《Crown of Stars (Crown of Stars #7)》


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    PROLOGUE


    BEYOND Gent, moving into the east toward the marchlands, the king¡¯s progress journeyed slowly because of the immense damage caused by the great winds of autumn. Along the roads and in every village they passed through the regnant heard the same desperate complaints: the farmers dared not plant because frost kept coming long past its accustomed time; there was no sun; too little rain fell despite the haze that covered the sky.


    They ate on short rations and collected a meager tithe from the estates and villages they passed through, but none among the king¡¯s progress complained, because they ate every day. Each afternoon when they set camp and gathered wood for fires, folk approached the camp, materializing out of woodland, out of the dusk, out of the misty night air.


    ¡°I pray you,¡± a ragged child might whisper, clutching the hand of an emaciated younger child, both barefoot although the ground had a sheen of frost. ¡°Have you bread? Any crust?¡±


    Haggard young women and youths beckoned from the twilight. ¡°Anything you want, for a bite of food. Anything.¡±


    Peddlers made the rounds. ¡°Rope. Cloth. Nice carved bowls. For a good price. Very cheap. I¡¯ll take food in trade.¡±


    Exhausted stewards and villagers begged to see the regnant. Noble lords and ladies grown lean with hardship asked for an audience.


    ¡°A plague of rats, Your Majesty. They ate all of our grain. Even that we had set aside for seed. Gnawed through half the leather we had tanned and worked. They came out of nowhere, a flood of them. Horrible!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s this frost. We daren¡¯t plant because it will kill the seedlings. Yet if we wait, there¡¯ll not be enough season for the crops to ripen.¡±


    ¡°Have you seen the sun on your travels, Your Majesty?¡±


    ¡°Wolves carried off a child, Your Majesty, and killed two of our milk cows. We hunted them, but they attacked us when we tracked them to their lair. They killed four men. I¡¯m an old man. I¡¯ve never seen them so bold as they are now.¡±


    ¡°My husband and sons were killed, Your Majesty. They were only walking to market. I have no one to plow the field. My daughters are just now barely old enough to be married. My husband¡¯s cousins claim the land and wish to turn me and the girls out homeless, with nothing.¡±


    ¡°Bandits, Your Majesty. No one is safe on the roads without an armed escort. I have but a dozen milites in my service. The rest were called to serve King Henry, may he rest in peace in the Chamber of Light. They never returned from Aosta.¡±


    Their desperation gave Liath a headache, but Sanglant would sit for hours and listen even and especially when there was nothing he could do for them except listen.


    ¡°I have been told,¡± he might say, ¡°that if you cover the fields with straw it protects seedlings from frost. There lies plenty of deadwood because of the tempest. Set bonfires at night to warm the air along the rows.¡±


    ¡°Here is a deed to the land, signed by my schola. If you have no nephews or kinsmen who can help with the land, then here are a pair of crippled soldiers in my retinue who agree to marry into your house. They can¡¯t fight, but together they can manage the fieldwork.¡±


    ¡°Speak to Lady Renate of Spelburg. She is also plagued by bandits, no doubt the same group. Her estate lies only two days¡¯ march east of here. You must pool your resources. If you have lost this much of your population, then for the time being you must consolidate in one place. Offer protection there for the common folk who rely on you. Combine your milites. If you do not cooperate, you will certainly drown.¡±


    ¡°The sun will return. Be patient. Act prudently until the crisis has passed. Do not abandon those who will turn on you if they have no other way to save themselves.¡±


    These pronouncements his audience absorbed with an almost pitiable gratitude, but in only one case could he act immediately. A guide led them to the wolves¡¯ lair. Liath called fire down within the warren of caves where the wolf pack laired, and the soldiers killed over a dozen as the beasts tried to escape flames and smoke. The wolves were dangerous predators, but they were beautiful, too, in the way of dangerous things, and she hated to see them slaughtered like sheep. Yet afterward they found the much-gnawed bones of several children in the outer cave. The wolves had grown too bold. Such a pack could not be allowed to keep hunting.


    ¡°A small act in a desperate time,¡± Sanglant said the next day, when they were riding again. His voice was hoarse with apprehension and the helpless anger of seeing so much trouble that could tear the realm asunder, but then, he always sounded like that. ¡°I am ashamed to have them fall at my feet with such praises. If the weather does not improve, half of them will be dead by next spring.¡±

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    ¡°Eventually I must go to St. Valeria,¡± she said. ¡°What sorcery raised may possibly be dispelled by sorcery.¡±


    ¡°Stay with me a while longer, into the marchlands, at least.¡±


    ¡°I will. But eventually I must go.¡±


    He nodded, although his expression was grave. ¡°Leaving me with the dogs biting and growling at my heels as I settle once and for all who is regnant in Wendar and Varre. Eventually you must go. But not yet.¡±


    PART ONE


    DEATH AND


    LIFE


    I


    TRAVELERS


    1


    ALL morning Alain and the hounds walked east and southeast as they had done for many days. Lavas Holding lay far behind them. Their path this day cut along an upland forest, mostly beech although what seedlings had thrust up through the field layer were fir. The view through the woods was open but because of the clouds the vista had a pearly sheen to it, as though he were staring into a lost world just out of reach. Into the past, or into the future.


    Yet the present had an inevitable way of intruding into the finest-spun thoughts. Sorrow barked to alert him. A massive beech had fallen over the path in such a way that although Alain might climb with difficulty over its barrel of a trunk, he could not hoist the hounds up and across. Nor was there room for them to squeeze through the hand¡¯s-width gap below. He beat out a track along the length of the trunk upslope only to find that a score of other huge trees¡ªmore beech together with silver fir¡ªhad fallen parallel so close that he was fenced in. Returning to the path and the waiting hounds, he ventured the other way, skirting the thicket of branches at the crown, and discovered that here, too, more fallen trees barred his path.


    All had fallen in a northwesterly direction, snapped by a gale out of the southeast, the same tempest, no doubt, that had swept Osna last autumn. That tempest had changed the world, and created a vast trail of debris.


    He pushed through the branches at the crown of the tree¡ªa difficult path to break but one on which, at any rate, the hounds could follow. Dry leaves crackled under his feet and dragged at his hair and skin. Twigs poked him twice in the eye and prodded his limbs and torso. Sorrow whined, ears flat and head down, and Rage picked her way with surprising delicacy for such a huge creature, very dainty as she set down each paw into dying wood rush and the splintered remains of the tree.


    The trunk was crowded with branches, a maze to confound the hounds, but the bole was negotiable at this point, not as big around as the thicker trunk lower down. With his help they scrambled their way through clumsily. Branches rattled. They were as noisy as an army of blundering farmers lost in the woodsman¡¯s domain.


    A sound caught him. A strange croaked cry made his limbs go stiff with apprehension. He heaved Rage by the scruff past the worst of the inner branches, and there the hounds stood frozen within the shelter of the branches. They did not bark. A large creature passed by, but they could not see anything clearly through the screen of leaves and brittle branches, only hear its heavy tread, a snorting under-cough, the uncoiling disturbance as branches were pressed back and either cracked, or sprang back with a rattling roar. A smell like iron made him wince. Unbidden, he recalled Iso, the crippled brother at Hersford Monastery. Had Iso survived the tempest? Did he work there still as a lay brother under Father Ortulfus¡¯ strict but fair rule?


    The noise subsided. Sorrow¡¯s tail beat twice against branches as he lifted his head, eager to get on, but neither hound barked nor made the slightest noise. They struggled out of the branches and Alain beat a way back to the path. About a hundred strides ahead he found the ground disturbed as at the wake of a monster pressing through the forest. He knelt beside a scar freshly cut into the ground by claws as long as his forearm and traced the curve of the imprint.


    ¡°A guivre,¡± he said to the hounds. What they heard in his voice he did not know, but they whined and, flattening their ears, ducked their heads submissively.


    Sorrow sniffed along the trail left by the creature and padded into the forest, back the way it had come. Rage followed. They vanished quickly, moving fast, and Alain went after them but soon fell behind. He found them several hundred paces off the path, nosing the carcass of a half eaten deer. Like him, they had eaten sparsely on their journey, dependent on what they could hunt in the woodland and beg in whatever villages and farmsteads they passed through. Now, they tore into the remains. He sat on a fallen tree and gnawed on the last of his bread and cheese. He trimmed mold from the cheese with his knife and contemplated the buds on the standing beech. Frost had coated every surface at dawn, and he still felt its sharp breath on his cheek although it was late spring and late afternoon. The cold chafed his hands. An ache wore at his throat, as if he were always about to succumb to a grippe but never quite managed to. The trees had not yet leafed out, although they ought to be bursting with green at this time of year. A spit of rain brushed over them and was gone. Its whisper moved away through the forest.

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    At first hidden by the rustling of branches and forest litter stirred by raindrops, another sound took shape within the trees. The hounds were so hungry that they cracked bones and gulped flesh and took no notice, but at the moment he realized he heard a group of men, they growled and lifted their massive heads to glare down the trail, back the way the monster had come from originally. He walked over to stand beside them with staff in hand, listening.


    ¡°Hush, you fool! What if it hears your nattering?¡±


    ¡°We thunder like a herd of cattle as it is. We¡¯ll never sneak up on anything.¡±


    ¡°Ho! Watch that shovel. You almost stove in my head.¡±


    ¡°You should go in the lead, Atto. You¡¯ve got the good spear.¡±


    ¡°Won¡¯t! I never wanted to come at all. This is a stupid idea! We¡¯ll all be devoured and to no purpose.¡±


    ¡°Shut up.¡±


    He saw the men in the distance past fallen trees and shattered branches. They had not yet noticed him, so he whistled to get their attention and called out before they could react in a reckless way that might cause someone harm.


    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± he said, ¡°a traveler. The creature you seek passed by some time ago. I and my hounds heard it pass.¡±


    They hurried forward. They were what he expected: a nervous group of local men armed variously with spears, staves, shovels, and scythes and driven by one scowling big-boned man who walked at the back of the group holding the only sword.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± he demanded, pushing forward through the rest but halting when he saw the size of the hounds.


    ¡°I¡¯m a traveler called Alain. I hope to find shelter for the night and continue my journey to Autun in the morning.¡±


    ¡°You saw the beast, yet live to tell the tale?¡± He indicated the carcass and the bloody muzzles of the hounds. ¡°Pray excuse me, friend, if I doubt your tale. None who see the beast live to tell of it.¡±


    ¡°Has it killed human folk, then? What manner of beast is it that you stalk? Are you not feared to stalk a creature that will kill you once you see it?¡±


    Several of them scratched their beards, considering these questions.


    The one called Atto was young, with but a scrap of a beard and an anxious way of glancing from one side to the other. ¡°That¡¯s right, Hanso. We just found the one dead man, and him stark naked and so thin he more likely starved to death.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯d been gnawed on.¡±


    Atto shrugged. ¡°Anything might gnaw on a dead carcass. A bear. Wolves. Wild dogs. Rats and crows and vultures.¡±


    ¡°What about the missing sheep and cows, then?¡± asked the leader belligerently. ¡°How do you account for those? We must protect ourselves.¡±


    ¡°And get killed in the bargain?¡± Atto shook his head. ¡°This is a fool¡¯s errand. I¡¯m not going any farther.¡±


    ¡°Then you won¡¯t be marrying my daughter.¡±


    That arrow hit home. That the two men disliked each other was apparent in their stiff posture and jutting chins, in the way the other seven men hung back as if fearing that a fistfight was about to erupt.


    ¡°Try and stop us!¡± said Atto with a smirk. ¡°We¡¯ll walk to Autun. The lady is taking in men for soldiers. They say she¡¯ll feed any man willing to carry arms in her service. We¡¯ll manage, and you¡¯ll not be able to run after us and drag her back like you did last time. She¡¯s two years older now, old enough to choose for herself.¡±


    ¡°And pregnant with your bastard!¡±


    Feet shifted, scuffing the dirt as each changed position. Hanso drew a fist back.


    Rage trotted forward and sat down showily between the two. Her growl drew such a hush down over the assembly that Alain clearly heard the tick of one of last autumn¡¯s dead leaves fluttering down through branches as it fell at long last to earth.


    ¡°It¡¯s settled between us,¡± finished Atto, flicking an uneasy glance at the hound.


    ¡°It will never be settled,¡± muttered Hanso. But he lowered his fist and turned his scowling glare on Alain. ¡°What did you see?¡±


    Alain described the encounter, and the men listened respectfully. ¡°Have any of you seen the creature?¡± he asked.


    Nay, they had not, but rumor grew like a weed. The corpse of an unknown man discovered by a holy spring. Missing ewes and cows since the autumn tempest that had blown down the trees and torn the roofs off a dozen sheds and houses in the hamlets hereabouts. Both strong ploughing oxen, owned in common by the villagers, gone and never recovered. The roof of their tiny church had cracked and fallen in, and the deacon had been killed. Then noises echoed out of the forest, dreadful cries and frightful coughs. The carcasses of deer, such as this one, had been found along animal trails disturbed by the passage of a huge beast: more than twenty such dead animals and all of them crawling with maggots and worms spat from the monster¡¯s mouth. Two months ago a party of refugees had staggered out of the forest along the path and told of four of their number turned to stone and lost.

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    ¡°Yes, but later that night we found them counting the sceattas they¡¯d stolen from their dead companions,¡± noted Atto sarcastically, ¡°so I¡¯m wondering if they didn¡¯t just kill them and blame it on something else.¡±


    ¡°You think there¡¯s no beast out there?¡± Hanso demanded.


    ¡°There¡¯s a beast,¡± said Atto with that same cutting smirk, ¡°but it¡¯s as likely found in men¡¯s hearts as stalking in the forest.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a fool!¡± Hanso spat, but he kept an eye on Rage and did not attempt to brawl.


    Some of the other men clearly agreed with this assessment of Atto¡¯s character, but Atto had the good spear and a sarcastic tongue, enough to keep even the furious Hanso at bay. He had the pride of youth and the reckless heart of a young man who is sure of himself, whether or not he is wrong. He had gotten a woman pregnant, and sometimes that is enough to make a man feel that nothing can defeat him.


    ¡°It¡¯s a guivre,¡± said Alain, noting how their gazes all leaped to him as though they had forgotten he was there. ¡°A guivre will do you no harm as long as you do not injure it. Leave it be, and it will hunt only in the forest. Attack it, and you¡¯ll find yourselves turned to stone.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re as crazy as he is!¡± Hanso spat again, his anger turned easily from the one he could not control to a new object. ¡°Come!¡± he ordered his fellows. They were staring at Alain as though at the beast itself, and with grumbling and muttering they shouldered their tools and set off back the way they had come, kicking at debris, cursing the rain.


    Atto lingered, studying the hounds. ¡°Those things bite?¡±


    ¡°They do, if they¡¯re provoked. They¡¯ll defend themselves, that¡¯s all. Otherwise they¡¯re as mild as sheep.¡±


    He snorted. ¡°A good tale! Who are you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m called Alain. I¡¯m a traveler.¡±


    ¡°So you said. Where are you from?¡±


    ¡°Osna. That¡¯s west, at the coast. It¡¯s five or ten days¡¯ walk from Osna to Lavas Holding. I¡¯ve been on the road ten or fifteen days since I left Lavas Holding.¡±


    ¡°Never heard of it. What are you going to Autun for? To join the militia, like me? If you¡¯ll wait until morning, me and Mara will walk with you. We know part of the way. Not that we¡¯ve ever been there, you understand. Have you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen Autun, yes.¡±


    ¡°They say it¡¯s got so many houses you can¡¯t count them all. And a big wall, to hold them in. And a cathedral tower so tall that up at the top you can rake your fingers through the clouds. They say it¡¯s a holy place, where the old emperor died, the Salian one. I can¡¯t remember his name.¡±


    ¡°Taillefer.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right! Are you a learned man? A frater, maybe?¡± He rubbed fingers through his own coarse stubble. ¡°Nay, you¡¯ve got a bit of a beard. You¡¯d have to be clean shaven to be a churchman. Still.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Bandits travel in wolf packs, and thieves skulk. So maybe you¡¯re just what you say you are. A traveler. A pilgrim.¡±


    The hounds had settled down to demolish the dregs of the carcass. Alain had a bag woven of reeds slung over one shoulder, and into this he placed some bones, still messy with bits of flesh and tough tendon strings.


    ¡°Too bad you didn¡¯t get any of the meat,¡± said Atto. ¡°We could have roasted it. Deer are hard to come by this spring. We¡¯re all afeard to go into the forest, not knowing what we¡¯ll find there. Can¡¯t slaughter what livestock we have left, and even so we had a poor lambing season, no twins at all.¡±


    ¡°This beast. Has it killed your cattle and sheep?¡±


    ¡°It hasn¡¯t come into our pasture and byre. Maybe it got those that wandered off. No one¡¯s brave enough to track it to its lair.¡± He coughed out a laugh as he gestured toward the north. ¡°And I won¡¯t be the one to find out! There¡¯s rough land that way. Deep forest. Wolves, they say. A lake, though I¡¯ve not seen it, and a ravine. That¡¯s where it hides.¡± He had thick lips, blue eyes, and a funny way of looking at other people, as if he didn¡¯t want to like them. ¡°So they say. They don¡¯t really know. They just talk and talk and do nothing but complain about their bad fortune and how ill luck dogs the village and the frost still comes and the crops won¡¯t grow and how it¡¯ll be worse before it gets better.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps they¡¯re right. Have you seen the sun since last autumn?¡±


    The comment startled Atto. He glanced heavenward, but there was nothing to see except the canopy of branches and the leaden silver of the sky. ¡°I¡¯m not waiting around. I¡¯m going to Autun, me and Mara. Things will be better there.¡±

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    2


    WHERE the road forked, an impressive barrier made up of downed trees and the detritus of shattered wagons lay across the northeasterly path. Hanna rode at the front of the cavalcade beside Lady Bertha. They pulled up to survey the barrier.


    ¡°That¡¯s been built, however much it might resemble storm fall,¡± said Bertha.


    ¡°There¡¯s a village down that path,¡± said Hanna. ¡°I recall it. They welcomed me when I was riding for King Henry.¡±


    Bertha glanced at her, then at the barrier with branches sticking out at all angles and brittle leaves rattling in the spatter of rain.


    ¡°Seems they¡¯re less welcoming now.¡± Her gaze ranged farther afield, past the tangle of dense thickets and an unexpected stand of yew that lined the roadside. Farther back one could tell that the field layer lightened where tall beech formed a canopy. Drizzle dripped on them. Everything dripped. Hanna wiped the tip of her nose.


    ¡°Ho! You there! In the tree!¡± Bertha had a strong high tenor, suitable for cutting through the din of battle.


    Hanna was not more startled than the lad in the yew, who slipped, grabbed branches, and gave away his position where needles danced.


    ¡°We want shelter for the night. I am Bertha of Austra and Olsatia, daughter of Judith, margrave of Austra and Olsatia, may her memory live in peace. I¡¯m sister of the current margrave, Gerberga. I have with me members of the king¡¯s schola. We¡¯ve been months on the road. We¡¯ve traveled north out of Aosta, over the Brinne Pass, and through Westfall. It¡¯s been a long road that brings us at last to Avaria, and Wendar. We need shelter, a fire, and a meal, if you will.¡±


    The tree was still again, then branches swayed and pitched and a shrill horn call rose on the wind with a blat like that of a frightened goat. The goats in their retinue bawled in answer. Their three dogs barked madly, and Sergeant Aronvald quieted them with sharp commands.


    Bertha raised her eyebrows. She beckoned, and the sergeant¡ªthe captain was dead¡ªtrotted forward on the skewbald gelding.


    ¡°Be alert,¡± she said.


    ¡°Yes, my lady.¡± He called out orders.


    The rear guard moved up to set a shield wall behind the three wagons. The men marching behind Bertha fell back to protect their flanks as the clerics ducked under the bed of the cargo wagon to hide themselves. It was an old routine, honed over months of travel.


    Only a dozen horses remained plus the three stolid cart horses who got the best of the feed because without them they would have no way to pull those wagons. Three dogs trotted alongside, having been adopted by the soldiers as mascots and guardsmen. On the road, they had expanded their herd of goats from three to eleven and acquired stray chickens here and there whose bones and meat leavened the wild onion stew they often ate. It was on stew and goat¡¯s milk and cheese that they mostly subsisted. On their long journey, the horses had fared worst, goats best, and humankind somewhere in between.


    ¡°Beyond this village, what?¡± Bertha asked.


    Hanna considered. ¡°The village itself is at the end of that path. There¡¯s a small river twenty or thirty leagues downstream, that feeds into the Veser. The village lies within a bend of the river on higher ground, so water gives it protection on three sides. They have beehives. An orchard. A bean field. Oats. Spelt. No church, but a good carpenter and shop.¡±


    ¡°And this way?¡± She gestured toward the other fork, which led north-northwest.


    Rain trickled into Hanna¡¯s mouth through her parted lips. ¡°Another day¡¯s ride or more to the palace at Augensburg.¡±


    ¡°Best to go on, then? A palace sounds more appealing than a village walled with storm wrack.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s burned down, my lady.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s burned down? The village?¡±


    Hanna shuddered. ¡°The palace, my lady. It burned down a few years back.¡±


    ¡°There must be a settlement beside it, a town made prosperous by palace traffic?¡±


    Hanna shut her eyes. She fought as memories surfaced. She was hot all at once, sweating, but it was only the drizzle hardening into rain. ¡°I don¡¯t know, my lady. There might be.¡±


    ¡°Did it burn in the conflagration, too? Eagle, what ails you? It¡¯s not like you to¡ª¡± Bertha was a steady commander, but she had a temper. ¡°Give me the information I need!¡±


    Hanna discovered that her hands were shaking on the reins, and she had to tighten her knees to hold her horse in one place as it caught her mood. ¡°I pray you, forgive me, my lady.¡± She spoke in a rush. ¡°That town fell into the path of the army of the Quman. I don¡¯t remember. I don¡¯t know if any survived.¡±

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    A drum of footfalls and a scattering of shouts alerted them that someone lived still in the village beyond. Bertha raised a hand to ready her archers and spearmen.


    Along the path came a trio of hardy men, each armed with the kind of weapons farmers make for themselves: one bore a staff sharpened to a point, one had a staff with a scythe bound securely to one end to make of it a halberd, and the third held an actual iron sword of the kind a lady¡¯s guardsman might wield. He also had a length of board cut into a teardrop shape and fixed to his left arm as a shield, crude but effective and unmarked by any heraldic sigil.


    It was this man who climbed atop one of the logs and regarded them with no smile and no welcome.


    ¡°You can¡¯t come here. We¡¯ve blocked the road.¡±


    ¡°We need shelter,¡± said Lady Bertha. ¡°We are loyal subjects of the regnant, good Wendish folk all. I am escorting these holy men and women who served King Henry as part of his schola. We have been months on the road out of Aosta. We ride north to Saony.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t come in,¡± he said. ¡°You might be carrying the plague. What¡¯s in those wagons?¡±


    ¡°Feed for the horses. Supplies. Most importantly, we carry with us a holy abbess, aged and weak. She needs shelter and a warm fire against the frost that afflicts us every night.¡±


    ¡°A plague-ridden beggar, no doubt.¡± He was a stocky man with the broad shoulders and thickset arms of a man who works every day with his hands. ¡°Or men with animal¡¯s faces, hiding under the canvas. We can¡¯t chance it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the carpenter¡¯s son,¡± said Hanna suddenly. ¡°I recognize you. I am a King¡¯s Eagle. I sheltered one night in your village a few years back. Do you remember me?¡±


    He sized her up. He had dark brown eyes, eastern eyes, they called it in these parts, a memory of raiders out of the east who had come and gone but left something of themselves behind in later generations. He shook his head, and seeing that he did not know her, she pushed back her hood.


    ¡°I was here with four Lions,¡± she added. ¡°We¡¯d come from the east.¡±


    ¡°Ah!¡± he said. ¡°I recall that hair. You¡¯re out of the north, so you said.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s where I was born. I pray you, friend, do not forget what courtesy is due to clerics and Eagles. Let us bide just this one afternoon and night. We¡¯ll go on our way in the morning.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Lady Bertha pushed Hanna aside. ¡°Give us shelter this one night, and porridge and ale, if that is all you have. In the name of Henry and his son, Prince Sanglant, I command it.¡±


    He gestured toward her with his sword as if to ward off an evil spirit. ¡°We will not fall for that trick a second time!¡± ¡°What trick?¡± asked Hanna.


