Fall of Thanes

III

Aeglyss leaned heavily on Hothyn the White Owl as he advanced out into the street. His head—a simple skull, almost, in its gaunt and fleshless angles—lolled on a limp neck. The plain robe he wore was patterned with brown and red and black stains, the exudates of the wrecked and porous body beneath. At the sight of him, Kanin was instantly blind to all else, and he sprang forward. “Be still,” Aeglyss said, like a thunderclap on the damp air. Kanin staggered to a halt, dizzied. The world spun about him for a moment, a swirling vision of dirty grey stonework and mud and figures that flashed past too quickly to be recognised. He steadied himself. The na’kyrim was staring at him, and that gaze was all contempt, all confidence. Shraeve started to move. Long, languid strides, hands reaching slowly up for the hilts that framed her face. Her eyes were on Kanin, wholly committed to his death. And he could see it quite clearly for himself. He could envisage with the utmost clarity his own graceful execution. She would be like a hawk, composed entirely of speed and power, falling upon him. He would die now on Shraeve’s twin blades, and go into the darkness knowing he had failed. He would follow Wain, knowing there would never be an answer to her death. He knew all this, and the weight of it felt as though it would crush his heart, but still he hefted his sword in his hand and tightened his grip upon the straps of his shield until the leather creaked, and stepped forward to meet her. Perhaps… perhaps… “Wait,” said Aeglyss. Shraeve stopped. She passed from motion into perfect immobility in the blink of an eye. Her gaze remained locked onto Kanin. He found that he had come to a halt too. Two dozen paces separated Thane and raven. Kanin could feel his heart thumping, straining, in his chest. Its beat was the only sound in all the world. A silence descended upon them all, every warrior gathered there at Kan Avor’s centre. Then Aeglyss was edging sideways, his gown trailing through the mud. He moved like an ancient, all brittleness and fragility. But his voice… his voice was like the ocean. “You have done all that you could have done, Bloodheir,” the halfbreed rasped. “No. Thane. I forget. Or remember too much.” He coughed and shivered. Blood was trickling from his nose. Hothyn followed him, a watchful, silent attendant. “You never understood, though. Because there is something in you—this hatred—that deafens you, blinds you, you never grasped what has been happening all around you. You see only the surface of things. But you needed to feel, Thane, if you were to understand.” Aeglyss extended a bony arm, and pressed his hand against a wall. He leaned thus, letting the ruined city take his weight. “If you could have felt it, you would have understood that this is not something you can undo. Not with all your hatred, all your stubbor