‘The High Thane certainly seems to think so. I spoke with him at Angain’s interment. He was no more forthcoming than is his wont, but it’s plain enough he doesn’t mean to exert himself in Horin-Gyre’s support.’
Nyve rubbed at the scar on the side of his head with a knuckle.
‘Still itches,’ he muttered. ‘You’d think by now...’ He let the thought drift away unexpressed, and regarded Theor expectantly. They both knew, in the way of old colleagues, that the time had come for the crux of the conversation.
‘It concerns me,’ said Theor almost casually, ‘that all our gentle efforts to reaffirm the bonds between the Gyre Blood and the Inkallim have borne such meagre fruit, these last few years.’
A sound at the door betrayed the return of the serving boy Calum, bearing a tray of food.
‘Not now,’ Nyve said without looking around. Once they were alone again he pursed his lips. ‘Do I take it that you feel ungentle efforts are required?’ he asked softly.
Theor gave a slight shrug. ‘Perhaps I am growing suspicious, downcast, in the autumn of my years. Or too enamoured of times past; when Ragnor’s father ruled he barely decided the colour of his bedding without consulting us.’
‘That’s true. In truth, it was wearisome, but it served us all well.’
‘Of course,’ said Theor, speaking a little more firmly now. ‘The creed requires a strong hand to sustain it, a strong pillar to uphold the roof beneath which all may shelter. It needs the Gyre Blood. Perhaps Ragnor forgets, as his father never did, that the Gyre Blood needs the creed, too.’
‘You doubt his fervour,’ Nyve stated.
‘I fear the possibility of his . . . distraction. However much his father loathed Horin-Gyre, he would have been a great deal more interested in Kanin’s achievements than Ragnor seems to be. He is more preoccupied with juggling the loyalties of the other Bloods, with securing his power and control. It’s not the first time it has happened. It is the nature of rulers to adopt ruling itself as their purpose; look at Gryvan oc Haig. But for us it must be different. The High Thane of Gyre cannot exist merely to be High Thane of Gyre. He must be both warrior and guardian of the Black Road, above all.’
‘Still rather fiery, even if in the autumn of your years,’ smiled Nyve.
‘I am Master of the Lore. I could hardly be otherwise.’
Nyve nodded. ‘I detect a proposal looming on the horizon,’ he said.
‘Ragnor’s inactivity puzzles me. Greatly. He gives every sign of preferring to see the Horin-Gyre Blood extinguished than the return of his own Blood to its rightful place in Kan Avor. Imagine it: for the first time in more than a hundred years we have an army of the Black Road winning battles south of the Stone Vale and the High Thane of Gyre is at best indifferent. No matter how sceptical he was at the beginning, Kanin’s successes should at least have attracted Ragnor’s interest.’
‘Strange times, I agree.’
‘Too strange to be all they appear. I desire to know the mind of our High Thane, and there may be a chink in his armour of reticence. He was not the only one I spoke with when Angain was being consigned to the catacombs. When we were alone, standing over her husband’s corpse, Vana told me that she has a prisoner: one of the High Thane’s messengers, caught as he tried to cross out of Horin-Gyre lands.’
Nyve raised his grizzled eyebrows. However long he had known Theor, it was evident that the Lorekeeper could still surprise him.
‘The Horin-Gyre Blood is seizing the High Thane’s messengers?’
‘Only this one. He made them suspicious. Where, they—and I—wonder, was he going? What need has Ragnor to send word beyond the borders of the Black Road ? The man would not say, and the message he bore is in a cipher Vana’s people cannot read.’
‘It goes beyond strange and into perilous for one of the Bloods to be imprisoning Gyre couriers,’ the First of the Battle said. ‘And for us to know of it and not—I assume this is what you propose—not make Ragnor aware of the fact.’
‘We are Inkallim. The creed comes first, always. Before all other considerations. If the creed is threatened, we must know of it. Vana has the same concerns, but cannot get to the truth of it. She offered to pass the messenger and his message to us. To the Hunt.’
‘Have you talked to Avenn about this?’ Nyve asked. He sounded doubtful. Neither of them needed to say that whatever his mission had been, the messenger would not survive the attentions of the Hunt Inkall.
Theor shook his head. ‘I will never do so, unless I have your agreement to it. You know that.’
‘I need some more narqan,’ Nyve said. He rapped on the table at his side. ‘Where’s that boy when I need him?’
He looked thoughtfully at Theor. ‘You will allow me to think on this,’ he said.
‘For as long as you wish,’ Theor replied.
Nyve’s smile returned. But for his ugly scar, he looked like a jovial old man immersed in a life of ease. ‘It’s a long time since there’ve been such events as these in flow. It’s almost enough to make a man feel young again.’
Theor left by a discreet side door, out of sight of the training yards and weaponsmiths. He followed a colonnaded walkway to the rear of the Battle ‘s compound and passed through a gate in the outer wall. His litter-bearers were waiting there for him; until winter tightened its grip, the tracks across the hillside to the Lore sanctum would remain muddy and unfit for the First’s feet.
The little snow that had fallen in the night was almost gone, but the air had the heavy taste of more to come. As he rocked along, Theor could see over the trees on the lower slopes to Kan Dredar. Ragnor oc Gyre’s city was a brown and black sprawl across the flat ground, an almost formless jumble of wooden shacks milling around the few stone buildings: the city guard’s barracks, the market hall, the High Thane’s stronghold. The scene was a peaceful one. Cities always looked best from a distance in Theor’s experience; closer inspection tended to reveal grime and greed. Buzzards and kites were patrolling over the city as they always did. Theor noted how the birds spaced themselves out, dividing Kan Dredar between them, each circumscribing its patch of back streets with leisurely circles.
A pale shape by the side of the trail caught his eye. It was a small bundle wrapped in a sheet. Theor caught a glimpse of grey, blotched skin; a baby, then. When a weak or crippled child was born, some families would put it out like this, in the woods or on the hillsides, to test its fate. It was a practice the High Thanes of Gyre had outlawed long ago—every potential warrior was too precious to be risked, when only ten thousand had made the journey into the north—but for some of the commonfolk it was a stubborn reflection of their faith. Most likely the mother would return in a day or two, and if the Last God’s Book had spared the child it would be taken back into the family and cared for as best they could. This baby’s Road had run its course, though.
Theor was carried on in his litter. Care would be needed in pursuing his doubts about Ragnor oc Gyre. Above all, he must carry Nyve and Avenn with him. The Lore was senior and superior to the Battle and the Hunt, but that did not mean they would blindly follow his lead; unity amongst the Inkallim mattered if the Gyre Blood was faltering in the force of its will. At such times—and they had come once or twice before in the century and a half of the Black Road ‘s exile beyond the Tan Dihrin—the Inkallim were the ones who must hold things together.
They had covered two thirds of the way back to the halls of the Lore when his escort slowed. The sound of feet running through the slushy mud came from behind them.
‘What is it?’ Theor asked with an air of disinterest.
‘A boy is coming,’ said one of his litter-bearers. ‘A Battle candidate, from the look of him.’
Theor waited, folding his hands into his armpits against the cold.