    His gaze shifted past her face, and she turned in the saddle to see that Sister Rosvita and several of the young clerics had walked forward through the mud to see what was holding them up.


    ¡°These are only a few of the clerics we protect,¡± Hanna added. ¡°This is no trick. I pray you¡ª¡±


    ¡°No!¡± He gestured. That horn call blatted again from deeper within the trees. Feet clattered on the earth. Branches rustled. ¡°Go on! Go on!¡± He seemed furious, or near to tears. A scar blazed his forehead. One of his comrades was missing a finger on one hand, and the other was painted with a startling red rash across his cheek and down one side of his neck. ¡°No one will come in. We can trust no one.¡±


    ¡°I am a King¡¯s Eagle!¡± cried Hanna indignantly.


    ¡°Where is the king and the king¡¯s justice? It¡¯s vanished, that¡¯s what! You¡¯ll get no shelter from us. We¡¯ll fight if you try.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never been treated so disrespectfully by Wendish folk! Can it be you are not Avarians after all but creatures of the Enemy come to inhabit the bodies of decent people?¡±


    ¡°You would know, would you not, who speak of Henry¡¯s bastard son! Spawn of devils!¡±


    ¡°Aronvald, make ready!¡± Bertha called.


    The sergeant signaled. The archers raised their bows. The carpenter¡¯s son called back to unseen folk in the forest and out of sight down the track, but he did not move to take shelter from arrow¡¯s flight.


    Sister Rosvita moved up to take hold of Bertha¡¯s reins.


    ¡°Let be, Bertha,¡± she said in a pleasant voice.


    ¡°They owe us shelter!¡± said Bertha, but she looked down at the cleric, frowned, and lifted a hand. Archers lowered their bows, but did not otherwise shift.


    ¡°Look at his face,¡± said Rosvita. ¡°He means what he says. He is desperate, fearful, determined. Yes, your good soldiers will win the skirmish. We are armed in leather and mail and have good iron swords and spears and six fine archers. But what if we lose even one soldier, if even one of my faithful clerics is wounded or killed when we have come so far over such a treacherous road. If we lose this Eagle, who guides us. For the sake of one night¡¯s shelter, I judge it not worthwhile.¡±

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    Bertha grunted an answer, too angry to agree but too wise to object. Hanna fumed, but she, too, said nothing as the soldiers fell back into marching order and they moved on. The villagers gathered on top of the roadblock, staring, until the fork in the road was lost behind the trees and the contour of the road.


    ¡°How could you?¡± demanded Hanna at last. ¡°They owe us shelter. ¡­¡± She sputtered, too angry to continue.


    Rosvita paced alongside them. The entire cavalcade moved slowly enough to accommodate the wagons, which seemed always to be half mired in muck, but in truth Rosvita had not weakened on this journey. She had grown wiry, strong enough to walk all day without flagging. She often commented, with surprise, how much better her aching back felt, although she slept on the ground most nights.


    ¡°I know that look in a man¡¯s eye, Eagle,¡± she said now. ¡°This is not a battle worth fighting.¡±


    ¡°What can have made them so desperate?¡±


    Bertha snorted, half laughing. ¡°War between neighboring lords. The Quman barbarians. Plague. The great storm. What else may have afflicted them I cannot tell.¡±


    ¡°I am puzzled,¡± said Rosvita, ¡°by what he meant by men with animal faces. Why he turned against us when Lady Bertha mentioned Prince Sanglant. It makes no sense.¡±


    ¡°Any man may shake his fist at the regnant when he suffers, and love the king when he prospers,¡± said Bertha dismissively. ¡°Yet I wonder. We have seen few enough folk in these last weeks when we ought to have seen more. Seven abandoned villages. Children hiding in the woods without their parents. Freshly dug graves. Solitary corpses. This is not just famine at work.¡±


    ¡°What, then?¡± asked Rosvita.


    Bertha shrugged. Hanna, too, had no answers.


    II


    ARROWS IN THE DARK


    1


    IN the end they camped along the damp road. The next day when they rode into the ruins of Augensburg, Lady Bertha insisted they set up camp where they had at least some shelter against the unrelenting mizzle that Hanna could not quite bring herself to call rain.


    In some ways, theirs was an impressive procession, with fifteen horses, three wagons, one noblewoman, eleven ragged clerics, fourteen stolid soldiers, one sequestered Kerayit shaman and her slave, the goats, the clucking chickens, and the steadfast dogs. Many had died after the battle with Holy Mother Anne¡¯s forces: all of the Kerayit guardsmen, Sorgatani¡¯s two slaves, and sixteen of Bertha¡¯s war band. But since that day in Arethousa when Hanna had joined them, they had, miraculously, lost no one else and had sustained only one permanent injury, to a soldier whose right foot had been crushed when the smaller wagon had slipped sideways down an incline at the side of a mountain path while he walked alongside.


    Two men scouted for the water supply while Sergeant Aronvald set up a perimeter around the remains of the stone chapel attached to the palace. The wagon wheels were braced against rocks and the horses taken out to graze, water, and roll. Soldiers tossed tiles out of the ruins of the chapel to make room for sleeping while some of the clerics rigged up canvas to shelter the apse where the altar had once stood. Brother Breschius emerged from the Kerayit cart. Carrying two covered bronze buckets, one riding light and the other heavier, he walked toward the rear of the palace compound where kitchens once stood.


    Lady Bertha paused beside her. ¡°Will you come with me, Eagle? Sister Rosvita and I mean to look through the ruins of the town to see if there¡¯s anything we can scavenge.¡± A trio of soldiers loitered behind her, chafing their hands to warm them.


    ¡°I¡¯ll walk through the palace ruins,¡± said Hanna. ¡°If I may.¡±


    ¡°A good idea. No telling where the rats are hiding. Come!¡± The last was addressed to her retainers. They left.


    After rubbing down her horse and turning it out with the others, Hanna walked through the ruins of the palace. Fallen pillars striped the ground. She traced corridors and rooms reduced to outlines on the ground. A strange feeling crawled along her skin, like fire that warmed but did not burn. She had walked here with Bulkezu and his brother Cherbu. In this place Cherbu had discovered the name of the woman whose sorcery had consumed the vast building.


    ¡°Liathano,¡± she said softly. She shut her eyes and listened, but all she heard was the hiss of a light rain on the ruins and the grass and the rattle of wind in the distant trees. This was a dead place.


    ¡°What happened to the town?¡± asked Brother Fortunatus, coming up beside her.


    She coughed and jumped.


    ¡°I beg your pardon!¡± he said, chuckling a little as he touched fingers to her elbow. ¡°I did not mean to startle you.¡± She offered him a false grin, but he narrowed his eyes. ¡°What ails you, Hanna? Ghosts?¡±

 Page 8

    From this vantage point they could see most of the town below, a skeletal presence rising in the midst of deserted fields and the outraged wreck of a substantial orchard. A number of trees had fallen, most likely torn down by the storm. Dusk-drawn mist drifted along the broken palisade.


    ¡°Not ghosts, but memories. Ghosts enough, I suppose, if memories haunt us.¡± She swallowed and found even that trifling movement caught and choked her.


    ¡°Memories are the worst ghosts of all.¡± His hand curled around her elbow, and the gesture gave her courage.


    ¡°Years ago. The Quman army rode through this place when I was their captive. There are no good memories for me here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Did they burn the town?¡±


    Meadow grass and fescue had swept over the ruins, grown everywhere they could take root. Hawthorn and twining canes of raspberry had found a foothold as well. Nettles thrust up where the last stains of ash mottled the earth. Soon The Fat One would overtake what the princes had built and cover it in flowers, although only a few dusky violets bloomed now.


    ¡°It¡¯s late in the season for violets,¡± she said, pointing to a spray of delicate petals.


    He cocked his head, considered her, then followed where she led. ¡°It¡¯s the cloud cover. I fear we¡¯ll face a late growing season. And a short one.¡±


    ¡°I forgot about the town,¡± she added. ¡°I don¡¯t know what happened to the town. After the palace burned, it was still standing. The flames never touched the town. We took shelter there that night, all of us in the king¡¯s progress. King Henry stayed in the hall of a prosperous merchant, slept in the man¡¯s own bed. How can that all be gone? Where did it go? Did Bulkezu burn it down? I don¡¯t remember.¡±


    An odd spark of color caught her eye and she knelt and swept aside chaff and dirt and ash and the detritus of years of abandonment to uncover a brass belt buckle shaped in the form of a lion.


    ¡°Look here! I wonder if it belonged to one of the Lions who died in the fire.¡± She looked up. Fortunatus was smiling sadly down at her. He had gotten leaner, cutting his face into sharper planes, but somehow more kind. If Bertha was the goad that drove them and Rosvita the sustenance that gave them heart to keep going, then Fortunatus was the arm that steadied Rosvita whenever she faltered.


    ¡°Liath burned down the palace,¡± she said, although he asked nothing. ¡°Hugh attacked her. He meant to rape her. She was so scared. She called fire. She never meant to. Her fear burned down the entire palace. She killed a dozen or more people.¡±


    ¡°I know, Hanna,¡± he said gently. ¡°I was here when it happened.¡±


    ¡°Ai, God, of course. Of course. I forgot. I came late. We came over the hill, the Lions and I. We saw the smoke. That was: Ingo, Folquin, Leo, and young Stephen, who wasn¡¯t a Lion yet but he wanted to become one. ¡­¡± Once started, she could not stop herself, not even when the story wound into that terrible captivity among the Quman. She babbled on for a time while Fortunatus waited and nodded and listened and murmured the occasional meaningless word to show that it mattered to him that these memories overwhelmed her.


    In time as the drizzle melted away to become a gauze of mist ghosting up from low-lying ground, the rain of words abated.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said.


    He smiled in a way that warmed her heart, offered her a hand, and helped her to rise. ¡°We all must speak sometime. You endured much.¡±


    ¡°Not as much as others. Not as much as those who died.¡±


    ¡°No use comparing, unless you were the one who chose who lived and who died.¡±


    His hand touched her shoulder, but a ghost clutched her heart. She remembered Bulkezu¡¯s voice as clearly as if he stood beside her. ¡°Mercy is a waste of time. If I choose, I will leave ten behind for the crows.¡±


    ¡°It was always ten,¡± she whispered. ¡°For them, life. And for the rest, death.¡±


    ¡°It was not truly your choice, Hanna. If you had not chosen, then ten more would have died. At least you saved ten where you could. You must forgive yourself. I pray you.¡± He had tears on his cheeks.


    ¡°Thank you, Brother.¡±


    He kissed her on the forehead as a benediction. He was a cleric, after all, able to plead with God on behalf of those who have repented and those who suffer although they are innocent.


    From here they could see the flickering light cast by the fire although not the fire itself, tucked away within the stone walls of the chapel. One of the soldiers laughed, another Stephen, an older man who had ridden for years with Lady Bertha. She knew all their laughs now, their favorite swear words and curses; she knew Ruoda¡¯s confident way with the dogs and Gerwita¡¯s fear of the big boarhound called Mercy, Jerome¡¯s shy way of stammering when he had to speak with more than two people paying attention to him and the dry sound of Jehan¡¯s constant nagging cough. She knew each silhouette, such as the one ambling along a fallen length of wall as aimlessly as a sheep.

 Page 9

    ¡°Strange,¡± she said.


    ¡°What is strange?¡±


    ¡°I never think to count Princess Sapientia, although surely she must be counted before all others in our party. Even Lady Bertha forgot to mention her when those farmers refused to let us pass.¡±


    He turned to look where she looked. Sister Petra caught up with her charge and herded her back toward the safety of the chapel and the fire.


    ¡°What will become of her?¡± Hanna asked.


    Fortunatus only shook his head, but she could not tell whether the gesture meant ¡°I do not know¡± or ¡°may God have mercy¡± or ¡°all hope for her is lost.¡±


    A shout rang out of the twilight. They turned to see five shadowy figures and the three dogs striding along the road that led from the town. The tautness of those shoulders and the cant of those heads told of trouble.


    Hanna ran to meet them, but Lady Bertha brushed past her and hurried on toward the camp with the three soldiers. Sister Rosvita halted, took hold of Fortunatus¡¯ arm, and bent to catch her breath.


    ¡°Whh!¡± She gripped her side as at a spasm, but when she saw Sister Petra shepherding Princess Sapientia within the walls of their makeshift fort, she frowned. ¡°Best hurry. What of the men who went to the well?¡±


    Without waiting for their answer she climbed on, and Hanna and Fortunatus followed, looking at each other. There was nothing to say. As they picked their way through the fallen remains of the portico, they heard Lady Bertha speaking.


    ¡°Bring the horses up. We¡¯ll need a guard on them all night. I want those men sent to fetch water called in, and a double sentry all night.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± asked Hanna.


    From this angle the slope of the hill hid the town. It was by now too dark to see the fields as anything distinct, only alternating shades of gray in patches that ended abruptly in the darker line of trees.


    ¡°The orchard trees were chopped down, not blown down,¡± Rosvita said, still wheezing. ¡°Fresh sawdust from the chopping, scattered everywhere. The mist hid the pockets of smoke. This fire and destruction is recent. The town might have been attacked yesterday.¡±


    ¡°God have mercy,¡± murmured Fortunatus, drawing the circle at his chest.


    ¡°Were there corpses?¡± Hanna asked. ¡°Any survivors?¡±


    ¡°We did not search closely. If an enemy waits in the forest, they know we¡¯re here. Morning will be soon enough.¡±


    A whistle carried on the breeze, a silky, twisting tune Hanna had never heard before. Soldiers came alert. Swords were drawn and arrows measured against bowstrings. A rank of spears lowered. Yet the dogs barked in greeting not in challenge. The figure who emerged out of the ruins carried two covered buckets, one sloshing with water and the other empty. Brother Breschius set his buckets down beside the painted cart and turned, seeking first one face then another.


    ¡°What is it?¡± he asked.


    ¡°You found the well?¡± asked Lady Bertha.


    ¡°I did. Set somewhat back where the hill is steep. I came through Augensburg many years ago. I recalled it because of a particular ¡­¡± He shook his head. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Laurent and Tomas went before you. Did you see them there?¡±


    ¡°No sign of them. Did they know where to look? They might be lost in the ruins.¡±


    ¡°Did you hear anything?¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡± he asked again.


    When they told him, he rubbed his clean-shaven chin with the stump of his right arm as if he had momentarily forgotten that he lacked the hand.


    ¡°Do we send out a search party?¡± asked Sergeant Aronvald.


    By now night had swept in. Beyond the halo lent by the campfire it was impossible to see anything except the wall of darkness that marked the distant line of trees.


    ¡°They can see our campfire,¡± said Lady Bertha. ¡°They can shout, if they are injured.¡±


    She was a hard commander. Hanna had seen her drive her men over mountain paths more suitable to goats, had seen her set her own noble shoulder to pushing the wagons where the road became nothing more than a series of dry rills dug into earth by runoff. She had suffered an injury in the infamous battle against Anne¡¯s forces that no one would talk about in detail, and had lost most of the range of motion in her left arm, but if the injury pained her day in and day out she never complained. Yet she never smiled, and her frown dug deep as she faced her muttering retainers.


    ¡°If they have been ambushed, then sending out a search party will only offer our adversaries more swift kills. If they are lost, and in no danger, they can find us by the light of the campfire or at dawn.¡±

 Page 10

    ¡°There¡¯s some rough ground back there,¡± said Brother Breschius. ¡°A defile, a few drops where the ground falls away. This palace was built to take advantage of the high ground. They might have fallen.¡±


    Her expression did not change. ¡°They might have. If so, it is unlikely in this darkness we will find them. We¡¯ll search at dawn.¡±


    She looked at Sister Rosvita. After a moment, with genuine reluctance, Rosvita nodded to show she agreed. Hanna looked past the two women to the fire where Sister Petra had gotten her charge seated and was fussing to get her to drink broth out of the stewpot.


    Princess Sapientia stared into the flickering fire. She did not look as if she had lost her mind. She did not act as would a madwoman, babbling and cursing and flailing her arms in the manner of the moon-mad who had lost their wits, or spitting and frothing at the mouth as might a soul possessed by a demon. She just did not speak and did not respond and seemed to have cut the thread that binds one person¡¯s actions to those of her companions, which threads are all that stitch the world of living things into a single fabric of being. She acted as if she were already dead.


    ¡°Pull the two cargo wagons across the open side,¡± Bertha was saying. ¡°Fix shields to cover what they can. Set men up where they can watch along the height of the wall on the other sides. Yes, even up there, in those rafters that can take their weight.¡±


    ¡°Eagle.¡± The sergeant addressed her. ¡°First watch, if you will, out at the second line of wall. Keep a particular eye out for will-o-the-wisps, any strange glamour of light. Listen hard.¡±


    The other Stephen joined her about fifty paces out from the opening of the chapel, where a low stone wall made a protected vantage point. He was a good dozen or more years older, pale-haired, blue-eyed, steady, smart, patient, and tough.


    They braced themselves a body¡¯s length apart to get the broadest view of the slope of the fore hill and the lower ground, all lost in night. In good weather they might have marked the passing of time by the rise and fall of the stars, but as it was they just sat, watching and listening. Now and again a shimmer of rain passed over, but it always faded. It was silent and cool. He shifted occasionally, feet scraping on the ground. For some reason her hands ached, and twice she inhaled a curious scent of charred wood melded with the acrid flavor of juniper.


    Stephen said, ¡°did you hear that?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Night noises, nothing more: a brief hiss of rain, the crackle of branches where the wind stroked them. The shifting and settling of the earth as it cooled. A cold breeze poured out of the heavens, seeming to drop right down on them from the height of the sky.


    We are alone in the world, she thought.


    And then: All things are alone, yet nothing is alone, it is all tangled together, woven as in a weir to create an obstacle or diversion or as in a tapestry to make out of its parts a vision of a greater whole.


    She felt Stephen¡¯s presence, how he shifted to find a more comfortable position for his right knee, how he stifled a cough by turning it into a grunt. She felt the pool of air beyond where the land sloped away downward. She smelled the sparks and ash of the wood fire and the aroma of horsehair and horse piss and horse manure. A man coughed, back in the shelter of the chapel.


    She yawned, swaying, and slipped into that semi-alert twilight state that is neither waking nor sleep.


    The wind picked her up as if she were a downy feather, and she spun away across the ruins, across a river, across forest and distant hamlets and stretches of meadowland and woodland farther and farther still, uncounted leagues flashing beneath her until the landscape that fell away under her feet was grass and only grass, pale in the dawn twilight. There comes blindingly and amazingly a glimpse of the rising sun tinted blue behind a veil of dust as it shoulders up over a golden-green horizon of grass. A procession moves at a steady pace through this grass, strange folk with almond-shaped eyes and eastern complexions. Some are Quman, wearing feathered wings attached to their armored coats; some are women whose hips flow into and become the bodies of horses. One is a shaman stippled with the tattoos of his kind, the spirit companions whose magic he can call on at need. She follows them. They are taking her where she needs to go.


    Where a silver river ribbons in long looping curves across the golden landscape, the land sinks into a marshland of tall reeds and shallow pools of standing water. Beyond, paler grass grows in clouds like mushrooms, but these are, after all, tents sighing in the wind. The camp wakens. Its inhabitants crowd onto the margins to mark the group that approaches them.


    Far above, a shrill cry reverberates. A woman who is also a mare turns and sights and points, calling to her companions to warn them, then raises her bow and releases an arrow into the sky. It burns, and Hanna tumbles. Tumbling, she sees griffins spinning above her, one gold and one silver, flying east toward the dark spires of distant mountains. They pass over her, and she twists and finds herself wading in ankle-deep water, pressing through reeds, scratched by blades of grass as she pushes up out of the shallows onto dry land that at first sinks beneath each step and then dries and stiffens to dusty earth and a sheen of green-gold grass so fresh and new that it smells of spring.

 Page 11

    ¡°We return,¡± says the centaur who leads the others. She stands in the center of camp, where the grass is flattened in a circle. ¡°We have seen terrible things. Our ancient enemy has returned.¡±


    ¡°Where is the child?¡± asks the Quman shaman.


    ¡°Gone, gone,¡± the others sigh, shaking their heads. ¡°Vanished from underneath the hill.¡±


    ¡°Where has she gone?¡±


    They do not know.


    ¡°Where is the Holy One?¡± asks the centaur woman who leads the newcomers. ¡°I am charged with a message for her.¡±


    The Holy One walks slowly, favoring her hind legs in a manner that makes it obvious each step brings intense pain. She is not silver-white but rather so old that every hair has turned gray; she is so old that it is impossible she still lives. Magic has kept her alive all this time.


    Her ears flick. ¡°You have returned, Capi¡¯ra, young one. What message? What news?¡±


    The herd listens in intent silence as the story is told, and Hanna hears the news she has sought for so long: Liath is alive, traveling with Prince Sanglant. Except now he is king. Henry is dead.


    She wipes her eyes, but the tears keep flowing. She touches to her lips the emerald ring he gave her, but even that gesture gives her no comfort.


    King Henry is dead.


    A great cataclysm has shaken the Earth.


    ¡°War is coming,¡± says Li¡¯at¡¯dano. ¡°The ancient paths along the burning stone are closed to me now. The aether is too weak to hold those paths open for more than glimpses. So this is the first I have heard of these events. This changes everything. We are too distant to aid those who would be our allies.¡±


    ¡°I am here!¡± calls Hanna.


    Li¡¯at¡¯dano¡¯s head raises in surprise. At first, seeking, she does not find Hanna among the herd, but at last, spying her hidden in the grass, she nods. Hanna steps into the open.


    ¡°Luck of Sorgatani,¡± the centaur shaman says, but where she looks none of the others can see anything. Not even the Quman shaman can see her. He stares, he seeks. The others stare, they listen, but Hanna understands that only the Holy One can see and hear her because Hanna inhabits this land as a part of that dream known solely to the Kerayit sorceresses, who are bound to the Horse people by threads woven in the time long ago.


    ¡°What news?¡± Li¡¯at¡¯dano asks her.


    Quickly, Hanna tells her what she knows: the battle between Anne and Liath fought by the standing stones and reported to her by Bertha and Sorgatani; the fiery tempest as seen by Bertha¡¯s party and by Hanna and the clerics within the Arethousan army; the destruction along the coast that wiped out the imperial city of Arethousa; the little band that has trudged through mountains and forest across a vast distance to reach Wendar at last. She is an Eagle, trained to distill and to report.


    ¡°Why are you come to me? Where is my daughter, Sorgatani?¡±


    ¡°Sorgatani sleeps in her cart. I am on watch. We fear enemies may stalk us, robbers or outlaws. The wind carried me here. I don¡¯t know why.¡±


    ¡°Hai!¡± The Quman shaman points to the heavens. ¡°Beware!¡±


    Smoke curls up into the heavens, dirty streamers against the white-blue sheen of the sky. Distant shouts ring. Horses trumpet in alarm.


    ¡°Raiders have set fire to the grass!¡±


    ¡°Where are they? What happened?¡±


    ¡°They wear the faces of animals!¡±


    Li-at-dano staggers as if she has been shot. Horse people and their Kerayit clansmen bolt into action. The swirl catches Hanna, spinning her away as on a rising plume of smoke.


    ¡°Beware!¡± the Quman shaman cries again.


    A hiss burns her cheek.


    ¡°Aie! Unh!¡±


    Stephen¡¯s shout yanked her back into the night shadows. In the camp, the dogs barked furiously, whining and growling. At first, she could make sense of nothing except that it was night. The air tasted of rain, but no drops struck her.


    A second hiss teased her ear. The air trembled, displaced, and as if it had sprouted there, an arrow quivered in the ground a finger¡¯s width from her left knee.


    That woke her.


    ¡°Unh! Unh! Ai, God! God!¡±


    Stephen had fallen onto his back. She flung herself down alongside him. Blood coated his shoulder. A shaft protruded from his flesh. A third arrow whistled overhead.


