Godless World 1 - Winterbirth

by Brian Ruckley

  'The great must never be still if they are to prosper,' Gryvan was saying. 'They must always be moving onwards. The south calls to me. Ah, it's a tempting call. Next year, or the year after, before I am too old for the testing, we must measure ourselves against the Dornach Kingship. If we could humble that nest of thieves and whoresoldiers, what a legacy to leave my son, eh?'

  Mordyn could not help but think the High Thane underestimated the toll the passing years were taking upon him. The man was not recovering as quickly from the recent campaign as he once would have done. His face still had a pinched look to it, and there was a tiredness in the skin beneath his eyes that had not been there before he rode out to make war on Igryn oc Dargannan-Haig. A campaign against Dornach would be an altogether more demanding endeavour.

  'Indeed,' the Shadowhand said, 'though Dargannan must first be secured for such an undertaking to succeed.'

  Gryvan tore his gaze away from the great vista before them. He regarded his Chancellor with a wry smile.

  'Ever the practical man,' he said.

  'I share the vision,' Mordyn said and thought, You had not the half of it before you opened your ears to me. 'But still, the glories of two years hence are founded upon what we do tomorrow, and next week and next month.'

  Gryvan clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. 'I know, I know. You remind me often enough that I shall not forget it. And we shall pick Igryn's successor soon, though I am tempted to leave his bloodthirsty brood to tear at one another for a while longer. No great harm can come of it, so long as the thousand men I left there remain.'

  Mordyn nodded, and judged that the moment was right to share the small concern that had been nagging at him over the last couple of days.

  'Appealing though the southern prospect is, I fear we must give some thought to events in the north, my lord.'

  The High Thane was not so drunk that he did not raise an eyebrow at that, and fix Mordyn with a steely gaze.

  'I thought we were on safe ground there, Mordyn. We agreed before I went south that anything that happened in the Glas valley would matter little in the long run.'

  'Of course,' said Mordyn with an ease he was no longer sure he truly felt. 'Gyre has as much wish to see the Horin Blood spending its strength as we have to see Lannis being drained of its. Ragnor oc Gyre will not come to Horin-Gyre's aid.'

  The Chancellor still believed it to be true. He, and therefore the High Thane, had always known there might be an attempt upon the Glas valley once they had summoned Croesan's best warriors away, but Mordyn was certain Ragnor oc Gyre lacked the will to put his full strength behind it. He had a few precious eyes and ears buried amongst the Bloods of the Black Road and knew something of how things stood there. More importantly, he had the words of the Gyre Thane himself. It would likely trigger instant revolt in the lands ruled by both men if it were known that Gryvan and Ragnor had exchanged messages in the last few years, especially if the content were revealed. No promises had been given, no explicit guarantees, but the outline of an understanding had been sketched: Gryvan would not threaten the strongholds of the Black Road so long as Ragnor extended the same courtesy to the True Bloods. If some of the lesser Bloods -- Lannis and Horin the obvious, unstated examples - came to blows, neither High Thane would permit the situation to escalate into full-scale war and neither would permit their peoples to claim any new lands. Unrestrained conflict was in nobody's best interests. So long as that held true, no great damage could be done by the latest disturbances, save to Lannis pride.

  Only in the last few days had a sliver of doubt intruded upon Mordyn's confidence. There had been no word at all from Behomun Tole in Anduran, and the last message from Lagair, the Steward in Kolkyre, reported rumours that the Lannis-Haig capital itself was besieged. The Chancellor was not accustomed to being surprised; that news had startled him. How a Horin-Gyre army could be encamped around Anduran so quickly, given the strength of the defences upon Lannis-Haig's northern borders, was a mystery. The most worrying possibility - that the Bloods of the Black Road were, after all, united in the assault and had simply overrun Tanwrye with an immense army - was one the Chancellor would not admit to Gryvan, but which demanded some precautionary measures. If it was indeed the case, Ragnor oc Gyre had lost his reason. He must know that sooner or later the Haig Bloods would destroy even the greatest army the Black Road could keep in the field south of the Stone Vale.

