CHAPTER 3

Anain

When the One Race was no more, and the Gods resolved to make five to fill the void its destruction had left, the Gatekeeper first made the Huanin. Next The God Who Laughed made the Kyrinin, and the Light, who sang, made the Saolin. Then the fell Wildling, The Spear, made the Whreinin.

The maker of the last of the five was to be The Goddess. More than any save The God Who Laughed, she loved the green places of the world. More than any save The Raven she saw what lay beneath the world they had made, and saw that not everything that mattered could be touched or held in the hand. Thus she made the Anain, who have no substance save what they borrow from tree and leaf, who dwell in all places and none. And when he saw what she had done The God Who Laughed was pleased and said, “This is a good thing, for you have put life into that which is most beautiful in our creation.”

But the Gatekeeper said, “This is a fell thing you have done. These you have made are too potent and too deep. They will not love these others we have made, for all life save their own will seem to them a small and brief thing. They will know too little of death and of failings, and too much of things that are hidden from the others. This is not a gentle thought you have breathed into the mind of the world.”

The Goddess was not angry at these words. “These my children will be gentle in their way and in their own manner. But none can be always gentle. Your Huanin, Gatekeeper, will be sometimes fierce. The Kyrinin will be sometimes cold, the Saolin sometimes foolish. The Wildling’s wolfenkind will be sometimes most cruel. And my Anain, they will sometimes be more terrible and wondrous than all the others. For every world must have terrors and wonders in it, just as much as gentleness.” from First Tales, transcribed by Quenquane the Simple

I

Kolglas was an even more distressing sight than Taim Narran had expected. All through the long march from Kolkyre he had been steeling himself to withstand whatever might await him here, but those preparations made little difference. The town was in turmoil. Hundreds upon hundreds of people were crammed into its streets, its houses and barns. They had come from every corner of the Glas valley; from tiny villages and from lonely cottages in Anlane and the Car Criagar. Some were only passing through, their flight from the Black Road not yet done, and even those who meant to remain here in Kolglas carried fear on their faces. The joy with which many greeted the arrival of Taim and his six hundred men had a strained undercurrent of desperation, of hesitant hope. Ragged, cheering townsfolk clustered along the roadside as Taim led his little army in.

The worst sight was that of Castle Kolglas itself. It stood like a massive, sullen outcast on its tiny island. The causeway running out to it from the harbour was covered by the choppy sea, and Taim was glad of that. From this distance there was little outward sign of the fate that had befallen the castle, but he had no great desire to set foot within those abandoned walls. He knew the keep had been almost gutted and its roof ruined by fire after the Inkallim had finished their slaughter; he knew that the stables, and the barracks where the castle’s meagre garrison had slept, were wrecked. And he knew that if he entered the castle’s courtyard he would only be beset by images of the horrors of Winterbirth. He had heard more than enough reports of that savage night to satisfy any curiosity, and to feed his guilt at being so far away when his Blood had needed him.

The market square was crowded with wagons, makeshift shelters and rootless families, making it impossible to find a path through. Taim sent most of his men back to make camp on the south edge of the town, and went in search of someone who could tell him how things stood.

The man he found was Elach Mell, an old warrior who had been quietly seeing out the twilight of his life in the garrison of Kolglas for at least a dozen years. The tone of the few reports he had sent to Taim in the past week or two had been steadfast, resolute. Only now, in the cramped quarters the old man kept next to the square, could Taim see the true extent of Elach’s decline. He had never known the man well, and it had been years since they had last met, but his exhaustion was clear. His shoulders were slack, his eyes sluggish. Only the embers of whatever determination had sustained him thus far now remained, insufficient to oppose the persistent weight of all that had happened.

“There’s not enough food,” Elach said. His voice was flat. “The barns are almost empty. All but a few of the cattle and goats have been slaughtered. We’re trying to move people on to Stryne, or to Hommen. Some go willingly, others are reluctant.”

Taim nodded slowly. “How many men do you have fit for battle?” he asked.

“Two hundred, if you mean those with any training. A week ago, it would have been three, but… well, there’re coughs and agues in the town now that winter’s taken hold. I’ve lost fifteen or twenty in skirmishing up the road to Glasbridge. They’ve thrown some kind of wall across the road, you know, between here and there. Can’t get anyone beyond it. And I had to send three dozen to Drinan.”

“Drinan? Why?”

“Woodwights. So the folk there claim, anyway. They’re convinced there’s White Owls on the move.” Elach shrugged. “I don’t know what to believe these days. There’s been some barns burned, some cattle stolen; that much is certain.”

Taim stared at the back of his clasped hands in thought. He had hoped for more than two hundred. His Blood had always thought itself strong. Had they been so deluded in that? Where had all that imagined strength gone, to leave them with fewer than a thousand warriors to take the field? He knew where it had gone, of course: it had been whittled away by a few too many years of peace, gnawed at by the Heart Fever, caged and slaughtered at Tanwrye, cut down at Grive, at Anduran and Glasbridge. And in pursuit of Gryvan’s victory over Igryn oc Dargannan-Haig.

“We could muster hundreds more from amongst the townsfolk,” Elach murmured. He sounded almost reluctant, as if he said such things only because it was expected of him. Taim hid a momentary frown of annoyance behind a hand raised to brush his brow. He had hoped for more in many ways.

“Only those who know which end of a sword to hold,” he said. “Fishermen and farmers who’ve never felt a spear in their hand’ll be worse than useless against the Black Road. We’d do well to get whatever hunters and woodsmen there are here organised, though. Get them out into Anlane, to watch our flanks and hunt for woodwights. Send fifty of them to Drinan; get your three dozen men back from there.”

Elach shook his head: despondent, rather than disagreeing. “We’ve lost a lot of them already. The woodfolk, I mean. They’ve been going out of their own accord, looking for survivors, or for someone to kill. We found the bodies of five yesterday, just inside the forest. I don’t know whether or not there’re woodwights out there, like folk say, but I do know there’s Hunt Inkallim. They’ve been seen.”

“The Hunt?” Taim repeated, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. “I thought… we were told it was only Horin-Gyre, and a few of the Battle. You’re sure the Hunt’s here?”

Elach grimaced. “My scouts have seen their dogs, and heard them. I’ve stopped sending men up the road. The few that don’t die come running back here like frightened hens. But the Hunt’s the least of our worries, Taim. Maybe it was only Horin-Gyre when all this started – I don’t know about that – but there’s a lot more than that come across the Stone Vale now.”

The old warrior rose to his feet and stretched his back.

“We’re still getting a few stragglers who manage to sneak out through the forest. Some even paddle down the coast holding on to driftwood, but most of those ones drown before they get here, I think. Anyway, they all say there’s thousands more Black Roaders coming down from the north. Every Blood, not just Horin; armies at Targlas and Grive, as well as Anduran and Glasbridge. One girl said she’d seen hundreds – hundreds, mind you – of Battle Inkallim marching down past Anduran.”