    ¡°Attack! Attack!¡± She jumped to her feet, got her hands under his good arm, and dragged him backward. He was a big enough man that he ought to have been difficult to pull along, but he pushed with his legs and anyway she was racing in her heart, every limb on fire and her face flushed and her breath catching in her throat. Lady Bertha shouted commands, barely heard above the clamor of the dogs, and not soon enough Hanna stumbled into what shelter the half fallen walls of the chapel offered. Other hands grabbed Stephen and hauled him away. She sank down on her knees, bent over her thighs, and tried desperately to catch her breath. Little thunks peppered the other side of the wall as the enemy shot at them from the safety of the darkness.

 Page 12

    By the light of red coals simmering in the fire pit, she measured their position. The dogs swarmed around Lady Bertha¡¯s feet, yapping and circling. A dozen soldiers were ranged around the chapel, a few fixed up on the wall, others braced behind the wagons or the shields. One man cut away at the arrow in Stephen¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°You¡¯ve suffered worse, old friend!¡± the surgeon joked. ¡°You¡¯re just wanting a scar to impress new lovers¡ª¡±


    Stephen gagged, stiffened, and went into convulsions, twisting right out of the other man¡¯s grasp. Hanna stumbled forward, dropped beside him, and held him down, but when the fit passed, he stopped breathing and fell slack.


    Dead.


    The other soldier¡ªit was Sergeant Aronvald¡ªlooked up at her, eyes wide with disbelief. ¡°That shouldn¡¯t have killed him.¡±


    Hanna touched the shaft where it met the skin. She circled it with her finger, then sniffed. ¡°Poison, perhaps. Or magic.¡±


    ¡°Poison!¡±


    She wiped her moist skin on the dead man¡¯s leggings, then for good measure in the dirt, rubbing it and rubbing it to make sure it all came off.


    On the wall, a man cried out. ¡°Uhng! Damn. Scraped me, but I¡¯m still good.¡± She saw him only as a shadow. He twisted the arrow in his hand and set it to the string.


    ¡°So far no sign of any but these damn arrows out of the dark,¡± said Bertha from the corner where wagon met stone wall. She hushed the dogs.


    ¡°Best smother what remains of the fire,¡± said Hanna, not realizing she had a voice.


    The coals gave only enough light to distinguish one form from another. The horses had been moved back to the raised dais where the altar had stood. Their hooves rang on stone as they shifted nervously under the control of Bertha¡¯s groom Geralt, Sister Ruoda, and Brother Jerome, who calmed and comforted them. The skewbald kept his head, nipping younger horses who wanted to kick up a fuss. Canvas had been rigged to form a measure of shelter against rain.


    Sorgatani¡¯s cart was set against the right-hand wall. Tracery gleamed on its painted walls, patterns that to Hanna¡¯s eyes seemed to slowly unravel and knit together. The goats had been tied up on a line behind it, and they protested with a constant chorus of bleats.


    They had shoved Mother Obligatia¡¯s pallet under the Kerayit cart. Others huddled there with her, as many of the clerics as could fit: sobbing Gerwita, Petra and Princess Sapientia, Hilaria, Diocletia, slight Jehan. Heriburg was wedged between cart wheel and stone wall stubbornly sharpening willow wands into pointed sticks which might be used as weapons in close quarters if all else failed. Hanna could not see Sister Rosvita or Brother Fortunatus.


    ¡°Let us pray they get bored and fade back into the woods,¡± murmured the sergeant.


    ¡°Ai! Ai! What fire burns me!¡±


    The man up on the wall who had been scraped by arrow shot roared in pain, thrashed, and tumbled. He did not fall more than ten feet, but he fell hard and wetly and lay dead still. His bow smacked into the dirt beside his body. The terrier trotted over to him, sniffed the glistening tip of the arrow that had felled him, and backed away growling.


    The sergeant looked at her, and she looked at him. He scrambled for the fallen man, pressed his own head down over the other man¡¯s head. For a moment no arrows struck the stone; only the wind wept among the ruins.


    He flung back his head. ¡°My lady! Lady Bertha! I fear these points are poisoned. Any scrape, any strike, will kill us. Ai, God have mercy!¡±


    An arrow clacked against the wall.


    ¡°I¡¯m hit,¡± said Jerome, from among the horses.


    Every person startled, as if his words were a blow. For the longest time, no one moved or spoke as from the night came no fresh shower of arrows. Even the scrape of Heriburg¡¯s knife ceased. Rain clattered in the trees.


    Or was that rain? Pebbles shaken in a gourd might make such a sound. Whining, the dogs slunk under the wagons.


    A man¡¯s scream rose out of the night. No one moved. They were all afraid of exposing themselves to an arrow¡¯s poisoned barb. The cry cut off. The rainlike sound ceased.


    ¡°That was Wilhelm,¡± said the sergeant. ¡°At the first wall, twenty paces out.¡±


    The men stared into darkness. They were nothing but silhouettes, barely visible. Spears and swords and bows had no more substance than branches. When the next flight of arrows poured in, anyone might be scratched, and die.


    Hanna stood. ¡°Under the wagons. Under shields. Under canvas, any cover at all. Cover your faces. No matter what you hear, don¡¯t look. Be blind.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t fight if we¡¯re blind and hiding!¡± said the sergeant.

 Page 13

    The enemy didn¡¯t have their range quite right. Half the next volley snapped on stone and a dozen arrows skittered along the canvas awning, but one buried its point into the dirt an arm¡¯s length from the sergeant and another skipped across Lady Bertha, but surely her mail had protected her.


    ¡°Ai, God!¡± cried the sergeant. ¡°Are you hit, my lady?¡±


    Bertha¡¯s face was pale, but Hanna could not tell if the arrow had drawn blood. She did not answer.


    Above, another soldier shrieked. ¡°Ai! Ai! I¡¯m hit!¡±


    Two dropped out of the wall. ¡°Peter¡¯s touched! We¡¯re like trapped ducks there, strung up for market day!¡±


    ¡°It burns!¡± screamed Jerome, and Ruoda began sobbing and wailing, ¡°No, no, Jerome! God! I pray you! Spare him!¡±


    ¡°Down!¡± cried Hanna, and Bertha answered her.


    ¡°Down! All of you! Take cover! Cover your faces! Do as the Eagle says!¡±


    Hanna ran to the cart, not waiting to see if they obeyed her, although she heard them scrambling. The shaking rain began again.


    They are advancing.


    She pulled open the door and shoved past Brother Breschius, who was poised a hand¡¯s breadth from the threshold. Out of the darkness, cries rose from inhuman throats, but their battle cry was a name she recognized:


    ¡°Sanglant! Sanglant!¡±


    ¡°Sorgatani! We¡¯re lost if you do not come now! We have no defense against their weapons. I pray you! I do not know what enemies these are¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know who they are.¡±


    The Kerayit shaman was bright in her golden robes, beautiful and terrible. Her expression was cold. In one hand she clutched an anklet of bells. She said nothing as Hanna stepped aside to let her pass.


    ¡°Hanna,¡± said Breschius. ¡°Don¡¯t ask this of her.¡±


    ¡°She must go, or we¡¯ll all die.¡±


    Sorgatani crossed the threshold and descended the stairs, shaking the slave¡¯s bells like an amulet in front of herself. There was power in her. Her robes captured the fading light of the coals and shone with a dull gleam whose trail left a ghastly miasma along the ground, almost a living, breathing, crawling mist of shimmering copper intertwined with mottled patches of blood-red vapor.


    ¡°This is a terrible thing,¡± murmured Breschius. ¡°I cannot watch.¡± He hid his eyes against a forearm.


    Hanna went to the door. One of the horses had fallen, and in its screaming and thrashing had driven the other horses out beyond the aisle, where they milled about in the open chapel. Jerome¡¯s body lay trampled under their hooves. Of the groom and Sister Ruoda, Hanna saw no sign, nor of anyone, not one except a half dozen pairs of feet and two rumps peeping out from beneath the canvas awning, pulled down on top of them, and shapes huddled under the wagons and the shields. Sorgatani whistled softly, and every horse quieted. The dogs fell silent. Even the goats ceased their complaining.


    Movement flashed by the narrow gap where the cargo wagon met wall. At first, Hanna thought it was their enemy, come to fight at close quarters. Then, horribly, she saw otherwise.


    Lady Bertha staggered into view, leaning against the wall, struggling although there was no sign of a wound on her. Her grin was lopsided, as though half of her face had already lost mobility and feeling.


    ¡°Ah! Ah!¡± she said, in gasps of pain as she tried to speak words to the golden presence approaching her. ¡°Too late for me. Too late. Blooded. But I had to see. I always wondered what you looked like. So beautiful!¡±


    She sagged, slipped down onto her knees, and slumped against the wall, eyes still open but staring sightlessly.


    Sorgatani walked past without faltering, through the gap. Hanna ran to the sheltering line of wagons. Sorgatani walked into the darkness. She was her own lantern. The mist boiled out from under her robes, streaming down the slopes in a flood that insinuated itself into every fold of ground, every crevice and gap of the ruins.


    Their cries changed at first into those of unknown animals heard at a distance in a trackless forest: faint, clipped, despairing. A few arrows flew. None touched the Kerayit woman. Figures darted among the low walls, but they dropped in their tracks as Hanna watched in astonishment. They could not outrun the sorcery that stalked them. Where it touched them, they died, until that light washed the ruined palace and the slopes of its hill, everything Hanna could see, like the moonlight she had not seen for months but turned here into a curse not a blessing. The color was wrong, a haze of corruption.


    Hanna stood at the breach. The wind had died. In all that world she heard each footstep as Sorgatani circled back and circumnavigated the chapel to flush out anyone hiding behind.

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    Even that noise failed, as if she had fallen deaf and the world gone mute.


    She stumbled out, cautious of her feet, seeing shapes tangled on the ground where they had fallen, and sought through the weeds and stone until she found Sorgatani awash in a pool of pale light shrinking around her. She was kneeling. Retching. Braced on her hands, shoulders heaving as she coughed and spat.


    Hanna crouched beside her but did not touch her. ¡°Sorgatani?¡±


    The light contracted, stealing back into her robes. Ribbons of angry brilliance twisted along the ground like brilliant snakes but these, too, faded. At last they waited together in night. A slight, copper gleam still shone from Sorgatani¡¯s palms but otherwise shadow covered them.


    ¡°The curse is real,¡± Sorgatani said in a hoarse whisper. Hanna could make no sense of her expression. Was she resigned? Triumphant? Appalled? Detached?


    ¡°You saved us,¡± Hanna said.


    The shaman rose, staring at her shining palms. ¡°I am a weapon the Cursed Ones do not know and cannot remember. My kind was not yet bound to the Horse people, our mothers. Do you think it is for this we Kerayit were made?¡±


    ¡°It is only a few of you who are so cursed.¡±


    ¡°It needs only a few.¡± She did not look at Hanna. All the Eagle saw was her troubled profile, eyes and brow tightened with disquiet, lips pressed firm, and the golden net of wire and beads that covered her black hair gleaming uneasily where the light gilded its webbing.


    ¡°Can the Horse people have been planning for so long?¡±


    Sorgatani looked at her, half laughing, half grim. ¡°Can they not have been? The Holy One is as old as the exile of the Cursed Ones is long. She must have wondered if they would return, if the spell might weave itself with its own pattern, unknown to us until it was too late.¡±


    ¡°What will you do?¡± Hanna did not want to walk in the morning out among the dead. She did not want to make an accounting. Yet it would be done.


    ¡°Make sure ours are still hiding. I must go to my cart.¡±


    Back to her exile. Her prison.


    For the first time, Hanna really understood what it meant. Even Sorgatani¡¯s slaves had more freedom than she did.


    2


    AT first light they crawled out from under the wagons and gathered their dead: the archers Peter and Rikard; Brother Jerome; Aurea, Rosvita¡¯s beloved servingwoman; Stephen and Wilhelm and Gund who had been out on sentry duty. It wasn¡¯t clear if Gund had been killed by the enemy or by the curse, because he was quite a ways away, caught in the midst of a group of warriors as though they had captured him and dragged him off still alive.


    It scarcely mattered now. Lady Bertha was dead, and their enemy wiped out. They gave up counting enemy dead when they reached nineteen. There was some talk of burning the corpses, but no one wanted to touch them because these were creatures who appeared scarcely human. They had bronze-colored complexions and frightening animal masks and bronze body armor, molded to fit the slopes of their bodies as good masons built cunningly along the contours of hills. In truth, no one wanted to take their weapons or steal even such a trove of armor. No one wanted anything except to leave as quickly as possible. Sister Rosvita told them that the convent of Korvei lay ten or twelve days¡¯ journey from here, in the borderlands between the duchies of Avaria and southeastern Fesse. From Korvei they could head north toward Quedlinhame and Gent, or west to Autun.


    Hanna helped dig two graves, one for the soldiers and Jerome and Aurea, and a separate pit for Lady Bertha. Sister Rosvita and the older nuns stripped her and wrapped her in her cloak; in this fur-lined shroud they buried her. Rosvita sang the blessings over the dead. Bertha¡¯s seven surviving soldiers wept. Everyone wept, all but Hanna, who had no tears, and Mother Obligatia, who had seen too much death to be scoured even by this.


    ¡°How comes it that those who attacked called the name of Prince Sanglant?¡± asked Sergeant Aronvald.


    ¡°I do not know,¡± said Rosvita.


    ¡°They¡¯re like him in looks. His kinfolk.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± she agreed, looking troubled.


    ¡°Think you he has betrayed us?¡± asked the sergeant.


    ¡°You traveled with him last of all, Sergeant. What do you say?¡±


    He stared at the mound of dirt. ¡°My lady trusted him. Yet the creatures did call his name. How could they know it, if he was not in league with them? Yet my lady would not put her trust in one who meant to betray her.¡± He glanced sidelong at Princess Sapientia, who remained mute and emotionless, like a puppet dangling from slack strings. ¡°Better if this one had died, than our bold lady,¡± muttered the sergeant, but he was careful to pitch his voice so only Hanna heard him.

 Page 15

    Afterward, as they saddled and harnessed the horses, as they wedged their supplies into place and made ready to leave, Hanna saw how they looked at the painted cart in their midst.


    They feared her, who had saved them.


    ¡°Eagle.¡± Rosvita beckoned her over, and they walked apart, shying away from a dead man masked behind a lizard¡¯s snout. Fortunatus stood rear guard.


    ¡°What is it?¡± asked Hanna, although she already knew by the way their eyes shifted toward the cart and away again.


    ¡°I thought ¡­¡± Rosvita sighed, frowned, touched her forehead as if her fingertips might coax out words. ¡°Lady Bertha and I discussed, yesterday, that it might be time to send you ahead as Eagles ride, to carry news of our coming.¡±


    ¡°Where meant you to send me?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°It no longer matters. Yesterday I did not know. What she is.¡±


    ¡°She is no Daisanite,¡± said Fortunatus. ¡°She does not believe in God.¡±


    Their expressions chilled Hanna. Anything might happen if Sorgatani were left alone among those who could not speak to her, those who could never look into her face.


    ¡°Trust her,¡± she said, hating the way her voice quavered, the way it betrayed her desperation and sudden fear. ¡°I pray you. She saved us.¡±


    ¡°What if she turns on us?¡± asked Rosvita, not with anger or bitterness or suspicion but as a leader must ask, seeking information. ¡°She is not our kind.¡±


    ¡°Trust her, and she will trust you. Distrust her, and she will distrust you.¡±


    ¡°Is that all of your advice, Eagle?¡±


    ¡°There is nothing else to say.¡±


    ¡°She is a terrible weapon. A curse.¡± The gray light of morning softened the lines on Rosvita¡¯s face. The journey had aged her, yet she was not bowed. She led them now that Bertha was dead. She would hold firm.


    ¡°Terrible, yes,¡± said Hanna, thinking of Bulkezu and his Quman hordes, of lizard-snouted creatures shooting poisoned arrows at her out of the dark, of griffins and centaurs. Thinking of Hugh. ¡°But it is better we hold such a weapon, is it not? Better that we do, than that our enemies do.¡±


    Fortunatus looked at Rosvita, and she at him. Perhaps he raised an eyebrow so imperceptibly that Hanna could not quite mark it. Perhaps it was a slight movement of his lips. These two were intimate in the same manner as family fit hand in glove. Hanna knew they were communicating although she could not hear what it was they said.


    ¡°Yes,¡± replied Rosvita to the words he had not spoken. ¡°Mother Rothgard is famous for her knowledge of sorcery. It might be we should consult her. To protect ourselves.¡±


    ¡°To protect her!¡± protested Hanna.


    Fortunatus closed his eyes, looking pained and weary.


    ¡°So it might also be argued,¡± agreed Rosvita. ¡°Alas it has come to this, that it is good for us that we grasp such a poisoned arrow to our heart.¡±


    ¡°She is what the Horse people and her own mothers made her. She is a good person!¡±


    They looked at her. They doubted. They did not believe.


    Maybe, in her heart, she did not believe either, but she remembered Sorgatani¡¯s tears.


    ¡°God ask us to remember compassion, do They not, Sister?¡±


    ¡°They do. Why do you say so?¡±


    ¡°Think of her, then, no older than I am. Think of her imprisoned in that cart for all of her life except when she might wander in woodland or grassland where no one unsuspecting can stumble across her. Think of her, and feel compassion. Then you will trust her.¡±


    Fortunatus batted a fly away from his face, his mouth twisted, his gaze fixed on the dirt.


    ¡°What of this other whisper?¡± Hanna demanded, sensing that to press forward might distract them from Sorgatani. ¡°Some of the soldiers are saying that the raiders must have been in league with Prince Sanglant.¡±


    ¡°As easy to say they were seeking Sanglant so they could kill him,¡± said Rosvita. ¡°These are fears speaking. I do not believe it. Do you?¡±


    Do I? Hanna could not speak to refute it, or admit it. Rosvita smiled sadly and seemed ready to speak, but she paused, cocked her head, and listened.


    There came an unspeakably faint rattle, like buckets clanging together. The dogs barked. Sergeant Aronvald shouted a warning. The men, made furious by exhaustion and grief, grabbed their weapons and cursed.


    In silence, except for the dogs barking and wagging their tails, they waited.


    Like a miracle, there came walking Laurent and Tomas up the road with buckets swinging They started as they came closer, seeing the wagons laden and ready to leave.

 Page 16

    ¡°Did you mean to leave us?¡± called Laurent cheerfully. ¡°Can¡¯t get rid of us so easily!¡±


    No one moved, only watched them stride closer, as if they might be possessed by ghouls.


    ¡°What happened to you?¡± demanded the sergeant.


    ¡°We got lost, turned around entirely. Figured it was too dangerous to try to get back at night. Likely break a leg! So we bedded down in the woods. Whew! Had one damp spell when the rains came over, and fool Tom got a nettle sting on his left hand, but otherwise we survived without being eaten by wolves or swallowed up by ¡­¡±


    Laurent was a dark-haired lad with a round, rosy face unaltered by their travails. He was younger than Hanna and pleased at having played a practical joke even if he hadn¡¯t meant to, but as he looked around at their faces, his own expression shifted, darkened, and fell, and he shut up.


    Tomas saw a corpse. Whitening, he nudged Laurent and pointed. His left hand was, indeed, blistered with the fading red rash of a nettle sting.


    ¡°Ai, God!¡± Laurent exclaimed. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? What have we missed?¡±


    ¡°Move along,¡± said the sergeant, not answering him. ¡°Move along.¡±


    III


    OLD FRIENDS


    1


    THE king¡¯s progress came after many days to the Oder River and rode south to Walburg, reaching the fortress of the Villams in time to celebrate the Translatus at the holy cathedral begun by Helmut Villam and not yet complete. Here, in the east, his aunt, Biscop Alberada, left him to return to Handelburg in the easternmost marchlands. Here, three days later, Margrave Gerberga declared that it was her intention to take her leave of the progress and, together with her royal husband, ride southeast to her lands of Austra and Olsatia.


    ¡°There is trouble abroad,¡± she said in her matter-of-fact way as Sanglant¡¯s intimate companions reclined at their ease in a large chamber set aside for their use by Margrave Waltharia. ¡°I dare not remain away longer. I fear raids out of the wilderness. Anything might happen.¡±


    The shutters stood open, admitting a cold breeze. By morning, every puddle in the forecourt would be iced over, but within the tower chamber the heat of so many bodies kept them cozy. A carpet insulated them from hard planks. Besides the fire, a half dozen braziers stood on tripods around the room, radiating warmth. Sanglant sat in the chair that had belonged to his father, the regent¡¯s seat with its back carved to resemble a span of wings, its feet ending in a lion¡¯s solid paws, and its dragon-faced arms. It had survived the tempest and firestorm on the shore of the Middle Sea. Each night his servants set it up and each morning, when they set out to ride, took it apart again. It was cunningly made, easy to handle, and impressive to see. But it was uncomfortable to sit in, even with a cushion placed on the seat. He often wondered if Henry had wanted it that way, to remind him of the dangers and difficulties of ruling should he ever begin to relax too much.


    The nobles of the realm rested more easily on couches and well-cushioned chairs or on sturdy benches padded with feather pillows. Sitting cross-legged on the carpet, Prince Ekkehard played chess by the fire with Gerberga¡¯s young sister, Theucinda. She was a pleasant enough girl, old enough to marry but young enough to giggle, as she did now when Ekkehard moved his Biscop to a vulnerable position and, too late, realized his mistake.


    Theophanu was also playing chess. She sat at the table across from one of the clerics from the schola, but hers was a serious game, all maneuvering done in silence. Her gaze did not once leave the board as her opponent assessed the placement of red and white. Theophanu had left one of her Castles in jeopardy, but Sister Elsebet had lost one of her Eagles and looked ready to lose the second. Neither had the advantage, but either could win in five moves.


    Duchess Liutgard was writing a letter with her own hand, supervised by a cleric of her household. Now and again she addressed a comment to Waltharia, who was seated beside her. Waltharia worked steadily with her needle as she embroidered the sleeve of a fine midnight-blue tunic sized, Sanglant noted, to fit a man. Obviously Waltharia was preparing to welcome the husband she expected to replace Lord Druthmar, the one she had asked Sanglant to find for her.


    He sighed.


    ¡°I did not drop it.¡±


    ¡°You did!¡±


    ¡°No, you misplaced it. It wasn¡¯t my fault, it was yours.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re always blaming me!¡±


    This from the corner, where Rotrudis¡¯ daughters, Sophie and Imma, sat and whispered. Despite hating each other, they were rarely apart. Their brother Wichman snored on a couch, an empty cup just about to slide out of his right hand.

 Page 17

    Clerics, stewards, servants: he marked each one. He knew them all. Those who were new to his retinue were revealing their quirks and temperaments to him, day by day. Naturally, the only one missing was his beloved wife. He frowned.


    ¡°Anything,¡± Gerberga repeated. Her gaze dropped briefly onto her husband, and she flushed and waved a hand in the air as if to fan away a fly.


    Ekkehard looked up. ¡°Why must ¡¯Cinda stay behind?¡±


    That got their attention. Every head lifted. After a breath, or three breaths, most looked away but everyone continued to listen. Even Wichman stirred, opening his eyes. On a quiet night such as this, they had to enjoy whatever entertainment came their way.


    ¡°You are too attached to her, Ekkehard.¡±


    Theucinda looked up at her sister, trembled, and said nothing. She was the youngest of Judith¡¯s brood. Coming after the beautiful Hugh, the forthright and commanding Gerberga, and the blunt and combative Bertha, it was no wonder that she was a mouse.


    ¡°She is like a sister to me!¡± objected Ekkehard. ¡°Aren¡¯t you?¡± he said, pressing Theucinda, although it was obvious the girl would have preferred to remain silent. ¡°Aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Something shifted in her expression. Perhaps, after all, she hid her stubborn Austran streak beneath that fragile, freckled complexion and rosy mouth. A pretty enough girl, but not at all to Sanglant¡¯s taste. Thank God he had escaped marriage to her!


    The diminutive creature spoke in a soft voice. ¡°I don¡¯t want to enter the church, Gerberga.¡± The words came out as if she had learned them by rote. She looked at Ekkehard, then blushed.


