“I don’t think so,” murmured Orisian, still watching Ess’yr. There was a life, an energy, in her now that he had not seen for some time. That part of her that had been so oppressed by confinement in Kolkyre and Highfast was stirring again, remembering itself. She moved quickly, precisely, as she sank the mouth of her waterskin below the surface, then raised and stoppered it.

“But you cannot know,” Varryn said. “We will know, because we will see with our own eyes.”

Orisian smiled, despite himself. “Of course. I’d sooner trust your eyes than those of Torcaill’s scouts, in any case.”

Ess’yr stood up, pushing the hair back from her face with both hands.

“You’ll be back before morning?” Orisian asked. “We plan to move on as soon as there’s any light.”

Ess’yr nodded. “Long before.”

“Good.” Orisian gestured at the river. “I’ll see if I can trick some fish out of there, the way you showed me.”

Ess’yr glanced at the water slipping by. She gave Orisian a smile — a momentary, faint thing — and bent to pick up her spear. “It is good to break a fast on fish,” she said.

After the two Kyrinin had drifted off into the deepening darkness, Orisian did make a brief attempt to feel out some fish lurking under the soft bank of the river. The icy-cold water was discouraging, and he very soon began to feel foolish. Here he was, a supposed Thane, scrambling about on a river-bank trying, and failing, to catch fish to please a woman who probably thought of him as nothing more than a chance companion. He sat on a hummock of wiry grass and silently berated himself.

“Feeling a bit solitary?” Yvane said behind him, making him jump.

“I’m fine.” He stood up and brushed dirt and fragments of grass from his legs. “How are your feet?”

“Warm. I toasted them by one of the fires. You might want to come and join us. Eshenna and your man Torcaill are liable to be calling each other names soon. Not good for the harmony of the camp.”

“Harmony doesn’t seem to be anyone’s first concern these days,” Orisian muttered as he followed her back to the tents.

In the midst of the encampment, around the largest of the fires, twenty or more men were sitting cross- legged. They were quietly consuming their meagre rations while Torcaill and Eshenna argued across the flames. Rothe, standing at the very edge of the pool of yellow firelight, looked almost amused.

“Enough,” Orisian said without waiting to hear what the subject of the disagreement was.

Torcaill clamped his mouth shut. Eshenna looked more inclined to continue the dispute but satisfied herself with taking a mouthful of hard biscuit.

“What are you arguing about?” Orisian asked Torcaill.

“She says we are moving too slowly,” the warrior replied. “I say it’s not safe to move faster. Not during the day and certainly not at night.”

Orisian glanced at Eshenna. The na’kyrim returned his gaze but said nothing.

“Will you walk with me?” he asked her, and led her away from the fire. Yvane followed, as did Rothe a little way back.

“It’s not easy for some of these men, you know,” Orisian said once they were out at the furthest limit of the fire’s light. “They have never known a na’kyrim, never had to trust anyone not of their own kind. Most of them would rather be heading north, to fight for their homes and families.”

“You are their lord, are you not?” Eshenna asked. “It should not matter to them what is easy and what is not.”

Orisian shook his head. “They know me little better than they do you, and they’ve not much more reason to trust me. No one ever thought I would be Thane, Eshenna. Not them, not me.”

The na’kyrim shrugged and folded her arms across her chest. “I only wanted them to understand,” she said. It was no apology, but her tone was subdued.

“Understand what?”

“That there is urgency here. K’rina is not far. I can hear the sound of her mind, close. But if there are White Owls hunting her too, they will not stop in the night. They will not rest. If they reach her first, and take her back to Aeglyss, all this effort will have been wasted.”

“I know.” Orisian sighed. “For these men, these are difficult things to understand. They know nothing of the Shared, had never heard of Aeglyss until they left Highfast. It’s not the world they live in.”

“It is now,” muttered Yvane behind him. “They just don’t know it yet.”

Orisian glanced at her over his shoulder. “That might be true but, if so, they’ll have to learn it for themselves. I can’t make them believe it just by telling them it’s so.”

“The Shared is in chaos,” Eshenna whispered. “It shudders at the movement of the Anain. And Aeglyss himself is there, not just the stain of his corruption, but his mind itself: reaching out. K’rina is at the centre of this. I know it.”

“Is that true?” Orisian asked Yvane.

She shrugged. “Couldn’t say for certain. I’ve no great talent for sifting out the patterns. If you’re asking me whether my head aches worse every day, whether I feel a shadow spreading, then the answer’s yes. If you’re asking me whether I think I should have stayed behind in Highfast, the answer’s maybe. That should tell you something.”

“Whatever the truth is,” Rothe said from out of the darkness, “you’ll not persuade Torcaill to move any further now. Not at night. If there are White Owls out there, we’d all be feathered with arrows by dawn. The blacker the night, the more numerous the arrows.”

Orisian regarded his shieldman for a moment: a dark mass with the flames of the fires leaping behind him. He was right. Even Orisian knew that only the direst, most overwhelming need would persuade warriors of his Blood to confront Kyrinin at night, when human eyes and ears were at such a disadvantage. They had been skirmishing with the White Owls in Anlane, and even with the Fox, for generations, and had learned the lessons such experience taught.

“I’ll speak to Torcaill at dawn,” he said to Eshenna. “We’ll make as much speed as we can tomorrow. That’s the best we can do.”

In such poor light, he could not see her face clearly, but he did not doubt there was frustration there.

Orisian was awake when Ess’yr and Varryn returned. He had hardly slept at all, disturbed by the hard ground beneath him, the intermittent patter of rain on the tent and Rothe’s snoring. When at last he drifted off into shallow sleep he was soon awoken, startled by the piping calls of some birds flying over. Unable to recover the threads of slumber, he struggled out stiffly from beneath the coarse blanket and left the tent on his hands and knees. Rothe stirred behind him, but did not fully wake.

Outside, the slight lightening of the eastern sky said dawn was near but not yet breaking. Others — a few weary warriors — were also awake, shuffling through the near-darkness, trying to restart fires, or just standing in the fine misty drizzle with blankets and cloaks wrapped about them. There was no sound save an occasional cough, the crackle and hiss of wet wood resisting feeble flames, the soft voice of the invisible river.

Orisian drank from a waterskin hanging outside his tent. He was standing there, wondering whether to get back beneath the shelter of canvas, when the Kyrinin came out of the gloom. They appeared amongst the tall, thin alder trees as sudden and silent as deer emerging on the edge of a forest. Both of them were soaking wet, their hair matted down and heavy, their clothes darkened by the rain and covered in muddy stains.

Varryn went straight to the large fire at the heart of the camp and squatted down beside it. The warrior who was feeding twigs and kindling into the faltering flames regarded this Kyrinin newcomer uneasily, perhaps suspiciously, but said nothing. Ess’yr paused at Orisian’s side.

“Did you find anything?” he asked her softly.

“We saw sign of the enemy. Half a day towards dawn from here, by human pace.”

“Coming this way?”

She shook her head. “They do not seek us. Not yet.”

“But you did not pursue them.” Orisian glanced across at her brother, silent and thoughtful by the fire. “I feared you might not return, if you found sign of White Owls you could hunt.”

“There will be hunting soon. And killing.”

It was an incomplete answer, Orisian knew at once. He could not tell whether it was some subtle sign in her tone or expression that betrayed her, or whether he had come to know just enough of how her — and her brother’s

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