Free Winterbirth by Brian Ruckley

where is this messenger?'
    'He waits outside your council tent.'
    'Light my way, then.'
    Hann nodded and Gryvan followed him out on to the hillside.
    The High Thane shivered again as if to shake off the weight of sleep. When he had been young, sleep had fallen easily from him. In his sixth decade it seemed to settle ever deeper into his bones. Cold nights far from the comforts of his court taxed him.
    The small fires of his army dotted the rocky slopes around him. Faint voices rose here and there from amongst the host of tents. He glanced up at the dark outline of the besieged An Caman fort far above.
    There were few lights there.
    Outside the council tent, flanking the opening, two torches stood in tall metal holders, their flames snapping to and fro in the wind. Guards stood beside them, erect and alert though they were deep into their watches. Kale, Master of the High Thane's Shield, was there too, and a tall, dark-haired man who must be the messenger. Gryvan ignored them as he went inside. He settled himself into a high-backed wooden chair.
    'Bring them in, then,' he said to his footman.
    Kale was first to enter, looking gaunt in the flickering light. His features could have been cut from the granitic hills of Ayth-Haig. Behind him came the messenger: a young man, Gryvan could see now, perhaps no more than twenty-five. The red badge on his breast — a sword and spear crossed — marked him as a mercenary out of the Dornach Kingship.

    Gryvan scratched his chin and yawned. The messenger stood before him, some uncertainty betraying itself in the darting movement of his eyes. Kale, as always, was a model of silent, still observation.
    'So,' said Gryvan, 'you've brought me from my bed, when my old limbs crave rest. The urgency must be great, the import of your message truly overwhelming. Let me hear it.'
    The mercenary ducked his head a fraction. 'I am Jain T'erin, captain of one hundred men of Dornach. I speak for them alone, and am here without the knowledge of the Dargannan men in the fort.'
    'Dargannan-Haig,' corrected Gryvan smoothly. 'They owe me obeisance still, even if they have forgotten it.'
    'As you say. They fight for their reasons, my men and I for ours. We have held the fort against you for three weeks, and might do so for another three, but it seems a needless fight. Your armies to the south seek the Dargannan-Haig Thane, and though he is kept from the coast for the time being, he may yet slip away across the water. You would no doubt prefer the men you have encamped here to join the hunt.
    Our interests may both be served by an understanding?'
    Gryvan raised his eyebrows. 'So you seek what? Safe passage back to your own lands? Or to exchange Dargannan-Haig gold for mine?'
    Jain T'erin smiled slightly, the nervousness all but gone from him now.
    'If I have your word on the safety of my men in what would follow, I will deliver the fort to you. After that, we would take service with you if that was your wish. Or return to our homeland.'
    'Igryn's judgement was ever poor. He cannot even buy loyalty, it seems.' Gryvan regarded the messenger for a moment. 'You are young to lead a warrior band. Old enough, at least, to see how this battle must fall out, and old enough to try to bring your men safe out of it. There is some courage in venturing out to stand before me, I suppose.'
    The High Thane closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he fixed T'erin with a cold glare, his face now stern.
    'I will tell you my answer,' said Gryvan. 'You took the coin of my enemy and your men stand alongside his behind walls I have sworn to bring down. Igryn oc Dargannan-Haig mistook himself when he disavowed his oath to me and sought to set aside the obligations his Blood owes mine. He kept for himself taxes that are rightfully mine, for no better reason than greed. He gives sanctuary to pirates and brigands who prey upon the merchants of Vaymouth and Tal Dyre, and the goods they have stolen find their way into his treasury.