That frost crackled beneath his feet as Ragnor oc Gyre, High Thane of all the Bloods of the Black Road, strode towards the entrance to the catacombs. His cape of sable fur skimmed across the ground, stirring the thin layer of snow like dust raised into pirouettes by a broom. Behind him marched Angain oc Horin-Gyre’s household. The late Thane’s Shield came in the midst of the procession, bearing his shrouded body on their shoulders. There was no sound save the trudge of feet and the tolling of the bells that rang from the castle below and all the rocky crags around. The low, flat clouds trapped the sound of the bells in the valley, building echo upon echo until the air shook with it.
The High Thane led the way up to the mouth of the tunnel. It gaped like the bolthole of some huge mountain beast. Torches were burning inside, lighting the passage to the chamber where Angain would join those who had travelled this way before. Ragnor did not enter. He stood to one side of the entrance as the corpse-bearers came forwards and went in. Angain’s widow, Vana, dressed in the ermine only widows wore, followed them. She went past the High-Thane without looking at him. Her dead husband’s oldest hunting dog—the grey hound that had kept vigil at the foot of his bed throughout his last days—walked at her side. Its tread was sluggish and weary.
The only other to enter the catacomb, walking behind Vana, was a figure hidden from view by a capacious grey cloak. A great hood covered his face. This was Theor, the First of the Lore Inkall. There was nothing to distinguish his robe from that of the lowliest Inkallim in the earliest years of service; nothing to say that he held a power in these lands as great, in its way, as that of the High Thane.
The rest of the dead man’s household waited a short distance from where Ragnor stood. The flecks of snow began to crowd in the air. Nobody spoke. The bells rang and rang, distant celebratory peals now. Ragnor waited.
Angain’s Shield, having discharged their final duty, emerged first. A short time later Vana and Theor followed. As they walked up the passage they doused the torches that lined its walls, so that as they moved back towards the light, darkness reclaimed its territory and took possession of the dead Thane. Ragnor inclined his head as Vana drew near to him. He offered her his hand and she fleetingly took hold of it. The dog at her side looked up at Ragnor with torpid eyes.
‘He waits in peace, my lady,’ the High Thane said. ‘A fortunate man, to leave this bitter world behind.’
He was looking at the back of her hand. Many years ago, before she was betrothed, he had tried to bed this woman himself. She had been a magnificent, haughty girl, and she had refused him. That had taken courage, since his temper in those days was extravagant. He looked now at the back of her hand, and wondered at how small and old it was, lying there in his grip.
‘Fortunate indeed,’ she said. ‘I will see him again. I look forward to that.’ Her voice was not so frail as her hand. That girl Ragnor remembered was still within. She went to join the others, who crowded around her.
The First of the Lore Inkall stood at Ragnor’s side. They watched as the crowd shared out sweetmeats and small beakers of grain spirit. A soft murmur of conversation began to rise, a touch of laughter here and there. They would be telling Vana tales of her husband’s first life now, and looking forward to his second. Death was not an occasion for too much mourning in the lands of the Black Road . One by one, the bells around the valley fell silent.
Theor slipped back the hood of his cloak to reveal startlingly silver-grey hair. His lips, nestled within a short beard, were stained black by years of seerstem use. His skin had forgotten its youth and sagged from his cheekbones. Only his eyes retained some semblance of vigour, for they were bright and would have sat well in a face thirty years younger.
The creaking sound of a heavy-laden wagon drew his attention down to the track running along the valley floor. Two horses, whipped on by a group of Tarbains, were straining to haul a flat-bedded cart over the uneven surface. It bore a cage in which a massive bear swayed, giving out a long, low rumble of suppressed fury.
‘Destined for Castle Hakkan, no doubt,’ sighed Theor with a slight shake of his head.
‘You disapprove,’ said Ragnor, eyeing the creature in the cage.
‘This baiting of bears upon a lord’s death is a relic of Tarbain beliefs from before we came, when the bear was the symbol of their chieftains. Should the Lore Inkall approve of its adoption by a Blood of the Road?’
The wagon rocked, one of its wheels thumping down into a rut. The bear bellowed and its Tarbain captors yelled back and rattled the bars of the cage with their spears.
‘It means nothing now,’ said Ragnor. ‘Sport for drunkards toasting their master’s passing. And good sport, too. Have you seen the dogs they breed in these parts, First? Vicious. They’d give even those monsters your Hunt uses pause for thought. Still, that bear looks as though it will take more than a few of them with it.’
The Inkallim’s dark lip curled with distaste. ‘Whatever its merits, it is a corrupt tradition. Angain has gone to await rebirth in a brighter world, not to some mountain guarded by the ghosts of bears. We have enough trouble bringing the Tarbains out of the darkness of their ignorance without our own Thanes endorsing their rites.’
Ragnor snorted. ‘We are all Tarbains now, Theor.’
Theor glowered at the High Thane. ‘There is no Tarbain blood in my lineage. Nor yours.’
‘If you say so, Lorekeeper. Makes ours the only two pure lines in the north, though. What does it matter? Fane and Wyn, even my own Blood, count many Tarbains amongst their oathbound followers. I’ve plenty in my Shield who’re part Tarbain. And you know as well as I do that man we just laid to rest, may he moulder and never wake’—he saw, but ignored, Theor’s twinge of distaste at the phrase—‘had more than a trace of the wilderness in him. His grand-mother’s appetites were not very particular, they say. Anyway, if we’d not had the savages’ blood to renew our own we’d be breeding nothing but freaks and idiots by now. Looking at some of the offspring my liegemen have produced I wonder if we’ve had enough of it.’
Theor gathered himself for a riposte, but changed his mind and looked back towards the bear.
‘Perhaps you are right,’ he said. ‘There are few of the Tarbain left who do not bend the knee to you now, in any case. Most are Saved.’
‘Indeed.’ Ragnor produced a flask from deep within his heavy cape and unstoppered it. He took a long drink of its contents and wiped his lips with satisfaction. He offered the flask to Theor, who declined.
‘Your loss,’ muttered the High Thane. ‘A powerful protection against the chill, this stuff. Will you walk with me a way? No matter how keen they are for the revels, the rest will not dare return to the castle until we move, and I’d hate them to get themselves frostbitten.’
They walked side by side, the lord of the Gyre Bloods and the lord of the Inkallim, and the rest fell in behind them like a well-drilled company of soldiers. The High Thane’s Shield ensured that a respectful distance was maintained, to give the great ones their privacy. Down at the foot of the slope the bear in its cage followed a parallel course, matching their pace towards the castle where its bloody end awaited.
‘You were within the catacomb with Vana for some time,’ the High Thane mused.
‘We spoke a little,’ Theor said. ‘She sought my views on whether her husband had been true enough to the Road to earn his rebirth in the new world.’
‘Can’t say I’m sorry to see the back of Angain,’ Ragnor said. ‘His was a miserable spirit.’
‘He was true, in his heart, to the Black Road .’