Rothe was pushed roughly forwards to join him. The shieldman looked more awake and alert than Orisian felt.
‘Stand close by me,’ he growled as he stood upright and took Orisian’s arm in a tight grip. ‘Show no fear.’
Orisian looked around the wall of motionless bodies that faced them. There was no sound save the rasping hoot of an owl somewhere out in the woods. He had the powerful sense that he and Rothe did not belong here, that they had somehow strayed from the waking world and passed into another place. Something was happening, or about to happen.
‘Say nothing,’ he whispered to Rothe, realising that his shieldman was more likely to make a mistake in this moment than he was himself.
The crowd parted, opening a narrow pathway for an advancing figure. Bare feet showed beneath the hem of a straight hide dress. Strips of fur hung from the shoulders of what must be a Kyrinin woman, but the face that looked upon Orisian and Rothe was that of a great fox. As the head turned this way and that, he could see the bonds that held the mask in place. They lay over long strands of grey hair, marked with streaks of red, that shone in the moonlight. It was In’hynyr, Orisian realised. The recognition did nothing to soften the savage aspect of the mask when she turned back to stare at him. In her left hand she bore a tall staff to which were tied a dozen tiny animal skulls. The bones clicked against one another as she moved. There was an elongated instant of tension as the vo’an’tyr faced the two humans, then she swivelled round and spread her arms. She stood thus between them and the host of Kyrinin for a few seconds. Her voice, when she began to speak, was muffled beneath the fox mask but that only made it sound all the more eerie as it spilled out across the clearing. She spoke in the Kyrinin tongue: a tumble of words that sounded almost like an incantation.
‘Be ready for anything,’ murmured Orisian.
In’hynyr spoke on, and every eye was upon her. She shook her staff and the little skulls it bore chattered. Her voice rose and fell. Her breath steamed, rising up as if drawn to the lambent moon.
The fox-face spun about with a cry and In’hynyr thrust an arm towards the two of them. Rothe flinched. Orisian did not stir. He had done what he could to save them when he spoke to the vo’an’tyr; he knew nothing could now change whatever was going to happen. In’hynyr fell silent and a whisper ran through the crowd. Heads were bowed here and there. First one by one and then in small groups, the gathering began to fray and disperse. The Kyrinin disappeared, sinking into the darkness. In’hynyr backed away, keeping her masked face towards Orisian and Rothe, for a few strides and then turned and walked off, alone. In the space of a few breaths, only Ess’yr remained of the throng. She stood regarding Orisian. Rothe’s hand was lifted from his arm, and he heard the big man exhale deeply. Ess’yr came towards them.
‘What happened?’ asked Orisian as she drew close.
‘The vo’an’tyr spoke,’ Ess’yr said. ‘You may leave. Tomorrow. One day more, and you will be sent to the willow. I will come for you in the morning.’
At dawn there was a heavy fog laid across the camp. Orisian stretched outside his tent. He had slept little after the gathering had dispersed, tossing and turning for much of what was left of the night, his mind too crowded to allow any rest.
Rothe strode up out of the fog. He grinned at Orisian as he drew near.
‘Freedom beckons, then.’
Orisian returned the smile. ‘So it seems.’
‘I never thought we would get out of this with our hides on our backs,’ Rothe said, ‘but here we are. This will be a good tale to tell.’
Orisian looked around the vo’an. The shifting veils of fog muffled all sound and half-concealed the few figures moving about. The smell of smoke hung in the damp air. It was a muted end to the tale of their sojourn here.
Ess’yr arrived. She held up a pair of scrawny, skinned carcasses. ‘Break your fast,’ she said.
He and Rothe watched in silence as Ess’yr spitted the squirrels over a small fire. As they sat there waiting, Varryn appeared. He stood beside them, leaning upon a long spear. Rothe regarded the Kyrinin warrior with unconcealed hostility.
‘This is Varryn, Ess’yr’s brother,’ Orisian said. Rothe grunted and turned his eyes back to the fire. Varryn showed no sign of even recognising their existence. Even when Ess’yr said something soft to him, Orisian detected no flicker of a response. Perhaps Ess’yr saw something he did not, for she seemed unperturbed.
‘Where do you go?’ she asked Orisian.
He glanced at Rothe, aware that he had not discussed the matter with him. ‘To Anduran,’ he said. ‘The city in the valley.’ His shieldman nodded.
‘It is close, isn’t it?’ Orisian asked Ess’yr.
‘Not far,’ she said. ‘We guide you to the forest edge. I and Varryn.’
‘No need,’ said Rothe, glaring at Ess’yr.
‘It is best,’ said Varryn. ‘Our people are in the forest. They may think you the enemy. End with quills in you like a porcupine. We take you fast and safe.’
Rothe looked as if he was struggling to restrain himself. ‘I am sure we can find our way,’ he said through lips clamped so tight that the words had to battle for their freedom.
‘My brother... plays,’ said Ess’yr. ‘But he is right. We will take you by ways that mean you cannot find this vo’an again. We will take you by ways that are safe. We will take you so that we know you have left Fox lands. For these reasons, the vo’an’tyr says we take you. That is how it will be.’ And that was the end of any debate.
A black expression settled over Rothe’s face, and Orisian reflected that a journey with the shieldman and a proud Kyrinin warrior in the same party was not going to be an easy one.
‘We prepare,’ Ess’yr said. ‘When you finish, come to the edge of the vo’an. The east.’
She and her brother left Orisian and Rothe to pick apart the squirrels. The shieldman muttered in dire tones about the fool-hardiness of trusting Kyrinin.
‘We’ve no choice,’ murmured Orisian. ‘I don’t think they’d look kindly on refusal. It won’t be for long, anyway. They’re only trying to protect themselves; making sure we can’t find our way back here too easily.’
Orisian sucked at a bone. Unnoticed, children had gathered around them. He glanced up to find a dozen or more, come to take a last look at these strange visitors to their home. Rothe tossed the remnants of his meal on to the fire and rose to his feet. The children shuffled to one side to open a path for him.
The two of them made their way to the edge of the camp as they had been instructed. Nobody paid them any heed. They passed a pair of old women cracking nuts on a stone anvil. A younger girl was stretching the still wet and gory hide of a deer across a drying frame. She did not even look round as they walked by.
Ess’yr and her brother were seated together at the fringe of the vo’an where the last few tents were spread thinly. Small packs lay beside them, and spears, arrow-filled quivers and bows. Standing in front of them, waiting with a still patience no human child could have achieved, was a young Kyrinin girl. She was watching as Ess’yr and Varryn fed long strips of leather through their hands, knotting them at regular intervals along their length. Afraid to interrupt the air of intense concentration that pervaded the little group, Orisian stood to one side with Rothe. The shieldman’s sword and scabbard were on the ground. Without waiting to be invited, he picked it up and began to examine it in the minutest detail.