He had been trained for war just as he had been taught how to hunt and how to slay, and these were deemed necessary skills in preparation for adulthood. How sad was that?
His horse’s ears flicked and then tilted. Cryl rose to stand in his stirrups, scanned the horizon in the direction of the horse’s sudden attention.
A troop of riders coming down from the north. Their appearance startled him. He could see that they were Tiste, wearing armour but bareheaded, helms strapped to the saddles.
The only settlement remotely close was Sedis Hold, at least three days to the northwest, and these riders would have had to cross Young Dorssan Ryl, a difficult task at any time of year, when it would have been simpler to remain on the road on the river’s other side, which would take them down past House Dracons and thence onward to Kharkanas. There was no reason for such a risky crossing when solid bridges beckoned to the south.
Cryl’s mind raced, trying to recall who was stationed in Sedis Hold. The keep had been raised at the close of the war against the Jheleck. A garrison was ensconced there permanently, ever since the defeated Jheleck had thought to resume their raiding — as if the war had never happened.
The riders were drawing closer, but not in any haste; indeed, they seemed to be leading a score of individuals on foot.
Nudging his horse round to face the newcomers, Cryl hesitated a moment, and then rode towards them. As he approached, he saw that those figures on foot, trailing the riders, were all children, and, even more astonishing, they were Jheleck.
He could see no chains linking the captives, and each child appeared to be burdened under hide sacks of, presumably, possessions.
The Tiste riders amounted to a score of regular soldiers, a sergeant and, at the forefront of the troop, a captain. This man’s eyes were intent, studying Cryl as if looking for something in particular. Evidently failing to find it, he visibly relaxed, and then held up a hand to halt those behind him.
‘You journey far,’ the captain said. ‘Do you seek to deliver a message to Sedis Hold?’
Cryl shook his head. ‘No sir. To do that, I would be upon the other side of the river.’
‘Then what brings a young highborn out wandering these hills?’
It seemed, then, that this captain was determined to ignore the matter of their all being on the wrong side of the river. Cryl shrugged. ‘I am Cryl Durav, hostage to-’
‘House Enes.’ The captain’s lean, weathered face broke into a smile. ‘Is it a rude guess that you fled the frenzied preparations for marriage?’
‘Excuse me?’
The man laughed. ‘I am Captain Scara Bandaris, Cryl. My journey into the south is twofold.’ He gestured at the Jheleck children. ‘One, to find out what to do with this first gaggle of hostages. And here we thought we’d face another war before the Jheleck ever surrendered a single child of theirs. Imagine our surprise.’
‘And the other reason, sir?’
‘Why, to attend the ceremony, of course. It so pleases me to know that Andarist is upon the very cusp of wedded bliss. Now, will you escort us to House Enes? I would hear of Jaen’s lovely daughter, whom you have grown alongside all these years.’
Cryl knew the name of Scara Bandaris, an officer who had fought with distinction in the wars. What he had not known was that he had been posted in Sedis. ‘As hostage to House Enes, sir, it would be my honour to escort you. I have tarried in these wilds long enough, I suppose.’ He brought his mount round as the captain waved his troop forward once more.
Scara Bandaris rode up alongside him. ‘If I were in your place, Cryl Durav, I might well be seeking an empty cave among the hermits of the north crags. A young woman about to be wed — whom you have known for so long now — well, have I guessed wrong as to your motives?’
‘My motives, sir?’
‘Out into the wilds, alone and blissfully at peace — you have been gone some days, I wager.’
Cryl sighed. ‘You see the truth of it, sir.’
‘Then we’ll speak no more of wounded hearts. Nor will I torture you with questions about Enesdia. Tell me, have you seen any eckalla?’
‘None living, sir,’ Cryl replied. He glanced back at the Jheleck children.
Scara Bandaris grunted. ‘Better on two feet than four, I tell you.’
‘Sir?’
‘Twenty-five whelps, Cryl, that no leash can hold. We shall raise wolves in our midst with these ones.’
‘I have heard, not quite wolves…’
‘True enough. Hounds, then. This tradition of hostage taking, so venerated and inviolate, may well come back to bite us.’