Fall of Thanes by Brian Ruckley Page A

jostled and tumbled and rolled their way down into the naked trees on the edge of town, where they roosted. Orisian watched their tumultuous descent through the dusk, and in their voices heard the sound of Highfast, where he had watched their like playing violent games with the mountain wind. Highfast, of which neither Yvane nor Eshenna would willingly speak now, fearful of its meaning, of what they had felt happening there.
    Only the vaguest of rumours had reached Ive regarding that remote stronghold's fate, but Orisian had access to other truths, ones he thought more reliable than the wild stories of terrified villagers. He believed what Yvane had told him before she fell into grim reticence on the subject: na'kyrim minds snuffed out like crushed candle flames, a torrent of death and destruction running through the Shared. Aeglyss. Aeglyss, the question to which he could find no answer. Perhaps there was none to be had, but he could not bring himself to stop looking.
    Torcaill and a handful of his warriors walked at Orisian's back. They had been shadowing him for much of the day, disturbed by the violence visited upon Ive's sentries in the night, and upon the Haig messengers. Every raised voice, every figure moving in an alley or doorway, seemed a possible threat. A formless dread, an anticipation of imminent catastrophe, was in the air.
    When they reached the house where Eshenna and Yvane sheltered, Orisian defied Torcaill's protests and left his escort on the street. It was not only that he found the poorly concealed unease of the warriors when in the company of na'kyrim distracting; there was also a deeper-rooted instinct to keep some portion of whatever incomplete and vague truths might emerge here hidden. There was too much in K'rina's plight, and in the things Yvane and Eshenna spoke of, that could point the way to despair.
    Yvane and Eshenna were seated by the crackling fire. They had flatbreads spread on slates and propped up to cook in front of the flames.
    "You heard what happened this morning?" Orisian asked as he entered. "To Aewult's emissaries?"
    Yvane nodded. "We could hardly miss it. Noisier than rutting stags."
    "Every time we get word of what's going on out in the countryside, it's of some horror worse than the last," Orisian said. "Everything's falling apart. Everyone's going mad."
    "There's a fever in the world. The weak, the angry, the fearful, the bitter; they'll lose themselves to it first. And there's never been a shortage of those sentiments in the world, has there? But we could all follow. Every one of us, pure-blooded or not, knowing it or not, is touched by the Shared. Aeglyss will rot us all from the inside out. He may not even mean to." She shrugged. "I don't know. Whether by choice or not, he's potent enough to make his own sickness into everyone's. Or bring the sickness that's already there to the surface."
    She sounded tired, defeated, to Orisian. That was not the Yvane he needed.
    "You talk like one of the Black Roaders. A sick world, ready to rot from the inside?"
    Yvane sighed. "Centuries of Huanin killing Kyrinin, True Blood killing Black Road. Sons killing fathers killing sons. Aeglyss is making nothing new; he's only releasing what's always there, under the surface."
    Orisian flicked a hand at her in irritation. "There's more than that. We haven't lost yet."
    "Of course there's more than that," Yvane said. "But the Shared remembers all things. It makes memories of every sentiment, every thought, every desire. Believe me, a great many of them are dark."
    "Not all, though," Orisian said stubbornly.
    Yvane looked up at him. She had weary eyes.
    "What do you want to do?" she asked him.
    "That's what I have to decide. It's why I'm here."
    "We've told you all we can."
    "There's no time left, Yvane. The Black Road is winning. We'll be cut off, or worse, any day now. We can't remain here. But where we should go, what we should do... You can't tell me, but perhaps she can." He pointed at the