Orisian retreated, trying to look abashed. He found Anyara sitting outside, chuckling to herself and tearing off chunks of bread. He joined her, and they devoured half the loaf in silence. It was warm and comforting and tasted wonderful. They chatted for a while, almost shivering in the night air. They could have been children once more, teasing one another and whispering together as their breath formed little plumes of mist between them. Then one of the kitchen boys came out into the yard, banging a big copper pot with a spoon to signal that the night’s meal was ready, and they joined the soldiers and stablehands, maids and servants filing into the common hall.
Beyond the walls, the tide had come in. The waves, dusted with moonlight, closed over the causeway, and the castle was alone on its isle of rock.
Gryvan oc Haig, High Thane of the Haig Bloods, was roused from a shallow, fitful slumber by his footman’s voice. He rolled over and shielded his eyes from the light of the oil lamp the man carried.
‘A messenger, my lord,’ said the footman, ‘from the fort.’
Gryvan pressed finger and thumb into his eyes.
‘What’s the hour?’ he asked.
‘Three from dawn, my lord.’
The Thane of Thanes grunted and sat up. He moistened his lips, finding his mouth dry and stale from the wine he had drunk the night before.
‘Fetch me some water,’ he said.
His attendant turned and went out of the great tent. The light went with him. For a moment Gryvan sat with his eyes closed, listening to the heavy shifting of the canvas in the night breeze. He felt himself slipping back towards sleep. In the darkness he wrapped his sheet about him and rose, a little unsteadily, to his feet. He was standing thus when the footman returned, seeming more nervous than he had before; knowing, perhaps, that he would have done better to leave the lamp. He held out a tankard of water. Gryvan drained it.
‘Give me my cloak,’ he said.
The footman hurried to gather the thick fur cape from where it lay by the High Thane’s mattress. They were high in the mountains here in Dargannan-Haig lands, and the altitude lent the autumn nights a cold edge even this far south. Gryvan settled the cloak on his shoulders. He took its gold-trimmed edges in his hands and crossed his arms. A brief, involuntary shiver ran through him and he puffed out his cheeks. Feeling clumsy, he hauled on his boots. Their leather was cold and stiff.
‘So, where is this messenger?’
‘He waits outside your council tent.’
‘Light my way, then.’
Hann nodded and Gryvan followed him out on to the hillside.
The High Thane shivered again as if to shake off the weight of sleep. When he had been young, sleep had fallen easily from him. In his sixth decade it seemed to settle ever deeper into his bones. Cold nights far from the comforts of his court taxed him.
The small fires of his army dotted the rocky slopes around him. Faint voices rose here and there from amongst the host of tents. He glanced up at the dark outline of the besieged An Caman fort far above. There were few lights there.
Outside the council tent, flanking the opening, two torches stood in tall metal holders, their flames snapping to and fro in the wind. Guards stood beside them, erect and alert though they were deep into their watches. Kale, Master of the High Thane’s Shield, was there too, and a tall, dark-haired man who must be the messenger. Gryvan ignored them as he went inside. He settled himself into a high-backed wooden chair.
‘Bring them in, then,’ he said to his footman.
Kale was first to enter, looking gaunt in the flickering light. His features could have been cut from the granitic hills of Ayth-Haig. Behind him came the messenger: a young man, Gryvan could see now, perhaps no more than twenty-five. The red badge on his breast—a sword and spear crossed—marked him as a mercenary out of the Dornach Kingship.
Gryvan scratched his chin and yawned. The messenger stood before him, some uncertainty betraying itself in the darting movement of his eyes. Kale, as always, was a model of silent, still observation.
‘So,’ said Gryvan, ‘you’ve brought me from my bed, when my old limbs crave rest. The urgency must be great, the import of your message truly overwhelming. Let me hear it.’
The mercenary ducked his head a fraction. ‘I am Jain T’erin, captain of one hundred men of Dornach. I speak for them alone, and am here without the knowledge of the Dargannan men in the fort.’
‘Dargannan-Haig,’ corrected Gryvan smoothly. ‘They owe me obeisance still, even if they have forgotten it.’
‘As you say. They fight for their reasons, my men and I for ours. We have held the fort against you for three weeks, and might do so for another three, but it seems a needless fight. Your armies to the south seek the Dargannan-Haig Thane, and though he is kept from the coast for the time being, he may yet slip away across the water. You would no doubt prefer the men you have encamped here to join the hunt. Our interests may both be served by an understanding?’
Gryvan raised his eyebrows. ‘So you seek what? Safe passage back to your own lands? Or to exchange Dargannan-Haig gold for mine?’
Jain T’erin smiled slightly, the nervousness all but gone from him now.
‘If I have your word on the safety of my men in what would follow, I will deliver the fort to you. After that, we would take service with you if that was your wish. Or return to our homeland.’
‘Igryn’s judgement was ever poor. He cannot even buy loyalty, it seems.’ Gryvan regarded the messenger for a moment. ‘You are young to lead a warrior band. Old enough, at least, to see how this battle must fall out, and old enough to try to bring your men safe out of it. There is some courage in venturing out to stand before me, I suppose.’
The High Thane closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he fixed T’erin with a cold glare, his face now stern.
‘I will tell you my answer,’ said Gryvan. ‘You took the coin of my enemy and your men stand alongside his behind walls I have sworn to bring down. Igryn oc Dargannan-Haig mistook himself when he disavowed his oath to me and sought to set aside the obligations his Blood owes mine. He kept for himself taxes that are rightfully mine, for no better reason than greed. He gives sanctuary to pirates and brigands who prey upon the merchants of Vaymouth and Tal Dyre, and the goods they have stolen find their way into his treasury. And when I demand recompense, he imprisons my Steward and denies my authority. The gold Igryn has bought you and your warriors with is mine, little whore-soldier.
‘Whatever cave or hovel he is hiding in, my armies will have him soon and he will learn the price of betrayal. As will all who stand against me. Not one stone of the fort above us here will stand. Not one of those within its walls will see another dawn after I have torn them down, and you will be brought before me with your hands struck off and your eyes put out. I will gut you myself and send your head back to your kingling in Dornach.’
‘But . . .’ stammered T’erin, ‘I will give you An Caman. You need spend no more of your people’s blood upon it . . .’
Gryvan laughed harshly.
‘You think a High Thane is so feeble a thing, so fearful or soft, that the sight of blood would concern him? Has Dornach forgotten so easily the mettle of the True Bloods? If I have to swim through the spilled blood of my own men to do it, I will see every living thing within those walls dead and laid out at my feet. Go back and tell your people they can expect nothing from me but a swift journey to the Sleeping Dark.’
The mercenary held out his hands and started to speak. Before he could do so, Kale seized his arms and pushed him from the tent. The High Thane sighed and sank a little deeper into his chair as his bodyguard returned. He sent the footman away with a flick of his wrist.
Gryvan beckoned Kale closer and the warrior stepped forwards, inclining his head a touch that he might hear the Thane’s soft-spoken words.