    ¡°I said I¡¯d marry her!¡± cried Wichman, rallying from his stupor. He scratched his crotch, burped, and stared with incomprehension into his empty cup.


    Gerberga snorted. ¡°Let your cousin Sanglant find a suitable husband for you, Theucinda, and you will not have to enter the church. He means to do as much for Waltharia, so why not for you?¡± She smiled at Sanglant.


    A challenge! He lifted a hand off the arm of his chair to acknowledge her request.


    Theophanu had, after all, been listening. Her hand, poised to move her Castle, froze in midair as she looked over. How cool her voice was, yet her words scorched. ¡°If there are any suitable men to be found, a circumstance I doubt. Yet I pray you, Theucinda, do not despair. You may not have to wait long. Perhaps an institution could be founded for you, as it was for my dear brother Ekkehard. Then after you have said your vows, you will be sure to be called to marriage.¡±


    ¡°That is the end of it,¡± continued Gerberga, soundly irritated now. ¡°Theucinda remains with the king¡¯s progress. We leave in the morning, Ekkehard.¡±


    ¡°God, I have to pee,¡± said Wichman.


    Rotrudis¡¯ son had tactical flair. It was just possible that he rose and made a scene of departing in order to break up the gathering, to allow folk to retire to their beds without battle being joined. Or it might be that he simply had to pee after drinking five or ten cups of wine. He staggered out, and in twos and threes they followed him. Sanglant remained seated, waiting, and at last he was alone with Waltharia. She handed her embroidery to a servant and raised an eyebrow, waiting in her turn. Coals were brought. The servingwoman folded up the tunic and stored it in a chest. A man gathered up cups and took them away on a tray.


    He found that solitude, with her, made him uncomfortable. Without meaning to, he touched the gold torque at his neck, the one she had persuaded him to wear, and he felt heat burn in his cheeks and knew he was blushing.


    She smiled. She knew him that well.


    ¡°I know where Liath is,¡± she said, rising.


    ¡°I thought she came up with us,¡± he complained, ¡°but she has not been here this past hour. How do you know where she is?¡±


    She chuckled. ¡°She asked me about a certain person living in retirement here.¡±


    The words stung him. They had secrets, Waltharia and Liath. They confided in each other. It was disconcerting and, in truth, a little irritating. But he said nothing, only stood and beckoned to Hathui, who was waiting by the door.


    They came down the broad stone steps of the tower and passed through the dark hall where so recently the crowd of nobles had feasted. The lamp carried by a steward illuminated alcoves and benches in flashes. Here rumpled shapes slept, crowded together for warmth. A pair of dogs nosed along the floor, seeking scraps lost in the rushes. Sanglant could still smell the tantalizing odor of roasted meat, just as the dogs could. They barked, seeing a rival, but slunk away.


    A door led onto the courtyard where the kitchen buildings stood far enough away from the hall to protect it from the ever present danger of fire. Waltharia led them past these to a tiny cottage set back by a well amidst a withered flower garden. She pushed the door open and they went inside. A pool of light created by a single lamp graced the room. Liath sat on a three-legged stool, bent forward to listen to an elderly woman who was propped up on pillows in her bed and dressed in a plain linen shift like an invalid. He recognized her lean, lined features, squared shoulders, and keen gaze at once, but the expression on her face as she spoke with Liath was not hostile, not as it had been when he had first met this old woman years before in Walburg. In those days, her hostility had been directed toward the old Eagle, Wolfhere.

 Page 18

    She looked up first. As usual, Liath was so intent on what she was doing that it took her a moment to notice the arrivals. Not so with him; she could not enter any room he was in without him immediately being aware of her presence.


    Ah, well.


    ¡°Sanglant,¡± she said, beckoning. She nodded to Waltharia, not needing to greet her. Somehow, it made the relationship between the two women seem more intimate than the one she shared with him.


    ¡°Here is Hedwig,¡± Liath added. ¡°She was an Eagle.¡±


    The old woman stirred, groping for a cane and looking quite startled¡ªbut not, he thought, because of his presence.


    ¡°I pray you, Eagle,¡± he said, ¡°no need to rise. I recall your old injuries. I¡¯ll sit here.¡±


    There was a chair. He grabbed its back and swung it over.


    ¡°I thank you, Your Majesty,¡± she said with a hint of sour humor as she cast an accusing glare at Liath. She released the cane to rest against her bedding.


    He sat beside Liath, facing the old Eagle. Waltharia remained standing at the foot of the bed. Hathui circled around to warm her hands at the hearth fire. Smoke swirled in the lamplight. A servant hurried forward to place more wood on the fire. It was so cold in the cottage, despite the blaze, that Liath¡¯s breath steamed when she spoke.


    ¡°Repeat what you told me, I pray you, Hedwig.¡±


    The old woman frowned, first at Liath and afterward upward at the loft of darkness that hid the ceiling. She was measuring her words in her mind before she spoke them. He almost laughed, because the look of her made him feel so young. She was exactly the kind of old woman who had frightened him most as a boy because this sort were apt to scold a hapless child for stealing tarts from the kitchens when it was only hunger that drove him. This kind was merciless, even in the face of honest need. Even to a royal prince who in other hands might expect a little leniency.


    ¡°Wolfhere brought the Eagle¡¯s Sight to our order,¡± she said.


    ¡°Did he?¡± The statement surprised him.


    ¡°I thought this knowledge was handed down from regnant to heir. Before that time, we rode, and we observed, but we could not see or speak through fire.¡±


    ¡°No wonder King Arnulf made Wolfhere his favorite. Eagle¡¯s Sight granted him a powerful advantage.¡±


    ¡°Yet Eagle¡¯s Sight is closed to me now. I can see only snatches, glimpses.¡± She nodded at Liath. ¡°This blindness affects all of us, so this one believes. The sight has been somehow damaged in the wake of the tempest that swept over us last autumn.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what we were speaking of,¡± said Liath to Sanglant, ¡°just now.¡±


    ¡°Explain it again, I pray you.¡±


    Liath had a way of frowning that wasn¡¯t actually a frown but more of a thoughtful grimace as she collected her thoughts, a task of undoubted complexity since she knew so many complicated things.


    ¡°I think that Eagle¡¯s Sight runs on the threads of aether. Aether resides in the heavens, beyond the mortal Earth. Normally it is rarefied and weak here in the lands below the moon. The crowns channel and intensify these threads of aether, which is how they can be woven into a gate. But Eagle¡¯s Sight touched the aether differently. It was drawn through a portal, which some of us saw as a standing stone burning with blue fire. That stone acted as a crossroads. The stone was itself the portal, between this world and the higher spheres. It was created by the spell woven in ancient days when the country of the Ashioi was torn from its roots and flung into the heavens. Through that portal aether filtered down to Earth in greater quantities than it normally would. So, once the portal between the aether and Earth was severed by the return of the Ashioi land, then the Eagle¡¯s Sight was diminished, so damaged that it is as if we cannot see at all. The crowns were raised long ago, before the portal was opened by the spell in ancient days. The crowns should still weave, but our Eagle¡¯s Sight is lost to us. Possibly forever. I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°My lady.¡± The old woman¡¯s voice and demeanor had changed. She bent her head respectfully. ¡°I thought you were an Eagle, one like me.¡±


    ¡°So I am! Well. So I was.¡±


    ¡°Now I see you are not who I thought you were. Else you would not address the king regnant with such familiarity. Who are you? Are you the one¡ª?¡± She broke off.


    ¡°What one?¡± asked Liath.


    Hedwig shook her head. ¡°No need to ask. You are the one Wolfhere sought when he came back from his exile.¡±


    ¡°His exile?¡± asked Sanglant.


    ¡°Yes, Your Majesty. You must know of this, surely. When Arnulf died, Henry exiled Wolfhere. Or perhaps it was later, after the prince was born. That would be you, Your Majesty.¡± Her hands shook as she smoothed down the rumpled bedclothes. ¡°Nay, nay. My memory weakens. You were a boy when King Arnulf died, Your Majesty. You had already been born and survived some years.¡±

 Page 19

    ¡°I was five or six,¡± he agreed. ¡°I remember his passing and my father¡¯s grief. I recall, too, that Wolfhere vanished for some years.¡±


    ¡°Yes, that was his exile, as soon as King Henry could compass it. But I knew Wolfhere was not dead. He¡¯s the kind that¡¯s hardest to kill¡ªthose who most deserve death! At intervals I glimpsed him through the fire, but I could not see where he was or what he was doing. Then¡ªhow easily we lose track of the time¡ªhe returned. The Eagles never cast any one of us out, you see.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised he came back,¡± said Liath. ¡°Or that King Henry allowed him to return.¡±


    She chuckled, then coughed. ¡°So you may be, my lady. I convinced King Henry to take him back.¡±


    ¡°You did?¡± asked Sanglant with a laugh.


    ¡°I did,¡± she replied in the voice a woman of her kind used to remind a boy that he was not permitted to pilfer from the kitchen on such an important feast day. ¡°Wolfhere was too valuable. He had done so much for the Eagles, and for Arnulf. King Arnulf trusted no one better than Wolfhere. The young prince¡ªthat would be you, Your Majesty¡ªwas old enough to be more easily protected. You were not at risk. But Wolfhere was indifferent to you in any case, perhaps because by then your sisters were born. He was seeking someone else.¡±


    Liath nodded. ¡°Yes, he was.¡±


    ¡°I pray you, Mistress Hedwig,¡± said Waltharia, ¡°I¡¯ve heard this tale before but not, I see, all of it. If you are the one who argued for Wolfhere¡¯s return, then what made you and Wolfhere fall out later?¡±


    It was difficult for the woman to lift her hands, but she managed to get one hand off the covers, indicating Liath. ¡°This girl. Wolfhere felt no loyalty to Henry, to Arnulf¡¯s son, not as he should have. He felt no loyalty to Wendar, not as he should have. He returned only to discover what news he might. Of this one. I soon realized that was the only reason he came back. So I no longer trusted him.¡±


    She coughed again, and the steward found wine, and Liath helped her drink.


    ¡°Where is Wolfhere now?¡± asked Waltharia.


    ¡°No one knows,¡± said Sanglant. ¡°He escaped me in Sordaia. Maybe he is dead.¡±


    ¡°What does it matter what has become of Wolfhere?¡± Waltharia asked.


    Liath handed the cup back to the steward. For a while, she sat with hands folded on her lap, gazing at Hedwig.


    Sanglant listened to the old woman¡¯s labored breathing, with its telltale sign of a consumption eating at her lungs. She was ill. She was old. That she had survived so long with her crippled legs and body and failing health was entirely due to Waltharia¡¯s care of her. What did this old woman mean to Waltharia? Why should the Villams give her shelter?


    ¡°This is what I understand of the matter,¡± said Liath. ¡°Wolfhere sought me because my father stole me from the Seven Sleepers. It was their intent to wield me as a weapon against Sanglant, whom they considered to be a tool of the Lost Ones in their plot to conquer humankind.¡±


    Waltharia eyed him sidelong. She seemed about to laugh, but did not. ¡°A strong spear,¡± she said.


    Liath snorted. Sanglant flushed.


    ¡°Wolfhere did not betray you, Liath,¡± said Hathui suddenly. ¡°He protected you. Was it Wolfhere who led you back to the Seven Sleepers?¡±


    Liath regarded Hathui with a curious smile. ¡°He told them where I was to be found. So it was that Anne found me in Werlida and lured me to Verna. Do you think matters transpired otherwise, Hathui? Is there something you know that we do not?¡±


    They all looked at the Eagle, even Hedwig.


    ¡°No man can serve two masters,¡± said Hathui. ¡°I believe that there were two people that Wolfhere loved above all others: Anne, and Arnulf. In that way he is like the story of the man who at the full moon turns into a wolf, loyal to both parts of himself and yet unable to be whole. Torn between two bodies.¡±


    ¡°You speak truly enough,¡± said Waltharia. ¡°No man may serve two masters. How can a man torn between two masters serve either one faithfully? He must choose one, or the other, because in time they will come into conflict.¡±


    ¡°What is his secret?¡± Liath asked. ¡°He is the last of the Seven Sleepers who knew Anne well, who knew all or most of what she intended. If he still lives, I must find him, because I believe he has secrets yet to reveal.¡±


    ¡°What if he does not?¡± asked Hathui. ¡°What if he is exactly what he seems, and nothing more?¡±


    ¡°A traitor?¡± asked Waltharia with an acerbic laugh.


    ¡°A wolf among men?¡± asked Sanglant, ¡°loyal to no one?¡±

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    ¡°A servant meant to carry messages,¡± retorted Hathui. ¡°By all accounts, although I never saw him, King Arnulf was a kinder master than Anne.¡±


    ¡°Weary,¡± whispered Hedwig.


    Liath leaned forward. ¡°We have exhausted you. I pray you, pardon us.¡±


    ¡°He was weary,¡± Hedwig repeated, strengthened, it seemed, by a hint of annoyance that she was dismissed so easily when it was to her that Liath had come in the first place. ¡°When I saw him here. The last time. Weary. Troubled. Sad. So might a man be who is at war within himself. Such a man can never be trusted. He can never trust himself.¡±


    Her breath whistled. The speech had winded her. They waited, listening to her labored breathing.


    Finally, Liath shook herself and rose. ¡°I thank you for what you have told me, Hedwig.¡±


    The old Eagle¡¯s fingers stirred but she could not, it seemed, lift them off the blanket. Nor could she speak. She wheezed a little.


    ¡°I will send Clara to attend you,¡± said Waltharia.


    They left, stepping out into the cold, dark night. The wind stung nostrils and eyes as they walked across the courtyard. At the entrance to the hall, servants were dispatched to take coals, a hot poultice, and an attendant to sit out the night with the old woman.


    ¡°Why do the Villams shelter her?¡± he asked. ¡°Has she no family to take her in?¡±


    Waltharia¡¯s smile made him uncomfortable, and she glanced first at Liath and only after that at him. ¡°She was for a short time one of my father¡¯s many, many mistresses.¡±


    The Eagle was so old a woman that it was easy to forget that Villam, too, had lived a long life.


    ¡°My mother, before she died, made me swear to take her in if she needed shelter in her old age.¡±


    ¡°Your mother? Why would she trouble herself in such a way?¡±


    She glanced at Liath. They looked. They smiled, each a little. They did not look at him. ¡°Because my father would not. My father was a good man and a strong and canny margrave, Sanglant, but thoughtless in other ways. Hedwig was one of my mother¡¯s young servants. She became an Eagle after¡ªwell, it was considered a disgrace in her family. They threw her out. Had my mother not made provision for her care, she would have died as a pauper.¡±


    ¡°This history surprises me,¡± said Liath. ¡°I thought the Eagles took care of their own.¡±


    ¡°So they do. Not many survive to such a respectable age. When they are too crippled or old or ill to ride, they are pensioned off, just as old Lions are¡ªthose who survive their service. The Villams accepted the pension for the care of her.¡±


    ¡°It was a saying among the Dragons,¡± remarked Sanglant with an unexpected swell of bitterness, ¡°that all Dragons died young, guarding the honor of the regnant.¡±


    ¡°Will you muster a flight of Dragons?¡± Waltharia asked him. ¡°You must think of these things, you know. There are Eagles and Lions to be recruited, to strengthen your army. And Dragons, to fly swiftly to where the need is greatest.¡±


    He frowned. ¡°Who to lead them?¡±


    ¡°Sapientia has a daughter, does she not?¡±


    ¡°Still a child, not more than six or eight at the most. Nay. Let me see what noble youths are cast up at my feet. Then I¡¯ll decide what to do.¡±


    Liath had stepped out from under the eaves and stood staring up at the sky as if her gaze could pierce the clouds. He thought she wasn¡¯t paying attention, but she spoke. ¡°I will have my own mustering, of scholars.¡± She chuckled. ¡°A nest of phoenix. That¡¯s what I¡¯ll call them.¡±


    ¡°Phoenix?¡± Waltharia was startled, and showed it.


    ¡°I think not!¡± said Sanglant.


    Liath turned to look at them. He could only see her shape, but he knew that her vision, in such darkness, was much keener than his. What she saw, seeking in their expressions, he did not know. ¡°The phoenix flies, like the eagle. It is born out of fire, out of passion, and renews itself. Would the phoenix not be a fine beast for scholars?¡±


    Sometimes she was so naive!


    ¡°I pray you, Liath,¡± he said, then faltered, hearing how annoyed he sounded and knowing it was not her but his memories of Blessing that hurt him.


    Hathui stepped forward. ¡°Perhaps you are not aware that the phoenix has become spoken of in the same breath as the heresy, the Redemptio. A story circulated¡ª¡±


    ¡°If Wichman can be believed, it was true enough,¡± said Sanglant, ¡°since he was among those who slaughtered the beast.¡±


    ¡°Slaughtered a phoenix?¡± Liath breathed, horrified.

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    ¡°The townsfolk said it preyed on their cattle. But there was talk of a miracle, a mute man healed, and so on, and now¡ªnay, Liath, no nests of phoenixes for you unless you are determined to turn heretic yourself.¡±


    ¡°I am not,¡± she said thoughtfully, ¡°but it interests me to hear this tale. I must speak to Wichman.¡±


    ¡°When I am present!¡±


    ¡°If you wish. I do not fear him.¡±


    ¡°Prince Ekkehard witnessed the whole as well,¡± pointed out Hathui unhelpfully. ¡°Although I admit most of those who were present in that party are now dead in the wars.¡±


    ¡°Ekkehard and Wichman!¡± Liath said, in tones of astonishment.


    ¡°Not now,¡± said Sanglant, ¡°I pray you. Morning is soon enough.¡±


    ¡°Soon enough,¡± said Waltharia, backing him up, as was her duty as margrave. ¡°My hands have turned to ice. Let us go in.¡±


    2


    LIATH was up as soon as night grayed with the early twilight.


    He groaned and said, closing his eyes, ¡°Neither Wichman nor Ekkehard will have risen yet, my love. Wait but a moment. Come back under the covers with me.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t stop thinking about it.¡±


    She dressed without servants to aid her, not calling anyone in, and he heard the door open, felt the draft of frosty air from the stairwell kiss his cheeks¡ªbetter had she done it!¡ªand the thud of its closing. A decent interval later the door opened and he heard the stealthy footfalls of four servingmen as they entered the chamber and busied themselves as quietly as they could with water, coals, clothing, and the rest of his gear and necessaries. He still thought of them as Den¡¯s brother, Malbert¡¯s cousin, Johannes¡¯ uncle, and Chustaffus¡¯ brother, although in fact their names were Johannes, Robert, Theodulf, and Ambrose. Warm air breathed along his skin as the one of them¡ªthat would be Johannes, who had an unevenness in his gait due to a deformity in his right foot¡ªmoved a brazier closer to the bed in preparation for his rising.


    Outside, he heard voices raised to that pitch of intensity that betokens an upset bubbling into an emergency. He cracked an eye, but it was still dim in the chamber and would be until they had his leave to take down the shutters.


    ¡°No,¡± came Hathui¡¯s voice from outside. ¡°I¡¯ll go in now.¡±


    The door opened. He sighed and sat up, giving in to the inevitable. When he had been captain of the King¡¯s Dragons there had been days when he¡¯d had to move at first light, and swiftly, but there had also been days when he¡¯d had no more pressing engagement at dawn than ¡­ well, never mind that now.


    ¡°What is it?¡± he asked.


    She gestured toward the door, which meant that trouble was coming. ¡°Margrave Gerberga.¡±


    Robert handed him his under-tunic, and he slipped it on and swung out of bed as Ambrose took down first one shutter, then the next. The chill exhalation of the outdoors sighed in, bringing with it the smell of smoke, dung, and freshly split wood. A carpet insulated him from the plank floor, and it was just as well since he was still barefoot but decently attired when Gerberga stormed in, face red and braided hair pinned back for her night¡¯s rest.


    ¡°He¡¯s gone!¡± she cried. ¡°Vanished!¡±


    Only the peers of the realm or his intimate servants dared storm in without announcing themselves. After Gerberga came Theophanu, expression so blank that he marveled, wondering if she were furious or joyful.


    ¡°This is not the first time Ekkehard has acted rashly,¡± Theo said to Gerberga as if continuing a conversation begun earlier. ¡°Do not forget that he stole Lord Baldwin from your mother.¡±


    ¡°Damn him!¡±


    ¡°And that he then debauched himself in Gent while pretending to be an abbot in a monastery founded by his own father,¡± added Theophanu with such a look of composure that Sanglant imagined her actually laughing inside¡ªif Theophanu ever laughed. ¡°And after that betrayed his own countryfolk and rode with the Quman monster.¡±


    ¡°When I find him ¡­¡± Gerberga glared at Sanglant as if he had spoken and, without addressing another word to him, departed in the same manner as a summer squall, leaving a moment of sparkling clarity behind.


    ¡°Hathui,¡± he said, ¡°go see that horses are saddled.¡±


    She nodded and left.


    ¡°When you find him, then what?¡± asked Theophanu coolly. ¡°I am surprised you allowed the marriage to Gerberga to take place without making it clear to Ekkehard that he must respect your wishes. By this act, he challenges your authority.¡±


    ¡°Theo,¡± he said mildly, seeing how everyone else there had gone very quiet indeed, ¡°I do not for a moment suppose that Ekkehard has anything in mind other than his own gratification, since he has never appeared to have more than one thought in his head at a time.¡±

 Page 22

    She watched him with an expression of calm consideration that made him stand to alert as though she had a knife she might pull.


    ¡°They love you,¡± she said.


    ¡°Who loves me?¡±


    ¡°All of them. These servants. The Eagles. The soldiers. The common folk. It¡¯s you, the bastard, they look to, to save them, although I am the legitimately born child. There are a few who do love me, my dear retinue, but they are a trifle compared to the ones who love you.¡±


    Since there was no answer to this, he said nothing.


    ¡°They stare at you so, Sanglant. I suppose I do, too.¡± Her smile sharpened her expression. ¡°I know better, yet I can¡¯t help myself. I¡¯m no different than they are. I believe you can save us, if anyone can.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps. I am only first among equals. Without the strength of the duchies and the marchlands, Wendar will fall.¡±


    ¡°As Varre has?¡± she challenged him. ¡°Fallen to Sabella and Conrad¡¯s ambitions?¡±


    ¡°So we will see, when the king¡¯s progress marches west. You are steady, Theophanu. I need you at my back.¡±


    She had their father¡¯s height and the robust build common to their ancestors, yet a hint in her coloring and eyes and the unnatural opacity of her expression marked her half foreign blood. Never trust Arethousans bearing gifts.


    ¡°Always at the back.¡± There came a spark of emotion into her face he could not interpret: resignation, amusement, envy, or anger, or some other, less simple, reaction. He knew her well enough, but in truth, he did not know her well.


    Footsteps warned them of Hathui¡¯s return. She appeared in the door, looked from one to the other, and said, ¡°The horses are saddled and ready, Your Majesty. Your Highness.¡±


    Theophanu indicated the door. ¡°I follow where you lead. Let us make sure that Ekkehard does not escape his duty.¡±


    ¡°So are we all what our father made of us,¡± he said to her.


    She cocked her head to one side, lips thinned, the mere quirk of a smile. ¡°That¡¯s true enough.¡± She was both amused and bitter. ¡°Father always got what he wanted. Even when it killed him.¡±


    3


    THE frosty air of early morning chilled skin and made strong men shudder. The horses bogged down in soggy ground that had never dried out because there was no sun to bake it dry. On the whole, the morning had a miserable air that weighed on everyone and made them ride in disgruntled silence. Why must Ekkehard act like such an idiot?


    ¡°Some questions cannot be answered, Your Majesty,¡± said Hathui, and Sanglant realized he had spoken out loud.


    The guards at the gate had pointed north. At a hamlet where the road forked, an old woman, who according to her testimony never could sleep well at night because of the particular ache in her hip that made lying down an agony, had heard a troop of horsemen turn down the northwest fork and rattle off in the twilight hours before dawn. A nervous peddler pushing his cart along that narrow way had seen and heard a dozen men pass his hidden campsite at dawn.


