the keep. They were, as always at this time in the evening, a hive of activity. Young boys carried pots and pans from table to stove and back again, while cooks chopped and stirred, pounded and chattered in a frenzy of organised chaos. A row of fat forest grouse were hanging from hooks along one of the roof beams. On one of the tables, a dozen loaves stood cooling, filling the air with their delicious aroma. At first no one seemed to notice that Orisian and Anyara had arrived. A moment later Etha the head cook was hobbling over, wiping her hands on her apron. She was a small, ageing woman, whose joints were seizing up and giving her a clumsy stride as time went by.
Her spirit, however, was uncowed by such assaults. She clapped Orisian on the arm with a crooked hand.
'Back at last,' she said. 'Just in time, too. It'll be a fine feast this year. Wouldn't do to miss it.'
'I wouldn't want to,' he said seriously, and waved at the black-feathered birds above their heads. 'Looks like we'll be eating well.'
'Yes, yes. And plenty more.'
She was interrupted by an angry shout from behind her. Anyara darted past, juggling a still-hot loaf of bread from hand to hand. One of the other cooks was waving a soup ladle after her, flicking thick drops of broth in all directions.
'Why, that girl,' muttered Etha. 'Still acting the child.' She turned on Orisian and poked a stiff finger into his chest. 'And you, young man. A year or two younger, but no better excuse than she. You've not been back a day and already the pair of you acting like a brace of thieves!'
Orisian retreated, trying to look abashed. He found Anyara sitting outside, chuckling to herself and tearing off chunks of bread. He joined her, and they devoured half the loaf in silence. It was warm and comforting and tasted wonderful. They chatted for a while, almost shivering in the night air. They could have been children once more, teasing one another and whispering together as their breath formed little plumes of mist between them. Then one of the kitchen boys came out into the yard, banging a big copper pot with a spoon to signal that the night's meal was ready, and they joined the soldiers and stablehands, maids and servants filing into the common hall.
Beyond the walls, the tide had come in. The waves, dusted with moonlight, closed over the causeway, and the castle was alone on its isle of rock.
III
GRYVAN OC HAIG, High Thane of the Haig Bloods, was roused from a shallow, fitful slumber by his footman's voice. He rolled over and shielded his eyes from the light of the oil lamp the man carried.
'A messenger, my lord,' said the footman, 'from the fort.'
Gryvan pressed finger and thumb into his eyes.
'What's the hour?' he asked.
'Three from dawn, my lord.'
The Thane of Thanes grunted and sat up. He moistened his lips, finding his mouth dry and stale from the wine he had drunk the night before.
'Fetch me some water,' he said.
His attendant turned and went out of the great tent. The light went with him. For a moment Gryvan sat with his eyes closed, listening to the heavy shifting of the canvas in the night breeze. He felt himself slipping back towards sleep. In the darkness he wrapped his sheet about him and rose, a little unsteadily, to his feet. He was standing thus when the footman returned, seeming more nervous than he had before; knowing, perhaps, that he would have done better to leave the lamp. He held out a tankard of water.
Gryvan drained it.
'Give me my cloak,' he said.
The footman hurried to gather the thick fur cape from where it lay by the High Thane's mattress. They were high in the mountains here in Dargannan-Haig lands, and the altitude lent the autumn nights a cold edge even this far south. Gryvan settled the cloak on his shoulders. He took its gold-trimmed edges in his hands and crossed his arms. A brief, involuntary shiver ran through him and he puffed out his cheeks.
Feeling clumsy, he hauled on his boots. Their leather was cold and stiff.
'So,
Her spirit, however, was uncowed by such assaults. She clapped Orisian on the arm with a crooked hand.
'Back at last,' she said. 'Just in time, too. It'll be a fine feast this year. Wouldn't do to miss it.'
'I wouldn't want to,' he said seriously, and waved at the black-feathered birds above their heads. 'Looks like we'll be eating well.'
'Yes, yes. And plenty more.'
She was interrupted by an angry shout from behind her. Anyara darted past, juggling a still-hot loaf of bread from hand to hand. One of the other cooks was waving a soup ladle after her, flicking thick drops of broth in all directions.
'Why, that girl,' muttered Etha. 'Still acting the child.' She turned on Orisian and poked a stiff finger into his chest. 'And you, young man. A year or two younger, but no better excuse than she. You've not been back a day and already the pair of you acting like a brace of thieves!'
Orisian retreated, trying to look abashed. He found Anyara sitting outside, chuckling to herself and tearing off chunks of bread. He joined her, and they devoured half the loaf in silence. It was warm and comforting and tasted wonderful. They chatted for a while, almost shivering in the night air. They could have been children once more, teasing one another and whispering together as their breath formed little plumes of mist between them. Then one of the kitchen boys came out into the yard, banging a big copper pot with a spoon to signal that the night's meal was ready, and they joined the soldiers and stablehands, maids and servants filing into the common hall.
Beyond the walls, the tide had come in. The waves, dusted with moonlight, closed over the causeway, and the castle was alone on its isle of rock.
III
GRYVAN OC HAIG, High Thane of the Haig Bloods, was roused from a shallow, fitful slumber by his footman's voice. He rolled over and shielded his eyes from the light of the oil lamp the man carried.
'A messenger, my lord,' said the footman, 'from the fort.'
Gryvan pressed finger and thumb into his eyes.
'What's the hour?' he asked.
'Three from dawn, my lord.'
The Thane of Thanes grunted and sat up. He moistened his lips, finding his mouth dry and stale from the wine he had drunk the night before.
'Fetch me some water,' he said.
His attendant turned and went out of the great tent. The light went with him. For a moment Gryvan sat with his eyes closed, listening to the heavy shifting of the canvas in the night breeze. He felt himself slipping back towards sleep. In the darkness he wrapped his sheet about him and rose, a little unsteadily, to his feet. He was standing thus when the footman returned, seeming more nervous than he had before; knowing, perhaps, that he would have done better to leave the lamp. He held out a tankard of water.
Gryvan drained it.
'Give me my cloak,' he said.
The footman hurried to gather the thick fur cape from where it lay by the High Thane's mattress. They were high in the mountains here in Dargannan-Haig lands, and the altitude lent the autumn nights a cold edge even this far south. Gryvan settled the cloak on his shoulders. He took its gold-trimmed edges in his hands and crossed his arms. A brief, involuntary shiver ran through him and he puffed out his cheeks.
Feeling clumsy, he hauled on his boots. Their leather was cold and stiff.
'So,
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