Godless World 1 - Winterbirth

by Brian Ruckley

  What caught Orisian's attention more than all this, however, was the ship rocking gently at anchor two or three hundred paces offshore. It was, he was immediately certain, one he had seen before: the Tal Dyreen trading vessel that had been berthed at Glasbridge before Winterbirth. It looked absurdly out of place in this miserable backwater.

  Old Hammarn's house was one of the more respectable ones running along the shore. A wattle and daub fence protected it from sea breezes and spray, and the building itself was a solid-looking construction of heavy, if weathered, timbers.

  Hammarn himself was a dishevelled, almost shrivelled, man with straggly hair of the purest white. His face had aged in a way that must surely be his Huanin blood coming to the fore: it was deeply lined and pock-marked. For all his evident years, he bobbed about with the nervous energy of a youth.

  He welcomed them in to his little house with cheerful enthusiasm, and almost before they had crammed themselves into its single, chaotically full room he was rooting around in a pile of odd sticks and driftwood. With a flourish he emerged clutching a short, thick piece of wood and thrust it upon Anyara.

  'Woodtwine,' he exclaimed in a crackling voice. 'Finished last week. One of my best, I think, I think.'

  Anyara, a little taken aback, turned it slowly in her hands. Orisian peered at it, and could see delicate carved figures spiralling around the shaft.

  'Saolin, you see,' Hammarn said as he jabbed unnervingly at the object with a crooked finger. 'The change runs around the wood. Starts with the seal, ends with the horse.'

  I ... I see,' said Anyara.

  'Old craft, woodtwining. Much practised by fishermen in these parts in the Kingtimes. Saolin a common theme, but this is a piece twine, not a story twine. Need more wood for a story twine, 'less you have a fine touch. Good one this, though, I think. The best came from Kolkyre, of course. In the old days, that is.'

  'Hammarn,' said Yvane softly. The old man looked from face to face, as if unsure who had spoken. He grinned expectantly at them all, baring uneven teeth blotched with brown. He had the look of a child courting congratulation.

  'Be calm for a moment, Hammarn,' Yvane said. 'Your guests have come a long way'

  'Ah,' said Hammarn, cowed. 'Yes, yes. Not often I have visitors here. Much too exciting.' He shuffled his feet and looked more hesitantly at Anyara.

  'No harm done,' she said. She smiled as she held the wood carving out to him. He took it back with a courteous nod.

  Orisian glanced around. The hut's interior was filled with wood and clothing, stones and all manner of odds and ends scavenged from the beach. A lathe rested against one wall, almost hidden beneath a pile of dirty sailcloth. A weary-looking fishing net, apparently unused in years, was draped across another wall. He could hardly imagine that there was room here for all of them to bed down, if that was what Yvane had in mind.

  After a deal of searching, Hammarn found them some bread. It was only a little stale. They chewed it in silence for a while. Hammarn ate nothing himself, but watched them, his jaw moving soundlessly in imitation. Orisian cast a more careful eye over his surroundings as he worked at breaking down the bread's stubborn resistance. Hidden here and there amongst the chaos were things that stirred his memory and gave the place an unexpectedly familiar feel. A sack of netting hung in one corner, filled with clay jars and pots, all tightly sealed: the same strange herbs and powders that Inurian had so assiduously collected? Behind the lathe was a pile of thick, leather-bound books so musty and mouldy-looking that they could not have been opened in years. The place was almost a decayed, disintegrating version of Inurian's room back in Kolglas. Perhaps Hammarn had once had that same sharp curiosity Inurian possessed. The signs of such a past were here, as if Hammarn had brought with him into the final years of his life all the baggage of another person entirely.

  Yvane was watching the track of Orisian's eyes.

  'Age brings wisdom to some; for others it bears different fruit,' she said. The words were gently spoken, and the older na'kyrim only chuckled at them.

  'Old Hammarn, yes. Or Hammarn the Quiet.' He winked at Orisian. 'Quiet, you see, I am. I can smell the Shared, but never touch it, never. Five quiet in the Shared, five waking. In Koldihrve, that is. And old I surely am; really quite old.' The last words he spoke faded into silence as he was overtaken by some stray thought.

  'I thought there were eleven here?' Yvane said, and her voice brought Hammarn back to himself.

  'Ah, indeed,' he said sadly. 'Brenna fell asleep in the very hour of Winterbirth, two years gone. No waking from such an ill-omened slumber.'

