The rain was growing heavier. Kanin wiped the gathering drops from his brow and shook his head a little. He spared a glance for the Kyrinin watching them from amongst the trees.
‘When you promised my father you could bring the wood-wights to our side, he made an agreement with you. Now it is over. I want nothing more to do with your savages and I will certainly not be summoned to meet with them. Look at them: forest folk dressed in animal skins. If they want cattle, have them take these.’ He gestured towards the animals grazing a short distance away. ‘If they want settlements razed, let them do it themselves, but I warn you, if they burn a single building within a day’s march of Anduran, I will kill you and then hunt them down. If they are disappointed tell them to remember that we will be lords of Anduran soon. We make unforgiving enemies.’
Aeglyss opened his mouth to speak, but Kanin was already swinging up into the saddle.
‘I have more important matters than this to occupy my time. See that the woodwights do not follow us,’ he said to one of the shieldmen at his side, ‘and bring the girl and the other to me in Anduran.’
With that, the Bloodheir spurred his horse violently, and it bounded forwards across the field. Three of his band went after him. The others remained, staring at Aeglyss, who looked around hesitantly. The Inkallim were already bundling up their equipment. A few of the Horin-Gyre warriors rode over to Inurian and Anyara. The bonds around their ankles were cut and they were hauled on to horseback.
‘Wait,’ cried Aeglyss after Kanin’s disappearing form. ‘Give me Inurian, at least. You have no need of him.’ No one paid him any heed.
Anyara’s last glimpse of the na’kyrim, as she was carried towards the rain-shrouded city in the distance, was of a lone, shrunken figure gazing after them. She wondered, now that he appeared so forlorn and impotent, how he had ever intimidated her. Behind the na’kyrim the White Owls were coming out from beneath the shelter of the trees, closing upon him.
A single black crow rose from amongst its fellows roosting in the copse and flapped lazily through the rain. With a few long sweeps of its wings it turned and followed towards Anduran.
The city was not as Anyara remembered it. Her Blood’s proudest creation had been battered by a ferocious storm. Most of the farm buildings on the outskirts were intact, although they had an abandoned air and a feel of incipient decay. There were no people to be seen, no lights in the windows, no smoke rising from chimneys. It was a hollow landscape.
As they entered into Anduran itself the scent of wet, burned wood filled her nostrils. Gutted skeletons were all that remained of many houses. Rubble had collapsed across the roadway in places. The horses stepped over bodies not yet cleared away. A charred, black-crusted arm reached out toward Anyara from across a thresh-old. A single white sheet, stained by smoke, hung soddenly from an open window. A buzzard sat upon the remnants of roof timber, watching them go by with its head cocked on one side.
They wove their way through the streets, drawing ever closer to the square and to the castle beyond it. There were no more bodies. The dead had been gathered up from these streets. There were still dogs and crows, though, haunting the alleys. There were warriors too, picking their way through the ruins in small groups, gathering what little loot remained. Anyara caught sight of one group, clambering over the wreckage of a house like rats on a body, that differed from the others. They wore furs and hide breeches, and their matted hair was bound into braids with leather thongs. They stopped for a moment to watch the riders pass, then returned to their searching. When they called to each other it was in a harsh tongue that made Anyara think of dogs. They must be Tarbains, she thought: the wild tribesmen of the north who had been there long before the Black Road arrived. If Kanin had brought them south too, little in the Glas valley would escape despoliation.
The buildings that had once lined the southern side of the market square were gone, reduced to piles of blackened debris. One of the fires must have been started there. It had consumed even the bones of the merchants’ houses, the shops, the warehouses. Beyond, the square itself was crowded. Ranks of horses were tied along one side, sullen guards watching them from beneath the shelter of overhanging roofs. A train of mules, weighed down with sacks of food and bundles of weapons, was crossing the open expanse. Some thirty caped spearmen escorted it. On the square’s western side, a blacksmith’s shop was a hive of activity, giving out the roar of fanned flames and the pounding of hammers.
The castle was visible over the rooftops to the north, half-shrouded by the curtains of rain. It was silent and still. Anyara had almost expected there to be a battle raging. Instead it was as if war itself had huddled down to wait for better weather.
Kanin nan Horin-Gyre had occupied the largest house left standing on the edge of the square, the home of a fur merchant who had left in such haste that a bale of fine marten fur still lay on the floor at the end of the dining table. Kanin was seated on it when Anyara and Inurian were brought before him. A handful of hard-faced warriors were lounging around the room, some perched upon the edges of the table, others leaning back in the expensive chairs.
There was a young woman there too, perhaps five years older than Anyara. She wore a light vest of delicately wrought chain metal. There was a golden chain about her neck, and thick, glittering rings upon her fingers. Her hair was long and blackly sleek, like strands of spun obsidian. When Anyara looked at her, she saw only a cold, dead arrogance and contempt.
‘Welcome,’ smiled Kanin. ‘I have found a throne, as you see.’ He ran his hands through the dark fur beneath him. ‘Worth more than the one Croesan sits upon in his castle, I imagine. Had this been my house, I would not have left such booty behind.’
‘It is your house, now,’ the woman pointed out.
‘Indeed. I suppose it must be,’ Kanin glanced at Anyara. ‘Forgive me. You have not been introduced. This is my sister, Wain. And Wain, this is Anyara, the daughter of the late lord of Kolglas.’
Wain nan Horin-Gyre inclined her head in mock respect. She was turning one of her rings, round and round on her finger. ‘A pleasure,’ she said.
Anyara made no response, striving for an air of disdain despite being soaked to the skin and covered in scratches and dirt.
‘Do not mind her rudeness, sister,’ said the Bloodheir, rising to his feet. ‘She has had a trying journey. I don’t suppose Inkallim and wood wights make for the kind of travelling companions she is used to.’
That sent a ripple of wry laughs running around the others in the room. Anyara felt hemmed in, beset by a pack of wolves too well-fed to kill her but too enamoured of her suffering to let her go. Fear and anger vied for supremacy within her. Anger won.
‘At least I had no choice in keeping their company,’ she snapped. ‘You have chosen ravens and woodwights as allies, and Tarbains too. Would none of the other Bloods come with you? Horin-Gyre has even fewer friends than I knew.’
Kanin smiled at her. She saw his teeth. ‘We have those we need, it seems, to break you. And I’ve seen no men of Haig on the walls of Croesan’s castle; no Kilkry horsemen in your valley. Where are your friends, my lady?’
‘Coming,’ said Anyara.
‘As are ours,’ said Wain with the kind of calm certainty Anyara wished she felt herself. ‘Gyre will be here before Haig. Do you think us fools, playing at children’s games? We have watched you for a long time, child, while the Heart Fever ate up your people, while your warriors were called away by Gryvan oc Haig. We have watched and waited for the right time. This is that time.’