    ¡°We¡¯re getting closer,¡± said Captain Fulk. ¡°See, here. Hoofprints at the verge. Still fresh.¡±


    Liath had fallen to the back of the troop of two-score riders so she could talk to Lord Wichman. Sanglant glanced back, then turned a little to watch them. Liath talked. Wichman seemed to be answering in monosyllables. Hathui snorted.


    ¡°Nay, have no fear, Your Majesty,¡± she said.


    ¡°Fear of Liath seeking comfort from Wichman? I think not!¡±


    ¡°Nay. Fear of him harming her. Look at his posture.¡±


    It seemed that Wichman rode a little off-balance, that he was in fact leaning somewhat away from his interlocutor, keeping his distance.


    ¡°That damned phoenix,¡± said Sanglant. ¡°She will gnaw at it.¡±


    ¡°She is what she is, Your Majesty.¡±


    He sighed.


    Ahead, a scout appeared at a canter. The man reined in and waited, and when the king¡¯s party were in earshot, announced:


    ¡°Ahead! The lady¡¯s mount has gone lame and they¡¯re arguing over whether to leave it.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s the wrong battle to be fighting,¡± muttered Fulk.


    Hathui chuckled.


    ¡°The better to fall into our hands,¡± said Sanglant wearily. ¡°I am relieved we have no great hunt to pursue.¡±


    The noise of their company reached Ekkehard¡¯s party before they came upon them in a clearing surrounded by hornbeam and oak. A few trees lay cracked and fallen, trunks stretched over hawthorn and dogweed and flowering stitchwort. The others towered like pillars, overseeing the hapless soldiers and frightened lady scrambling to mount horses made restive by their handlers¡¯ fear. Ekkehard was already in the saddle. He rode forward to confront his brother, placing himself between his pursuers and his retinue.

 Page 23

    ¡°What have you come for?¡± he demanded imperiously. ¡°I won¡¯t go back to Gerberga!¡± He drew his sword.


    Sanglant motioned the others to fall back and rode himself to meet the younger man on the path. He pitched his voice to carry. ¡°I pray you, Ekkehard, come quietly. Lady Theucinda cannot marry a man who is already married. Or do you mean to bed her and then cast her off?¡±


    The girl looked up, hearing Sanglant, but she was just a little too far off for him to study her expression.


    ¡°I do not!¡± objected Ekkehard. ¡°That¡¯s not what I intend! I¡¯ll marry her!¡±


    ¡°Are you not already wed to Gerberga?¡± Sanglant asked as pleasantly as he could. ¡°Did you not already consummate the marriage?¡±


    Ekkehard¡¯s deep flush made him look furious and ridiculous. Sanglant felt a flash of sympathy for the rash fool, but it passed as soon as he remembered that Ekkehard had ridden with Bulkezu and his Quman invaders.


    ¡°For shame,¡± Sanglant said in a voice only the two of them could hear. ¡°For shame, Ekkehard. Take your punishment, which you have earned. Does Gerberga abuse you?¡±


    ¡°She does not,¡± admitted Ekkehard sulkily. ¡°But she doesn¡¯t respect me. She only respects my rank and title. She wouldn¡¯t have wanted me if I wasn¡¯t Henry¡¯s son.¡±


    He brandished his sword. Sanglant¡¯s men murmured with alarm, but Sanglant raised a hand to quiet them. Ekkehard was only expressing his frustration.


    ¡°Why can you have what you want?¡± added Ekkehard craftily. ¡°Why can you, but not the rest of us? No one wants her as queen. She¡¯s born of no particular noble house, only a minor landholding family, she admits it herself, that she isn¡¯t really Taillefer¡¯s granddaughter. She¡¯s some kind of creature, a daimone. Maybe she has no soul. And she¡¯s a sorcerer. So why must I marry for the sake of alliance, to benefit my family, if you don¡¯t have to?¡±


    There was no answer to this reasonable question.


    Ekkehard grinned triumphantly. ¡°It¡¯s just that you can, and I can¡¯t. Because you have the army, and I am a prisoner.¡±


    Was that ringing in his ears his blood and anger rising? Everyone listened and watched. In battle, he always knew how to counterstrike, but in the courtier¡¯s world he was not as adept.


    A sharp tang as of iron made him sneeze. Had there been a chapel in that last village, where bells might be ringing?


    Ekkehard lifted his chin, very much like the boy who has at last defeated his powerful rival. ¡°You can¡¯t answer me!¡± he crowed.


    ¡°Sanglant!¡± Her voice cut through everything else.


    He turned in the saddle to see Liath pressing her mount forward, to see her speaking as she rode in a manner that caught Hathui and Fulk¡¯s attention. His guardsmen scattered like chaff before wind.


    ¡°What?¡± he began.


    Too late, he recognized the threat.


    ¡°Behind me!¡± she shouted, riding toward him. ¡°I still have my bow and a dozen griffin feathers. Best if Ekkehard¡¯s men spread out. They must not clump together.¡±


    This he had seen for himself that awful night on the foothills of the Alfar Mountains.


    ¡°How many?¡± she asked. ¡°I can¡¯t see them.¡±


    Galla.


    He smelled them now. He heard their bell-like voices tolling, two of them, four of them, whispering his name and Liath¡¯s name: Sanglant. Liathano. But he could not see them through the trees.


    ¡°Four, I think.¡±


    ¡°Who are they after?¡±


    ¡°Only you and me.¡±


    ¡°Ai, God.¡± She was furious, scared, and determined. ¡°Who has sent them?¡±


    ¡°There!¡±


    Branches swayed and snapped. Where their track led across the underbrush it left a barren trail in its wake.


    ¡°I see only three.¡± Her bow was already strung. She drew an iron feather out of her quiver and set it to the string, heedless of the trickle of blood on her skin.


    The galla approached from the south, two of them moving one behind the next and one about thirty paces off to one side. He hissed, then shut his eyes, seeking, listening, smelling, letting the touch of the wind on his cheek speak to him. He heard a fainter set of bells, but the ringing of the other three drowned it and he could not mark its direction.


    Horses screamed. Men shouted, trying to control them. He heard a man fall, the thump of his impact on the ground, a shattered bone, a weeping curse at the injury.


    ¡°Fulk!¡± Sanglant shouted, not looking to see where Fulk was. He dared not look away from the advancing galla. ¡°Scatter the men and keep them away from me and Liath! Do as I say!¡±

 Page 24

    ¡°Ride quickly!¡± said Ekkehard, behind them. ¡°We¡¯ll get away.¡±


    Sanglant drew his sword, because he could not stand his ground without his sword in his hand, even knowing the sword was useless.


    ¡°Back up,¡± said Liath to him. ¡°I need a clear shot.¡±


    She drew but held it, lips parted, gaze drawn as tight as the bowstring. Her braid hung down her back. Her chin was lifted and her shoulders in perfect alignment. The mellow light gave her skin a rich gleam. Her eyes flared with blue. She was as beautiful as any creature he had ever seen, bright, poised, and deadly. No wonder he loved her so much.


    The galla shuddered as they came out from under the trees, as if the pale light of this cloudy day hurt their essence. Light hurt them, because they were creatures formed out of shards of darkness. They were pillars of black smoke, roiling, faceless but not voiceless. He heard them speak.


    ¡°Sanglant. Liathano. Liathano.¡± And, more faintly, ¡°Liathano.¡± One for him, but three for her. Why not twenty? Why not a hundred? He was sweating; he was cold.


    They glided forward over the ground.


    ¡°Nay!¡± shouted Fulk. ¡°Stay back! Stay back!¡± He sounded likely to weep, but he had seen galla before. No human weapon could defeat them.


    Liath loosed her first arrow.


    The leading galla vanished with a ringing wail, and a sizzle, and a snap. The smoky pillar simply flicked out of existence. He no longer heard his own name, only hers.


    ¡°Get away from me,¡± she said to him as she pulled a second griffin feather from her quiver. He sheathed his sword and rode to her to pull a feather out of the quiver. The hard vanes cut right through his leather gloves and into the skin below, but the pain seemed trivial compared to the threat.


    ¡°Damn it.¡± Her face was slick. A sick pallor made her skin gray, but her hands were steady. ¡°Move off. I need a clean shot.¡±


    He reined Fest aside and saw how close those other two creatures had come, as if the death of the first one had caused them to leap forward without hesitation. Were they intelligent, or only mindless servants? She shot. A second winked away.


    The wind gusted out of the east, and the third galla veered west as though blown off course by that wind. Liath set one more arrow to the string. He heard Ekkehard¡¯s troop clattering away up the road, the cowards. She swore as the arrow slipped crookedly in her bloody hands.


    There came, from behind, a sudden horrible shriek of pain and fear and a cacophony of terrified screams. He shifted, and what he saw made his breath catch. Ekkehard¡¯s troop had fallen back from the western path crying and wailing, scrambling to get out of the way of the fourth galla which emerged unexpectedly from the western trees. Theucinda¡¯s horse bolted, so panicked by the demon sailing across the clearing that it headed straight for the galla coming out of the woods.


    Too far to shoot.


    Liath had seen. She fixed her gaze on Theucinda. The girl tugged hopelessly at the horse¡¯s reins. Ekkehard screamed.


    Fire exploded up from the grass, running in a line that quickly separated Theucinda from the galla. The horse veered sharply away from the blaze, stumbling. She tumbled down, landing hard, shouting out in pain. The horse galloped out of the way. The galla passed through the fire behind her, untouched by the flames, and kept on coming, leaving Theucinda unharmed.


    ¡°You take that one,¡± said Sanglant, ¡°and for me, the other.¡±


    Without waiting to hear Liath¡¯s reply, he drove Fest forward toward the third galla, which had by now tracked back to approach them. An overpowering stench of iron and blood swamped him as he neared the galla. He could hear nothing but that clamorous ringing and Liath¡¯s name, tolling on and on. It seemed at this angle to reach as tall as the trees, a vast horrible black tower. Singing death. Singing give me release. He tugged Fest to the right and leaned left with the griffin feather extended, and slashed right through it.


    Fest charged toward the trees with nervous energy. He fought the gelding back around to see the fourth galla disappear between one gasp and the next. Smoke poured into the sky as the fire spread. Men shouted in confusion, but he heard, faintly, Fulk¡¯s commands as he rounded them up. Sanglant could not catch his breath. He rested in the saddle for the longest time as his troops herded Ekkehard¡¯s party into line and retrieved Theucinda¡¯s skittish mount. The girl limped but seemed otherwise unhurt. One of Fulk¡¯s soldiers had been dumped and had broken an arm. All told, they had come off lightly.


    Liath rode up beside him. She wiped sweat off her forehead and afterward clasped his wrist with her unbloodied hand. ¡°You¡¯re clammy.¡± Her voice shook, but she held steady.

 Page 25

    ¡°The griffins have left us,¡± he said to her in a low voice, as if it were a secret. ¡°We have only fifteen feathers left.¡±


    ¡°Eleven, now.¡±


    ¡°If the galla come upon us again ¡­¡±


    ¡°Are sent against us again, you mean.¡±


    ¡°They must kill to raise them, slaughter men like sheep.¡± It made him sick to think of it.


    ¡°Then for the sake of the ones who will die, let us hope they give up.¡± Her smile told a different story. She knew their enemies would never give up.


    4


    FROM Walburg, the king¡¯s progress rode west along a grassy track that dipped south through fertile countryside before swinging back north to Osterburg along the Veser River. At length they crossed the Veserling and rode through woodland along the broad track where three years ago Sanglant¡¯s soldiers had chased down and broken the Quman army. It was a gray day, so cold that the shallow puddles along the road were iced over. That hard skin of ice cracked and shattered where hoof, foot, and wagon wheel struck. Moisture dripped from branches. Some of the trees had budded, but there was little spring-green foliage in the forest.


    In a clearing she saw a hillock that looked strangely familiar, although at first she could not place it. Only when she looked closer did she see scattered bones and the shattered remains of rotting Quman wings. Her chest pulled tight; she found herself short of breath.


    ¡°Here, in this meadow, we broke the Quman,¡± he said in a queer voice. ¡°That was a bad day, thinking Blessing was dead.¡±


    He could say nothing more. Nor could she. It hurt too much to think about Blessing, yet she did think. In silence, they passed through the clearing. She stared, but except for the tree at the crown of the hill and the unmistakable shape of that odd little hill, she could not relate this peaceful, isolated clearing with the carnage and chaos of a desperately fought battle, one she had seen only in a vision.


    They came out of the forest close by a low, isolated hill which was surrounded by boggy ground, brackish puddles, and rotting reeds and bracken.


    ¡°There Bayan died,¡± said Sanglant, pointing to the hill. Its crest lay bare of vegetation, as though recently burned. He indicated a patch of open ground in the western hills that rose beyond the Veser River. ¡°There the Quman set their camp.¡±


    Liath felt a bite in the air, as at a cold snap of wind, but this was not wind. ¡°A powerful spell was woven here. I can still taste it.¡±


    ¡°Two spells, in truth. The first killed Bayan. The second was his mother¡¯s revenge on the sorcerer who killed both her son and her self.¡±


    ¡°Killed her as well? How?¡±


    ¡°Bayan was her luck. She was a Kerayit shaman.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± She felt the same prickling discomfort along her skin that she might feel before a thunderstorm breaks. She thought of Hanna and Sorgatani, but they were lost, and she had no way to find them.


    Horns called from the battlements and were answered. Sanglant¡¯s straggling troops fell into line as they approached the gates of Osterburg. The hymn surfaced deep in the ranks and, like a storm, swept over the entire army.


    Open the gates of victory that I may enter,


    That I may praise God.


    It was a familiar psalm, and by the time they entered the streets of Osterburg much of the populace had taken up the hymn, repeating its verses in ragged, heartfelt voices. So many folk flooded onto the streets to watch the regnant and his noble companions ride that it was difficult to pass. Some were certainly refugees who had fled from outlying areas where they could no longer find food or safety. Five or ten thousand altogether, she supposed, a vast number, yet she could not help but reflect that Osterburg and all the Wendish cities were only towns compared to the great cities of the south along the shores of the Middle Sea and in the lands of the heathen Jinna. Even Darre, now only a humble shadow of its imperial self, dwarfed as important a town as Osterburg. Yet Wendish soldiers had defeated Aosta¡¯s best armies. The new often overruns the old as the old gets worn and tired. That was the way of the world, so her father had taught her.


    Newest of all were the Ashioi, the refugees who had at long last come home.


    5


    AT dawn, the morning after the magnificent feast to celebrate both the feast day of St. Sormas and the investiture of the new duchess of Saony, Sanglant slept, but Liath woke. She had trouble sleeping past the break of day. As soon as she woke, she thought of Blessing, and as soon as she thought of Blessing, she could as easily go back to sleep as fly. Sanglant slept soundly, one arm splayed over his head and the other thrown across his torso. He was out cold. He¡¯d had a lot to drink. She dressed and left the inner chamber of the royal suite. Although she stepped carefully, she woke Hathui, who lay on a pallet athwart the door that let into the inner room.

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    ¡°What? Eh? Ah. Liath.¡±


    ¡°No need to rise. I¡¯m just going out to walk.¡±


    Hathui groaned, pressing the heel of a hand to her forehead. ¡°You¡¯ve the head for it. Mine aches.¡±


    ¡°As it will, if you drink so much,¡± said Liath with a laugh.


    Hathui burped. ¡°Ai, truly, it was a good feast.¡±


    ¡°Well deserved,¡± said Liath, sidling on, wanting solitude. ¡°Princess Theophanu will rule Saony wisely and well.¡±


    Which was true, and scarcely needed to be said. Still, Theophanu was a puzzle to her. She respected Theophanu but felt no warmth and no camaraderie. Theophanu was nothing like Waltharia. She smiled a little, thinking of the margrave. Maybe a friend. Certainly an ally.


    She was careful not to wake the other stewards and servants, rafts of them, it always appeared to her, floating on their pallets that, when the day properly began, would be stored out of the way together with the bedding. Yet half of them were already waking, stretching, rising. Nodding at her with murmured respectful greetings. She could never interpret their expressions in any way that satisfied her that she understood what they were thinking. She had not half the skill that Sanglant did. It always seemed to her that he could judge mood and tone to a nicety. She reached the outer door to find a pair of drowsy whippets huddled at the feet of a snoring servant. They sensed her coming and, whining, ears flat, slunk out of her way. She let herself out and hurried through the barracks room, lined with sleeping soldiers bivouacked along both walls. This room opened onto a landing, crowded with dozing men. Even on the stairs folk slept but so uncomfortably that she wondered they could sleep at all. So many retainers were crammed into Osterburg¡¯s ducal palace that it was only outdoors one could smell anything but the stink of unwashed bodies. When she emerged into the central courtyard of the square palace tower, she found folk stretched out on the raised and covered walkways that linked the old two-storied tower to the newer one-story wing. They huddled under eaves and under wagons, anywhere they might keep dry or off the ground. Her feet crushed the skin of ice that made the ground glitter. She slipped out through the inner gateway. Guards stared at her and backed up a step. Belatedly, they dipped their heads and said anxiously, ¡°my lady.¡±


    In the outer courtyard, surrounded by the hilltop palisade, servants gathered by the well to draw up water and gossip about last night¡¯s feasting. Smoke steamed out of the kitchen. A score of soldiers were marching out of the main gate, heading down into town, but they did not call or speak or sing. Only the tramp of their feet gave them away. She found one of the narrow stairs set into the wall alongside the oldest tower, a stone donjon built a hundred years before by Saony¡¯s first duke. Here, by tradition, the duke lived when she wasn¡¯t traveling her domain. Theophanu¡¯s soldiers stood on guard, but they let her pass. She walked out along the palisade walk to one of the corner brace-ways. Mounting a ladder, she got up to a sentry post, planks built out over the wall.


    Someone was here before her, a slight figure leaning on the rail and staring east toward distant hills and endless forest.


    ¡°Lady Theucinda.¡±


    The girl had not even heard her coming. She yelped, jerked, and flushed, turning to see her, but recovered quickly. ¡°My lady Liathano. Did you come looking for me?¡±


    ¡°No. I came to admire the view.¡±


    The view was remarkable. The town opened like a skirt around the palace hill. The river flowed in a broad bend, fading into the hazy distance south and north. Farmers were already moving beyond the town wall, pushing carts filled with night soil and herding livestock out to field and pasture. The bell rang at the modest cathedral, which had been built in the new part of town about thirty years ago in the days of the younger Arnulf.


    Theucinda seemed inclined to remain silent, so Liath leaned on the railing and watched as the day unveiled. The clouds seemed lighter today, but the sun did not break through. It was still ungodly cold although last night they had celebrated the Feast of St. Sormas, which marked the thirteenth day of the month of Avril, about six weeks after the spring equinox. In Heart¡¯s Rest, folk usually planted at the end of the month of Yanu or, in a particularly cold year, at the very beginning of Avril. Osterburg lay many days¡¯ journey south of Heart¡¯s Rest. Seen at this distance, the wide forest remained bare. Only the evergreens showed signs of life.


    ¡°Liath?¡±


    She turned. A redheaded man stepped off the ladder, staring at her in surprise. He wore a Lion¡¯s tabard, much mended, and the insignia of a captain.


    ¡°Captain Thiadbold!¡± She grinned, delighted to see him. ¡°How come you here?¡±

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    ¡°I¡¯ve been here for a year or more¡ªthree years, now that I think on it. We¡¯ve made some expeditions to the north coast and west of here to drive out bandits and rebels. And you?¡± He recalled himself, and offered a more respectful bow. ¡°An Eagle no longer, my lady. I pray you, forgive my boldness.¡±


    ¡°There is nothing to forgive. I would rather be treated as your comrade of old than¡ªthis other thing. You marched east, did you not? With Prince Bayan and Princess Sapientia? That happened after we parted ways.¡±


    He whistled. ¡°A long road that was. You know the route as well as I after we put down the rebellion in Varre.¡±


    They chatted a little about that time, old comrades recounting shared adventures: Lady Svanhilde and her reckless son, Charles; the battle at Gent and the death of the Eika chieftain Bloodheart.


    ¡°We traveled on progress after that. Down to Thersa and afterward to Werlida.¡± He looked a little embarrassed. ¡°You¡¯ll recall that, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°I do. And after that, where did you go? You¡¯ve had a long, difficult journey, I think. In the king¡¯s service.¡±


    ¡°That we have, and lost half my men, alas. It was quiet for a while, in Varre. We went to Autun and saw the holy chapel where the Emperor Taillefer sleeps. Now that was a fine sight!¡± He grinned, but an instant later he frowned. ¡°After that, indeed. We were sent east with Princess Sapientia and Prince Bayan. He was a good man, Prince Bayan. A good commander. I suppose we reached too far. Wendish folk ought not to walk beyond the marchlands.¡±


    He went on for a while about the grassy eastern reaches, about a battle at a place he called ¡°Queen¡¯s Grave¡± on account of an old burial mound with a ruined stone crown at its height. Their retreat, it seemed, had succeeded only on account of Prince Bayan¡¯s steady nerves and canny tactics. There had been trouble in Handelburg.


    ¡°And through no fault of her own, I will tell you,¡± he said harshly, ¡°that Eagle, Hanna, was sent out to her death. For that I blame ¡­¡± He faltered, looked right at Lady Theucinda, and with some effort made an obvious decision to be prudent rather than bold.


    ¡°She didn¡¯t die,¡± said Liath, suddenly cold.


    ¡°Nay, so we discovered later. Her tale is no good one, though. We met up with Prince Sanglant¡ªHis Majesty, that is¡ªat Machteburg. There we recovered a few of our men, a handful, nothing more. They¡¯d turned heretic. Yet I tell you, I think in a time as troubled as now it should not matter if a man is a heretic but whether he can fight.¡±


    Theucinda looked at him and seemed about to say something. But she did not.


    ¡°You¡¯ll hear no argument from me,¡± said Liath, ¡°but the church mothers will say otherwise.¡±


    ¡°I pray you, then, do not repeat what I have said.¡±


    ¡°I will not. After Machteburg?¡±


    ¡°After Machteburg, we sought out the Quman. They had pressed far into Wendar. They burned and looted and killed as they went. It was a terrible thing, that brought us in the end to the battle at the Veser.¡±


    ¡°You saved my daughter in that battle.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°It was a hard fight.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    He looked at her, puzzled by her words, and she fell silent. She could not tell him that, as she walked the spheres, she had glimpsed the fight on the knoll and stayed her hand. She had not loosed her one remaining arrow to save her own daughter. Even so, assailed with guilt, she knew she had made the right choice. The necessary choice.


    Perhaps that was why she often felt like a monster.


    ¡°Yet we did win it in the end,¡± he added. ¡°We did win.¡±


    ¡°Tell me.¡±


    Thiadbold was a good observer, and he had the knack for recounting the worst episodes with a kind of wry humor and the best with modesty. He described the battle quickly and with a remarkable sense for the movements of the various groups. ¡°Just as we thought all was lost, that we¡¯d be slaughtered to a man¡ªand child, too, I¡¯m sorry to say¡ªthe prince came. His Majesty, that is. A better sight I have never seen!¡± He laughed, but his laughter was leavened by sadness. ¡°Good men I lost. Too many. Still, that¡¯s the way of it. We won, and they lost.¡±


    ¡°You did not march east afterward with Sanglant.¡±


    ¡°We did not. His Majesty took only mounted troops. We were sent west to escort an Eagle¡ªwell, Hanna, again.¡±


    ¡°She did not ride east with Sanglant?¡±


    ¡°She was very ill. She¡¯d been held captive by the Quman, by the beast himself.¡± He hesitated. ¡°I hear he¡¯s dead now.¡±

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    ¡°He¡¯s dead.¡±


    He paused, as if expecting her to say more, but she did not, so he went on.


    ¡°Well. We escorted the Eagle to Gent. Afterward, she was sent south to Aosta. That¡¯s the last I have heard of her. We were sent by order of the prince¡ªHis Majesty, that is¡ªto serve Princess Theophanu while he was in the east. That we did. Here in Osterburg mostly, repairing the walls as well as those expeditions I mentioned before.¡± He traced his Circle, which dangled at his chest. ¡°Full circle, I suppose you would say. Now we will serve the regnant again.¡±


    ¡°Is that what you hope for?¡±


    He grinned. ¡°What must I say to the woman who knows him best? Of course it is what I hope for!¡±


    She laughed. It was easy to fall into the companionable banter she¡¯d known before. It was easier to be an Eagle than a queen.