  'So, if you do not fear Ragnor has played us for fools, what is your concern?' the High Thane asked him.

  'I can only admit that it seems the Horin-Gyre forces have moved more swiftly than I - than any of us - thought likely,' Mordyn said with as much humility as he could muster. 'It is no great worry. We still have time enough to deal with them. No, it is Kilkry-Haig that occupies my thoughts.' There was truth enough in this line of argument, Mordyn believed, to convince Gryvan.

  'There must be some doubt about how long even the leash of your command will keep Lheanor from the field. We do not want him gaining some glorious victory on his own. Anyway, should he be drawn in before our strength is mustered, this could become a more protracted affair than it need be. The outcome would be the same, of course, but there would be more... waste.'

  'Waste,' repeated the High Thane. 'And you do hate waste, don't you, Mordyn? Well, you would not raise the matter if you had no answer to it, so let me hear it.'

  'We remind Lheanor that he is to await the arrival of the armies of the other Bloods before taking the field, my lord. And perhaps hurry along a few men to reassure him that we are making haste. A few hundred should suffice.'

  Gryvan nodded. 'Easily enough done,' he said.

  'And perhaps,' Mordyn went on, 'lend a little more urgency to our assembly of the main force? If Anduran is indeed already besieged, there is little to be gained from further delay. The sight of the Black Road hammering at his own door will have given Croesan pause for thought. If he has not realised by now that his best interests lie in maintaining your good favour, he never will.'

  Gryvan turned and looked out once more over Vaymouth. Night was coming on quickly and the city was falling away into shadow. All across the sprawling capital of the Haig Blood pinpricks of light were sparking as the citizens lit torches, candles and lanterns. The High Thane yawned and rubbed his face.

  'Do it, then,' he said. 'We can use some of the men I brought back from Dargannan-Haig; they've not dispersed yet. The great must keep moving onwards, but we might hope for a little more time to rest between our triumphs.'

  Gryvan laughed at his own words, and Mordyn, satisfied with his evening's work, joined in.

  The Chancellor rode back towards his palace flanked by grandly attired guards and preceded by a pair of torchbearers who cleared a path through the thronged streets. Parts of Vaymouth seemed more convincingly alive during the hours of darkness than in the day. There had been a fashion for night markets this last summer, and even though the lazy warmth had gone from the evenings, a few still operated.

  The seething crowds parted, in the main without protest, at the approach of the Chancellor's party. Even those who did not recognise him could tell from his escort and dress that he was a man of importance. It was a giddy height for the son of a timber trader to rise to, but then Mordyn Jerain had never been quite like other merchants' sons. As a young boy in Tal Dyre, when Vaymouth was just the name of one more foreign city, he had not been popular with his peers. He imagined he must have been an arrogant child: cleverer than most, more instinctively aware of his own potential even at that tender age. He could not really remember. His childhood often seemed to have been lived by some other person, linked to the man he was now by only the most tenuous of threads. He learned the arts of manipulation as a defence, and they came naturally to him. By the time he left the island at the age of fourteen, he had more allies than enemies amongst the other children, and those who spoke against him would quickly be on the receiving end of a beating.

  He liked to think that as soon as he saw Vaymouth he knew
he would never return to Tal Dyre. The merchant isle was still a match for Vaymouth, in wealth at least, in those days, but the capital of the Haig Bloods was so vast and crudely vibrant that it was intoxicating to the ambitious young Mordyn. While his father laboured to build a business, Mordyn had set about educating himself in the ways of the city. It probably broke his father's heart when Mordyn abandoned his Tal Dyreen roots and took service at the Haig court as a lowly official. Probably, but the Chancellor could not be sure, for he had never seen any of his family again. They had left the city and returned to Tal Dyre many years ago. His Tal Dyreen contacts knew better than to trouble him with any news of them.

