Bloodheir

X

Tyn the Dreamer was a disturbing sight. He looked like a corpse. There was a faint acrid, sickly smell in the room, hovering on the edge of Orisian’s senses and whispering of death to him. Tyn’s silver hair — sparse but long — was splayed lifelessly across his pillow. His face looked like a skull overlaid with a thin white gauze. There was nothing to say the man was alive save the intermittent feeble rise and fall of his chest beneath the sheets.

Cerys and the other half-dozen na’kyrim who accompanied her and Orisian had a quiet, reserved demeanour, as if they were in the presence of some dead, mourned lord. Orisian looked around the small gathering — Cerys had not deigned to tell him the names of these people — and saw sorrow and awe together in their expressions. Turning back to Tyn, he wondered how old the man was. To judge by his emaciated appearance and his discoloured, fragile skin, he might have been over a century, but Orisian knew better than to make assumptions in the strange world of the na’kyrim.

“He has weakened a good deal, these last few days,” Cerys murmured. “His body is failing, and not even Amonyn can do anything to halt its decline.”

“Is he dying?” Orisian asked quietly.

“Perhaps. We do not know. Tyn long ago passed beyond our understanding. You are looking at something — at a man — unique in all the world. His mind travels parts of the Shared we could not follow him into, even before the recent… changes made it such a turbulent place.”

Cerys leaned over the Dreamer, angling her head so that her ear hovered over his lips. “He chose this,” she said, “but when he made his choice, the Shared was a wonder; a benign ocean to be explored. Some of us here envied him greatly, for his ability to give himself up to it so completely. Now, though… the ocean he travels has turned against him. Against us all.”

One of the other na’kyrim, a tall and striking man, more powerfully built than any other of his kind that Orisian had seen, laid a hand on the Elect’s back. It looked to Orisian like comfort. Cerys gave no sign that she felt the touch. She straightened.

“Even if we were deaf to the troubles in the Shared, Thane, we would still know that things had gone awry.” She extended a long, languid finger towards the Dreamer. “Tyn’s rest was once peaceful. Now it cannot even be called rest. He suffers, and his suffering spills over, in his tormented mutterings, his decaying body. He is quiet now, but often he is gripped by spasms. Sometimes he cries out: not words at all, just cries of horror. The change began on that night when we all sensed… whatever it was we sensed.”

“Aeglyss,” Orisian said.

“Yes,” one of the other na’kyrim said quickly, before Cerys could reply. Orisian looked at her, and saw a young woman with fierce, clear grey eyes. Her features were unremarkable, more humanlike than those of most of her colleagues. Even her skin, though pale, had a certain warm health to it that most na’kyrim lacked. Orisian’s mind made a swift connection.

“You know him? Aeglyss, I mean. Bannain said there was someone here who knew him long ago, in Dyrkyrnon.”

The young woman made to speak, but Cerys held a hand out, stilling her. Orisian saw plainly enough that obedience to the gesture required an effort of self-control.

“This is Eshenna,” the Elect said. “She came to us only a few years ago. And before that, yes, she lived in Dyrkyrnon. As did Aeglyss for a time, apparently. When he was a child.”

“I did not know him well,” Eshenna said, her gaze fixed on Orisian, “but well enough to recognise his presence in the Shared.”

“And you know this woman K’rina?” Orisian asked.

“We will talk of Aeglyss later,” the Elect said quietly. She was watching the Dreamer now. “There was another reason I wanted you to see Tyn; other news, that has come from his lips, drifting up out of whatever depths he is now lost in.” She turned back to Orisian. “He speaks, you see. Our Dreamer speaks.”

Orisian glanced back to the Dreamer. Tyn’s cheek was twitching, his lips trembling. One of the na’kyrim — the man who had comforted Cerys before — sat on the edge of the bed and pressed his palm to the sleeper’s forehead. His fingernails, Orisian saw, were as white as any Kyrinin’s.

“Yes, I know he speaks,” Orisian said. He tried to keep his voice level, calm. It was unsettling to be the object of so many pairs of intent, inhuman eyes, to be beneath the strange weight of their attention. And a vague frustration was building in him. He wanted to speak of Aeglyss now, not later. He had slept badly in the dank dormitory down in the guts of Highfast. Lying awake in the darkness, hearing the drip of water, the scurry of rats, his restless mind had turned from one image to another, and then another, without pause: Inurian, Ess’yr, Kennet. Dawn had found him still tired, and uneasy; doubtful of himself, and of Highfast.

