin thought, and without good reason.
“Or if not ale, a seat at least?”
Kanin nodded at the bench opposite his own. He took another mouthful of tasteless stew.
“No ale, though,” he said through it.
Cannek wrinkled his nose in disappointment as he shrugged the cloak from his shoulders. He spread it to dry on the floor in front of the fire.
“I looked for you down by the city.” He sat at the table, facing Kanin. “You wearied of the siege, it seems.”
Kanin glared at the Inkallim from under a creased brow, and then returned his attention to the bowl of stew. But his appetite, meagre at the best of times, was gone.
“If so, I sympathise,” Cannek said. He unbuckled the knives that were always strapped to his forearms and laid them down on the uneven tabletop. Their dark wooden handles, Kanin noticed for the first time, had tiny ravens carved into them. Cannek rolled his shoulders and flexed his arms back. It was a lazy movement, like a wolf stretching.
“It’s unpleasant down there,” the Inkallim said. “A shortage of food, an excess of foul tempers and ready blades. The dead go unburied and unburned. Some of the Gyre levies have taken to Tarbain customs, by all accounts: making cups from the skulls of dead Kilkry farmers and suchlike. I am not surprised you took your leave.”
“There’s a sickness abroad. Everything is falling into ruin. I want no part of it. Anyway, nothing will come of the siege.”
Cannek nodded. “Kolkyre can’t be starved into submission, since we’ve not got the ships to close their harbour. And it can’t be stormed. Not unless Shraeve recalled every spear that’s gone off south beyond Donnish.”
“Would they come?” Kanin asked darkly, pushing aside his plate. “If Shraeve summoned them?”
Cannek scratched the side of his nose. “Probably. The issue of command remains a little… unclear. There are plenty of companies from Gyre and the other Bloods milling about now, trying to assert themselves. Not wanting to miss out on all the glory to be won. But the Battle dominates, on the whole; and Shraeve is their Banner-captain. So yes, the armies might come and go at her call. Or that of Aeglyss, which amounts to the same thing. The masses seem willing to put a good deal of trust in him.”
“You are remarkably at ease with the thought.”
“I find our faith a great comfort in troubled times.” Cannek smiled again, sharp and fleeting. “Things are as they are. If there’s one thing the creed teaches us, it’s that a man gains nothing by worrying about it. Not even when he hopes to be the agent of change.” The Inkallim looked pointedly around the empty room. “I’d heard you’d developed a liking for solitude. Are we truly alone? No prying ears?”
“None,” said Kanin. He insisted that his meals and his rest were undisturbed these days. Barring immediate need, not even his Shield were permitted to attend him. He and his thoughts occupied a world that every day seemed more distant from that inhabited by others; the two domains, he found, did not mix well.
Cannek nodded, satisfied. “There’s a council called at Hommen. The Battle, the Lore, some of the Captains from the Bloods. Aeglyss is coming down from Kan Avor.”
Kanin grimaced in surprise. “I’d not heard.”
“You were not invited, Thane. You’re thought to have… what’s the phrase? Retired from the fray, I suppose. You’ve shown no great interest in the broad course of events. And it’s Shraeve who is calling us together; she-or the halfbreed, I suppose we should say-is no great admirer of your talents. Or your preoccupations.”
“You’re going?” Kanin asked.
“I, and one or two of my fellows.”
“You’ll kill him?” said Kanin. The excitement he felt was not an elevating sentiment; there was nothing bright or warming about it.
“The opportunity may arise. It seems likely.” Cannek shrugged. “What the outcome will be, I cannot say. That’s for forces greater than you or I to determine.”
“How will you do it?” Kanin asked.
“Oh, best not to enquire too deeply into such things for now. We must preserve your innocence in these matters as far as we can, don’t you think? Half the point of this is to protect you, and your Blood, from the consequences of what is happening. Comfort yourself with the thought that our reach was long enough to put an end to a Thane in his own feasting hall. Aeglyss is a good deal nearer at hand than Lheanor ever was.”
There was a dull thump from outside one of the shuttered windows. Cannek’s eyes were drawn by the sound. His hand went to one of his knives, and had it halfway out of its sheath before Kanin could even draw breath.
“Snow,” the Thane said. “It falls from the roof.”