  Yvane nodded. 'It is a long time since I was here. Who is First Watchman, Hammarn? We should speak with him, I suppose. Strangers always cause a stir.'

  'Oh, still Tomas,' said Hammarn, and distaste was apparent in his tone. 'Vile Tomas,' he whispered conspiratorially, 'but tell not I said it.'

  He looked earnestly at them, and Orisian found himself nodding in assent.

  'He'll know you're here well enough,' Hammarn mused.

  Yvane grunted and glanced at Orisian and Anyara. 'Unless Tomas is a changed man, it would probably be better if you kept out of his way. Koldihrve is a rough place, and unlikely to be any gentler if they know they have the ruling line of Lannis-Haig in their midst.'

  'Not changed a whit,' Hammarn was saying. 'Always vile. No friend of the Glas valley, that's for certain.' He cast a nervous glance at Yvane, and hesitated before continuing. 'A fool, but not a great friend of yours either, sweet lady. Not sure he'd be best pleased to see you.'

  Yvane frowned, but realisation quickly followed. 'Still angry? It's been, what, four years?'

  Hammarn shrugged and grinned.

  'I had a disagreement with this Tomas the last time I was here,' Yvane explained. 'One of the fisherwomen bore a na'kyrim baby, and he was making a lot of noise about wanting to know who the father was. He was, and no doubt still is, drunk on his little scent of power, and I told him so. He didn't take it kindly. Well, makes no odds to me if I never see the loathsome man again.'

  She looked pointedly from Orisian to Anyara with an almost mischievous smile. 'And if you should run into him, you can always just pretend to be the children of a woodsman from Anlane or somewhere similar. Shouldn't be a difficult lie: you've collected enough dirt and scratches to pass for beggars.'

  Anyara and Orisian looked down at their hands and garments. It was true enough, of course. Grime covered their skin; their clothes were filthy and full of rents. Their travels since Winterbirth had left marks outside just as they had within.

  When he asked for somewhere to wash, Orisian was directed to a tub of icy water outside, against the seaward wall of the hut. As he made his way to it, he noted a pair of bulky men leaning on quarterstaffs in the road. They watched him quite openly as he disappeared behind the shack.

  He pulled off his tunic and dunked his head into the barrel. The water was an invigorating shock and set his face tingling. He shook his head, chill droplets spraying his shoulders and back and making him shiver. He scooped handfuls of water on to his chest and neck and rubbed at the ingrained dirt.

  Looking out over the crude fencing, he could see the Tal Dyreen ship rocking gently at its anchor. None of the other vessels along the shore could match it. One or two of them might be fit for the journey around Dol Harigaig to Kolglas or Glasbridge, but at this time of year, when the cold winds came in hard on the coast from the empty reaches of the western oceans, none would be a fast or truly safe choice. The Tal Dyreen vessel was an altogether different proposition. It could carry them south with ease, and it must be bound in that direction anyway. There was nothing to the north save Kyrinin clans. The far distant ports of the Black Road Bloods were guarded by storm, ice and the Wrecking Cape, and even the seamen of Tal Dyre did not dare follow that route.

  As he gazed out, a fish-hawk arrowed into the water between land and ship. It vanished for a moment in a plume of spray, then its great wings were levering it skyward again. As i
t beat away, empty-clawed, it shook itself and shed a shower of seawater.

  'No luck,' said Hammarn behind him. 'Poor bird.'

  The na'kyrim offered Orisian a cloth to dry himself with. 'Found it,' he said, as if in explanation of something.

  'There are men watching your house,' Orisian said as he scrubbed at his hair with the cloth.

  'Yes, yes. Saw them. Sent by Tomas. Men of his Watch, his clubmen. Told you, didn't I, he'd know you were here.' He gave an exaggerated laugh. 'They're not here to watch me, that's sure.'

  Orisian patted his arms and chest dry. Since Hammarn did not seem overly concerned about the clubmen, he saw no point in spending his own worries on them. He nodded in the direction of the ship.

  'Do you know where the captain is?'

  'Captain? Oh yes, very grand. They're Tal Dyre, you know. Sniffing about after furs, rooting about in our stores.' He cast a glance over each shoulder, leaned a fraction closer to Orisian. 'Don't much take to them, myself. Not to Tal Dyres, I mean. Always coin, with them, never value. They'll not take my woodtwines. No coin in it.'