    He sobered. ¡°He¡¯s a fine commander. The best, after his father the king.¡±


    She wanted to talk about Hanna, but Theucinda still stood there. She had turned her back to them and was staring east into the haze.


    ¡°Why are you out here, Thiadbold? Is this your watch?¡±


    He indicated Theucinda with his chin, then gestured toward the old tower where Theophanu had taken up residence. Sanglant had placed Theucinda in Theophanu¡¯s custody. The girl had a mouselike exterior, petite, fine-boned, with a delicate prettiness that could easily attract the notice of a stubborn, spoiled, and disaffected youth like Ekkehard. She had not wailed and wept when Sanglant¡¯s hunting party had caught up with her and Ekkehard outside Walburg. It was difficult to tell if she had wanted to be caught, or if she saw that weeping would do her no good and so did not indulge herself. In either case, her lack of tears made her interesting.


    Thiadbold waited.


    ¡°I pray you, Lady Theucinda,¡± said Liath. ¡°Do you come here often, so early in the morning?¡±


    The girl looked at her as if deciding whether she wanted to speak. At last she shrugged one shoulder. ¡°At times. We have only been here seven days. They watch me.¡± She glanced at Thiadbold, not meeting his gaze. ¡°They think I¡¯ll run again,¡± she said bitterly.


    ¡°Will you?¡±


    ¡°Where would I run? Gerberga won¡¯t have me back, and Ekkehard is gone with her. Even so, with no retinue I could never hope to ride all the way to Austra to find him. Therefore, why should I try?¡± She shrugged again.


    ¡°I would have done it,¡± said Liath. ¡°And farther yet.¡±


    ¡°So you say! If all the stories I hear of you are correct, then you are nothing except a frater¡¯s by-blow, or else you are an emperor¡¯s lost heir. You are the king¡¯s concubine, or his queen. You are an excommunicated sorcerer, or else you were touched by the hand of a holy saint. You can cause the heavens to burn, or men¡¯s hearts to be swayed by lust for you. A simple Eagle, or a soulless daimone. How easily it comes to you to say such words! Why do you think it should be so simple for me?¡±


    The bitter words took Liath aback. Thiadbold coughed and looked away, as if he wished he had not heard.


    ¡°Forgive me!¡± the girl whispered. Tears brimmed. Her mouth trembled, and she clutched the railing as if she expected to be blown off the ramparts in a gust of furious wind. ¡°Don¡¯t burn me!¡±


    Liath felt sick. That look of terror was its own judgment.


    ¡°Don¡¯t fear me,¡± she said raggedly. ¡°I do not mean to hurt any person.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll go now, Captain,¡± said the girl in a choked voice. She swept up her skirts in one hand and clambered down the ladder.


    It took all Liath¡¯s courage to look Thiadbold in the eye. Would he reject her as well?


    His gaze remained steady. He brushed a finger along the dimpled scar where he had lost part of an ear. ¡°You fought with us. We Lions don¡¯t forget our friends.¡±


    ¡°I thank you.¡± It was difficult to get the words out without bursting into tears.


    He nodded gravely, and left to follow Lady Theucinda.


    Liath rested her elbows on the railing and studied the beauty of the land and the hazy pearllike glamour of the early morning light. Maybe the clouds had lightened. Maybe the sun would break through soon. But her pleasure in the day had vanished.


    How could Sanglant ever hope to make her his queen when such rumors spun through his own retinue? Especially when many, even most, were true. And did she really care? She had no wish to be queen, to be saddled with the burdens, duties, obligations, and intrigues that any consort must shoulder. Yet to be his concubine, to share him with another woman¡ªbecause the regnant must wed¡ªwas unbearable. To leave him was unthinkable.

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    What a fool Theucinda was! That girl could never understand that it had been easy to leave the Eagles and ride away with Sanglant, back when Sanglant had been nothing more than captain of the King¡¯s Dragons.


    ¡°I will not be defeated by this,¡± she said, and she listened, hoping the wind had an answer for her, but naturally it did not.


    IV


    FOOL¡¯S ERRAND


    1


    WHERE they first caught sight of the cathedral tower the road bent through the remains of an old oak wood, now eaten in from all sides by clearing and felling.


    ¡°God spare us!¡± Atto exclaimed. ¡°Mara! Look!¡±


    She stopped obediently and lifted her head. Midway through pregnancy, she was also weary and dirty. ¡°Are we there yet?¡± she asked as she squinted into the distance.


    ¡°Look how tall!¡± exclaimed Atto. ¡°How can a person build so high and not have it fall? All of stone!¡±


    ¡°Yes, truly,¡± she said in a bright voice as her gaze tracked over the tops of trees and the wash of sky without stopping on the tower. Finally she looked at Atto, waiting for him to give the word to start walking.


    The cathedral was easily seen in a gap between trees. Smoke drifted out of the cover of wood, but those streamers could not conceal the massive block of stone that marked the bell tower, fully three stories tall. The clouds lay in a high gray-white sheet across the heavens; maybe it was brighter today than it had been yesterday, although it was certainly no warmer.


    ¡°Can you see the tower, Mara?¡± Alain asked in a low voice that Atto, still exclaiming, would not notice.


    She shrugged, but he had learned enough about her in the past few days to understand that she never contradicted Atto and never said one word that might displease her betrothed. It was strange to Alain that Atto took no notice of the way she could not see things far away.


    Atto sniffed. ¡°What¡¯s that up ahead? I smell woodsmoke. And shit.¡±


    Alain smelled it, too, and more besides, a pall in the air that he had come to associate with despair. He started forward, but Mara did not walk until Atto told her to, and she hung between the two men, nervous of the hounds and shy of each footfall. She had brown hair pulled back away from her face and mostly covered by a scarf, and a pleasant face at its liveliest when she was exclaiming over the beauty of flowers, but her shoulders were hunched all the time. She was like a dog wondering if it is about to be scolded. Alain pitied her, caught between two strong-minded men, yet he also wondered what would happen if she ever spoke up for herself.


    The hounds, ranging ahead, loped back with ears raised and noses testing the breeze. Where the path bent under the trees they came upon a haphazard ring of settlement, hovels built out of crooked branches and roofed with patched canvas or tightly woven saplings smeared with leaves mixed into mud, now dry. The woods had been hacked back around the shantytown, leaving gaping holes in the canopy. There must have been three-score people squatting here, huddled in threadbare cloaks, staring at the travelers with the numbed anger of folk leached of hope and weakened by hunger. It stank, and it seemed people had done little more than move a few steps away from their ragged shelters to relieve themselves, not even digging pits or designating one spot for refuse. What possessions they owned sat in baskets or chipped pots. In one cage, guarded by a young man with a sharpened stick, rested a scrawny hen. Children crouched in the dirt and did not scamper along the path as healthy, curious children do when travelers pass by. This lapse caused even Atto to look nervous. He slammed the butt of his spear showily on the ground with every other step so everyone would see they were armed. Mara covered her nose and mouth with a hand and was stifling either cries or retches.


    The people watched as they passed. None spoke or moved to disturb the lonely crackle of fire in the single pit dug into the ground and fueled by smoking green wood. Their silence was its own voice, telling him that these ragged folk had given up hope. They did not stir until they heard a new sound.


    It came first as a hollow rat-a-tat, as if a distant woodpecker drummed its spring call. Alain was so surprised to hear bird life that he halted and tilted his head, seeking the direction of the sound. All around the hush deepened. One woman gasped audibly. Goaded by that noise, people stumbled up, grabbing children and sacks and baskets. They bolted for the shelter of the woods. By the time the band of cavalry swept around the bend, shouting and laughing, the clearing was empty, the shelters and fire pits abandoned. One forgotten little child sat on its naked rump with hands balled into fists and face red as it bawled in terror.


    ¡°We should have run,¡± whispered Mara, trembling as she clutched Atto¡¯s arm.

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    ¡°Hush!¡± he scolded her. ¡°We¡¯re nothing to do with them. Stand your ground!¡±


    Alain whistled the hounds in close as four men challenged them. Other soldiers ranged through the camp cutting ropes and beating down roofs with spears and knives. There was no point to the destruction; they were just enjoying themselves. Two carried lanterns, and they set fire to the hovels, which burned quickly as the child continued to scream.


    ¡°Shut that thing up!¡± said the sergeant without looking toward it. His men wore leather jerkins, but he had a mail shirt and a real iron helm with a brass nasal and leather sides. He waited on his mount two horse lengths from Alain, eyeing the hounds with the squint-eyed interest of a bored fighting man who has at last seen something he considers dangerous.


    One man dismounted and cuffed the little boy, but his shrieks doubled in their piercing shrillness.


    ¡°Eh!¡± cried the man, snorting and coughing in an exaggerated manner. ¡°He stinks! Whew! This is no boy, but a sow¡¯s get!¡±


    ¡°Stay!¡± said Alain to the hounds.


    ¡°Hold! There! You!¡± said the sergeant, as Alain pushed past the outthrust spear and strode over to the terrified child.


    The soldiers looked curiously at him and did not interfere as he knelt beside the child. The little boy did stink. He was a stick figure, skin and protruding bones, nose running, skin rimed with dirt and worse filth, and his face was covered with sores and the fading scars of cowpox. It amazed Alain that so frail a child had survived the contagion. He wondered where the boy had suffered the outbreak, and where the demons that spread the disease were traveling now.


    ¡°Hush,¡± said Alain softly. ¡°Hush, child. What is your name?¡±


    The boy hiccuped. Where his gaze slid across Alain¡¯s regard he hesitated, stilled, calmed, and looked at him, as if transfixed by Alain¡¯s face.


    ¡°What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Dog,¡± whispered the little boy.


    ¡°Your name is ¡®Dog¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Dog.¡± He lifted a whip-thin arm to point at the hounds.


    ¡°Yes, two dogs. Where are your father and mother? Your sisters and brothers? Where are your kinsmen, child?¡±


    ¡°Dog.¡±


    ¡°Where is your mother?¡±


    ¡°Dog.¡±


    The soldiers had gathered to enjoy the spectacle. The sergeant grunted. ¡°Certain it is! That child likely had a bitch for a mother!¡±


    His men chortled at his wit.


    The child¡¯s face pinched. His lips trembled, and he drew in breath for a cry.


    ¡°Hush,¡± said Alain, although it was difficult not to speak in an angry tone that would frighten the child. Without standing, he turned to frown at the sergeant. ¡°What sport is there, I pray you, in teasing a creature as helpless as this one is? Had you orders to drive off these poor folk?¡±


    ¡°These poor folk! You¡¯re not from hereabouts, are you? They say all manner of people have taken to the roads since last autumn. It¡¯s a sign of the end of times.¡±


    ¡°Is it?¡±


    ¡°These poor folk! Swindlers and beggars and whores and thieves and murderers, each one of them. We had to drive them out of Autun because they made so much trouble. Now they camp here and trouble honest travelers on the road and honest farmers in the fields. That brat is the bastard of some bitch who sold herself to any man who would pay. No one will miss him. Look!¡±


    The sergeant¡¯s gesture encompassed the entire squalid encampment, now burning. Beyond, Alain saw a flash of movement out among the trees. Someone was watching from a hiding place.


    ¡°Maybe he¡¯s got no mother. Maybe she died. No one wanted him. They just left him here. What will you do with a filthy creature like that who has no kinfolk to take care of him? He¡¯s better off dead. Can you say otherwise?¡±


    ¡°Do you mean to take God¡¯s place and judge the worth of the soul of another human creature? We are all equal in the sight of God.¡±


    ¡°Are you a frater? With that beard? What matter, anyway? Who has bread for an orphan child? I don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°What of the lady who rules in Autun? Doesn¡¯t she feed the poor, as is her duty?¡±


    The sergeant¡¯s amused expression soured. He beckoned to his men. ¡°Let¡¯s go. We¡¯ve driven them out.¡±


    ¡°For today,¡± said Alain. ¡°Won¡¯t they come back? Where else have they to go?¡±


    The sergeant turned his attention elsewhere. ¡°What about you?¡± he said, indicating Atto. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you run?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m nothing to do with the ones who were camping here,¡± said Atto. Mara huddled beside him. ¡°I come from my village to join the milites in Autun. I heard the lady seeks soldiers.¡±

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    ¡°Hoo! Ho!¡± Some of the soldiers jeered. ¡°A country boy come to swing his spear in the town!¡±


    Flames eating through a heaped mattress of dry leaf litter caught in a length of canvas and blazed. Elsewhere, fires ebbed down to glow as they lost hold of good fuel.


    ¡°We share and share alike,¡± said the sergeant. ¡°How about your girl? Or is she your sister?¡±


    ¡°My betrothed,¡± Atto said, measuring the look in their eyes and, by the expression in his own, not liking it.


    The sergeant marked the hounds, who sat, and Alain, who knelt beside the silent boy. He marked the shadows out in the far trees, but it was obvious from his expression that he had no intention of striking into the woods although it would be easy to do so.


    ¡°I like the way you stand up for yourself,¡± he said to Atto. ¡°Can you ride?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve ridden donkeys. We have no horses in my village. I¡¯ll learn.¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡± The sergeant examined Mara, who shrank closer to Atto¡¯s side. ¡°You rode that girl, I see. Come on, then. If the captain will take you, maybe he¡¯ll set you up in the guard. They need men to police the streets and man the gates. Lots of beggars these days causing trouble when we don¡¯t have enough food for those who deserve it.¡± He lifted his chin defiantly as he looked at Alain, as if daring him to contradict his judgment, but Alain only watched him, waiting to see what he would do next. He gestured, and his men fell into ranks for the ride back.


    ¡°Where do they come from?¡± Alain asked, rising. The hounds looked at him but did not move.


    ¡°My soldiers? Autun. Villages nearby. From the lady¡¯s estates, and elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°I meant the beggars causing your lady so much trouble.¡±


    The sergeant raised a hand to command his men, and led them off at a walk. Atto and Mara abandoned Alain without a word, although Mara glanced back at him and seemed, perhaps, to be crying. But she made no protest.


    He had not, in truth, come to like Atto as the three of them had walked the road together these past few days, and although he pitied Mara he could not manage to respect her, even if he was sorry to find himself so hardhearted toward a person as anxious as she was. So it was that, scolding another man for being judgmental, he had already succumbed to the same fault himself.


    Once the patrol was out of sight, Alain rose slowly so as not to frighten the boy and with his knife cut into the bottom portion of his cloak and ripped off a length of fabric. He had just tied this garment around the boy¡¯s scrawny shoulders when the first figure ghosted back into the clearing, clutching a stout stick and a precious bronze bucket dented on one side as if by the kick of a horse. They came in pairs and trios and now and again as a single form clutching a precious bundle, or a cracked bowl, or a ragged handkerchief knotted around an unseen prize. They scavenged through the camp pretending to take no notice of Alain and the boy and the hounds, looking once and not again, as if by ignoring the stranger he would vanish. They took what they could carry. They looked like scarecrows, awkward, pale, ridiculous except for the desperation visible in their scuttling walks, their pinched shoulders and lowered heads, their sharp gestures and the way their gazes darted toward the road and the trees at each snap or thump or whisper of branches when the breeze gusted into a moment of real wind. The boy took no interest whatsoever in the people among whom he had been living. He kept staring at the hounds.


    ¡°Where are you from?¡± Alain asked finally, wondering if anyone would answer.


    His voice, not loud, sounded as a crack of thunder might on a sultry day. Most of the refugees scattered into the woods. Where they meant to go he could not imagine.


    There was one bolder than the rest, a man whose age was impossible to guess because he was missing most of his teeth and was so thin his face had sunken in like that of an ancient tottering elder. His skin was weathered. His hair was matted with dirt and therefore colorless, tied back with a supple green twig to keep it out of his eyes.


    ¡°Better not to go to Autun,¡± the man said. ¡°Honest folk lose their homes there. Beggars are beaten on the streets and tossed out the gates.¡±


    ¡°Are you from Autun?¡±


    ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°Now you hide here in the woods. Why is that?¡±


    ¡°Driven out, when the milites needed places to barrack troops.¡± He spoke in a level voice, as about the weather. Whatever outrage or grief he felt remained hidden. He looked too weary and weak to shout or cry. ¡°We¡¯ve nowhere else to go, so we camp here.¡± He gestured, indicating the filthy campsite.


    ¡°Has the lady of Autun no barracks in her palace for troops?¡±

 Page 32

    ¡°Not for so many as serve her now.¡±


    ¡°Why needs she so many soldiers?¡±


    He flicked a fly off his arm and sank down into a squat. He was so thin that he looked likely to topple over if the wind came up. ¡°How would I know?¡±


    ¡°You might guess. You might see things, and come to your own conclusions.¡±


    He blew his nose and wiped mucus away with a forearm already streaked with unnameable substances. ¡°I might. She fears some will take from her the duchy as they did before. Her Wendish brother took it from her. I saw that, I did.¡± He tapped himself on the chest. His ribs showed like bare twigs, his chest was sunken, yet he squared his shoulders a little, proud of what he remembered and what he had worked out, a common man never privy to the plotting and planning of his noble rulers. ¡°Now she¡¯s gathering soldiers to fight, she and that one they call Conrad the Black. I¡¯ve seen him, too. Him and his lady wife, the one they call our queen.¡±


    The one they call our queen.


    There, in his heart, Alain felt the tremor, the pain of the affection and loyalty he had offered her which she had rejected. She had turned on him twice over. She had tried to kill him.


    But the memory was only that. It no longer had purchase. It no longer dug deep. He was sorry for it, that was all, that folk caused pain because of their own fears. He was angry because folk did do so much damage to the innocent and guilty alike because of their own fears. On his own account, he was free of the burden of desiring revenge. That gave him a measure of strength.


    ¡°Lady Sabella. Conrad the Black. Tallia. Who do they mean to fight?¡±


    The man shrugged. ¡°How am I to know the comings and goings of the great nobles?¡±


    ¡°Why must they cast out the innocent folk who lived honestly in Autun, such as you and these others?¡±


    The man said nothing. A rattle of illness sang in each of his exhaled breaths from a rot settled into his lungs. The child sat unmoving, fixated on the hounds, and that one word slipped again from him.


    ¡°Dog.¡±


    The hounds waited patiently, heads lifted as they sniffed the air. Out in the woods he heard the rustle and snap of movement, but no one joined them in the clearing. After a while Alain realized he would receive no answer.


    ¡°What of this child? Where are his kinfolk?¡±


    The man picked at a scab below his lower lip. ¡°Mother¡¯s dead. Has none else.¡±


    ¡°None to take charge of him?¡±


    A shake of the head gave him his reply.


    ¡°Who cared for him?¡±


    ¡°None cared. He ate what scraps he could reach. He¡¯ll be dead in a few days more.¡±


    ¡°If none among you cared whether this child lived or died, then truly it¡¯s as if you have turned your back on humankind. We must be compassionate and look each after the other.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s not food enough for all.¡± The man gestured with an elbow. ¡°You¡¯ve somewhat in your sack. Do you mean to share it or keep it to yourself?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve bones for my hounds, nothing more. I¡¯ve myself not eaten since this morning.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d eat what I could gnaw off a bone. I¡¯m that hungry. I beg you.¡±


    Over the last few days he had fed all but two of the bones from the dead deer to Sorrow and Rage. Alain rose and, crossing the clearing, gave one of these to the man. The strip of flesh and fat and tendon still attached gave off the odor of meat that is turning bad. The man grabbed it out of his hand, grunting and slobbering in his haste to choke down what he could. As he ate, half a dozen ragged souls crept out of the woods with gazes fixed on Alain as on a gold talisman held dangling before avaricious eyes.


    ¡°Please, please,¡± they said.


    The boy braced himself on his stick arms and, panting and snuffling, dragged himself toward Alain. His legs trailed after him, and now it was possible to see both had been broken and healed askew, so he couldn¡¯t use them. Alain scanned the clearing. A trio of men crept up behind him and a woman approached with a stout stick raised in one hand.


    ¡°Told you,¡± said the man with the bone. ¡°Best give us the rest of it and your cloak and clothes if you want to walk out alive.¡±


    Desperate men cannot be shamed.


    Rage and Sorrow rose, growling. Alain hoisted his staff.


    ¡°You may choose now,¡± he said clearly. ¡°I do not want to fight you, but I will not be robbed.¡±


    ¡°If you will be merciful, then give us all you own for we need it, I pray you, master!¡± called the woman with the stout stick. She was so thin and ill looking that at first glance a decent person would pity her, yet she crept forward with lips pulled back in a rictus grin that was no smile.

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    Best to move swiftly.


    He whistled. The hounds loped toward him, and once they moved the folk scattered back, fearing those teeth. He grabbed the little boy and hoisted him up and over his back, and with Sorrow and Rage at either side strode into the forest. All the way through the woodland he heard them shadowing him to either side, waiting for an opening, but none came; the hounds were vigilant.


    The child said, ¡°Dog. Dog.¡±


    He reeked, the poor thing, and as they came out of the woods and to the open fields striping the land around the distant walls, he peed. Warm liquid trickled down Alain¡¯s side. There wasn¡¯t much urine in the child, but the scent of it stung. Rage barked, swinging his head around to sniff Alain¡¯s hip.


    Out here farmers ploughed, although it was late in the season for such work. A pair of soldiers patrolled on horseback. They cantered over, looking him up and down while circling clear of the hounds. The younger was a freckled lad about sixteen and with a tentative grip on his spear. His companion looked tougher, twice his age, with darker hair and a scaly patch of skin on one cheek that had been scratched until it bled.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± the elder asked. ¡°What¡¯s your business in Autun?¡± He indicated the child with the blade of his spear. ¡°Beggars not allowed in Autun. Go elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°I found this child abandoned in the woods. Has the biscop no foundling home? Is there no monastery nearby that takes in orphans?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± said the man, ¡°but not likely, I¡¯d say. Haven¡¯t grain enough to feed the lady¡¯s household and her army. Certain there isn¡¯t spare for a dirty crippled brat like that one. See you there, Jochim,¡± he said to the lad, ¡°see his twisted legs.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s crippled,¡± said the lad brightly.


    ¡°So he is, but was he born with the twisted legs? Or did his mam or uncle gave it a twist so as folk would pity him and give bread and coin?¡±


    ¡°Nay.¡± The lad shook his head. ¡°Nay, no mam would do that. Would she?¡±


    ¡°Some might. Or a handsome uncle, like this one who carries him. Look at his decent clothes, who leaves a babe wrapped in only a bit of torn cloth. He found a babe forgot in the woods? I know what lurks in the woods. All those driven out of town by my lady¡¯s order. Thieves and whores and murderers. Nay, fellow.¡± He lowered his spear to block the path. In the distance a pair of farmers looked their way. ¡°We want none of your kind in our town.¡±


    ¡°His cloak is shorn off,¡± said the lad. ¡°See? That¡¯s what the babe is wearing. Why would he tear his own cloak, if it¡¯s true he cares nothing for the babe but only his own comfort? He could buy a rag from a peddler for nothing and save the cloak.¡±


    ¡°Dog,¡± said the child.


    ¡°Unless he were kicked out of town and the babe¡¯s rag lost in the wood.¡±


    Alain sighed. ¡°I¡¯m no beggar. If you¡¯ll tell me where I can find a foundling home, I¡¯ll take this child there.¡±


    They shrugged. The youth seemed eager to depart. The elder lingered. ¡°Don¡¯t matter whether I believe you or think you¡¯re lying. You can¡¯t enter the city with that begging child. Everyone can see he¡¯s a beggar¡¯s child. No entrance.¡±


    ¡°Are there no poor sitting in the lady¡¯s hall, fed by her stewards?¡± asked Alain. ¡°Can it be she has forgotten the ancient custom? Did not King Henry feed a dozen beggars every day off his very own table?¡±


    The elder spat. ¡°Get on. Speak not of Henry, the usurper. Well! He¡¯s gone now. Some say he¡¯s dead.¡±


    ¡°Did he so?¡± asked the youth. ¡°A dozen beggars, every day?¡±


    ¡°Or more, on feast days,¡± said Alain, standing his ground.