“These days, much of what Tyn says is garbled,” Cerys said. “It makes little sense, though it is all shot through with fear, and with distress. Until recently, we had scribes at his bedside all the time to record whatever they could. We had to remove them. They were becoming… sick. Whatever corruption Aeglyss is spreading through the Shared is stronger here. Poor Tyn is a wick, through which it rises and leaks out.”

“What is it that you want me to hear, then?” asked Orisian. The desire to leave this small, oppressive room with its decay-tinged air was growing strong within him. Rothe was awaiting him outside; fretting, no doubt, at being refused permission to accompany his charge into this chamber.

“Amongst those fragments Tyn has spoken that make any sense, much concerns the Anain. It accords with what some of us have suspected. They are stirring, Thane. They rouse themselves, and turn their attention outward, as they have not done for centuries.”

She watched Orisian intently, searching for some reaction; all of them did. Rather than look back into those penetrating eyes, Orisian stared at Tyn’s pallid face.

“Bannain said as much,” he murmured.

“The Anain answer to no law but their own,” Cerys said. “The rest of us — Huanin, Kyrinin, Saolin, na’kyrim — we are like bubbles of air that rise out the Shared, spin about on its surface. The Anain, they are the currents that move it; they are its ebb and flow. If they wake, if they… exert themselves, we will all be as powerless as the meekest lamb.”

“I understand that. As I can do nothing to prevent it, it seems pointless to fret over it.”

“Then you do not fully understand,” Cerys said gravely. Orisian thought there was perhaps a trace of disappointment in her voice, but it was so faint that he could not be sure. “The attention of the Anain has been drawn by what happened to Aeglyss, by what he has become. We are all but certain of that. His power, his pain and anger, foul the Shared. That must be to the Anain as it would be to us if the air we breathe, the water we drink, the blood in our veins, were all corrupted. To know their intent or purposes is beyond us, but we fear they rise in order to oppose and destroy Aeglyss.”

“Fear?” Orisian echoed. “He’s as much to blame for the death of my father as anyone. He imprisoned my sister. Killed Inurian, we think. I do not fear his destruction.”

“You should fear the means of it, if that means is the Anain,” Cerys snapped. Orisian blinked in surprise at the sudden sharpness of her tone, and the way her words rang in his ears. There was a shivering down his spine, and a tingling in his scalp. For a moment, he was aware of nothing but the Elect’s cold, hard face looming large in his vision. She was not human, he reminded himself; and not all na’kyrim were as restrained and gentle in their capacities as Inurian had been. He almost took a step backwards, giving in to the thrill of fear that jolted his heart, but he held himself firm.

“Last time the Anain rose,” Cerys continued, more levelly, “they turned back armies, drowned a city beneath a sea of trees. They care nothing for our concerns, Thane, and we know next to nothing of theirs. They might raise another Deep Rove over your whole Glas valley. They might slaughter every na’kyrim in the world, all in the name of just one whose life offends them.”

Orisian drew a deep breath down into his chest. His heartbeat slowed a little.

“You’re afraid,” he said quietly, facing Cerys. “Yvane told me as much.”

He saw the Elect’s jaw tighten, and fear fluttered again in his stomach, but he pressed on. “She said you — and her, and all na’kyrim — are afraid of Aeglyss, and of what he might do. There’s more, though, isn’t there? You’re afraid of what might happen because of him, too. It might be the Anain, it might be Gryvan oc Haig, when he finds out there’s a powerful na’kyrim who has sided with the Black Road.”

No one replied for what seemed like a long time. Cerys had taken hold of the chain she wore around her neck. She stared at Orisian for a moment, then closed her eyes.

“Yvane ever thought in such ruts,” someone said — Orisian was not sure who, though the voice was male.

Cerys smiled briefly, sadly.

“Will you come with me, Thane? Being in this room gives me a cruel headache. Perhaps fresher air is what we need.”

He followed her willingly, glad to leave the tight confines of the Dreamer’s chamber. Rothe’s relief when he saw them emerge was evident. The big shieldman fell in close behind Orisian, who gave him a reassuring smile. The Elect made no protest at Rothe’s presence.

He expected that Cerys would lead them back down, through the huge keep and into the passages and chambers cut into the rock of the mountain like the tracks of maggots in an apple. Instead, they climbed. A stone spiral of steps carried them up and disgorged them, unexpectedly, onto the keep’s roof.