  The Palace of Red Stone was filled with the scent of honeyed cloves. They had been set on lattices above the braziers. It was an indulgence of his beloved wife that the Chancellor could not refuse. A slight breeze toyed with the silken drapes that hung across the bedchamber's windows. Mordyn could hear the metal-shod tread of one of his guards on the terrace outside. The sound was so familiar he barely registered it, and it did not distract him from his task. With precisely weighted fingers, he worked balm oil into Tara's naked shoulders. The sensation of her slick, pliable skin beneath his touch worked an almost hypnotic effect upon him. He inhaled deeply, savouring the rich mixture of smells: the cloves, the oil, her. There was nothing in his world to match the perfect, complex texture of such a moment.

  He laid a soft kiss upon the back of her neck, felt the oil on his lips. She made an appreciative sound. He touched his tongue to her skin.

  'I saw you looking at me in the Great Hall this morning,' she whispered.

  'How could I not?' he asked.

  He drizzled more oil over her skin and began to massage her neck. Her head eased forwards a little, and she lifted her hair out of his way.

  'You must be tired,' she said.

  'Not yet.'

  'Did Gryvan give you what you wanted?'

  'Oh, yes. It was not so much to ask. Mere sense.'

  'So there will be war in the north soon? The ladies of the court twitter like a flock of birds. There has not been so much excitement for a long time. War against the Black Road would be so much more... traditional than the crushing of a rebellious Thane. There is nothing quite like the toing and froing of armies and reports of distant victories to spice up their lives.'

  'Distant victories are the best kind,' said Mordyn softly. He pressed his ear against her back, listening for her heart. 'One or two more of them and we shall have the best-loved Thane the Haig Blood has ever seen.' He could hear it. He imagined that his own heart beat in time with hers.

  'Yes,' she said as she turned to take him in her arms. 'Keep the blood and the strife safely distant and we need only concern ourselves with better things.'

  VI

  IN ANDURAN, A great catapult was being hauled across the square by a team of mules. The machine looked like an angular creature from another land, intruding upon the order of the town.

  'They're moving the second engine up,' Kanin said. Wain peered over his shoulder. They were standing at a high window in their commandeered house.

  'Let us hope its workmanship is better than the first,' she said. The throwing arm of the first to be put to use had split when it was tensioned. The man who missed the flaw in the wood lost half the skin from his back for the oversight.

  'How long before more are ready?' Kanin asked.

  'We should have three or four of them by the morning.' He knew her well enough to detect the undercurrent of detachment.

  'Not enough, you think?' he pressed.

  'Who knows? We were granted some time by the victory at Grive, but not much of it. Perhaps they will come out of their own accord once we start throwing heads inside. They might be hungry, or sick, already. Our chances would be better if it was high summer.'

  'Perhaps,' agreed Kanin. Now that the elation of their victory was receding, he knew as well as Wain did that their position was as dangerously fragile as ever. There would be more armies marching up the valley before long. They had sent word commanding part of the army besieging Tanwrye to come south. It may or may not be possible: the Lannis garrison there would sally at the slightest sign of weakness. Other messengers had gone further, making for Kan Dredar. They would plead with Ragnor oc Gyre to unleash his own mighty army, now that Horin-Gyre's daring had brought such a rich harvest within reach. Whether or not the High Thane would respond, Kanin had no idea.

  A commotion outside turned him back to the window. Below, a band of Tarbains were driving a bullock along. The animal was recalcitrant, pulling against its halter and lowing in protest. The excited tribesmen jabbed at it with spears and shouted at one another. Points of blood speckled the bullock's haunches.

  'Where have they got that from?' snapped Kanin. 'Igris!'

  His shieldman came in at once and joined him at the window.

  'Find out where they've brought that animal from,' commanded the Bloodheir. 'If it's within an hour's walk have them whipped. They know that all goods near the city are to be handed over and recorded, don't they?'

  'They do, but Tarbains are like children. They can't hold a thought in their heads.'

  'Why should I care?' snapped Kanin. 'I don't need you to tell me that they are children. I need you to enforce my orders.'

  The anger in Kanin's voice straightened his shieldman's back and put an expression of rigid obedience on to his face. Kanin almost said something to dilute the harshness of his words. He chose not to.