    ¡°How do you know?¡± demanded the elder. ¡°How could a man such as you know? How could you have stood in the hall where noble folk took their supper?¡±


    ¡°I was a Lion, once.¡± And more besides, but he would not speak of those days to this man.


    ¡°A Lion!¡± The youth whistled appreciatively, with a look of respect. ¡°A Lion! They take some tough fighting, it¡¯s said. Duke Conrad takes in any Lions that come this way. Strays, like.¡±


    The gaze of the older soldier had shifted in an intangible way. ¡°Were you now? Seen any fighting? Ever kill a man?¡±


    Weary, Alain met his gaze. ¡°I have seen fighting. I killed a man.¡± One who was already dying.


    ¡°Huh. I believe you. Huh.¡± He glanced toward the town walls where twin banners curled limply at the height of the tower, concealing their sigils. The clouds moved sluggishly overhead, although it often seemed to Alain that they did not move at all, not anymore. ¡°The lady needs soldiers. There¡¯s a bed and a meal every day if you join up with her. Interested?¡±

 Page 34

    ¡°What of the child?¡±


    ¡°Is he some kinsman of yours?¡±


    ¡°I found him abandoned in the woods, just as I said.¡±


    ¡°Then why burden yourself with him? Look at him! That child¡¯s half dead, crippled, useless. Can it even speak?¡±


    ¡°Dog,¡± said the babe.


    ¡°Dog!¡± snorted the youth. ¡°A good name, don¡¯t you think? We could clean him up and take him in the barracks as a mascot, Calos. Put him up on a chair by the door and teach him to say ¡®dog¡¯ every time one of Captain Alfonse¡¯s Salian braggarts comes past.¡±


    Calos choked down a laugh, but it was easy to see the notion amused him.


    ¡°The lady has Salian soldiers in her retinue?¡± Alain asked.


    ¡°Oh, plenty of them, the cursed snails!¡± said the youth with the good humor of a man who has suffered no real harm from disparaging his comrades. ¡°Foul-tempered and gluttonous. They come with that Salian lord who is one of my lady¡¯s commanders but I don¡¯t recall his name. Lots of Salians. They¡¯ve got no king now. All at each other¡¯s throats, so it¡¯s said. No wonder they come east, these ones. It¡¯s safer here.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t for those driven out into the woods,¡± said Alain, waving an arm back the way he had come.


    ¡°They brought their own trouble down on them,¡± said Calos with a sneer. ¡°What of the little lad? I¡¯m liking this idea of Jochim¡¯s the more I think on it. Up their craw, and them not daring to hurt a tiny babe so crippled as this one is.¡±


    ¡°Would you treat a dog so?¡± Alain asked, angered by their suggestion.


    ¡°We treat our dogs well!¡± retorted Calos indignantly. ¡°What do you take us for? Any dog we take in, we treat well. Train it. Feed it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d treat this child as nothing more than that?¡±


    Calos shook his head. ¡°What are you thinking, friend?¡± he said, with a tilted smile and a narrowed gaze, as if he were scolding Alain or laughing at his naivety. ¡°This poor child has never in his life been treated as well as us troopers under the command of Captain Lukas treat our good dogs. I¡¯ll swear to you he¡¯ll do as well. Better than he¡¯s done. We need a laugh in our barracks.¡±


    ¡°What happens to the child when you go home to your villages?¡±


    Both of them laughed, but the laughter concealed pain. ¡°I was born in town,¡± said Calos. ¡°The lady¡¯s service is my life, friend. As for Jochim here, he¡¯s got no village to go back to. Flooded out, it was, when the river went running backward last autumn. His whole family died in them floods and most of the other folk in the place likewise. The rest had to beg in the lanes and I suppose most of them died over the winter and early spring. He¡¯s lucky to get a meal every day and a bed to sleep in. He¡¯s lucky we took him in, seeing him a likely soldier. So will you be¡ªlucky if we take you in. Or haven¡¯t you heard? Times are hard. If these frosts don¡¯t lift, if the sun don¡¯t come, if the crops don¡¯t grow, they¡¯ll get worse. Much worse.¡±


    ¡°I pray you,¡± whispered young Jochim, wiping a tear from his eye. ¡°Don¡¯t speak such ill words. The Enemy hears us.¡±


    ¡°Are you coming?¡± asked Calos. ¡°Can we adopt the little lad?¡±


    He wasn¡¯t afraid to meet Alain¡¯s gaze, dead on, searching as much as he was searched. An honest man, of his kind, not compassionate but not cruel either; he meant what he said. He did his job, and was loyal to those he had pledged his loyalty to. Maybe he was right about the child. Maybe the most a beggar¡¯s crippled and abandoned orphan son could hope for in these days was to be treated as well as a well-kept dog.


    2


    CAPTAIN Lukas was a hard-living man who found the idea of a child mascot who could only say the word ¡°dog¡± just as amusing as did his soldiers. That he hated the Salian interlopers need not be spoken out loud. The locals in Autun had always hated the Salians. It was in their blood. That the beloved Emperor Taillefer had been himself a Salian, had been emperor of Salia and Varre and much more land besides, and had built his famous chapel and palace in Autun and ruled from here as much as he ruled from any one place, was beside the point. That he had chosen to be buried here just went to show that Taillefer wasn¡¯t a Salian, not really. He¡¯d been born on an estate in what was now Varingia, so the story went, so he was really of Varre and that meant that Varre had once conquered Salia, not the other way around.


    ¡°I like it,¡± said the captain, laughing with his sergeants as Calos and Jochim looked on. He slapped his thigh. ¡°Yes! Best keep him well fed, though, and get the dogs to guard him, so we can say he¡¯s just speaking to them. All innocent!¡±

 Page 35

    Alain didn¡¯t like it, but he understood he had no viable alternative. The world could not be changed in one day or one year and it was possible it could not be changed at all. It was just possible that this trivial and even selfish act of kindness toward a crippled, illegitimate orphan outweighed a hundred more apparently momentous acts involving the great and powerful of the land. Dog, as they were all calling the boy now, was sitting in a corner slurping down porridge and had shown no fear in the barracks with men coming and going and talking in loud voices, jostling, coughing, laughing, and singing out crude jokes.


    ¡°Someone has got to wash him,¡± added the captain. ¡°Calos, you take care of it, as you brought him in.¡±


    ¡°Jochim, you take care of it,¡± said Calos. ¡°What of this man, who says he was a Lion?¡± He gestured toward Alain, who stood quietly to one side.


    ¡°Let me see those dogs you say come with him,¡± said Captain Lukas, and he strolled with exaggerated casualness over to the door and squinted along the porch. Sorrow and Rage regarded him with their dark eyes. When they saw Alain, they thumped their tails on the plank sidewalk but did not otherwise move.


    The captain looked at those dogs for a long time. Then he looked at Alain. The captain recognized him. Alain saw it in the smile trapped on his lips, in the way he scratched at his forehead to give himself something to do while he considered, in the way he tapped a foot three times on the porch as he reached a conclusion.


    ¡°Best we go see the lady,¡± he said to the air. He turned back to beckon his sergeants closer. ¡°I¡¯ll need a dozen men. Sergeant Andros, you are in charge here while I¡¯m gone.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s to be a sweep of the southwest quarter this afternoon, Captain.¡±


    ¡°Proceed as usual.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Captain.¡±


    ¡°If you will.¡± The captain indicated to Alain that they would walk together. ¡°Surely you have come here in order to see Lady Sabella.¡± Without allowing Alain a chance to answer, he began issuing orders to the dozen men hurrying out to accompany them.


    They stood in the dusty forecourt of what had once been a merchant¡¯s warehouse complex but was now both barracks and stable. There were two long warehouses linked at their northern ends by a spacious hall. An open kitchen and small storage sheds fenced in the southern end of the compound. The men lived in one half of the hall, their horses in the other. There were three troops quartered here, one in each structure, about three hundred men in all if Alain¡¯s estimate of the size of Captain Lukas¡¯ troop was correct. Men lounged by the open doors of their living space keeping an eye on the comings and goings of the other soldiers, friends and rivals alike. Dogs slunk along at the base of each porch, looking for scraps of food or a friendly pat. They kept clear of Sorrow and Rage, but a rare bold bitch ventured up and sniffed them over. A cart laden with manure trundled past, pushed by a pair of soldiers headed out to the fields. The open dirt yard stank of sweat and shit and urine and dust and that peculiar intangible scent of men sizing each other up for weakness. A pair of men were joking in loud voices.


    ¡°Eh, those Varre boars! Look, there goes the ass-licking captain now!¡±


    Alain glanced at the captain, but he took no mind of the words. In fact, Captain Lukas seemed not to have understood them at all. As if they were speaking in a language he could not understand, but one that Alain could. The swirl of movement, of men going about their business and dogs hanging back to allow the hounds to pass without challenging them and a horse backing nervously away from the entrance into the stables, so disoriented Alain that he felt the world spinning around him. He staggered and reached out to catch himself


    they skate into Rikin Fjord across a skin of still water so clear that he dreams he can see fathoms into the deeps, down to the ancient seabed carved aeons ago out of glittering rock. But that is only an illusion. What he sees are the backs of a swarm of fish schooling around his hull.


    One surfaces


    No fish, these, but an entire tribe of merfolk. He leans on the rail, studying them. On deck, soldiers exclaim. Always, as they crossed the northern sea, they sailed with an escort of merfolk off their bow and behind the stern. These here, he thinks, are more like a ravening pack of wolves descending on a slaughter ground.


    ¡°Beware!¡± calls Deacon Ursuline, among his counselors.


    Papa Otto calls from the stern. ¡°A swarm has gathered here. I don¡¯t like the look of these! I think they mean to do us harm!¡±


    As if the words are sorcery, the boat heels starboard. His heels skid backward and he grabs the rail to stop himself from falling onto the deck, but just as he gets his feet up and under him, the ship heels again, seesawing to port side so abruptly that he cannot stop himself. He pitches forward, loses his hold on the railing, and plunges into the cold blue water of the fjord.

 Page 36

    Icy water splashed his face as he caught himself on a hitching post, finding his balance although the ground still seemed to tilt and rock.


    Captain Lukas swore. ¡°Bitch of a weather! Feel that rain! You¡¯d think it was still winter, by how cold it is!¡±


    Alain blinked rain out of his eyes and shook his head to clear it. The shower had taken them all by surprise as it swept across the courtyard. Dogs and men ran for shelter. The captain laughed and shamed his men into moving more slowly.


    ¡°What? Are you running at the first cold drop? What, are you prissy snails?¡±


    The vision, come so fast and unexpectedly, faded as the sights and smells of the compound drowned him. They passed between the kitchens, which smelled of porridge and smoke, and a storehouse, whose door was propped open. Inside, a score of folk huddled in the interior around a cluster of beds, sitting, lying down, coughing: a sickroom, perhaps. A child at the door watched them walk by with wide eyes and a somber expression.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been on the road too many days,¡± said the captain. ¡°The lady does not like the smell of the road. Baths first.¡±


    ¡°Can I take the plunge, Captain?¡± asked one of the escorts.


    ¡°Eh! I¡¯d like a good washing, Captain!¡± said another.


    ¡°There¡¯s some new wash girls at the baths, I hear,¡± laughed a third. ¡°Not like in the old days, if you take my meaning. More to our liking.¡±


    ¡°Hush,¡± Captain Lukas said, but he wasn¡¯t angry at his men. If anything, the comments caused him to lapse into a thoughtful silence.


    These barracks lay near the southern gate and were not particularly close to the palace complex, which sat on a hill. The streets had little traffic considering the time of day. Twice they passed warehouses, each one guarded by a dozen soldiers.


    ¡°What do they guard?¡± Alain asked.


    ¡°Grain. As precious as gold.¡±


    A few folk tended garden spaces in empty lots. Autun had not quite filled out the space between the walls built in the days of Taillefer, or else old buildings had fallen down and not been reconstructed, with the dirt around the foundations left to go to seed. A woman and man straightened from poking at freshly dug troughs to watch the soldiers pass. Like the child at the storehouse door, they called out no greeting, nor did the captain nod at them to acknowledge their presence. Their silence troubled Alain, who had an idea that relations between townsfolk and soldiers had once been easier.


    The baths lay at the base of the palatine hill. The original structure was built by the old Dariyans, but it had been refurbished a hundred years ago and had not deteriorated overly much since then. Sorrow and Rage sat under a portico with a pair of nervous minders to guard them. Within the stone halls a pair of old women held sway, although it was true they were assisted by a quintet of younger, fairer lasses, banished to the back chambers as soon as the soldiers came in.


    ¡°This one,¡± said Captain Lukas, pushing Alain forward. ¡°I¡¯ll be back to fetch him.¡±


    They took him to a room where he stripped. The attendants examined him with the look of women who have seen every possible thing the world has to offer. They even pinched his buttocks and measured the span of his arms with cupped hands.


    ¡°Pleasing enough,¡± the taller commented to the shorter in a murmur he was not meant to hear. ¡°Too thin.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t they all these days?¡±


    His clothes were taken away and two buckets of water brought by a gangling youth, who retreated as soon as he set the buckets on the stone floor.


    ¡°Raise your arms!¡± said the old woman.


    Obedient, he raised his arms.


    ¡°Shut your eyes!¡±


    He shut his eyes.


    The water hits so hard he thinks his heart will seize. The cold sluices down his face, his neck. He is wet through in an instant and so cold he goes stiff, lips locked in a grimace, limbs in a rictus.


    How can anything be so cold?


    Then he remembers that cold causes him no injury, not as it does humankind. He is drowning in his vision. He must open his eyes, and quickly. Why did the ship surge in the waves so suddenly?


    He opens his eyes as the water streams past, as a weight nudges him, then pushes, hard, and he flails through the water trying to get his bearings so he can reach the surface.


    He is surrounded by merfolk.


    They are circling, as for a kill.


    They mean to kill him.


    ¡°Why?¡± asked the taller crone sarcastically. ¡°Why? You don¡¯t think we¡¯re letting you get in the baths as filthy as you are? You wash that dirt off first. Then you can soak.¡±


    ¡°So cold!¡± he said between gritted teeth. Goose bumps had erupted all over his skin, but he could not tell if it were the cold water or the upwelling of fear that made him shiver uncontrollably.

 Page 37

    ¡°We should heat it up for you? Well, if you¡¯d split the wood and paid for it before-times, maybe we¡¯d consider it!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t curse your fortune, young man. You¡¯re one of the lucky ones!¡±


    They were both old and spry, well enough fed by the evidence of their plump cheeks and ample hips, cheerful enough to be amused by him but nevertheless watchful, glancing at frequent intervals toward the door as if expecting someone to come charging in. They went on chattering, and the flood of words calmed his trembling.


    ¡°Getting a bath at all! Used to be under the rule of Biscop Constance that the common folk in town might pay a sceatta for use of the baths on Hefensdays, Secundays, and Jeddays, but not now. Reserved for the lady¡¯s noble entourage and her captains.¡±


    ¡°Will you stop it?¡± said the other one in that same undertone. ¡°If they throw us out of town for speaking sedition against the lady, my family will starve! You might speak, and I keep silence, and I¡¯ll be guilty same as you.¡± She handed Alain a greasy lump of scouring soap. ¡°Begging your pardon, my lord. We mean no harm by our whispering.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m no lord,¡± he said, taking the soap gratefully, ¡°and I thank you for your trouble.¡± He scrubbed. He was not as dirty as he might have been, not nearly as filthy as he had once been, but it felt good to feel the dirt loosen and come free.


    They chortled, as if he had made a joke. The taller one left. The shorter swept water into the drain as he washed his hair.


    ¡°All done?¡±


    He braced himself for the deluge. The water hit.


    Ice. Gasping. The air leaves his lungs and bubbles to the surface. A shape looms out of the water, so close that those teeth seem about to close over his face. He finds his knife and draws it, but it catches in folds of his trousers.


    ¡°Too late,¡± whispers the merman, and it is strange he can speak underwater in words Stronghand can understand. ¡°It is too late for you, Stronghand. Now I am the victor, although you won at Kjalmarsfjord.¡±


    It is strange that he speaks with the voice of Nokvi, Stronghand¡¯s last rival among the Eika.


    Gasping, he flailed.


    ¡°Hey, now! Hey!¡± said the attendant. She poked him in the ribs with the end of her broom, and the jab got him coughing. ¡°If you¡¯re going to be violent, I¡¯m calling the guards!¡±


    ¡°No, I beg your pardon. I just¡ª¡± There was nothing he could say.


    Nokvi, Stronghand¡¯s last rival for the overlordship of the Eika, was dead. Stronghand had himself struck the killing blow and pushed Nokvi overboard into the grasp of the merfolk. That battle at Kjalmarsfjord Alain had fought in between breaths as he had himself fought on the hill with the doomed Lions by Queen¡¯s Grave, when he had at the last been cut down and killed by the Lady of Battles. How was it that Nokvi spoke out of the depths?


    ¡°Yes,¡± said the crone, amused now that she saw Alain would not act rashly, ¡°it strikes all the healthy young men so, bawling like babes when the cold water hits them. On you go, to the hot baths.¡±


    She prodded him with the broom, the straw bristles harsh on the tender skin of his buttocks, and he yelped¡ªand she chuckled¡ªas he hurried into the next chamber. This vaulted stone chamber was taken up with a tiled bath smelling of mineral salts. Steam rose from vents in the floor. He stepped in, sitting straight down onto a shelf resting a torso¡¯s height below the surface, but the intense heat took him by surprise. A wave of faintness swelled up into his head as might a surge in the sea, and he sank


    water pouring over his face. This time will it be the end?


    No.


    Never.


    Not this way.


    He means to die peacefully in his bed, not taken by surprise in this ignominious manner by a vanquished enemy who is dead. Whom he killed.


    It is only a merman, smarter than a dog and not as intelligent as a man. Nevertheless, a furious merman bent on revenge while his enemy drowns in the water remains a formidable opponent.


    As the creature dives in for the kill, Stronghand rolls in the water and kicks, connecting with the torso of the merman. The move is sluggish, the reaction oddly muted, because the water causes all movement to become slow and ungainly¡ªfor humankind. The merfolk have no such restriction. The sea is their element, just as rock and fire and air are his.


    There are a dozen mermen, or a hundred. He cannot see into the depths. Hulls block the light. Another Eika flails in the water nearby, trying not to sink, but that brother remains untouched as the merfolk swarm around Stronghand. In another moment Stronghand will black out and inhale sea-water, and he will sink and drown. They will devour him, as they devoured all the others thrown into the sea. That was the bargain, made long ago.

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    Why would they desire man flesh and Eika flesh when there are, after all, so many fish in the sea?


    The knife has twisted free of his trousers. He kicks upward and plunges it into the side of the merman, using the flesh of the merman as leverage to launch himself to the surface while his victim thrashes and others close in to feast on blood and entrails.


    A hand grips his ankle. Teeth sink into the flesh of his calf. He breaks the surface, coughs and splutters, sucks in air


    Alain gulped in a mouthful of water. Thrashing, he found himself underwater


    but too late. The water closes back over his face as he is dragged down by the leg. Harder than iron are the teeth of the merfolk, able to pierce easily the skin of the RockChildren. He has lost his knife, but he has other weapons.


    His claws, unsheathed, rake through the writhing hair of the creature that has fastened onto him. Like eels severed in half they squirm through water now clouded by sheets of blood rising off the one that spoke in the voice of Nokvi. His leg is released. He swims up and breaches the surface again just as a hand gropes in his hair, grips, yanks, and drags him onto the ship


    The pain of being tugged up by his hair washed all other thoughts out of his head. He yelped and, all at once, heard the hounds barking madly and the sound of men swearing and shouting in alarm.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± cried the crone. ¡°Trying to drown yerself?¡±


    A closer shriek startled her. She released his hair and turned, then yelled in fear. He was still gulping for air. He barely had time to register the clippity of nails on stone, the big shapes coming at a run, and they jumped and with a mighty splash shuddered the entire bath.


    After that, the uproar erupted like battle with folk running in to stare, or roar, or laugh, or shriek complaints, each according to his or her nature. Alain could not help but laugh to see Sorrow and Rage swim to the lip of the bath, but they could not climb out and so he had to swim over to shove them, with great difficulty, out of the water. They sneezed, and shook themselves in a cascade of droplets, and sneezed again, disgusted with the taste and heat.


    ¡°Out! Out!¡± cried the taller crone, and the shorter one traded her broom for a many-tined rake to try to get dog hair out of the water. So much shed in so short a time!


    Alain scraped his knee climbing out and was not even given a scrap of cloth to dry himself with before Captain Lukas yelled at him to hurry up, although the captain kept a safe distance. The hounds yawned hugely, displaying their teeth.


    So they proceeded with Alain damp and dressed in a spare wool tunic furnished by an unknown donor; it smelled of dried cod. He wore his own worn sandals and, under the tunic, the loose linen shirt packed by Aunt Bel that he had so far kept clean. He walked without protest, climbing the steep stairs that led to the palace. A spitting rain started up, but a roof covered the stairs all the way up the hill; no sense in the emperor getting wet on his way to or from the baths. Stone pillars supported the timber roof. There were no walls. As they climbed, the town opened up before them, alleys and courtyards and cisterns coming into view below in an orderly layout whose bones reminded the educated man that Autun had begun its days centuries ago as a Dariyan fort. Square, orderly, explicable. His thoughts, in contrast, churned like the disturbed waters of Rikin Fjord, still flashing in remembered bursts of vision before his sight.


    Gasping, he spits out seawater and turns to confront his rescuer. It is Papa Otto who has grabbed him and hauled him free, while his Eika brothers thrust with spears at the swarming mermen in the water. Now that he is clear of the waters, the attack breaks off. The Eika brother swims, unmolested, to the third ship and is hoisted aboard.


    He passed pillars carved in the likenesses of magnificent beasts: a phoenix, a guivre, a dragon. A noble griffin, staring at him with painted sea-blue eyes. A wolf, an eagle, and a proud lion.


    The blue waters roil as a second swarm of merfolk surge into the fjord in the wake of Stronghand¡¯s ships. They circle the tiny fleet before diving into the abyss. Are they warring, one faction against the other? It is impossible to pierce the depths, now clouded and hazy like the heavens but with a darker veil of streaming blood released by battle joined below.


    Stronghand stands at the stem of the ship staring down in the waters, but he can see nothing and he has only questions. His leg bleeds, the pale blood dripping onto the deck and diluted by the skin of salt water slipping back and forth over the planks with each slight pitch of the ship as it glides into the sound.


    He calls to Papa Otto. ¡°You saved me,¡± he says. ¡°How can I reward you?¡±


    The man shakes his head. ¡°My lord.¡± He says nothing more.

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    ¡°What do you want? You were a slave once. Now you speak on my council. What do you want?¡±


    ¡°My lord,¡± says the man, trembling now, and it is evident that some strong emotion has overcome him. He will not speak. He cannot.


    ¡°Well, then, Otto. When you know, you must tell me. You have earned a reward this day.¡±


    ¡°Yes, my lord,¡± the man says obediently, but he weeps, as humans do when their emotions overwhelm them. And despite everything, Stronghand still does not truly understand them.


    From ahead, he smells the fires of home. A faint hum raises the hair on the back of his neck. His dogs yip.


    OldMother is waiting for him.


    ¡°She¡¯s at prayer,¡± said a guardsman to Captain Lukas.


    Alain shook himself to a halt just before he slammed into the captain¡¯s broad back. Lukas had stopped at the top of the stairs, below a gate carved with Dariyan rosettes. Beyond lay the remembered courtyard, lined on one side by a stone colonnade and on the other, just to their left, by a stone rampart that opened onto a spectacular view of the town below, although from this angle Alain saw only one corner of the cathedral tower. The graveled courtyard had recently been raked and tidied. Opposite stood the famous octagonal chapel with its proud stone buttresses. He heard hymnal singing and, from farther away and therefore harder to place by direction, male laughter.