The wind blasted away all memory of the airless chamber where Tyn lay. It tugged at Orisian’s hair and jacket, snapped the Elect’s long, heavy dress about her legs. Orisian closed one eye and twisted his head away from the gale. Clouds were surging along overhead, layer upon layer of them flowing across the sky, a turbulent flood of vapours and mists. The convolutions and complexities of Highfast tumbled away beneath them: walls and buildings and battlements spilling down from the keep to crowd the peak.

Cerys, though, led them around the low crenellations to the keep’s eastern edge. Holding her hair back from her face, she glanced at Orisian and then gestured out into the void. He leaned cautiously out and looked down. The sheer wall towered over a deep and wild gorge. The cliff faces beneath were precipitous; impregnable. Further out, ranks of jagged, craggy summits jostled to fill the horizon. Pennants of cloud, or perhaps powdery snow, were streaming out from the highest of them: fierce winter flags. Orisian could see not a single tree, no sign of life at all, save one. A great flock of crows was jousting with the wind beneath him. The black birds flashed to and fro, spinning and sweeping in the gale that roared down the gorge. They were like dark flecks of ash flung into the air by a furious fire. Some of them appeared to be disappearing into — and others emerging from — openings in the cliff far below.

Rothe, at Orisian’s side, looked over the battlements, but shrank back almost at once. He gently pulled his Thane back, too.

“Inurian had a crow,” Orisian said — loudly, against the wind — to Cerys.

The Elect nodded. “Many of us do, here. It’s a tradition, all the way back to Lorryn.” It seemed to Orisian that she did not need to shout as he did. Her voice reached him despite the raging air all about them. She looked out, let her gaze swing over the mountains and up to the seething clouds.

“This an old place, Thane; an ancient place, ringed about by ancient fears. It’s a fitting home for na’kyrim, don’t you think?” When Orisian said nothing, she looked at him. “I think you are a little disappointed with what you have found here.”

It did not sound to Orisian like a question, so he did not reply. The Elect seemed neither angry nor offended.

“Any who choose to live in a place as hard as this must have something to fear, you might think; something driving them, nipping at their heels. And not just here. Where else can you find my kind? Dyrkyrnon, where dry land’s rarer than a wise Thane; Koldihrve, out on the edge of everything. We are afraid. Of course we are. Na’kyrim know fear as well as we know our own shadows. Come.”

She led them into the lee of a turret at the corner of the roof. It took the edge off the cold, though the wind still howled, scouring the stone of the keep.

“In Inurian,” Cerys said, “you knew the best of us. He was master of his fear. Or rather, his curiosity mastered his fear, and him. He was, in the end, more interested in what lay beyond these walls than whatever safety might be found within. We who remain sequestered here are not the same as he was. You might think that a failing, but we cannot be other than we are. Other than the world has made us.”

“I would not ask you to be,” Orisian cried into the gale.

“Whether malice moves her tongue or not, Yvane is right. We are all afraid of Aeglyss, and of what his presence in the world might presage. If men decide that na’kyrim are once again a danger, there are too few of us, and we are too feeble, to do anything other than die meekly or flee. If the Anain decide they mislike the course of events, there’s no one who could obstruct their will, no matter how strange or heartless its exercising. And if Aeglyss can master the possibilities of what he is becoming, rather than being destroyed by them, we might all be wading through the blood of the slaughtered before long. Do you know what is truly different about him, Thane? Do you understand why we — and you — should find him worthy of our fear?”

Orisian waited for her to give him the answer.

“Because he is an old thing,” the Elect shouted above the wind’s roar. “Something none of us have seen in our lifetimes. He is a na’kyrim so potent, so immersed in the Shared, that he, perhaps alone amongst us all, need not be afraid. Think! What kind of monstrosity must he be, for the Anain themselves to take notice of him? He may not have realised it himself yet, may not have understood what he is, but all of us here can feel it, in our hearts and in our minds. He is the first of our kind in more than three hundred years who might make himself the father of fear, rather than its child.”

She held out a hand towards him. He hesitated for only the briefest of moments, then reached out and grasped it. The Elect’s eyes narrowed a fraction; her lips tightened. Orisian felt a faint and distant flutter of warmth run across the palm of his hand.

“You feel that?” Cerys asked him.

“Something.”

She released him. “You — your race — might be deaf and blind to the Shared, but that does not mean you are beyond its reach. If you were, I could not make you feel even that faint touch. There will be many, not just na’kyrim, whose sleep is disturbed by bad dreams now. There will be many whose minds become tinged with an anger not entirely their own.

