“It might be worth delaying your advance a little while, sire,” Taim tried again. “Anyone here could tell you there’s going to be foul weather the next day or two. Heavy snow’ll blunt any advantage you have in numbers, or in horsemen. Wait until your stragglers have caught up. If it’s true that the Black Road’s stronger than we-”
“If it’s true, if it’s true. Enough. I will not wait here for your Thane to arrive, if that’s what you hope. I have an army, and an enemy within reach of it. If I wait for good weather in this miserable corner of the world, I’ll still be here come the spring thaw. Whatever you hoped for when you snuck out of Kolkyre, this is not your battle to fight. Not your victory to win, do you understand?”
“I do,” Taim sighed.
“Then bite your tongue. Tomorrow, you’ll see what the men of Haig can do. It might be a valuable lesson for you and your boy-Thane.”
II
Aewult nan Haig’s army was a lethargic thing. It woke out of a cold night slowly, discouraged by the gloomy sky and the sharp-edged wind that was gusting off the sea and carrying tiny, hard flakes of snow. Long after dawn, when they should have been formed into columns or already on the move, men were still clustered around fires, arguing over trifles or silently eating gruel. The whole army stank of resentment and reluctance.
The invisible sun climbed higher. The snow grew heavier and cast a white dusting over the town, the army’s camp and the road north. At last, with abundant ill humour, the host began to move. They trudged in their thousands around and through Kolglas, choking every street and farmland path, spilling into the fringes of the forest.
Taim Narran was posted a little way north of the town, five hundred of his men flanking the road. He sat astride his horse and watched Aewult’s army pass. He saw some companies he would count as ready for battle: straight-backed spearmen who marched behind a Vaymouth banner; Taral-Haig riders, their mounts clad in stiff hide bards; a loose crowd of skirmishers from the Nar Vay shore, exuding a murderous enthusiasm. Most, though, appeared short on both vigour and spirit. Heads hung low, feet dragged. Few had clothing fit for the wintry conditions. Taim could see canvas wrapped around boots that were too thin now that snow was falling. Many men had removed their helmets and replaced them with warmer, softer caps. The warriors of the Kilkry Blood would have done much to strengthen and fortify this host, Taim reflected, if Aewult had permitted them to gather and march.
Aewult nan Haig and his Palace Shield were like a glittering precious stone set in the tawdry sludge of his army. The shieldmen had evidently been polishing their breastplates. Aewult’s magnificent horse — a huge beast — had its mane plaited, and its head encased with moulded, hinged silver armour. Some of the shieldmen were beating their drums, though the snow and wind conspired to thin out the sound and rob it of its force.
The Bloodheir peeled away from the column and came cantering up to Taim’s position. His Shield followed and drew to a halt in a long, bright line.
“Enough to do what needs to be done,” Aewult said with a flourish of his arm. It was not a question.
“I hope so, lord,” Taim said.
“You’re not to move from this position, whatever happens. I’ll send word to you if your company is needed. If my messengers do not find you here, it will count against you when all this is done.”
“Of course,” Taim said tightly. “I will be here until I am commanded otherwise. Or until night falls.”
“Ha!” The Bloodheir turned his horse hard about. “This’ll be done long before nightfall. You’ll see.”
“Dusk comes early at this time of year,” Taim murmured, but Aewult was already gone.
As the snow grew heavier, Taim had his men set up tents and move most of the horses into the fringes of the forest for shelter. Fires were lit and pots of broth set over them. A band of Haig warriors detached themselves from the passing army and demanded food and a place by one of the fires. By the time Taim got there and ordered them away, fists were being clenched and insults thrown. They were not the only ones to split away from the great, slow column. A dozen or more sick-looking men sat down by the side of the road and huddled there, despondent and apathetic, while the snow settled all around them.
Taim saw other small groups simply turn around and head back down the road towards Kolglas, like stubborn fish swimming against the current. One such band of reluctant warriors — men from the far west of Ayth-Haig to judge by their accents, and better than half-drunk to judge by their loudness — was intercepted by a harassed- looking captain in the midst of the column, and commanded to resume the march. There were threats, and shouting, and eventually violence. Two men were dead and others wounded before the mutinous company was compelled to obedience. Taim watched all this with a cold sense of trepidation settling over his heart.
The falling snow thinned. The sky lightened a fraction, the wind eased and fluttered back and forth as if unsure of its destination. Taim had dismounted and was sharing a loaf of bread with some of his men. He glanced up, and thought for one moment that he even glimpsed the globe of the sun, smeared through the clouds. It had begun its descent towards the horizon now; half the day was gone. The swirling wind was carrying a faint hint of sound on it. All around, men were waving at their companions to silence them, angling their heads to try to catch whatever message the erratic wind sought to deliver. Taim, like all of them, recognised the sound well enough. It was a formless thing, but he knew of what it was made: feet and hoofs, blades and cries, the clatter of shields and press of bodies. Somewhere far up the road, the head of Aewult’s army had found the battle it sought.
The clouds soon thickened and reasserted their grip. The world was returned to a kind of twilight gloom. The wind swung back into the west and drove fresh snow in off the sea. Taim led his horse into the shelter of a clump of bushes and waited there, in silence, with a knot of his most experienced warriors. They watched, without surprise, as the flow of the mighty Haig army along the road faltered and fragmented. Fewer and fewer warriors were trudging up from Kolglas, and ever more of those who did were stopping and flinging themselves down, pulling cloaks over their heads and curling in their protection like soft boulders. Wagons had got stuck in the roadside ditch. The tide of the army slackened. For a short time, there was nothing more than a scattering of men, disorganised and unmoving, strung out along the road. Then the tide was ebbing and, though Taim had heard no command given, men were no longer marching out from Kolglas but back towards it.
Soon after that, the messenger came to Taim: a young man, with blood on his face and a feverish urgency in his eyes. He struggled to control his panting and foaming horse as he shouted his message.
“You’re to bring every man you have to the Bloodheir. At once, without delay.”
Taim swung up onto his horse and set about unbuckling his shield from where it lay across his back.
“Where is the Bloodheir?” he asked. Already, his men were hurrying to ready themselves.
“Glasbridge! Make for Glasbridge!” The messenger sounded almost angry, though perhaps it was only the backwash of fear. “You’ll find the Bloodheir that way.”
Taim grimaced up at the waves of snow tumbling down. “I’ll be lucky to find him anywhere,” he muttered.
“Every man you have!” the messenger cried as he spun away and was carried off by his distressed mount.
“Three hundred,” Taim shouted after him, then as much to himself as anyone: “No more. I’ll not blindly lead all the strength my Blood has left into this storm.”
The wind died as they rode. Fat, heavy snowflakes thronged the air like congealed fragments of cloud. Hundreds upon hundreds of warriors, some exhausted, some wounded, some merely lost, crowded the road. It was as Taim and others had told Aewult nan Haig: this would be snowfall enough to still the world, to confound all the intents and desires of men. Even the rocky shoreline was acquiring a white dusting in the space between each set of waves. The sea receded into obscurity as ever more dense curtains of snow rolled in from the west. The mills and cottages on the landward side of the road faded behind wintry veils. It was, Taim kept thinking as he led his men on along the coast, weather fit for disaster. With every pace his horse took, the road was disappearing beneath its hoofs.
There were corpses — and perhaps the living too, for it was not always easy to tell the difference — here and there along the roadside: black bundles heaped up and now coated with white. Arrows, bolts and broken spears were scattered around, and a few dead horses. Once, without warning, a shower of arrows came skimming out of the snowstorm. There was no way of telling their source. A couple of men cried out, horses screamed. A few riders