  'Never mind,' said Orisian. 'You'd not want to sell them to someone who didn't appreciate them anyway, would you?'

  Hammarn gave him a broad grin. 'Right,' the na'kyrim said. 'Quite right.'

  'Do you know where the captain is?' Orisian asked again as he handed the damp cloth back. 'On his boat or onshore?'

  Hammarn shrugged. 'Couldn't say. Well, onshore I'd say, since I saw him here yesterday. But now? Who knows? Alehouse, most likely.'

  'We'll look for him there, then.'

  'Yes,' Hammarn agreed emphatically. 'You won't . . . you won't let the sweet lady meet Tomas, will you?'

  The look of concern on the old na'kyrim's face was acute.

  'Yvane? Well I don't think she wants to, does she? It doesn't sound as if it would be a good idea.'

  'No, indeed. She's a fine lady, but ... a fine lady. A good friend, no doubt of that, but not quite gentle. Can be rough. Got stickles on her tongue, if you know what I mean?'

  'I do,' smiled Orisian.

  'Good, good. Wouldn't like trouble. I do like it quiet.' He shot a sudden, curious look at Orisian. 'Not going to be trouble, is there?'

  'I hope not,' said Orisian.

  'Ah. Good. Only I hear things, you know. There's talk. The Fox aren't happy, not at all.'

  'We heard there are White Owls in the Car Criagar.'

  'Oh, yes. Yes, them, but worse too. Mail shirts and crossbows, horses. That must be trouble, mustn't it? When the Road's on the march?'

  Orisian felt a twist in his gut, and wanted for a moment to take hold of the na'kyrim.

  'You mean the Black Road?' he asked. 'You mean they're in the mountains too?'

  Hammarn nodded glumly. 'The Black Road, yes. That must be trouble, mustn't it?'

  Yvane, after a display of reluctance, allowed Hammarn to take her off to visit some of the other Koldihrve na'kyrim. Orisian went with Rothe and Anyara to find the Tal Dyreen captain. All of them noted, without saying anything to one another, the thickset men armed with staffs who openly followed them as they made their way back into the centre of the town.

  Warm air carried stale smells out from the gloomy interior of the drinking house. There were places much like this in the poorer quarters of Glasbridge or Anduran, but neither Orisian nor Anyara had ever been inside one. It was not the sort of establishment a Thane's family would frequent. They paused on the boardwalk in front. Rothe stepped forwards without hesitation.

  'Try not to look anyone in the eye,' he muttered over his shoulder. 'But don't make it obvious.'

  Anyara rolled her eyes at Orisian.

  There were few customers within, and several of those that were present were slumped in stupor or asleep over tables. A tired-looking serving girl, thin and sallow-skinned, watched them enter but made no move to greet them or offer them anything. The floorboards creaked beneath Orisian's tread.

  Edryn Delyne was less opulently dressed than when Orisian had last seen him in the harbourmaster's house at Glasbridge. Then, on that pine-scented, wine-warmed night before Winterbirth, the Tal Dyreen had been a picture of elegance; now he wore the clothes of a working sailor. Still, his hair was clean and bright, and his beard was as neatly cropped and pointed as it could be.

  He was sitting with two of his crew, nursing a pitcher of frothy ale. For just an instant, there was a flicker of surprise in his face as he recognised Orisian.

  'An unexpected meeting,' the trader said. The clipped tones of the Tal Dyre cant spilled through into everything he said. 'And if my eyes read the resemblance right, this might be the sister that I heard of? The last place to find the Lannis-Haig house, this.'

  Orisian looked around hurriedly, but no one was paying them any attention. The couple of townsfolk within earshot were in no condition to eavesdrop. Nevertheless, he saw that Rothe was keeping a surreptitious watch on the inn's other patrons.

  'I would be grateful if you kept our names to yourself,' he murmured. 'We are not known here, and it would seem best if it stayed that way.'

  One of Delyne's pale eyebrows twitched in wry amusement.

  'Ill at ease amongst these masterless folk, are we? Some sense in that. Few friends here for Lannis-Haig strays.'

  'Perhaps,' said Orisian. 'But we hope we shall not be here much longer. I was surprised to see your ship here, too. I thought you would be long gone on your way back south by now.'

