Brian Ruckley - Fall of Thanes

The warrior frowned.

Orisian smiled at him. “You’re an escaped prisoner, aren’t you? A fugitive from Aewult’s version of justice?”

Taim sank heavily back onto the bench.

“I don’t want any trouble if I can avoid it,” said Orisian. “No more than we’ve already got, anyway.”

“Take a few of the other men, at least,” Taim said. “Let them think you’ve got some swords at your back. And remember they have your sister.”

“That’s not something I’m likely to forget.”

Torcaill quickly assembled a little escort party, and Erval led them all out of the hall. The place was silent as they left.

The wide courtyard was dusted with snow. Most of it had been swept up by the overnight wind, and packed into corners and crevices. There was no wind now, but it was bitterly cold. As Orisian and the others emerged onto the cobblestones, the nearest of the messengers was clapping his gloved hands together to warm them.

The Haig Bloodheir had sent ten men. Six of them were warriors, standing back and watching over the party’s horses. The other four were less martially attired, clad in fur capes, wearing gauntlets of what looked like velvet rather than leather. The one who stepped forward to greet Orisian had a gold clasp holding his cloak around his neck.

The man bowed more deeply and respectfully than Orisian might have expected from one of Aewult’s household. Any appearance of respect was quickly dispelled once that formal gesture had been completed, however.

“This man,” the messenger said with a jab of his chin in Erval’s direction, “seems to think our business is best conducted out here in the cold. Perhaps you could prevail upon him to change his mind, Thane?”

And in that one instant Orisian was vividly transported back to Kolkyre, to the entirely uncomfortable company of Aewult and Gryvan’s Chancellor Mordyn Jerain. Evidently disdain and casual self-importance were traits shared by all ranks within the Haig Blood. Back in Kolkyre, he had been somewhat cowed by it. Now, his mood merely soured, and his headache asserted itself.

“I imagine the Captain anticipated your desire to be back on the road south as quickly as possible,” he said. “You seem to know my name, so perhaps you could allow me the same privilege.”

The messenger stood a good head taller than Orisian, but the reprimand narrowed his shoulders slightly, put the faintest hint of submission into his posture.

“I am Gorred Mant dar Haig, sire. Emissary of Aewult nan Haig. These men are — ”

He gestured towards his companions, but Orisian cut him off. It was indeed cold out here beneath the cloudless winter sky. For that and other reasons, brevity appealed greatly to him.

“You came seeking me, did you?” he asked.

“Indeed, sire.” Gorred had recovered a little of his composure now. He stood straight once more and Orisian suspected that beneath that voluminous cloak his chest swelled. “Rumours reached Kilvale mere days ago that you were here in Ive. There was great relief, of course. People have been concerned for your safety since you left Kolkyre.”

“You may report that I am in good health, then.”

“Indeed.” Gorred extended an arm, flapping his hand. One of the other Haig men stepped forward, hurriedly dragging out two scroll cases from some hidden pocket or bag and passing them over.

“I bear two messages, sire,” Gorred said, proffering the two tubes to Orisian.

“Just tell me,” Orisian said.

“I do need to hand them over, sire.” That welcome trace of discomfiture was back in the emissary’s voice. “I will not be deemed to have discharged my duty if I don’t put them in your hand.”

Orisian took the cases from him, and passed them at once to Torcaill, who casually tucked them under his belt.

“Tell me,” Orisian said again.

There was an abrupt flurry of noise from beyond the open gate. Loud but indistinct voices were battling one another in the street beyond. Gorred glanced over his shoulder in irritation. Several of Erval’s Guards were clustered in the gateway, in animated discussion, gesticulating towards something out in the street. Gorred turned back to Orisian.

“These are delicate matters, sire. Perhaps best discussed in a more private setting.”

“The sooner we are done, the sooner you can be on your way back to Kilvale. You’ll know better than I that the roads grow more dangerous with every passing day. Every hour, even.”

Gorred looked distinctly unhappy but did not press the point any further.

“Very well. First an assurance as to the well-being of your sister, who is protected from all harm within the walls of Vaymouth itself, under the attentive care of — ”

“Move on,” barked Orisian. It was a struggle-one in which he was not entirely successful-to keep the anger that welled up within him out of his voice. The mere mention of Anyara, especially in the mouth of one whose master had made her a virtual captive, or hostage, was enough to shake his precariously maintained balance.

Gorred blinked. “Ah. Well, the substance of the first message is an invitation to join with the Bloodheir at Kilvale. It is his hope that you and he could then discuss the possibility of your attendance upon the High Thane in Vaymouth. You would thus be able to satisfy yourself as to your sister’s…”

Another surge of agitated cries disturbed the messenger’s flow. Gorred grunted in irritation. Everyone looked towards the gate, for the voices drifting in from the street unmistakably now carried an undercurrent of violence and anger.

“Forgive me,” Erval murmured in Orisian’s ear. “I should see what’s happening.”

Orisian nodded, and the Captain of the Guard went trotting over to join his men at the gate.

“What’s your second message?” Orisian asked, before Gorred could resume.

“It was hoped you might be able to accompany us on our return to Kilvale, sire. The Bloodheir was very hopeful of that.”

“I am needed here for a little while yet,” Orisian said. “I will have to follow after you when I can. If I can. What’s the second message?”

Gorred’s eyes flicked momentarily away from Orisian, scanning Torcaill and the other warriors behind him. There was clear unease in the glance.

“It is understood that you have Taim Narran here with you. Is that true?”

Orisian put a hand to his brow, fending off the aching beat in his skull. His hands were so chilled that he barely felt the touch of skin to skin. He envied Gorred his fine gloves. But he made no reply to the messenger’s question.

“I was instructed to ask after Taim Narran’s presence, you see,” Gorred persisted, “because certain charges were raised against him during the period of your absence. The Bloodheir requires — ”

“Requires?” echoed Orisian. “Taim Narran is my man, not Aewult’s.”

“Nevertheless,” Gorred said. “Nevertheless.” There was a dogged, somewhat glum determination about his manner now. As if he had at last resigned himself to abandoning any pretence at courteous discourse; as if he accepted the futility of clothing hard words in fine silks. “No command was issued to release him; rather, you might say, Taim Narran chose to bestow freedom upon himself. And he fled from battle.”

Torcaill and the other Lannis warriors stirred at that. Orisian bit back his own instinctive contempt for Gorred’s accusations.

Erval was returning hurriedly from the gate. Behind him, Orisian could see a solid knot of Guardsmen now barring the entrance to the courtyard. There were other figures moving beyond them, rushing up and down the street. Something dark, which at first Orisian thought must be a bird, darted over the heads of the Guards. The object arced down and broke apart on the yard’s cobbles, a clod of muddy earth.