“No creature whose head holds thoughts is truly separate from the Shared. Some believe it is the very stuff of which your mind is made. That is the country over which Aeglyss casts his shadow. That is where the Anain are rising.” She sighed. “It is not only us poor na’kyrim who have things to fear in these times, Thane. Aeglyss is poisoning the well from which we all draw our thoughts, our desires. We na’kyrim are just the first to catch the taste of it.”

On that wind-battered rooftop, with dark clouds rushing overhead and the cries of crows echoing in the bleak gorge, Orisian had a momentary sense of the world as a savagely hostile place. Cerys spoke of things he barely understood, yet for that moment he did not doubt that she was right. Terrible darkness could descend. It was possible, in a world such as this, for horror to be piled upon horror; for even the suffering he had already witnessed to be exceeded. He looked away from the na’kyrim ’s earnest face. Rothe was standing close by, watching in silence. Orisian shivered.

“Can you tell me how to oppose him, then?” he asked Cerys.

“Only in part,” the Elect said. “Perhaps by warning you of the dangers, we can arm you against them in some small way. And there is Eshenna. Talk with her. She believes… I cannot say whether she is right or not, but she believes there is something that might be done; chinks in Aeglyss’s armour.”

Orisian nodded.

“You may find her more like the Inurian you remember,” Cerys observed as she led him back towards the stairwell. “She is not yet beset by fear, nor bereft of curiosity about the world. But remember that she is young, by our reckoning. Impetuous. And she remembers Aeglyss. Her thinking is coloured by that.”

Highfast sank into another winter twilight as if it was going home, returning to the stuff of which it was made. The gale subsided, clouds congregated and breathed a fine mist across the fortress. Darkness mustered around the turrets and battlements, drifted down the flanks of the towers, pooled in its deep courtyards. The last few crows called out as they descended invisibly out of the night sky towards their roost.

Orisian, Rothe and Yvane walked in silence through the labyrinth of sombre passageways. A torch-bearer lit their way, chasing the shadows ahead of them. In their wake, the dark swept back in, tumbling always at Orisian’s heels.

Their guide pushed open a door for them and stood to one side.

“I’ll wait out here, to light your way back,” he said.

Within, they found Eshenna alone in a long, narrow dormitory. She sat on one of the beds, hands resting in her lap. In the tinted light of a single oil lamp, she might almost pass for human, Orisian thought. She stood when he entered, nodded. She looked nervous. He gestured for her to sit down again. He and Yvane sat on the bed opposite her. Rothe waited near to the door.

Orisian did not know whether bringing Yvane had been wise, but he wanted her help in navigating these waters. There was too much here that was unfamiliar and unknown. Yvane was no replacement for Inurian, but she was the closest thing he had to an interpreter.

“You know Aeglyss?” he asked Eshenna, and she nodded gravely.

“I wake every morning with the taste of anger in my mouth, the sound of hatred ringing in my ears. If I close my eyes now, I can feel his bile seeping into my mind. I know Aeglyss. I know this is him.”

“Tell me who he is,” Orisian said.

“He was a savage child.” Eshenna spoke with feeling. “Not in deeds, so much, but in words, and in instincts. Spiteful. He suffered a great deal before he reached Dyrkyrnon. Many of us did, but most overcame those memories, or learned to live with them. He… treasured them, almost. He could not separate himself from what had happened to him, what had happened to his parents. The past weighed heavily on him.

“He told us that his father was a warrior of the Black Road, and that the White Owls killed him for loving a Kyrinin woman. His mother died, frozen or starved, on the northern edge of the marshes. She had fled from the clan with Aeglyss when they decided to kill him too. So he told the story, at least.”

“But he didn’t stay in Dyrkyrnon,” Orisian said.

“He did for some years, but he was cast out. He inflicted many small cruelties, and some not so small. A girl…” Eshenna winced at the memory. “One girl in particular, Aeglyss desired. She was cold to him, as many of us were, but her coldness pained him in a different way. Much sharper. He would not — could not, I suppose — accept it, or ignore it. It ate away at him. One day he was found, alone in the marsh, crouching by a pool, staring down into the water. He was watching the girl. She was in there, under the surface, on her back. Mouth open. Drowning, without struggling.

