‘And the messenger himself?’ Theor asked darkly. ‘What did he have to say?’
‘He told us as much as he knew before he died. It was not easy to break him, but we found his limits. Although he did not live long enough for us to test him repeatedly, we are confident he told us everything he could. He was bound for Dun Aygll, in the guise of a shepherd. There, he knew only that he was to pass the message to a stallholder in one of the markets.’
‘It is not much,’ murmured Nyve.
‘It is enough,’ Theor said.
Avenn nodded. ‘We deal in likelihoods, in possibilities. But the Hunt’s judgement is clear: Ragnor oc Gyre corresponds with the Haig Chancellor. Perhaps with Gryvan oc Haig himself.’
‘They are one and the same, Gryvan and his Shadowhand,’ Theor asserted. ‘The Chancellor holds the reins of the Haig Bloods just as much as the High Thane does.’
‘In most things, that is true,’ the First of the Hunt agreed. ‘Well, then,’ sighed Theor, ‘the time has come for us to make some decisions. The ice is breaking beneath our feet; we must rush onwards, or turn back.’
‘Agreed,’ Nyve rumbled. ‘Our High Thane seeks to play the Bloods against one another. The Horin lands have been all but promised to both Gaven and Wyn should Kanin fail to return, so they will not demur if Ragnor withholds his aid. Our Bloods have lost their vigour; forgotten their heritage. Wealth and power in this world please them more than the prospect of the next, and Ragnor fears his wealth and power will be at risk if he tests himself against Gryvan oc Haig. Only Horin out of all of them has kept the creed at its very heart, and now Angain is dead and his son will be abandoned.’ He shook his head in puzzlement. ‘It is surprising that the Gyre Thane should so far forget himself.’
‘It is not so long ago that the Inkall aided a Gyre Thane in humbling Horin-Gyre,’ Avenn pointed out softly.
‘Those were different times,’ Theor said, ‘and Ragnor’s father a different man. He had no secrets from us. He needed none, since his will ran in the same riverbed as our own. What was done then in the Stone Vale strengthened Gyre, and in those days that meant it strengthened the creed. Our loyalty is first to the creed, second the Gyre Blood and only third the High Thane—the man—himself. If the needs of the first two now dictate it, the last may be set aside.’
‘We have long known that Ragnor holds us too lightly in his regard,’ said Nyve. His gaze was wandering over the tiled floor like a man who had dropped some coin and lost it in the pattern. ‘It has been clear for a long time that there might come a moment such as this, when we must decide whether to put our hand more firmly upon the tiller. I take it we are agreed, that something is wrong . . . rotten . . . when victories such as those Kanin nan Horin-Gyre has won elicit no response from the High Thane?’
Theor and Avenn both nodded.
Nyve rocked his head to one side. Still he did not look up. ‘Vana oc Horin-Gyre is not Angain’s widow for nothing. She is already gathering fresh forces. She may send them to her son’s aid even if Ragnor forbids it.’
Avenn’s voice betrayed an eagerness when she spoke. ‘Given encouragement, there are many who would march, whether or not Ragnor wishes it.’
For the first time, Theor thought he knew what was fated to follow from this meeting, the role they were to play in the unfolding of fate’s pattern. He had never doubted the shape of Avenn’s instincts: the Hunt always found itself leaders with a taste for the Road’s most dramatic twists and turns. Nyve he had not been so certain of. His old friend was harder to read, not given to haste or precipitous action.
‘How many more swords can Vana put in the field?’ Theor asked.
Nyve glanced at Avenn, silently acknowledging that she might know something he did not. The Hunt had an eye and an ear in every corner of every Blood.
‘No more than another thousand,’ Avenn said. ‘They are the last, unless she were to leave Hakkan itself defenceless.’
‘Not many,’ said Theor. ‘Whatever happens, we should at least strive to preserve the Horin-Gyre Blood. They must be protected if the creed is to be strengthened rather than weakened by all of this. They are a beacon others can look to, especially now that they have achieved the impossible.’
‘They are,’ Nyve agreed. ‘All would depend upon the commonfolk. Put enough fire in the bellies of his people and even a High Thane cannot disregard it. What does the Hunt say, Avenn?’
‘We can stir the villages. Dozens have already gone across the Stone Vale. There is a fervour not seen in many years: feasting and bonfires and telling battle tales. My people could set talk of glory loose in every meeting hall, every farmyard; light a fire the Thanes could not restrain.’
‘Even with every sword Horin-Gyre can muster and an army of commonfolk alongside them, Kanin could not stand against the full weight of Haig,’ Nyve observed. He was methodically massaging his crooked fingers. ‘He will be consumed. As, it seems, Ragnor wishes.’
‘All might be different, were the Battle to march,’ Avenn suggested.
Neither Theor nor Nyve replied at once. Nyve’s kneading of his fingers did not pause, as if he had not even heard what Avenn said. Theor regarded the First of the Hunt thoughtfully. She was impatient, always eager to moving on. Perhaps it was for the best. They all knew this was the crux of the decision that must be made.
‘That would remove all restraint,’ Nyve observed quietly.
‘Perhaps that is what is required,’ Theor said. His tone was gentle, conversational. He would not compel his old friend into this. In times such as these, unanimity was important. ‘If Ragnor oc Gyre has made agreements with the Haig Thane; if he would rather see the Horin-Gyre Blood broken than risk open warfare with Haig; if he prefers playing games of worldly power, and the warm safety of his throne, to seeking the creed’s rightful dominion over all people—if all of this is true, then perhaps the time for restraint has passed. War forges a people as the furnace does a sword. It will restore our people’s temper. And if the Battle marches, nothing Ragnor can do will stop the fire we set. Thousands—tens of thousands—will follow.’
‘That’s true,’ Nyve said quietly, ‘that’s true.’ He lapsed into silence.
Theor thought it best to leave the First of the Battle to his ruminations. He turned to Avenn.
‘Tell me, do you remember a conversation we had three years ago? I believe it was at the wedding of the Gaven-Gyre Bloodheir. You made some mention of a woman you had in Kolkyre. A blade, you called her, poised over our enemy’s heart.’
She smiled. It was a wolfish kind of expression, Theor thought.
‘I remember it well. I am surprised you do, Lorekeeper.’
‘Oh, I find I remember a great many things as I get older. It’s perverse, but there you are. If we are to abandon ourselves to fate, shed all restraint, I wonder if the time might not have come to let that blade fall?’
‘Gladly, if it is our united will,’ said Avenn, with a sideways glance at Nyve. ‘That is one death that would fill our people with belief. Once that head rolled, it is unlikely that anyone could prevent conflagration: not us, not Ragnor, not Gryvan oc Haig.’
‘We choose how we meet fate, not what that fate is,’ Theor said. ‘If it is written that we are to succeed in this, we will do so no matter what dangers or obstacles may seem to bar our way. I do nothing without full consent, but I say the time has come.’
Nyve laid his hands like crumpled cloth in his lap. ‘The Battle will march.’
So it is done, Theor thought. For good or ill, we put ourselves in fate’s balance; we face a tumultuous future. ‘We are agreed, then. The Battle will march, a Thane will die and the people will rise. Let it be as it is written.’