Winterbirth by Brian Ruckley Read Free Book Online Page A

There was a trace of vanity in Renairan that excluded mere fighting men - even the guardians of his Thane's nephew — from a gathering such as this. Rothe had protested, but even he could not credibly claim that Orisian might be in danger amidst the great and good of Glasbridge.
    The dining hall was decked out with holly, juniper and sprigs of pine: traditional decorations for the coming Winterbirth celebrations. In the grate at one end of the hall, pine logs were burning, filling the air with their sharp scent. The smell touched upon raw memories for Orisian, and cast a shadow across his mood. Some of his clearest recollections of his mother Lairis were of her glowing presence at the Winterbirth feasts in Castle Kolglas. Those images were wreathed about in his mind with the poignant scent of pine. She had been the heart of those festivals, her voice their sweetest music.
    Orisian did his best to play the honoured guest. He gave a report of the festivities surrounding the birth of the Thane's grandson, and Naradin's killing of his boar. Curiosity satisfied, the conversation drifted to the sort of matters that always preoccupied the people of Glasbridge: the fishermen's catches in the last week, the promise of storms on the season's breath, and the prices obtained by the last merchant to sail south to Kolkyre. They were things, in the main, that Orisian knew little about. He had to concentrate to avoid overlooking any of the moments when a smile, a nod or some approving remark was required of him. Before long he was wishing he was with Rothe and Kylane, hidden away in the kitchens or wherever they had found themselves.
    As the evening progressed Orisian became convinced that Renairan's wife, Carienna, and his young daughter were talking about him. Now and again, across the landscape of wine jugs and meat and bread, he noticed Carienna watching him with an unguarded, penetrating gaze. For no reason he could name, it made him uncomfortable and he tried to keep his eyes on other things.
    The one guest who caught Orisian's interest was the captain of the Tal Dyre merchant ship, Edryn Delyne. He had met Tal Dyreens before, when they stopped off at Kolglas and paid courtesy visits to his father, but this man was the most impressive of the breed he had ever seen. He was tall and fair-haired and boasted the short, pointed beard that, in the tales at least, was the mark of every Tal Dyre adventurer.
    Delyne regaled the party with stories of the fighting far away in the south. Many men of Lannis were there, fighting under Gryvan oc Haig's command against the rebellious Dargannan Blood, and the interest around the table was keen. Delyne assured his audience that the fighting would soon be over and Igryn, the recalcitrant Thane, dead or taken. Renairan and his guests, Orisian included, received this news with only muted enthusiasm. There was no love lost between the Lannis Blood and that of Haig. Orisian had heard it said more than once that the two thousand men Taim Narran had led south in answer to the High Thane's summons would be doing better service if they were marching against Gryvan's palace in Vaymouth, rather than the mountain forts of Igryn oc Dargannan-Haig.
    Orisian's eyes grew ever more heavy-lidded as the evening crept on. Though he watered his wine carefully, the heat of the fire and the heavy scent in the air combined with it to lull him towards sleep.
    Renairan's booming voice caught him unawares. He attempted an alert expression. The harbourmaster's laughter told him that his efforts were in vain.
    'Too much good food and wine for our young guest, I think!' Renairan said.
    Orisian smiled apologetically.
    'Forgive me,' he said. 'Two days' riding takes its toll.'
    'Of course, of course,' cried Renairan. 'You must retire, Orisian. You have another day in the saddle tomorrow.'
    'Thank you for a fine meal,' said Orisian as he rose. The other guests stood up as well, acknowledging his departure with small bows or nods. He