He left the road, and went tentatively onto a marshy bit of ground by the river. Water closed over his booted feet, but there was a huge tree stump and he sat there for a time, thinking. There was no crossing of the Kyre downstream, he knew, save the bridge at Kolkyre itself. That would be in Black Road hands by now. The only other bridge he had heard of was the one that led to Ive, and that must be the best part of a day’s walk up the valley. There would be ferry boats somewhere, but he did not know where. He briefly considered attempting to swim the river, but it was broad, and sounded to him powerful and fast. He had never been a strong swimmer. Reluctantly, he made his way along the riverside until he found a tree strong enough to hold his weight, and he wedged himself into the fork of a low branch to wait for dawn, and the clarity of daylight.
In the morning, Taim found more than he could have hoped for: forty or so Lannis men riding up the road. Only then, filled with relief at the sight of them, did he recognise how deeply he had slipped into despondency and uncertainty. Like a man tasting clean water for the first time in days, he embraced their leader, and went from man to man clasping hands and laughing. And they were as glad, to have the Captain of Anduran returned to them. They had no spare horses, but one man climbed up behind another and gave his own mount to Taim.
“Do you know where the rest of us are? What became of them?” Taim asked.
There were only shaken heads and downcast eyes in response. He had not expected more.
“Did you feel it, in the battle?” someone asked him. “There was a shadow across us, across every man’s spirit. Nothing of our own making.”
“I felt it,” Taim grunted. “It passed, though, didn’t it? You’re men still. You’ve swords still, and horses.”
“We do.”
“Good. We’ll make for Ive. Everyone will gather there, or at Donnish.”
“We’re to submit ourselves to the Bloodheir again, then?” grumbled one of the men.
Taim cowed him with a single fierce glare. “We’re to find another chance to face the Black Road, that’s what we’re to do. There’ll be no way in or out of Kolkyre by now. Whether we like it or not, it’ll be Haig that decides this war, so if you want to be a part of the decision that’s where we go.” And, he thought, it’ll be to Haig that Orisian must go, if he can. There was nowhere else now. If their Thane still lived, he must find his way to the Haig army sooner or later. And if he was no longer alive… Taim did not know the answer to that.
They followed the river up into the hills. Behind them, beyond obscuring ridges, pillars of smoke climbed into grey skies. There were fewer people on the road now. Those who did share it with them were mostly the slow ones: whole families, the sick and the aged.
There was a young girl, no more than eight or nine years old, sitting on the grass, holding a wailing baby in her arms. She watched them pass by. Tears had run streaks down through the dirt on her cheeks, but now she was silent; just watching, in defeated resignation. Taim reined in his horse and stared down at the girl. She looked back at him, without fear or hope, without any sign of emotion.
“Come,” he called down to her, bending down and holding out a hand.
She shuffled backwards across the grass. The baby was screaming, a sound of such undiluted distress that it cut Taim to the quick.
“We can carry you, if you’re too tired to walk,” he said.
The little girl shook her head and hugged the babe tighter against her chest.
“You shouldn’t stay here.” Taim’s men had passed him by now, riding on. “It might not be safe.”
“I’m waiting,” she said, so soft and shy that he barely caught it.
“Who for?” he asked. But she did not reply. She would not look at him any more. Taim left her, not knowing what else to do. Thinking of Jaen, and of Maira their daughter.
The river grew more turbulent. The rich pastures bordering it gave way to sparser, poorer grasslands and stretches of bare rock. The hills bulged up ever higher, and colder air blew around their haunches.
In the afternoon, the silhouettes of riders appeared above and behind Taim’s band. They kept pace for a time, paralleling the course of the road. A group of villagers trudging along a little way ahead saw them too, and began to run.
“Haig or Black Road?” one of the warriors near Taim wondered.
“I don’t know. Black Road, if I had to guess.”
The distant figures fell away beneath the ridgeline after a while. Taim picked up his pace. He looked back down the road. It wound its way off towards the coastal plain. There was bad weather out there, coming in from the sea: fat clouds and a wall of rain or sleet that hung like a curtain from the sky. All down the road’s winding path people were scattered, crawling their way up the valley. It could not be long, Taim knew, before the wolves of the Black Road descended upon this straggling flock.
At the place where the road to Ive forked off southwards, the Kyre was narrow, funnelled between two rock buttresses. A single-arched stone bridge spanned the channel. On the north side of the river, the hillside was steep and bleak. The road to Highfast was cut into its face. Taim looked that way for a while, thinking of Orisian, but turned his men south and led them clattering across the bridge.
There was a little village there, at the south end of the bridge, perched above the river on a huge flat platform of bare ground: squat stone huts, some roofed with turf, some with slate. There was a miserable-looking inn, a blacksmith, and some stables and sheds. And scores of people, perhaps hundreds. They were crowded around every building, sheltering against the walls. Many were curled up, with cloaks or blankets pulled over their heads — sleeping or sick. Families were clustered around tiny fires they had made from whatever meagre pile of wood they could assemble. Some Haig warriors were handing out flatbreads from a barrow, beating back those who tried to grab an extra portion.
“Find some feed and water for the horses,” Taim instructed.
He went in search of anyone of authority, anyone who could tell him something of how things stood. He found no one. A listless despair had settled over the village, brought perhaps by the hundreds who had already fled this way. The warriors here were without captains; half of the place’s original inhabitants had already left, making for Ive. It was obvious that many of those now encamped here would not be going further soon, if ever. Few had set out upon their journey with adequate preparation, and all had been on the move for too long without rest. The sky was already darkening towards dusk, and foul weather gathering further down the valley, threatening to come surging up towards the Karkyre Peaks.
“Black Road!”
The shout sped through the village, taken up by one voice after another. Taim ran back to the bridge. Riders were on the road across the valley, still some way further downriver but moving fast. Ahead of them a few desperate figures were running, striving to reach the bridge before they were cut down. Taim could see some of them flinging aside their belongings. They had no chance, though. He saw first one, then two, caught and killed by their pursuers.
“Block the bridge,” Taim shouted at the nearest of his men as he ran for his horse. “A shield line across this end.”
He slapped a Haig warrior on the shoulder as he sprinted by, shouting, “Get your men together. If we don’t hold the bridge, we’re all done.”