‘I am at your disposal,’ he said. ‘The tallying of your recent gains is all but done, and no longer needs my close attention.’
‘The least of my gains, that loot,’ said Gryvan. ‘I find the thought of Igryn safely locked away in my dungeons sweeter than any amount of gemstones. But that is not what I wished of you this afternoon. What word from the north?’
‘Nothing new. Most of the valley remains in the hands of the Black Road . Lheanor has, it seems, managed to restrain himself and waits patiently for our armies. If what Lagair tells us is true, the Thane seems to have lost some of his wilfulness, since the death of his son.’
‘You still say it is only the Horin-Gyre Blood that has taken the field?’
‘Them and the White Owl Kyrinin. There is no report of any other forces, save a handful of Inkallim. And the ravens are most likely there to keep an eye on Horin-Gyre as much as anything else.’
‘Very well. Aewult marches for Kolkyre tomorrow, with ten thousand men. So long as he only faces Horin-Gyre, I think we can be certain of a speedy resolution.’
‘I imagine so,’ Mordyn murmured. His misgivings about the Bloodheir related not to his prowess on the battlefield but to how he might deal with the aftermath, and with Lheanor oc Kilkry-Haig.
‘And Croesan and his spawn, what of them?’
Mordyn studiously placed a troubled expression upon his face.
‘No word. All the signs would suggest that not one of Croesan’s family has survived. We cannot be certain of it yet, though.’
The High Thane, by contrast to his Chancellor, could not keep a smile from his lips. The bird was singing in its cage, the melody spilling out between the golden bars.
‘We are fortunate, are we not?’ Gryvan said. ‘Dargannan and Lannis laid low in a single season. We must give some thought to the future of the Glas valley, once the present situation is resolved. Perhaps we need no more Thanes ruling in Anduran, especially now that it appears there are none to lay claim.’
The Chancellor nodded graciously in assent, concealing his disquiet. He could hardly do otherwise, since he had himself long ago planted in Gryvan’s mind the idea that a Blood could be unmade just as it could be made. The Aygll Kings, in olden times, had their Wardens who wielded the monarch’s authority in the furthest parts of the Kingdom. Why should a High Thane not use his Stewards in the same way? But that had been for later, after the Free Cities on the Bay of Gold, and Tal Dyre, had been added to Gryvan’s domains. Taral and Ayth might be subdued and subservient, but until Dargannan, Lannis and Kilkry had been securely and permanently ground down the time would not be right for pulling down the edifice of the Bloods.
‘And no Thanes in Dargannan either, perhaps,’ mused the High Thane.
‘We must be careful not to overreach ourselves,’ said Mordyn.
‘Oh, of course,’ agreed Gryvan with a nonchalant wave of his hand, as if the Chancellor’s caution was some fly to be warded off. ‘Not yet, I know. Not yet. But we must always be thinking ahead, must we not? You are the one who always tells me that our future glories depend upon our actions today, tomorrow.’
‘They do.’
‘It is important that events in Kolkyre and the Glas valley go well. That however things fall out once the Black Road is driven back, they do so in a manner favourable to us.’
Mordyn waited patiently for whatever was to follow. It was obvious that the High Thane, in his clumsy way, was preparing the ground for a suggestion—a command, more likely—that his Shadowhand was not going to like.
‘My thought is this,’ Gryvan said, leaning forwards with an almost conspiratorial air. ‘You should go with Aewult to Kolkyre. You will be valuable to him. A guide.’
One less disciplined than the Chancellor might have let some hint of his dismay show. The Bloodheir was the last person he desired more time alone with. And scurrying around trying to temper the edge of his ill judgement would be wearying. The Chancellor’s mind sifted the options in a moment. There were only two, and his every instinct said the first—trying to change the High Thane’s decision—would not work. So, he reasoned with a heavy heart, it must be the second.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will offer the Bloodheir whatever assistance I can.’
‘Good.’ The Thane of Thanes seemed genuinely pleased, perhaps even pleasantly surprised, at Mordyn’s acquiescence. ‘I know, Mordyn, you have your differences with Aewult. I do not blame you. He can be impulsive, careless. A little harsh, perhaps. But he will be Thane after me, as sure as fawns follow the rut. He has much to learn, and I can think of no better teacher than you.’
‘I will need a little time to put matters in order,’ the Shadowhand said, with the slightest of bows, ‘and to placate my wife.’
Tarawould not be pleased, and her displeasure could be fearsome. She would not accompany him—she was too fond of her comforts to exchange them for wintry Kolkyre—yet his absences pained her more with each passing year. They hurt him as well. When he had been young he might have scoffed at the prospect, for the marriage had been at least partly driven by self-interest on both their parts, but virtually without their noticing it, powerful bonds had grown between the two of them. She had almost died in losing, for the second time, a child of his before its birthing time. The fear he had felt then, as he glimpsed a future without her, had been enough to drive the desire for a son out of his mind. He would never again risk the loss of that which was most precious to him.
The High Thane brushed the bars of the birdcage with a finger. The prisoner hopped a little closer on its perch and leaned forwards, half-spreading its wings. When it realised no food was being offered it began to sing again.
‘Stupid, these birds,’ Gryvan murmured, then smiled and shrugged his shoulders. ‘My wife likes them. What can I do? We are all slaves to those we love.’
It was on the eve of his departure that a young manservant came to find Mordyn. He was in his reading chamber, perusing reports from his informants at Ranal oc Ayth-Haig’s court in Dun Aygll.
‘What is it?’ Mordyn demanded irritably.
‘There is a messenger here, my lord,’ the youth said as he bowed. ‘Not an official one: someone we’ve never seen before. She insists on speaking only with you, and will not leave. We have her in the guardroom. She is . . . unclean.’
‘I am not in the mood for messages. Send her away.’
‘Yes, lord. She did say . . . she did say you would hear her out. She said she brought word for the supplicant.’
Mordyn hung his head in thought for a moment.
‘You said unclean. How so?’
‘The King’s Rot, my lord. Foul…’
‘Very well. Has she been searched?’
‘The guards say she is unarmed, lord.’
Mordyn went to the guardroom as much out of curiosity as anything. For Torquentine to send his precious doorkeeper in person, the message must be of some import.
When he reached the guardroom, he sent everyone away and sat before Magrayn alone.
‘I never thought to welcome you to my home, doorkeeper,’ he said.
She wore her hood pulled far forwards, keeping much of her face in shadow. How the guards must have cursed when they pulled that hood back, Mordyn thought.
‘I will not linger,’ she rasped. ‘I think your men find my presence unsettling.’
‘I imagine you’re right. Let me hear your master’s message, then.’
‘His exact words: I hear you are bound for Kolkyre, noble Chancellor. There is a man I have heard of, in Lheanor’s city. A wretch; worse than that, a leech. Ochan by name, a usurer by nature. And a dealer in stolen goods, a smuggler, a blackguard of the vilest ilk. It would be to the good of the Bloods and all honest traders if he were brought to justice, yet it seems he is under the wing of some protector. There would be no debts between us, should your presence in Kolkyre coincide with this Ochan’s fall.’