‘Where did you see them?’ he said to Rothe.
The shieldman gestured back the way they had come on their flight from Sam’s Leap.
‘On the horizon there,’ he shouted. ‘I thought I saw someone cresting the ridge, coming just the way we did.’
Orisian and Anyara peered that way, into the teeth of the Car Criagar’s stinging breath. It was a vain effort: clouds had engulfed the landscape.
‘It’s no use,’ Rothe said.
Orisian shook his head in agreement.
As they retreated back into the cliff face, he glanced at Rothe.
‘Did you see any sign of Ess’yr and Varryn?’ he asked.
Rothe only shook his head.
Waiting was a hardship for Orisian. One way or the other, he probably owed his life to Ess’yr and her brother. But it was not only out of gratitude that he longed for Ess’yr’s safe return in particular: he knew, with the acuity of one experienced in the matter of loss, that losing her now would cost him a precious part of what strength he had left. Anyara and Rothe were wrapped in their own silences, each staring deep into the fading embers of the fire. Yvane appeared to have drifted into sleep where she sat.
Ess’yr and Varryn came in almost casually, brushing flecks of snow from their shoulders and hair. A surge of relief carried Orisian to his feet.
‘We thought you might be in trouble,’ he said. ‘Rothe saw someone on the ridge beyond the ruins.’
Varryn glanced at the shieldman as he set down his spear and bow. He squatted in silence and began to work his way through the arrows in his quiver, smoothing their flights and testing the heads.
‘Huanin,’ Ess’yr said as she flicked snowmelt from her forehead.
‘You saw them?’ demanded Rothe.
Ess’yr gave the slightest of nods. ‘Saw, at a distance. Perhaps only two. They have dogs.’
‘Dogs,’ Orisian echoed. ‘Hunters, then?’
Anyara shifted uneasily by the hearth. ‘Perhaps,’ she murmured, ‘but perhaps not just hunters but the Hunt. Inurian was worried about it, when we were escaping from Anduran. Perhaps it wasn’t just Battle Inkallim that came south with Horin-Gyre.’
Rothe groaned. Orisian knew his own face must be revealing the alarm Anyara’s words triggered.
‘Would the Hunt really come after us? I mean, to pursue us all this way…’
‘You forget,’ Rothe interrupted him. ‘You may be the Thane of our Blood. That alone is reason enough for the Hunt Inkall to pursue us to the end of the world, if they take it into their heads to do so. Even if they do not know it is you they are pursuing, they know Anyara is here. Perhaps they think she is the last of your uncle’s family alive. Remember, Orisian, our people might have softened over the years: the Gyre Bloods have not. They’ll see this through to the end, whatever that end might be.’
‘Well, whoever they are, they’re going to have an uncomfortable time out there, from the sound of the wind,’ Yvane said.
Orisian glanced at the na’kyrim. She looked perfectly alert and relaxed.
‘Whoever they are, we can’t stay,’ Orisian said quietly. ‘As soon as the weather eases, we will have to move on. Whether you come with us or not.’
Yvane returned his gaze for a few moments, then gave a shrug.
‘We found a little food,’ Ess’yr said. She unfolded a pouch of leather to reveal a handful of wizened berries and a clump of unappetising greenery. She laid them on a stone and the three humans regarded them glumly. Anyara’s stomach gave a complaining rumble. Yvane produced some hazelnuts and dry mushrooms from her pocket and added them to the meagre array. It was not much; just enough to blunt their hunger. All the while they ate, the sound of the winter storm outside mounted.
Afterwards, Varryn rose and gathered his weapons once more.
‘Someone must watch,’ he said flatly as he disappeared out of the circle of firelight.
Gryvan oc Haig was in a rage such as none in the Moon Palace had witnessed for many months. As he stormed down the stone corridors, he spat invective at every servant unfortunate enough to cross his path. Kale strode after his High Thane, and behind him came the Chancellor Mordyn Jerain and Gryvan’s son Aewult. Mordyn noticed, as the Bloodheir marched along beside him, that there was a kind of satisfaction on Aewult’s face. The young man enjoyed such moments, when passions flared and Gryvan showed that he could still make people fear him. If the day comes when Aewult rules in his father’s stead, Mordyn reflected, few people will love him as at least some do Gryvan. But many will have cause to fear him.
The High Thane threw open the doors to his private chambers and swept in. The attendants within, startled in the act of setting out Gryvan’s robes for his impending audience with the Dornach ambassador, fled with a volley of curses snapping at their heels. Gryvan slammed the doors shut behind them.
‘Explain to me, then, what is happening,’ the Thane of Thanes shouted, redfaced. ‘Explain to me, Chancellor.’
Mordyn steeled himself and locked his features into a calm, open expression. He had known Gryvan for long enough to be certain that this tempest would blow itself out as quickly as it had arisen. Kale, as immune as ever to the emotions raging around him, had drifted to the window to ensure that no one was loitering on the balconies without.
‘Which matter would you have me address first, lord?’ Mordyn asked. He hoped, and expected, that Gryvan was most exercised over the news that Mordyn himself had just broken to him, rather than that which a messenger from the Steward in Kolkyre had unfortunately delivered at almost the same moment. The first, the Chancellor had an answer to; the second was more problematic.
‘The Goldsmiths, the Goldsmiths,’ snarled Gryvan. He sank heavily into a capacious chair. Aewult made for a small table. Gryvan’s servants had laid out some food for him there. The Bloodheir idly surveyed a bowl of apples and grapes.
‘Very well,’ Mordyn murmured. He carefully clasped his hands across his stomach, in as passive a posture as he could manage. ‘I have been looking into the matter for some time now, and we are therefore well placed to respond to recent events. As I was explaining before Lagair Haldyn’s message arrived, Gann nan Dargannan-Haig has killed his half-brother. He took him in an ambush. All of this strife within the Dargannan Blood serves us well in weakening them, but the time has perhaps passed when we can stand aside and watch them hacking away at one another. It appears increasingly possible that if left to their own devices, it will be Gann who rises to the top.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Gryvan said. The heat of his anger was already fading somewhat. His brow remained knotted, but his hand was quite steady as he poured himself wine from a jug at his side. ‘But now you tell me that the Goldsmiths own Gann. Apparently you’ve known this for some time, but not seen fit to share the information with me.’
‘Gann’s a coward,’ Aewult said casually, through a mouthful of apple. ‘Throughout Igryn’s rebellion, Gann hid away on one of the islands.’
‘He is unfit to be Thane,’ Mordyn agreed, ‘even if he wasn’t a creature of one of the Crafts.’
‘But he is such a creature,’ snapped Gryvan. ‘That is what concerns me. I don’t care who rules the Dargannan Blood, so long as they know their place. What I do care about is that the Goldsmiths should think they are entitled to try to make Thanes themselves.’
‘Indeed,’ said the Chancellor. ‘The Crafts have always taken an interest in the doings of Thanes, and have never shied away from spending coin in support of their interests. This goes beyond that. To my certain knowledge the Goldsmiths have not only enriched Gann himself, but paid a dowry for his sister’s marriage, made a gift of one of their own houses to his infant son and bribed—I regret to say—our own tax collectors to overlook certain private dealings Gann has had with Tal Dyreen merchants. It is my belief—not certain, but probable—that they also paid for the hire of the Free Coast bandits that Gann brought in to kill his half-brother. They have put Gann so greatly in their debt it’s unlikely he will ever be anything more than their lackey.’