  'Ah, would that I was,' said Delyne with an elaborate sigh. 'The music and warm breezes of Tal Dyre are a sweet thought, but trade's an unforgiving master. No rest, no ease, for me and mine until all that needs to be done is done. Since we last met, I ported in Kolkyre. And what did I find in that noble city? A great desire for fine fox fur; the Furriers in despair at the shortage of material. And there am I knowing there's furs to be had in cold Koldihrve, at a price no man would grudge. So one last run it is, in winter's very teeth, before turning for home.'

  'You're heading south soon, then,' said Orisian, trying to sound casual.

  'Back to Kolkyre,' the Tal Dyreen nodded. 'Not what it once was, some say, but I say a fine city still.'

  'And might you have room for passengers?' asked Anyara. Orisian sank back in his chair and watched as the Tal Dyreen captain ran frank, appraising eyes over Anyara's face.

  'A load of pelts and hides in my hold,' he mused. 'Little comfort for the likes of you, my lady.'

  'We've had no comfort since Winterbirth, captain, and could do without it for a while longer.'

  Delyne gave her a brief smile. Orisian noticed for the first time how white his teeth were.

  'Aye, no doubt. I heard some little whispers before I left Kolkyre: that ungentle times were come to your lands. Sad days. Still, space taken by you is space untaken by money in the making. A pretty mascot for a voyage you are, but there is none matches the beauty of coin.'

  Orisian almost winced, beset by a premonitory image of Anyara emptying the Tal Dyreen's pitcher over his head, but her warming smile barely flickered.

  'We understand, of course,' she said. 'You must be paid for board and lodging. That is only fair. We will turn our gratitude into hard coin, once we were safely back in harbour.'

  Delyne looked around, taking in as if for the first time the smoke-blackened walls and the splitting and splintered floorboards. He nodded thoughtfully.

  'Yes, a cold harbour this for fine folk. Tight corner, too. The wind tells me swords and spears come this way. A tight corner true enough, when there's no boat here fit for the hard pull around the headland. No boat but one, at least.'

  Anyara took the sea captain's hand in hers, clutching it tight. 'Indeed. We are in your hands, captain.'

  Delyne gently eased himself free, 'Well. Where is it you're heading for?'

  'Kolglas, or Glasbridge,' said Orisian. 'It matters more that we go quickly than which one we make for.'

  The Tal Dyreen took a long drink of ale, and licked the froth it left behind from his lips
. He put on a gloomy face.

  'Off my track, those are. Not my planned course at all.'

  'Bring that jug with you,' Orisian said. 'We'll fill it with silver after you put us ashore.'

  After a moment Delyne gave the slightest of shrugs.

  'I'll find a berth, of course, for Lannis-Haig. I cannot be waiting for you, mind. Been here a day longer than wished already, waiting for promised goods. They should be here tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, and we'll be off sharply then.'

  'We are in some haste,' said Orisian. 'Gold instead of silver in that jug if we leave tonight.'

  The Tal Dyreen affected a look of regret. 'I've men ashore to be gathered. And the passage out to open water from here's a narrow one, not kind to a vessel the size of mine. By choice I'd not attempt it in the dark. For that gold, though, I'll take her out tomorrow, whether my holds are full or not. The tides will be friendly in the afternoon.'

  Orisian felt a surge of frustration at the thought of another night's delay. But if a Tal Dyreen said he feared to sail these waters in the dark, it must be right to listen.

  'Very well,' he said. 'Send for us. We'll be at the house of a na'kyrim called Hammarn.'

  'Truly, it is remarkable company Lannis-Haig is keeping in these times,' smiled Delyne. 'One more matter for agreement: I'll put you ashore wherever you wish, but only if I see safety all about me. A sniff of trouble upon the breeze and I'll not risk one board of my ship or one hair off my men's heads. Not for a hundred jugs filled with coin. You'll ride with us all the way to Kolkyre if I say so.'

  The deal was struck and Edryn Delyne took his crewmen away.

  'I remembered him rather better from Glasbridge,' Orisian said.

  'He probably didn't have so clear a chance of making a profit then,' said Anyara. 'You know what they say: a Tal Dyreen scenting gold is like a bear smelling honey. Best not to come between the two of them. In any case, it makes him reliable, doesn't it?'

  'I'd sooner trust to something other than greed,' sighed Orisian, 'but it's a safe enough bargain. Tal Dyreens wouldn't do much trade in Glasbridge, or Kolkyre for that matter, if it was known he'd abandoned us here. He'll be a loyal friend, if for no other reason than that.'