Bloodheir by Brian Ruckley Page A

had room for no more than thirty or forty people, but on the night of the feast to welcome Aewult nan Haig, whatever the guests lacked in numbers was more than made up for by their grandeur. Lheanor oc Kilkry-Haig and his wife Ilessa sat at the high table. On their right hand was Aewult, then Orisian and Anyara. On the left sat Mordyn Jerain and the High Thane’s Steward, Lagair. There should have been one other there. The rumour, already flying through the Tower’s corridors, was that Roaric nan Kilkry-Haig had refused to share a table, or even a room, with the Haig Blood. Orisian, required to spend the evening at Aewult’s elbow, almost wished he could have done likewise.
    The long table that ran away down the length of the hall was filled with Lheanor’s officials, the captains of the Haig army and the wealthiest merchants and Craftsmen of Kolkyre. It was not an admixture likely to produce high good humour, and so it proved. A kind of leaden, forced jollity arose, but it lacked conviction. The resentment and mistrust between the Haig and Kilkry Bloods were too deep-rooted to be wholly set aside for even a single night.
    Musicians came and paraded up and down the hall. Falconers displayed Lheanor’s finest hunting hawks.
    A trickster made coins disappear. None of it did much to ease the evening’s latent tension. At length a storyteller was ushered in. As he bowed to Lheanor a hush fell across the room.
    “In the Storm Years,” the storyteller began, “not long after the Kingship fell, a man called Rase oc Rainur – tall and red and strong-handed – had a hall at Drinan, which was then but a village. In the summer, the people grazed their cattle far out through the forest. Now, there was a girl called Fianna, daughter of Evinn, who often stood watch over her father’s cattle, taking only his two black dogs with her.”
    Aewult nan Haig leaned too close to Orisian, his breath heavy with wine and grease.
    “I think I’ve heard this before,” the Bloodheir said.
    “It’s a common tale here,” Orisian replied. “It’s called ‘The Maid and the Woodwight’.”
    “A miserable one, isn’t it? Doesn’t everybody die?”
    “Not quite everyone.”
    The storyteller pressed on, but he had clearly failed to catch the Bloodheir’s attention. As a scattering of discussions resumed around the hall, Aewult turned his attention to Anyara.
    “You’ve a very fair face, my lady.” He flicked a wide grin at Orisian. “Has your sister given her affections to anyone, Thane?”
    “My affections are my own,” Anyara said, “and I don’t give them away. I’m sure your own lady would say the same thing.” She glanced pointedly at the beautiful young woman who sat amongst the Haig captains at the long table.
    Orisian was not certain of her name – Ishbel, he thought – but it was already common knowledge in Kolkyre that she shared a bed with the Bloodheir. It was said that he had smuggled her all the way from Vaymouth in one of the supply wagons. Apparently Aewult’s mother, Abeh oc Haig, had forbidden the liaison, as she disapproved of the woman’s background or breeding. Whatever the truth of it, Orisian suspected it was not wise ground for Anyara to start digging in.
    To his relief, Aewult appeared to be amused rather than annoyed.
    “A pretty face but a pointed tongue, I see,” the Bloodheir said through a mouthful of mutton. “You’ll have to blunt that a bit if you want to marry her off, you know.”
    “I don’t mean to marry her off,” Orisian said quickly. He pressed forward against the table, hoping to put a barrier between Aewult and his sister. “How long do you expect to remain here in Kolkyre?”
    “Keen to see us off to battle?” Aewult asked, with a smirk. “You don’t need to worry. We’ll be on our way soon enough. We’ll get your lands back for you, Thane, and sit you on your throne in Anduran.
    Believe me, I’ll not spend a day more than I must up here. It’s too cold and too