Winterbirth by Brian Ruckley

years. It seems they're more interested in arguing amongst themselves than in renewing their feuds with us. Only Horin-Gyre out of all of them even bothers to send scouts and raiders over the Vale of Stones any more.
    I keep reminding Behomun that there are still skirmishes being fought up there, but I fear his master Gryvan knows as well as we do that - for the time being at least - the threat from the north is not what it once was. Thus he feels free to play his games. After all, with Kilkry at our side we could still turn back the entire Horin-Gyre Blood; Haig is a different matter. If it came to open war, Gryvan could count on Ayth and Taral to join him against us. We would last a few months at best.'
    'So,' said Naradin, 'however we might long to defy Gryvan oc Haig, we will bite our tongues and do enough at least to avoid an open breach.'
    'Yes,' Croesan sighed. 'I pledged loyalty to Haig when I became Thane, as you will no doubt have to do when my time is done and yours arrives. Gryvan may not put much store by that promise, but I hope we can hold to it even in the face of his provocations.'
    The Thane clasped his hands together and shook himself, as if to shed such unwelcome thoughts.
    'Let's not dwell on such things any more than we must,' he said. 'There are celebrations to get started, and I mean to enjoy them.'
    Naradin rose from his seat and took his father's hands in his own.
    'One day, your grandson will love you just as I do, and as Eilan does. Even the High Thane cannot deprive us of that.'
    Croesan clapped Naradin on the shoulder.
    'That is true, that is true. Now let us go and save your beloved wife from all the excitement.'
    Rothe came to find Orisian in his chambers. During their stay at Anduran their routine of regular practice had all but lapsed, and the shieldman was insistent that it should now be resumed. Thus Orisian found himself out in the castle's courtyard, parrying the big man's weighty blows as they circled each other.
    They used wooden practice swords, but still the impacts sent stinging shivers through Orisian's hand.
    When he had been younger he had found such exercises embarrassing. They all too often attracted a small audience of onlookers. He had little instinct for swordplay, and it had been a long and sometimes painful learning process. He was at least good enough now that his work did not provoke outright mirth amongst any observers. Today, in any case, everyone was busy with preparations for Winterbirth and hardly a glance was spared for the two mismatched sparring partners. The one exception was Kylane, who paused to watch as he wandered past. His presence distracted Orisian, who at once received a cracking blow on the back of his knuckles. Kylane strolled off, chuckling under his breath and shaking his head; perhaps, thought Orisian, lamenting the ineptitude of his future charge.
    At the end, as Orisian sat breathless on the cobblestones, flexing and massaging his sword hand, Rothe grunted in muted approval.
    'You'll be a swordsman yet.'
    'If my arm doesn't fall off first,' replied Orisian.
    Rothe offered him a broad hand. As Orisian took it and hauled himself upright, he could feel the hard ridges that scarred the warrior's skin. Rothe had spent most of his life with a sword in his hand, fighting Kyrinin in Anlane or Black Road raiders in the Vale of Stones, and had been marked by the weapon. He had never married; Kylane said - always out of Rothe's hearing - that his sword was too jealous of his company to allow anyone to come between them. Though it was not a life Orisian would choose he had never seen any sign of regret in Rothe.
    'What would you be if not a shieldman, Rothe?' he asked on impulse.
    A crude smile formed in Rothe's beard and the great man shrugged in a small, almost vulnerable way.
    'There are other things of worth,' he said, 'but none I know anything of. How could I say what else I might be than what I am?'
    Late in the afternoon of that day, Orisian looked down