“Of course.” Cannek relaxed a trifle, though his hand remained on the knife.
Kanin pushed back the bench on which he sat from the table, and rose. He began to stride back and forth. A rare vigour, such as he seldom felt now except when in battle, had taken hold of him.
“It’s as well you came to tell me. I could not have waited much longer, whatever promises you dangled before me. It’s eating me from the inside out. What must be done, must be done.”
“Patience is a virtue often rewarded by fate, Thane. Your restraint has been commendable, I’m sure. Still, I told you the Hunt would take this burden from you, and so we will, if fortune permits us. The Hunt does not make empty promises.”
“Does it not?” growled Kanin. He could think of more than one occasion when the Hunt Inkall had failed in its avowed intent-not least when the children of Kennet nan Lannis-Haig had slipped through its grasp in the Car Criagar-but now was not the time to pick fights with the one ally he had against Aeglyss. And there was as clear a sign as there could be of how misshapen everything had become: that he should look to the ranks of the Hunt for allies.
He sat heavily on a three-legged stool close by the fire. His limbs would not rest, though, and he was back on his feet in a moment.
“Does Goedellin concur in this?” he demanded. “Does the Lore give its backing?”
Cannek sighed expressively. “The Lore deals in fine judgements. The intricacies of the creed, teasing out the complexities of any case or cause: these are things we can leave to Goedellin. You and I, we can deal in more… direct explorations of fate’s intent.”
“No, then,” said Kanin. “The Lore will not take your side. Our side.”
“The Lore-or Goedellin, who is the Lore here and now-reserves its judgement,” said Cannek, spreading his arms. “Let us leave it at that.”
“Can’t he see?” cried Kanin in exasperation. “Is he so slack-eyed he can’t see an enemy when one stands before him?”
“It is possible to see too much, sometimes.” Cannek said. “Too many possibilities, too many potential explanations. Success easily overturns old rules, old ways of thinking. Such are the victories we have gained, it is no surprise that some-many-see the glimmer of still greater, perhaps even final, glories on the horizon. For such a prize, they are willing to keep the most surprising company.
“But in any case, I do not think of Aeglyss as my enemy, Thane. I will try to kill him, but not out of malice. I simply mistrust the notion that he is fated to play so central a role in our affairs. I mistrust the notion that a halfbreed, and one whose adherence to the creed is at best questionable, should be the one to usher in the final triumph of our faith. Others find those notions more plausible than I. There is error, somewhere. My only intent is to remove any uncertainty over whose it is. Fate already knows the answer. Soon, we will too.”
And that is where our ways must part, thought Kanin. The vengeful, unambiguous passion that burned in him was something Cannek would never share. The Inkallim still framed everything in terms of the faith, of fate. Once Kanin might have thought in the same patterns, but such habits had flaked away from his mind like dead skin, day by day.
The door creaked open, caught by the cold wind. A flurry of snowflakes tumbled in and Kanin saw, sitting outside, one of Cannek’s great dark, jowly hounds. As if sensing an invitation, the beast rose and took a couple of heavy paces towards the light and warmth. Cannek rose and went to the door, giving an animal hiss. The dog sank back onto its haunches as the Inkallim closed it out.
“I will come to Hommen,” Kanin said.
“Indeed,” said Cannek, going to stand by the fire, taking its heat into his back. “Even uninvited, your presence could hardly be challenged. You are a Thane, after all.”
“I want to see him die.”
“I assumed you would.”
“We’ll leave in the morning.”
“You do as you wish. I will be travelling through the night.” The Inkallim scooped his knives up from the table and began strapping them back onto his arms. “It would be best if we did not arrive together. Our intimacies must remain secret, Thane, like any pair of illicit lovers.”
Kanin grimaced. “It’s not love we cultivate.”
V
A host of crows came raucously in under the clouds, like black fish shoaling in the shallow sky. They jostled and tumbled and rolled their way down into the naked trees on the edge of town, where they roosted. Orisian watched their tumultuous descent through the dusk, and in their voices heard the sound of Highfast, where he had watched their like playing violent games with the mountain wind. Highfast, of which neither Yvane nor Eshenna would willingly speak now, fearful of its meaning, of what they had felt happening there.
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