“Where’s Anyara? Do you know?”
And Taim had to tell him, and that was perhaps the hardest thing he had done that day.
Epilogue
I
White Owl Kyrinin carried the na’kyrim on a litter made of birch saplings. His hand trailed over the side, brushing the grass for a little distance until someone noticed and lifted it and laid it across his stomach. A hundred woodwights walked in procession before and behind the litter. Battle Inkallim rode on either side of it. Like an honour guard, Kanin oc Horin-Gyre thought in disgust. Hundreds of warriors lined the path along which Aeglyss was borne. The silence was heavy.
Kanin watched from a distance, looking down on the scene from higher ground. The skin of the halfbreed’s hands and face almost shone, even at that remove. Ivory plaques, of the purest white, shining. It could have been a corpse that was carried with such reverential care through the serried ranks of the Black Road; a Thane being taken to his resting place. But it was not, and Kanin watched with attentive loathing. He wanted Aeglyss to live a little longer. Long enough to ensure that it could be Kanin’s own hand that ended his life, and that the ending was fittingly painful and prolonged.
Kolkyre was within sight, a grey bulk far off to the south. It was almost obscured by the greasy smoke of the many pyres burning between here and there: the meat and bone of the fallen smeared across the sky in vast grainy slicks. What breeze there was came from the south, and it carried the smell of the corpse fires on it. It filled Kanin’s nostrils with its noisome texture, and he did not find that unfitting. There was a truth in the conjoining of Aeglyss and that vile stench, a coincidental expression of the halfbreed’s essential nature. Kanin did not know, and did not care, whether he was the only one to recognise it. That he did was enough. It only took one man to kill another.
His Shield were about him, watching in silence as he did. He could not even be certain of them, he suspected. Their silence might be one of contempt, or fascination, or even awe. He could not tell. The litter and its foul burden drifted on. In its wake, the crowd of warriors closed up. Many stood gazing after it. Fools, one and all, Kanin thought. They think they see a sign of fate’s favour, and for that one delusion they’ll forgive all sins, any corruption. That was the flaw in the creed. That was the crack in its armour that Aeglyss would hammer his wedge into, and split open.
A movement at his feet caught Kanin’s eye. A great black dog loped past him, so close as to almost brush against his leg. It went out onto the grass and sat, its muscular back to him. He could hear it panting.
“They’re taking him back to Kan Avor, by all accounts.”
Kanin looked round at Cannek. The Inkallim’s approach had been soundless, but that was no great surprise for one of the Hunt.
“He’s spent, I gather,” Cannek continued. “Whatever influence he exerted on the battle has cost him almost his whole strength.”
“Influence? We don’t know that. Shraeve and her acolytes claim the victory for him, but we can’t know the truth of it.”
Cannek shrugged. “I saw the Haig lines crumble. I saw their thousands flee, wailing in terror, long before their losses justified it. And I felt… I do not know what I felt, Thane. But there was something. Did you feel nothing?”
Kanin frowned and looked away. Of course he had felt something. On the day of the battle there had been a hunger and a fury abroad surpassing anything he had seen before. He had witnessed acts of unflinching self- sacrifice and bloody determination beyond all expectation, even by the standards of the Black Road. The faithful had thrown themselves onto the spears of the enemy with utter abandon. There had been an almost delirious, ecstatic embracing of death. But Kanin would acknowledge nothing. He would deny the presence of the halfbreed in the very air, and in his heart, on the day of that battle, for if he spoke of it he would make it real. And how could he hope to oppose someone with such capabilities?
“True or not, the conviction is spreading that he had a hand in our triumph,” Cannek said. “I have heard many speaking of it. Some are calling him the herald of the Kall. Minon, Orlane, Dorthyn reborn in the service of the creed. Bloodheir to Amanath, the Fisherwoman; inheritor of her mantle.”
“Bloodheir?” Kanin barked. “Let them call him what they like. It means nothing. He clouds minds. He makes every thought deceptive, traitorous to the skull that holds it.”
“Indeed. The victory has not convinced you of his right to a place amongst us, then?”
Kanin scowled at the Inkallim.
“Send your Shield away for a moment, Thane,” Cannek said.
Kanin sighed. Trust was no longer an element in his being. Wain’s death had expunged it. Nothing in the world, and no one, seemed worthy of it to him any more. Not even the creed. Not fate. And even before that he would have called any man a fool who claimed that he could trust the Hunt. But still, he had no enemies save one now. He nodded at Igris, and when the shieldman hesitated, he snapped at him, “Move away. All of you.”
Cannek watched them go, with the wry, self-satisfied smile that so often adorned his features.
“Goedellin is troubled,” the Inkallim murmured. “And that means the Lore is troubled. I am troubled, Thane.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
“It was always our hope, from the very beginning of this, that your Blood would emerge stronger. The Children of the Hundred have long attached importance to the fidelity that your line has shown for the creed.”
“A pity Shraeve did not share your concern, since she was there in Kan Avor when my sister was slain.”
There was the slightest flicker of discomfort in Cannek’s face at that. Once, Kanin would have drawn some satisfaction from it. Now, he hardly cared.
“Shraeve is a matter for us to consider,” the Inkallim grunted. “To deal with, if necessary. You are my greatest concern now, Thane.”
“Me?”
“Your Blood dies with you, unless you have an heir you’ve kept secret from us all.”
Kanin snorted and looked back towards the great throng below them. Aeglyss was almost out of sight, passing beyond the edge of the host.
“Nobody would profit from your demise, and that of your Blood, save Ragnor,” Cannek said. “And the other Thanes, perhaps, picking over the carcass of your lands. None of which would serve to strengthen the creed. Your people would suffer for your vengeance, if you lose your life in the attempt.”
“I was always taught that it was a weakness to fear consequences,” Kanin murmured. “The creed would surely say the suffering of my people, my suffering, is of no import. If suffering is written in the Last God’s Book, we must embrace it.”
“It would be better to talk with Goedellin if you wish to debate such things,” Cannek said, “though he is a trifle… distracted these days. The Hunt deals in more practical matters, so I’ll ask what I came to ask: stay your hand, Thane. For a time, at least. Do not rush into some hasty assault on the halfbreed. We would regret your loss.”
“Ha. I am touched by your concern. But I will do as I see fit. Why should I not?”
The huge dog stood up and looked round, its wet eyes on Kanin. It stretched, elongating itself.
“Because the Hunt will accept this burden,” hissed Cannek. “We will test what protection fate sees fit to set about the half-wight.”
“You will set the Hunt against the Battle?” Kanin asked.
Cannek shrugged and smiled again. “Fate always follows a surprising course, in my experience. We are all striding towards our deaths. The only question is when we will reach the end of the Road.”
Kanin stared at the hound. He watched spittle creeping across its jowls.
“Soon, I think,” he said. “All of us. Soon.”