“They hauled her out, and managed to save her. Aeglyss never said anything about it, not a word. The girl claimed not to remember what had happened. Whether that was true or not, she was never happy again; she never slept well, or laughed without a shadow in her voice. Everyone knew Aeglyss had… made it happen. Even then, the Shared had woken in him more strongly than some of us could understand. Everyone was afraid of what he might do, so they cast him out.”

“Would have spared us all some trouble if they’d just killed him,” muttered Yvane.

“I think there were some who wanted to. But he was sent away. No one in Dyrkyrnon ever heard of him again, as far as I know.”

“Until now, I imagine,” Yvane grunted. “I dare say he’s back on their minds now.”

Eshenna nodded. “They’ll not act against him, though, if they can help it. Dyrkyrnon’s like Highfast in that: they want no dealings with the wider world, in case it should decide to have dealings with them.”

“Well, I’ll act against him,” said Orisian. “Everyone tells me he’s a terrible danger, and I believe it, but no one’s told me yet what I can do about it. Cerys said you might.”

“Perhaps.” She glanced from Orisian to Yvane and back again. “There was a woman at Dyrkyrnon — K’rina — who took Aeglyss as her ward, when he first came there. She raised him, and loved him despite all his faults. For some of our kind, you know, our childlessness is a great sorrow. So it was for K’rina. She took Aeglyss as her child. It broke her heart when he was cast out.”

She hesitated.

“And…?” Orisian prompted her.

“I know K’rina well. I cared for her, for a time, after Aeglyss left. Now, she is moving. She has left Dyrkyrnon, Thane. She is going to Aeglyss.”

“You’re certain of that?” Yvane asked quietly.

“It is part of my waking into the Shared. I can sometimes follow the trails left in it by the passage of familiar minds, sometimes trace the outline of distant thoughts. Just as I know, without doubt, that it is Aeglyss whose stench now fouls everything, so I know that K’rina has heard his cry, and will go to him. And he seeks her; longs for her.”

Eshenna’s confidence was forceful, and convincing, but it still left Orisian uncertain. He glanced at Yvane, whose expression was grave and thoughtful.

Eshenna leaned forwards a little. “It’s a slender hope, but better than no hope at all. The last time I sought her, I could not draw near, so violent were the powers churning about her. She is important. To Aeglyss certainly, perhaps therefore to us. So I thought…”

Her voice trailed away. She was watching Orisian expectantly, hopefully.

“What is it you’re suggesting, then?” he asked her. “That we take her?”

“Yes. She was the only one who could ever talk to him. When he was enraged, she could calm him. She could scold him without earning his hatred. She was the only one — the only one alive — whom he ever loved, as far as I know. He needs her. So take her, and hold her. Make her our ally, not his. Use her against him.”

Orisian stared down at the floor. There were dark stains in the seams between the flat stones: mould, or some kind of rot. The stones themselves had a dull gleam, polished by the usage of centuries. He longed for certainty, for clarity. He longed for the lost days when his choices bore consequences of no more weight than parchment. And he longed for the time before this bitter, cruel strand entered his thoughts; the strand that wondered if this woman K’rina could be used to hurt Aeglyss. He looked at Yvane. She was watching Eshenna, but clearly sensed Orisian’s gaze.

“Perhaps,” she breathed, reluctant and heavy-hearted. “There is no na’kyrim in the world, that I know of, who could match what Aeglyss is becoming. None who could force his submission. You need more subtle weapons to oppose him, I think. Perhaps, if he remembers this woman.. if he is vulnerable to her… she might be a wedge to open up some crack in him.” She shrugged. “If you hold something precious to your enemy, it gives you some power over him. Isn’t that the way these things work?”

Orisian stood up and went to the shuttered window. He could hear the night breezes rubbing themselves over the rock of Highfast. Putting a hand against the ancient wood of the shutters, he could feel the cold of the darkness without.

“Where is she?” he asked without looking round. “Do you know?”

“Less than two days away, I think,” Eshenna said. “East of here, a little south. He’ll have her soon, if nothing is done.”

“Close, then,” said Orisian softly. He was not sure, but he thought he could hear rain falling.

“Yes. I believe so.”

Orisian turned about and regarded the two na’kyrim women.

“You would come, if I went to find this woman? Both of you? I would need you, Eshenna, to find her.”

“Of course.” He could see her eagerness, even though she kept it on a short leash. As Cerys had said, this one was not yet afraid, not yet finished with the world outside.

“I suppose so,” muttered Yvane. “Not much to keep me here. Hammarn’ll stay, though. He likes it. Found his home, I think.”

