Some time after noon they began to track more directly across the face of the slopes. It was less punishing upon the muscles, but their exhaustion was such that each footfall became treacherous. Slick grass, unseen roots and the angle of the ground tricked the weary eye, betrayed heavy legs. Orisian and Anyara almost fell several times, their feet sliding away beneath them. Even Rothe, burdened by Inurian’s insensate form, stumbled more than once, lurching like a drunken man but always just keeping his balance.
Finally, when Orisian, Anyara and Rothe had slowed to no more than a clumsy plod, the two Kyrinin came to a halt at the base of a leaning tree. The three humans slumped down and stretched themselves out. Orisian was not sure if he would ever be able to rise again. As he stared up, Idrin flapped in across his field of vision and settled on an overhanging branch. The great black bird cocked his head, looking down at the pitiful figures strewn on the ground beneath him. Orisian closed his eyes.
‘An hour. No more,’ he heard Varryn saying.
It was not sleep that came upon Orisian then, but a kind of daze. His mind fogged over and he thought he was floating upon some river that gently rocked him to and fro. Time slipped by. He heard Idrin cawing, and in his dreamlike state the distant sound was transformed into a man calling out over a great distance. He thought he heard his father, far away.
It was Inurian’s moans that roused him at last. He looked around. Anyara was sprawled across the turf, far into slumber. Even Rothe had succumbed, his barrel chest rising and falling to sleep’s unique tempo. Inurian had not moved from where he had been set down. Vague, disjointed sounds were slipping from his lips. It was the sight of Ess’yr that caught and held Orisian’s attention. Again she was at Inurian’s side. She gazed down into his face, and stroked his brow. She was whispering to him. As Orisian watched, she looked up and met his eyes. The flow of her murmurings never faltered. There was no blame or accusation in her gaze, yet Orisian felt a sudden flush of embarrassment, almost shame. He closed his eyes once more. There was something between Inurian and Ess’yr that demanded privacy.
When Orisian woke, befuddled and cold, he was confused for a moment, wondering why it was a clouded sky that greeted him and not the stone of Kolglas, and why he felt hard ground beneath him and not his bed. Aching, he lifted himself up and remembered.
Anyara, Rothe and Ess’yr were all awake, sitting near Inurian. Above, Idrin was hopping from branch to branch. Almost before Orisian had noticed his absence, Varryn was bounding up out of the forest. He gave the curtest of nods to his sister, who rose lithely to her feet and hefted her bow.
‘We turn back,’ Varryn said to the rest of them. ‘The enemy are below, and ahead. We are too slow.’
‘Turn back?’ gasped Anyara in disbelief.
Varryn ignored her. ‘We go higher.’
Rothe groaned. ‘That is madness,’ he said. ‘We can’t climb forever. There must be a way on to Glasbridge.’ For the first time in his life, Orisian heard a raggedness in his shieldman’s voice. He could only guess what it must have cost the man to carry Inurian so far already.
There was a sharp, still moment in which the Kyrinin and Huanin warriors stared at one another, neither willing to break off the gaze. It was sundered by a sudden croak from Idrin as the crow dropped from his roost and swept down to the grass at his master’s side. Inurian stirred, a breathy murmur escaping from his lips. Ess’yr was the first to reach for him, and Orisian looked worriedly over her shoulder as she felt for the na’kyrim’s pulse at the hinge of his jaw. His delicate eyes opened. They flicked about as if he did not know where he was. They darted from Ess’yr to Orisian, and a weak smile appeared upon his colourless lips.
‘I am cold,’ Inurian whispered.
‘We have no furs,’ said Ess’yr, letting her hand fall away from his throat.
‘Forgiven,’ murmured Inurian.
Idrin hopped closer and pecked at the sleeve of Inurian’s tunic.
‘Ah,’ Inurian said. ‘Still loitering around.’ He smoothed the glossy feathers on the crow’s back. ‘Go home, friend. Back to your brothers, Idrin.’
The great black bird looked quizzically at the na’kyrim, head angling this way and that. Then, without warning, he sprang up into the air and with a few strong sweeps of his wings Idrin was gone, climbing up between the trees and heading out into the wide grey sky to the south. Ess’yr whispered something in her own tongue, and Inurian gave a slight shake of his head in response. He closed his eyes. When he spoke, he caught Orisian by surprise.
‘I was sure you still lived, Orisian. It is good to be proved right, for once.’
‘You are always right,’ Orisian said, fearing that his voice might crack.
That brought a smile back to the na’kyrim’s face, but still he did not open his eyes. ‘Is Anyara here?’ he asked.
‘I am,’ she replied.
‘Good.’
Orisian saw that Ess’yr had placed her hand over Inurian’s. She did not squeeze it, merely resting her skin against his. It was impossible to tell whether he felt the touch.
‘Tell me where we are,’ Inurian said.
Orisian expected one of the Kyrinin to reply, but Ess’yr barely seemed to be breathing and Varryn held himself some distance away. He was facing out towards the silent forest. He gave no sign of having heard Inurian.
‘We are on the southern edge of the Car Criagar,’ Orisian said. ‘Rothe is here as well. He has been carrying you.’
‘Thank him for me,’ whispered Inurian. Orisian glanced at his shieldman, and the big man inclined his head in acknowledgement.
‘Where are we heading?’ Inurian asked.
Orisian hesitated at that. Still neither Varryn nor Ess’yr showed any inclination to respond to Inurian’s questions.
‘We were going down towards Glasbridge. There are White Owls pursuing us, but now Varryn says they…’
Inurian lifted his head from the ground. His eyes flicked open once more. ‘Varryn?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Orisian. ‘Ess’yr’s brother.’ He could see that Inurian was no longer listening. The na’kyrim looked around, and his gaze settled upon the tall Kyrinin warrior standing with his back to them. He clearly knew who Varryn was, but his expression was unreadable. With a wince, Inurian let his head sink back.
‘You are in good hands,’ he breathed, though his voice was toneless and flat.
‘He says the White Owls are ahead of us now. He wants us to go up, away from the valley,’ Orisian continued.
He thought at first that Inurian had not heard him, or had fallen once more into unconsciousness. A moment later those grey eyes met his own. There was a cargo of meaning in the gaze that Orisian could not quite grasp, but it lasted for no more than a second and it was to Ess’yr that Inurian spoke. He said something to her in the Fox language. Ess’yr tensed at his words. Her hand flinched where it lay upon Inurian’s. Varryn turned to face them. Orisian realised that some decision had been made; whatever Inurian’s words had been, they had changed the future for the Kyrinin.
‘Follow them,’ Inurian said to Orisian. ‘They know where to go.’
Within a minute, they were moving once more.
They climbed higher and the air grew colder with each hour that passed. They no longer ran; Rothe’s strength had at last reached its limit. For once, the Kyrinin did not show any sign of urgency, as if speed was no longer what mattered.
They came to a river, much larger than any of the other streams they had crossed, and turned to follow its course upwards. Orisian began to feel a nagging sense of familiarity. For the first time since they had begun their flight, he felt he ought to know where he was.