‘Yes, far too long.’ And that was all he could say for a little while.
She told him, later, of Glasbridge’s end; of the still, misty morning when a wild flood came out of the north. The Glas became a wall of water roaring down the valley. It swept across the camp of warriors outside the town’s northern gate, gathering a cargo of dead men and horses. It piled up against the palisade and the bridges, hammering at them with trees and boulders and corpses carried by the surge. The water swelled and foamed until it tore the great timbers of Glasbridge’s stockade out of the earth. The wall of oak that had guarded the town’s northern flank was ripped away and carried down to the sea. The flood rushed through the heart of the town. And at last, almost upon the stroke of noon, the stone bridge that had spanned the mouth of the river since the days of the Aygll Kingship broke and crashed with a defeated rumble into the foaming waters.
There were hours of chaos, of noise and fear and anger. At dusk the army of the Black Road came in the wake of the flood, and then there was nothing left but fear.
Taim’s wife, his daughter and her husband fought their way to the docks and in the mad tumult of the waterside managed to buy their way on to a little fishing boat. The vessel, labouring beneath a mass of frightened families, struggled out into the estuary. Looking back as they drew close to Kolglas, they had seen the night sky lit by a diffuse orange glow, and they knew that Glasbridge was afire.
Through all this grim tale Taim felt only relief and the lifting of a great burden. His wife and daughter were delivered to him out of the slaughter that had consumed his homeland. Beyond hope, the darkness had seen fit to allow him this one ray of light. When they lay that night in one another’s arms for the first time in so long, he found that he still had the capacity, for a time, to believe in—and to accept—sanctuary.
Orisian and Yvane were sitting on the shore behind Hammarn’s hut. The na’kyrim was scraping dirt from beneath her fingernails with a twig. Orisian was watching Edryn Delyne’s ship. Torches had been lit at bow and stern as dusk began to fall. Now and again their light flickered as somebody moved in front of them.
Somewhere out in the gathering gloom a seabird screeched. The cry was not one Orisian recognised from Kolglas. It sounded like the voice of a deserted land. The small boats lying on the mud, and tied to decrepit little jetties, had an abandoned air about them.
‘No sign of Ess’yr yet,’ Orisian said. ‘Or Varryn. I thought they might have come to find us by now.’
‘They might have problems of their own, now the White Owls—maybe even the Black Road—are loose in their lands. Anyway, there’ll be time enough in the morning, if they’ve not come to us by then. You said the ship sails in the afternoon?’
Orisian nodded. Yvane was digging at her fingernails with greater vigour. It was obvious she had more to say, and he did not have to wait long to hear it.
‘You understand something of the weight the Kyrinin place upon death and the dead?’
‘Something.’
‘They feel the eyes of the dead upon them. They put food out to keep away the restless dead, and have their soulcatchers to snare the ones they can’t put off. This ra’tyn that Ess’yr has taken on is an oath that may not be broken, because it is given to someone on the brink of death. If she failed that promise, the failure would keep the dead one from his rest and shake him into such anger that no amount of food,.or chanting, or drumming would keep him from her. No matter how much he loved her when he lived. It’s a serious matter.’
‘And Varryn doesn’t approve,’ murmured Orisian.
‘No. He never liked Inurian in the first place, I would guess. Most Kyrinin think little better of na’kyrim than they do of Huanin; I expect Varryn was. . . distressed at his sister’s involvement with one of them.’
‘Still, he’s helped her to see her promise through.’
‘He loves her. And she must have loved Inurian to make it in the first place.’ She cast aside the stick and scratched at her upper arm. ‘You understand, then. Ess’yr will die for you if need be, because of that promise. For no other reason. That is the beginning and end of why she has come so far with you, why she has stayed close.’
Orisian looked intently at the na’kyrim. She pretended not to notice his gaze.
‘No other reason,’ he said, and Yvane gave a quick, emphatic nod.
‘None,’ she said. ‘It’s enough, isn’t it?’
‘It’s enough.’
‘Good. Tomorrow, then. In the morning, you can say your farewells.’
Orisian knew perfectly well that he might never see Ess’yr again once Koldihrve was behind him, and he would be lying to himself if he pretended that thought mattered not at all. Her presence—however distant it might sometimes be—had woken, and now nourished, something deep inside him.
‘It won’t go well for them, will it? If the White Owls come this far, and the Black Road ?’ he said.
Yvane folded her hands into her lap.
‘It may not. The Fox has never been a large clan. Not many warriors. The townsfolk might help them, but you can never be sure with Koldihrvers. They’re not usually the kind of people to put themselves at risk on another’s account. But who knows? It’s only those Black Road brutes who think the future’s carved in stone.’
‘This is madness,’ muttered Orisian with sudden bitterness. ‘None of this would’ve happened if we hadn’t come here.’
Yvane’s hand twitched, as if she wanted to swat away his thought, but it stayed in her lap.
‘Be careful,’ she said. ‘Guilt’s a dangerous thing. Whoever’s fault this is, it’s not yours, or your sister’s. Fox and White Owl, True Bloods and Black Road: these are old battles. They began long before you were born. Most likely, they’ll still be raging long after we’re all gone.’
A faint shout from the Tal Dyreen vessel drew his eyes up, but there was nothing to see. It was getting darker all the time; the shipboard torches stood out more brightly than ever. One moment he longed to be back at Kolglas or Glasbridge, hungered for the chance to do something more than run from his enemies; the next he was afraid of what he would find there, of what it would mean to be Thane at a time of war. It could have been Fariel; but for the Heart Fever, it could have been Fariel who had to face this. That would have been better for the Blood.
He sighed. He had no wish to dwell on such things.
‘You are coming with us, then. On the ship?’ he asked.
Yvane wrinkled her nose. It was a sharp, uncharacteristic gesture.
‘Seems the wisest course. Much as I like my solitude, I’m no fool. Neither the Vale of Tears nor the Car Criagar seem the most appealing of places at the moment. Can’t say I’m overjoyed at the prospect. I’ve never met a Tal Dyreen, but from what I’ve heard of them I doubt I’ll find them pleasant company.’
‘What will you do afterwards?’
‘Thank my good fortune that I’ve made it out of all this,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Curse Inurian for sending you in my direction. Perhaps go to Highfast, which is what he wanted of me all along. Inurian often got his way in the end, I seem to recall.’
‘Can’t you just . . . visit them as you did Hammarn, though?’ Orisian asked. ‘If all Inurian wanted was that they should be told about Aeglyss, about what was happening, can’t you do it that way?’
Yvane laughed. She gazed out towards the horizon.
‘If I turned up like that in the Elect’s chambers, I’d be slapped away and cast out before she even bothered to find out who it was. I’ve no wish to repeat my experience of trying to eavesdrop on Aeglyss. They’re more than a little protective of their privacy in Highfast: uninvited guests, even other na’kyrim, don’t get a warm welcome. They’re frightened, Orisian. All of us are, deep down. You pure-blooded folk have made sure of that, over the centuries.