Orisian was already making for the door. “I need to talk to Herraic. I’ll send word, Eshenna, when I know what is to happen.”

Orisian’s mind was in turmoil as he followed his torch-bearing guide. Rothe, striding along at his side, looked worried.

“You mean to chase after this woman, then?” the shieldman asked.

“Maybe. If Aeglyss wants her… needs her, even. Maybe.”

“The battle might be done, before we reach Kolglas,” Rothe muttered. He sounded disappointed; worried.

“It might. But this need only take us a handful of days. What if they’re right, Rothe? What if Aeglyss is really our greatest enemy?” Orisian came to an abrupt halt and turned, taking hold of Rothe’s arms, staring into the big man’s face. “Inurian feared him. Yvane, all of them here. They all say the same. And I never knew Inurian to be wrong about someone, Rothe. Never.”

He wanted — needed — Rothe’s support. It was, in fact, almost approval that he sought here. No Thane should require such a thing from a shieldman, but perhaps he could seek it from a true friend, one he trusted more than anyone else.

“I’m no use to Taim Narran, no use to anyone, on a battlefield, Rothe. Do you understand? He’s what our Blood needs there. But I’m here, and this is something I can do. Something that might be important. More important, even.”

Rothe did not look wholly convinced. But he nodded, just once, and that was enough.

They found Herraic deep in conversation with two of his men, outside their barracks. The portly Captain of Highfast had the jittery air of a man besieged by events. He drew Orisian aside as soon as they walked up.

“Thane, Thane. Good. I hoped to speak with you this evening. Some surprising news, I’ve had.”

“In a moment,” Orisian said. “Will you answer me a question first?”

“Of course.”

“You told me when I arrived here that half your men had gone eastwards. Rumours of Kyrinin, you said?”

Herraic nodded, clearly puzzled that the activities of his tiny garrison should be of interest to a Thane.

“Yes, sire. There’re a handful of woodsmen and hunters in the forests to the east of the Peaks. Word came from one or two of them that there had been signs of wights moving. A couple of trappers have even gone missing, supposedly.” He shrugged. “Not seen White Owls on our borders for many years. Still, people said there were warbands moving south. I’d’ve thought there would have been more trouble reported if it was true, but It seemed best to look into it, foolish though it sounds.”

“Warbands,” Orisian repeated.

“It will turn out to be nothing, sire. I’m sure of it.”

“No,” Orisian murmured. “I don’t think it will. I think Eshenna’s right. It’s K’rina. They’re coming for her. Why would he want her so badly?”

Herraic looked puzzled. He spread his hands, displaying his incomprehension. Orisian ignored the gesture.

“I think we’ll be leaving you, Captain.” He turned to Rothe. “Find Torcaill. Get everyone ready.”

The shieldman went without hesitation, and without demur. Herraic stared in confusion after him. There was something rather plaintive in his expression, Orisian thought.

“You will?” the Captain said. “Oh. I don’t suppose… I’ve had word, you see. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about: can’t say I understand how or why, but the Shadowhand — sorry, the Haig Chancellor — is on his way.”

Orisian’s heart sank. His mind went blank, leaving him to stare dumbly at the Captain of Highfast.

“Injured,” Herraic continued. He was clasping his hands, squeezing them together nervously. He had angled his head a little, widened his eyes, like a supplicant seeking some favour. “Quite gravely injured, it would seem. I’m not sure what happened: some boy loosed a crossbow bolt at him, from the sound of it. Unfortunately, the Chancellor’s guards killed the child, so we’ll likely never know why. But could he have been coming to see you, sire? That’s what I wondered. I thought perhaps…”

“No,” said Orisian firmly. “Mordyn Jerain has no business with me that I know of. You must forgive me, Captain, but I cannot stay. I have duties elsewhere. I leave tonight. As soon as our horses can be readied.”

The downcast expression that settled upon Herraic’s face at that made Orisian feel a twinge of guilt. The poor man’s quiet, settled world was being shaken to bits. But it would take more than that to induce Orisian to wait placidly for Mordyn Jerain to appear. Whatever freedom of action Orisian had won for himself by leaving Kolkyre was unlikely to survive the Shadowhand’s presence.

He went quickly, wholly possessed now by the desire to be gone from this place. As he walked, he heard some of Herraic’s warriors talking excitedly in the doorway of their kitchens.

“The Shadowhand’s coming,” one was saying, his voice all awe and trepidation. “The Shadowhand’s coming.”