  Igris went out. Kanin could hear him shouting as he descended the stairs. It was in the nature of anger to be handed on and grow, and it would travel out to the tribesmen on the square.

  'The Tarbains will be ungovernable soon,' Wain said. 'Scores of them have scattered through the valley already. Almost all of the wild ones have gone; even some of the Saved.'

  'Let them go. We knew it would happen, and they'll give Lannis and Kilkry a little more to worry about. The city and the nearest farms must feed the army, though. If Gyre had given us all the swords we asked for, we wouldn't have to rely on these barbarians.'

  Below, Igris emerged with a couple of other men and strode towards the Tarbains. He began to berate them loudly and they shouted back, gesticulating with their spears. The bullock, relieved of its captors' harsh attentions, stood quite still and hung its head as if searching for grass among the inhospitable cobblestones.

  'I'm going to the castle,' Wain said.

  Kanin nodded. He did not turn as she left the room. Instead he watched as Igris knocked down one of the tribesmen with a backhanded blow. The bullock wandered off. A brawl developed.

  Figures were moving on the battlements of Castle Anduran. From the safe vantage point of one of the houses fronting the castle, Wain could just make them out, although the light was too poor for her to see them clearly. Others were better placed: a few crossbow bolts lanced up from amongst the crude earthworks and wicker shields on the open ground beneath the castle walls. The shapes on the wall disappeared. She was sure none of them had been struck. She had been watching for an hour, awaiting the arrival of the siege engine.

  The Bloodheir's sister muttered a soft curse. As she strode back towards the centre of Anduran, she was oblivious of the groups of weary, dishevelled warriors she brushed past. The slow attrition of the siege filled her with frustration. She knew she must accept whatever fate decreed, and would do so; but the faith permitted - advocated, even - hope. The most unlikely victories could sometimes be won, for nothing mattered but what tales the Last God had told, and fate seldom took account of what seemed likely in the minds of mortals. The arrival of Aeglyss and his White Owls had proved that, if nothing else.

  A liquescent cough from some invalid registered upon her thoughts. Signs of disease had begun to appear in the ranks of the Horin-Gyre army. Wounds festered in the wet and the dirt. Hot and cold fevers stalked the streets. The weakest had been culled before they even reached the city; dozens had died on the journey through Anlane. Now a fres
h winnowing was under way.

  The atmosphere amongst the besiegers was not helped by the presence of a huge Kyrinin warband encamped beyond the semi-derelict city walls. Despite their part in the battle, no one trusted the woodwights, or really understood what had brought them out from their forest lair in such numbers. To her irritation, Wain found Aeglyss in her head once more. Her brother refused to meet with the na'kyrim, and had insisted that the White Owls remain out of bowshot of the city.

  Wain shared her brother's contempt for all na'kyrim. Their very existence was a symptom of that wilful disregard for the world's natural order which had led to the Gods' despair. Nevertheless, she could not free herself of the sense that Aeglyss meant something. He had proved his value more than once now. Kanin might refuse to accept it, but fate could use the strangest tools in weaving its pattern.

  She found the catapult becalmed on the street outside the gaol like a sea monster thrown helpless on a hard shore. One of its axles had broken. Workmen were trying to mend it, and at her approach they bent furiously to the task, each trying to outdo the other in the urgency of his efforts. For a few minutes she watched the repairs. The leader of the group kept glancing at her. Every back was tensed, expecting the lash of her tongue at any moment. It did not come. She no longer truly believed that siege engines were the key to this lock. She left the men to their labours and walked on.

  She went to the outer wall of the city. Climbing up on to the rubble of the ramshackle defences, she stared out over the fields beyond. The tents and fires of the Kyrinin were there, the camp as silent as ever. She stood and watched for some time. She had no idea what it was she was looking for. There was nothing she had not seen before.

  She looked down at the stones beneath her feet. They had been great building blocks once, scales of the town's armour. Now they were eroded and chipped, jumbled in a heap and already embarked upon the centuries-long journey to dust. Time and fate paid no heed to the intent of mere mortals.