“My Blood was short of allies in this undertaking” – she shot a pointed glance in Temegrin’s direction – “so we had to find them where we could. Through Aeglyss, we have bent the White Owls to the service of the Black Road. They have proved useful, and may do so again. Aeglyss has pledged hundreds of their spears to our cause. And you have seen for yourself that he has certain other talents. I cannot explain them, or him, but I am disinclined to set aside such possible advantage merely because you – any of us – find one man unsettling.”
“I understand. But I was told your brother had already disavowed this alliance. Something has changed, apparently. Or is this a decision you have made without him?”
“Never mind disavowing,” Temegrin snapped before Wain could reply. “He attacked me. I’ll see him dead for that. I want him…”
“I saw no attack,” Fiallic murmured.
“What?” the Eagle cried. “The man’s a… a mongrel. Unnatural! Not fit to serve the creed no matter what his uses. I will have -”
“You will have the wisdom to leave to the Lore the determination of what, or who, is fit to serve the creed,” the Inkallim said flatly. “Theor sent Goedellin with us for just such purposes.”
Temegrin’s eyes narrowed, and Wain detected hatred in that fierce expression. The Eagle had been humiliated by Aeglyss. It left him with a blister of anger on his heart that might be dangerous. Anger, Wain had always been taught, was an emotion to be resisted. It could too easily become bitterness or resentment at fate’s inevitable course.
“Goedellin?” she asked, eager to tease out the threads of power and influence, and to avoid discussion of Aeglyss if she could.
“An Inner Servant of the Lore,” Fiallic said. “The First esteems him highly. He accompanied the Battle on our march, with a number of his colleagues.”
Wain nodded. Whether Temegrin – or his distant master, Ragnor oc Gyre – liked it or not, the Inkallim meant to be masters of this war, then. The Battle would lay claim to its muscles, the Lore to its heart.
“The Lore has no place in the conduct of wars,” Temegrin muttered, though his voice betrayed the fact that it was an old argument, already lost. “I carry the High Thane’s authority here.”
“You should spend more time amongst the host gathered outside this city,” said Fiallic. “If you did, you would know that we none of us carry the authority that matters here. All those people out there follow the commands of their hearts, of their faith, not those of any captain. This is a righteous war. That is the only authority the thousands acknowledge; the only command that drives them.”
Temegrin snorted in contempt. “You ravens, always spouting pieties. If there’s no authority to be claimed, your own actions are a mystery. You think I don’t know you’ve got your captains out there organising the commonfolk into companies? That you’ve been doing it ever since Tanwrye? Hundreds, isn’t it? One Inkallim to command each hundred?”
Fiallic shrugged. “There must be some structure. I can spare the warriors to lead such companies; perhaps if Ragnor had given you more spears to bring south, you could have done the same.”
Temegrin hammered the table with his fist. “Enough! I bear a warrant of authority from Ragnor oc Gyre, that he put into my hands himself. You will not mock that. And you will not question the High Thane’s intent in my presence.”
Fiallic scratched his cheek, meeting Temegrin’s furious glare with calmness. The Inkallim pushed his chair back and rose. “I meant neither to mock nor question. You hear more than I speak. Perhaps this discussion is best postponed until a time when tempers run less hot. I imagine Wain would appreciate some food after her journey.”
Wain got to her feet as quickly as she could without appearing over-eager. Though she was not hungry, she welcomed any excuse to leave the Eagle’s company. It was, in any case, clear that whatever Temegrin might hope or imagine, the Children of the Hundred held the rudder of this war. Until she knew more of their intent, Wain would gladly postpone further argument.
Her Shield were waiting outside. Aeglyss and Hothyn were with them. The na’kyrim had sat down on the cobblestones, resting his back against the wall. His eyes were closed. Hothyn stood staring up at the castle’s battlements, or perhaps at the clouds beyond.
“Come,” Wain said. “There’s food in the hall.”
The hall in Castle Anduran’s keep was in a state of some disorder. In one corner was a pile of wreckage – the shattered remains of tables – that was being used as firewood. Several of the windows had been smashed in during the final assault on the castle; blankets had been tied over them. One of the walls bore a great black smear of grimy soot. The few intact tables and benches were crowded, but most of the warriors in the hall were sitting on the floor. Some, Wain saw as she picked her way between them, were even asleep, curled up under jackets or capes. All of them looked to be of the Gyre Blood; there were certainly no Inkallim here, and none of the few Horin warriors she and her brother had left here as garrison.
Children hurried back and forth, carrying food and drink for the castle’s new masters. They were orphans or captives, Wain guessed: Lannis waifs put to work. She looked about her while her Shield cleared some benches to make space for her. The Gyre warriors looked tired, lethargic. Perhaps Temegrin had imagined that whoever held this castle would hold the entire valley. If so, Fiallic’s Inkallim were evidently out in the streets of the town and the fields beyond, proving him wrong.
The food the children brought for them was simple and sparse. Wain watched Aeglyss as she tore at a slab of almost stale bread. The na’kyrim seemed to have little appetite. Hothyn refused even to touch what was offered him. Dozens of stares were upon them, Wain knew, most of them no doubt hostile or suspicious. She did not care. Her Blood, not Gyre, had paid the death-price that fate demanded for this castle. She had been out there in the courtyard, sword in hand, to see the Lannis-Haig Thane cut down; she had herself slain his daughter-in-law and grandson high in this very keep. She had more right to sit and eat in this hall than any of the Eagle’s lackeys.
She stared down at the surface of the table.
“You will not interfere in any discussion of mine again,” she murmured.
Aeglyss glanced at her. “Will not? Am I one of your followers, then, Thane’s sister? To be ordered this way and that at your whim?”
He spoke softly. As far as Wain could tell, no one – not even her Shield packed in along the opposite side of the table – would hear what they were saying. No one, she corrected herself, save perhaps Hothyn with his keen Kyrinin ears; but she had seen no sign that the woodwight understood the language of the Bloods.
“You think yourself more than that?” she muttered angrily.
Aeglyss pushed away the platter that had been placed before him.
“Whatever I’m following, it’s no warrior maiden. And it won’t be the ravens or Ragnor’s tame eagle, either. You’ll see. Your eyes will open.”
“Your arrogance outruns your importance,” Wain hissed, struggling to keep her voice down, “Already I regret not killing you at Kan Avor. Is that what you want?”
Only now did she look at the na’kyrim, fixing him with the glare that had cowed so many others before him. But he met her eyes with his own: grey, implacable. His slender hand slipped over hers, and though she meant to push him away, her arm was no longer subject to her will. There were shadows moving in his eyes, or perhaps behind them.
“Ignorance excuses all failings,” he whispered, “in the greatest and most noble just as in the most lowly.”
Wain could feel warmth inside her hand. It spread as if from some gentle ember buried deep in her flesh.
“You mistake past truths for those of the present, Thane’s sister. It is easy to forgive, for you were not there when the world changed. You did not see me upon the Stone.”