    ¡°An odd time to be praying,¡± commented the captain, ¡°unless you¡¯re the queen.¡±


    The guardsman and Lukas were clearly old friends, and indeed the other man wore the badge of a captain as a clasp for his cloak. ¡°True enough.¡± He chuckled and said, with a smirk, ¡°Praying in thanksgiving, the lady is. The queen gave birth at dawn.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± asked Captain Lukas, eyes widening as he leaned toward his comrade. ¡°Girl or boy?¡±


    ¡°A lad, wouldn¡¯t you know it? It¡¯ll be proclaimed in three days if the mite survives that long. The other two didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I recall it, but the older girl seems likely to stick. Still.¡± He glanced around to make sure none of the other guards could overhear, and leaned closer. ¡°Still. How is the duke taking it?¡±


    ¡°Look there,¡± said the other guard, pointing back down the stairs. ¡°Here he comes. He went out hunting.¡±


    The stairs wound down the slope, switching back several times, and because they were sheltered under a roof, with no walls, it was difficult to see the procession the guardsman alluded to, but the lively clatter of their progress drifted on the breeze. The hounds had their ears up and were looking that way with interest.


    ¡°What are these great beasts?¡± added the guard, extending a hand toward Sorrow. ¡°Here, boy. Are you the friendly one? You¡¯re a big one, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Sorrow gave a warning growl, ears flattening, and the guardsman withdrew his hand. ¡°I¡¯ve seen the like of these beasts before, but I can¡¯t recall where. You¡¯d think a man would never forget such monsters!¡±


    ¡°Come on,¡± said Captain Lukas, beckoning to his men who were, after all, waiting on the stairs in the path of the approaching company. ¡°Move along to the chapel, but keep at the back, and make sure you¡¯re quiet.¡± He nodded at Alain. ¡°The lady won¡¯t mind it if the hounds rest just inside the door. She often brings her coursers with her, as does the duke. His alaunts and whippets are usually with him. Will they fight with other dogs?¡±


    ¡°Only if they¡¯re attacked.¡±


    The captain took him at his word. It was a rare man who did not know his dogs well enough to understand and predict their behavior, and such dogs would never have sat still for long stretches; they would have been off and sniffing and snuffling into every crook and cranny they could find no matter how furiously their master called them back. Most folk did not have time for ill-trained dogs, and certainly would not go to the trouble to feed them.


    A number of soldiers loitered under the colonnade, watching with interest but without initiative.


    ¡°There are many soldiers here in Autun,¡± remarked Alain.


    ¡°Truly,¡± agreed Captain Lukas good-naturedly as they crossed the gravel, footsteps shifting and grinding on the rocks. ¡°More soldiers than commoners, it¡¯s said.¡±


    ¡°How are the soldiers all fed?¡±


    ¡°Taxes. Tithes.¡± He shrugged. ¡°The lady takes what she needs. It¡¯s to the benefit of all to be protected.¡±


    ¡°What if there¡¯s a poor harvest this year? It seems likely, doesn¡¯t it? So cold as it is still that folk can¡¯t risk planting for fear a late frost will kill the seedlings.¡±

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    ¡°That¡¯s not my concern.¡±


    ¡°It might become so, if the lady can¡¯t feed her soldiers.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll not turn us out. War¡¯s coming. Perhaps you haven¡¯t heard.¡±


    ¡°Coming from where?¡±


    ¡°They say the Wendish mean to drag us back though we¡¯ve no wish to cower under the yoke of the Wendish regnant. Not anymore. Not now we have a queen of our own.¡±


    To think of Tallia no longer hurt him. They entered the chapel and took a place at the back, under the ambulatory where the other servants and hangers-on waited.


    This was prayer, of a kind. Lady Sabella knelt on a thick pillow, her chin resting on a fist. She stared not at the altar where a cleric intoned psalms but at the stone effigy of Taillefer. After a moment she leaned to her right to murmur to an attendant, a youthful man with the burly shoulders of a fighter and hunter. A dozen noble companions surrounded her, and the buzzing murmur of their conversation provided an undertone to the pious prayers of the clerics.


    Alain had stood inside the famous chapel before. There was something missing. Alternating blocks of light-and-dark stone gave a pattern to the eight vaults opening onto the central floor. Above, the dome swept into the heavens, ringed by a second and third tier of columns. So might the faithful rise toward heaven, the righteous yet higher above, painted onto the stony piers, until at last the bright and distant Chamber of Light far above could be touched by the angels.


    The chapel had not changed. The tempest had not shaken it. But something really was missing, and he had to search the chapel a second time before he realized what it was.


    The hands belonging to the stone effigy of Emperor Taillefer were empty. The crown of stars was gone. The stone figure clutched at air. The sight struck Alain so strangely that he smiled. So often we grasp at the very thing we cannot keep hold of, and even after we have lost it, our life is shaped by that wish and the action of grasping. So it is with those who, like stone, are carved into an unchanging form. We make ourselves into stone because we fear to change.


    ¡°¡®How can I repay God for all that They have given me?¡¯¡± sang the clerics. ¡°¡®I raise the cup of deliverance and speak my vows to God in the presence of all of Their people.¡¯¡±


    There came in a rush through the door a pack of hearty, laughing, chattering men still sweaty and dirt-stained from their ride. Sabella looked up. Even the clerics faltered, turning to see, but one nudged another while a third put pressure on a fourth¡¯s foot, and so the service lurched forward despite the unseemly interruption.


    Conrad the Black knelt beside Sabella, pulled a dry stalk of grass out of his beard, and crumbled it into dust between his fingers.


    ¡°News from the borderlands.¡± Perhaps he was trying to keep his voice low in deference to the prayers of thanksgiving, but the acoustics of the hall magnified his speech so every soul in the ambulatory could hear him although he was not, in fact, shouting. ¡°We¡¯ve got control of the mines again, but I need workers. That Eika raid last year cleaned out the countryside. They¡¯ve got a throat hold all along the coast and some ways down three of the rivers.¡±


    ¡°Haven¡¯t you workers in Wayland?¡±


    ¡°The roads are worse there than here, what with the landslides and fallen trees from last autumn. Easier to march from Autun to the mines than from Bederbor to the mines, although it¡¯s a longer road from Autun.¡±


    Her fist had opened. Her stern and rather bored expression had altered to one of intense interest. ¡°Then Salian workers.¡±


    ¡°Raid into the nest of hornets? That¡¯s a poor use of my soldiers. I might need them at any time.¡±


    ¡°Nay, nay,¡± she said irritably, ¡°I meant you to take as many as you like from among the refugees. That will get them off the roads and stop them from making themselves a nuisance. Round them up and drive them in a herd. There are folk in Autun, too¡ªsome we¡¯ve already driven out, but others you may take as you wish. More than we need. Consult with my captains. Plenty of labor here for the mines. It will save us bread later.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Conrad mused, ¡°that will work. But it will still take a long time to get benefit from those mines.¡±


    ¡°Better we control them than the Salians do. Better we control stores of precious metals against the coming battle.¡±


    ¡°Will it come to battle?¡± he asked her. ¡°If Mother Scholastica means to support our cause, then it need not come to battle.¡±


    ¡°Do you fear the bastard?¡±


    He snorted. ¡°I am no fool. He¡¯s a strong commander. Call that fear if you want, Cousin. I call it prudence.¡±

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    ¡°Are you a dog unwilling to fight? I call that submitting.¡±


    ¡°These are cheap tricks meant to goad me. I¡¯ll fight if I must, but not if the odds are against us.¡±


    ¡°Shall we just hand Varre over,¡± she asked sweetly, ¡°and pray for our Wendish cousins to place their feet atop our backs while we wallow in the dirt? We might have everything, Conrad. Everything!¡±


    He laughed curtly. ¡°Then you lead the charge! If you¡¯re so eager.¡±


    ¡°Do not speak disrespectfully to me!¡±


    He glowered. He was flushed, hot, irritated. The clerics drew in breath and began a new psalm.


    ¡°I praise God, and God have answered me.


    God¡¯s love is steadfast.


    God¡¯s faithfulness is eternal.¡±


    Rage whined, ears flattening, and swung her head around to stare at the door.


    ¡°You¡¯re right to be cautious,¡± said Sabella, ¡°nor do I mean to mock you, Conrad. But I believe that my aunt is sincere in her communication with us. If we are bold, and clever, then we will rule Varre and Wendar. Just as I ought to have done all along, since I am eldest child of Arnulf.¡±


    Conrad¡¯s companions had settled themselves wherever they could find room, blocking many of the lines of sight beneath the vaults, although Alain could still see Sabella, Conrad, and Taillefer¡¯s carved visage. Conrad was a good-looking man, powerfully built, tall, broad, muscular. He had a dark face and a trim black beard and mustache around mobile lips.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± He looked toward the doors. ¡°Good God!¡±


    His expression darkened. He rose, hands set on hips as he frowned.


    The commotion spilled into the gathered worshipers as wind disturbs an autumn meadow, turning leaves and scattering branches. Folk exclaimed. One, unseen, cried out in fear. There came stewards in bold red tabards pushing open a path and behind them a litter borne by four servingmen. Behind these staggered a weeping nurse with a bundle swaddled in white linen nestled in her arms.


    ¡°Tallia!¡± said Conrad.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Sabella extended a hand, and two of her companions leaped forward to help her stand.


    Yet, after all, to see her pained him. It was not an agony, only a pinprick, like a point of pressure that bit until, just piercing the skin, it drew a bead of blood. He had forgiven her. He had grown beyond her and had loved and been loved by a woman worthy of all these things. But the innocent love he had once offered Tallia was still a part of him, and that part, betrayed, could not help but remember.


    Tallia reclined on the litter, propped up on pillows. She was pale, as if she had lost a great deal of blood, but her skin had a shining gleam, still swollen taut with pregnancy¡¯s aftermath. She moaned, shifting uncomfortably. By the curve of her limbs traced by the drape of the fabric pulled tight, he saw that all trace of her ascetic¡¯s starvation had been obliterated. Someone had made her eat, and eat well. Her beautiful wheat-colored hair was slick with sweat, all in a tangle across her torso. She lifted her head.


    ¡°Pray!¡± she said in a low, tortured voice. ¡°Pray for the child. Ai! It is too late.¡±


    Conrad struck the heel of his hand to his chest once, twice, and three times. ¡°Ai, God! So I feared!¡± He wept, as a bereaved father should, and his companions wept with him.


    ¡°Bring it here!¡± ordered Sabella.


    The nurse came hesitantly, but when she offered the child to Sabella, the noblewoman waved her away. ¡°I can see! No need to touch it! Where is the midwife?¡±


    No one knew.


    ¡°Hunt her down.¡± Sabella snapped fingers, looked around, and caught sight of Captain Lukas at the back of the crowd. His height made him easy to mark among the mob. ¡°Your hunt, Captain. See that you find her.¡±


    ¡°Stay here,¡± he said to Alain. He gathered his men and hurried out, leaving two men, one on either side of Alain. The hounds whined, forced up against the back wall by the press of more folk crowding in to see what was going on. Tallia¡¯s procession had attracted notice outside. Everyone was whispering.


    Her shriek cut through the rumbling. ¡°Ai! Ai! God save us!¡±


    Lady Sabella turned to stare at her daughter. Conrad lifted his head in surprise. Tallia had pushed herself up on one elbow. With her other hand she pointed, forefinger extended, arm trembling. Her face was white, and her eyes flared in horror.


    ¡°A ghost!¡± she cried hoarsely. ¡°A spirit, sent by the Enemy to haunt me!¡± She pointed at Alain, where he stood in the crowd. ¡°Begone! Begone! You have no power over me!¡±


    Conrad wiped away tears with the back of a hand. ¡°What are you babbling about?¡±

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    Lady Sabella had seen, and understood. ¡°What is this?¡± she asked as she smiled. Alain didn¡¯t like that smile, but he did not fear it. ¡°Come forward. I recognize you. Lavastine¡¯s by-blow who tried to steal the county from Lord Geoffrey.¡±


    With the hounds at his heels, Alain walked forward. Folk shoved each other to get out of the way.


    He did not kneel. ¡°My lady,¡± he said. ¡°My lord duke.¡± And, last, although the words came harder than he thought they would: ¡°My lady Tallia.¡±


    She screamed, covered her eyes with her arm, and collapsed onto the pillows as in a faint. The litter rocked, and the servingmen carrying it lurched a few steps to steady themselves. In all that crowd, no one spoke. Silence weighed over the mute effigy of Taillefer. Silence lofted into the dome as if to strike the heavens themselves dumb. ¡°Yet here you are,¡± added Sabella, ¡°and I admit I¡¯m interested to know where you came from and why you are here.¡±


    This close to the nurse, he saw the bluish-white features of a baby peeping out from under the linen wrappings. So still, without expression or any least sign of animation. Sorrow barked, and the nurse shrieked and skittered back, slamming into the tomb. She lost her grip on the infant. It tumbled out of her arms.


    He lunged forward and


    On the shore of Rikin Fjord the good, strong folk of Rikin Tribe wait to greet him. Here are Eika warriors grown too slow to sail the seas and fight in foreign lands but strong enough, still, to build and labor and fight in defense of their home. Here are the home troops, doing their duty to protect the fjord until they are given a chance to sail. Here are Deacon Ursuline¡¯s flock looking healthy and eager, crowding forward as they would never have done in the days when they were kept penned and mute.


    ¡°What have you brought us, Mother?¡± they call when they see the deacon.


    ¡°What gifts will enrich us, Deacon?¡± they ask her. ¡°You must see what we have built in your absence!¡±


    ¡°Ask your lord what he has brought with him to enrich the tribe,¡± she tells them, and they see him and fall silent, heads bowed respectfully. They fear him, too, but fear is no longer the only spear that drives them.


    ¡°The riches of Alba belong to us,¡± he tells them. ¡°Silver brooches and spoons. Tin. Iron ingots. Shields. Swords. Glass beakers and jars and drinking horns. Wool cloth. Ivory arm rings. Amber and crystal beads. And more besides. Let the cargo be brought ashore and into the hall.¡±


    He looks out onto the waters, but the surface lies still. The fight that exploded so suddenly has vanished into the depths and he still cannot explain it. Truth to tell, he hesitates before he disembarks, recalling that moment when he saw Nokvi in the flat face of the merman who attacked him. Nokvi is dead, devoured by his allies¡ªsome of whom are not, after all, his allies any longer. Or perhaps some of the merfolk were never his allies at all.


    He comes ashore. First Son bears his standard behind him. His counselors move in a group, whispering among themselves.


    The SwiftDaughters stand in their ranks by OldMother¡¯s hall. They wait, so beautiful in their sharp metallic hues: copper, silver, gold, iron. Snow lines the valley, a white tracery among the fields and rocks. Small ones race down from the main hall, shouting and laughing, and they tumble into place before him, some of them on two legs and some on four, nipping and snapping and pinching and shoving. They are born with the instinct to struggle and compete. Yet he notices that there are fewer four legs and more two legs than is usual among the litters.


    Sensing his interest, they fall together into their packs and become silent. Watching him.


    They are half his size but growing fast. In another year they will be full grown and in a year or two after that they will be what humankind would call adults: as smart and fast and strong as they will ever be, the new generation of Eika warriors. He has himself, after all, only lived through ten or twelve winters since he hatched from the nests. Their life is short, but after all, a short life is all most creatures on Earth can expect.


    ¡°Answer me,¡± he says to them sharply. ¡°Brute strength and bright baubles will not give you victory.¡±


    At first they answer with silence. The old, fading warriors and younger home troops and the human tribe look on. This is the first time the sire has met the hatchlings.


    One among them speaks up boldly. ¡°Then what?¡±


    ¡°Who are you?¡± he asks.


    ¡°I am First Son of the Third Litter.¡±


    He nods.


    ¡°First,¡± he says, ¡°observe. After this, learn. And when this is done, think. These are the three legs on which we stand.¡±

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    ¡°We only have two legs,¡± says First Son of the Third Litter. A different small one snickers.


    ¡°What is your name?¡± he asks the snickerer.


    The small one flinches Never a good sign. But after all, not all these will survive, nor should they. Some will never grow beyond a reliance on brute strength and swift running. It is those who observe, learn, and think who will thrive. Who will rule.


    ¡°Third Son of the Sixth Litter,¡± says the snickerer. ¡°There are four legs also. Three is between two and four, but there is no creature with three legs.¡±


    ¡°Is there not?¡± He frowns at the hatchlings, yet after all they are a handsome looking group, not the biggest he has ever seen, but he does not have girth and breadth to give them. He has given them something more valuable. ¡°The third leg is your brother. Two legs only, if you stand by yourself. But if you stand with others, then you cannot easily be knocked down.¡±


    caught the corner of a linen band as the tiny body struck the floor. Cloth pooled around it in loops and heaps. He swooped down and grasped at it with a gasp of dismay.


    It gurgled. Its lips smacked and pumped. It squawked out a feeble wail, then hiccuped.


    Would it name itself? First Son? Fourth Child? Nay, it was a helpless human infant, doomed to many years of childhood, not ready to run and fight within a pair or three years after its birth. It was so tiny and feeble! No wonder the Eika thought that humankind were soft.


    The nurse ripped the baby out of Alain¡¯s hands, pulled down the front of her bodice, and put the baby to her breast. It rooted for a moment, then got hold and sucked.


    Such an uproar ensued that he had to grab the collars of the hounds and hold them to stop them from biting as folk swarmed, yelled, cried, gesticulated. The crowd surged in and out, right and left, until Sabella¡¯s ringing voice brought order and soldiers herded companions, attendants, and courtiers out.


    ¡°This way,¡± said Captain Lukas, appearing at his side as if he had never left. ¡°Come now, I pray you.¡± He said the words urgently. His frown had a storm cloud¡¯s menace. Alain went along because it was easier to and because the sight of that infant¡¯s face troubled him. So quiescent. It had seemed to hit the ground so hard, but that was God¡¯s mercy, surely: some substance had clogged its breathing and the shock had jarred it loose. Newborns were such fragile creatures. Weiwara¡¯s twins¡ªhow could he forget them? The smaller one had been born, likewise, too weak to draw breath on its own. What had happened to that baby? Had it survived the great weaving or been consumed by the tempest? Had Adica known the spell would doom those she loved? Had she gone forward despite that knowledge?


    He would never know.


    ¡°Wait here,¡± said the captain, opening a door. Alain went gratefully into a dim room and sank down onto a bench. The tears caught him by surprise. He missed Adica so badly. The hounds licked him, leaned on him, pawed at him, and at length lay down on his feet being too big to settle in his lap as they wished to do. At length he calmed, lifted his head, and measured his surroundings.


    This chamber housed a noble¡¯s luxurious furnishings: a fine burnished table and benches; two silk-covered couches for reclining and conversation; a backless chair that could be folded up and easily carried; tapestries on the walls; and a cold hearth. It was too dim to see the scenes woven in the tapestries. A single candle burned, fastened into a brass holder fixed onto the left of a sloped writing desk. Someone had abandoned a sheet of parchment, half inscribed with words he had lost the knack of reading. There he saw regnant, a word he knew because it also appeared in the Holy Verses. Below that he recognized ¡°a strong driving wind¡± like to that mentioned in the story of the Pentekoste, and then a series of sevens: seven towns, seven days, seven portions of grain, seven nobles whose names he laboriously puzzled out. They were all Salian or western border lords, it seemed: Guy, Laurant, Amalfred, Gaius, Mainer, Baldricus, Ernalda. The page bore no illumination. It was written in plain ink in the common script used by Lavastine¡¯s clerics when they wrote up contracts and cartularies. The inkwell had been stoppered. Untrimmed quills lay in a box resting on the level top of the desk beside a closed book. All the shutters were closed. The chamber had the moldy smell of a room that hasn¡¯t been aired out all winter.


    With some effort he pulled his feet out from under the hounds, which had the guile to rest heavily by not resisting him. A side door opened when he turned the handle. He stepped out onto a walk along the battlement wall. It was raining, cold, and miserable, an unrelentingly gray day. The clouds hung lower than ever. The main part of the town could not be seen from here. The river ran at the base of the bluff. There seemed no obvious exit from this narrow stone court, only a pair of low doors in the wall that most likely concealed a necessarium.

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    He turned back to enter just as the hounds rose, stiff-legged and ears flat. First, two stewards entered and took down the two shutters. After them came a brace of guardsmen, then Captain Lukas, and finally Lady Sabella. She sat on one of the couches and examined Alain for a while without speaking. In this light, he saw that the tapestries depicted the famous battle of the Nysa River in which young King Louis, the last independent king of Varre, had met his death.


    ¡°They say,¡± remarked Sabella into the silence, ¡°that no one knew whose hand struck the blow that killed Louis the Fair. In Wendar it is said he was killed by an Eika prince. But in Varre, it is said he was killed by a traitor in thrall to the Wendish king, who wanted all for himself.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard that tale. I grew up by Osna Sound.¡±


    ¡°Within the lands overseen by the count of Lavas.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Her stare was meant to intimidate, but he accepted it placidly. The hounds grumbled very soft growls whenever she looked their way. Outside, rain hissed on the stones.


    ¡°Why have you come here? What do you want?¡±


    ¡°I have promised to discover the true heir to the county of Lavas.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± She smiled without showing her teeth. ¡°You have heard that Lord Geoffrey betrayed me.¡±


    Rage yipped as the door opened and half a dozen people flooded in, led by Conrad the Black. His presence filled the room. He was laughing.


    ¡°Squalling like a rooster!¡± he was saying to one of his companions. ¡°Good God! What can she have been thinking, to believe the little lad was dead just like that?¡±


    ¡°I hope you slapped some sense into her,¡± said Lady Sabella.


    Conrad looked at her with disgust, perhaps with loathing, and flung himself onto the other couch. He noted Alain standing with his back to the cold hearth, and then the hounds in shadow to either side. ¡°Look at you!¡± he said in the tone of a man who loves and understands dogs. ¡°What handsome creatures you are!¡±


    Sorrow¡¯s tail thumped once. Rage¡¯s ears lifted, but neither hound moved one paw.


    ¡°He is the one,¡± said Sabella to Conrad as though Alain could not hear them. ¡°Lavastine¡¯s bastard.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± he said impatiently, still admiring the hounds. ¡°What matter to us?¡±


    ¡°Lord Geoffrey matters to us.¡±


    ¡°Ah! What benefit to us?¡±


    ¡°Geoffrey has betrayed us. He is sheltering Constance. There are rumors of unrest and discontent in his county in recent years. This one might provide the excuse we need.¡±


    ¡°I see. We ride to Lavas to restore Lavastine¡¯s rightful heir, the man he himself proclaimed as his successor but whom Henry deposed. Tallia will protest. She was weeping and moaning and in a mad rant when I just left her.¡±


    Sabella shrugged. ¡°That makes no difference. She is shed of the child now. You can put her back in Bederbor, the sooner the better for my peace of mind.¡±


    He grunted. ¡°Your distaste for her does you no credit.¡±


    ¡°You like her?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°I accept what is necessary. But my children will not grow up to become like her! I hope you will treat the little lad better, or I will have to take him away.¡±


    ¡°Do not insult me, Conrad.¡± Her hand tightened on a pillow, but she kept her tone cordial. ¡°Or threaten me. Where are your daughters?¡±


    ¡°Admiring their new brother, since they will soon be leaving him. I admit, I have set them to guard him. I do not trust Tallia¡¯s ravings. She says he is tainted, polluted.¡± He jerked his chin up to indicate Alain. ¡°This one¡ªwhat is your name?¡±


    ¡°I am called Alain.¡±


    ¡°He touched the little fellow, in the chapel. Didn¡¯t you see it?¡±


    ¡°I saw it,¡± said Sabella. ¡°Tallia is insane, Conrad.¡±


    ¡°Certainly she is weak-minded. So.¡± He nodded at Alain. ¡°That child might have been yours.¡± He seemed about to say more but did not. He had an easy presence, dominating the room without needing to intimidate, as Sabella did. He studied Alain a while longer, and Alain watched him calmly in return. At last he grunted under his breath and nodded.


    ¡°You want Lavas County back, do you?¡±


    ¡°I am not the heir.¡±


    ¡°That need not trouble us. We can set you in the count¡¯s seat easily enough.¡±


    ¡°Why would you do so? I have no retinue and no army to support you.¡±


    ¡°I want a loyal man in Lavas County,¡± said Sabella.


    ¡°Rumor is the strong driving wind that rattles the branches,¡± added Conrad. ¡°They say civil war has broken Salia into a dozen warring factions. They say Henry and his favored child Sanglant have returned from Aosta and even now march on Varre to reclaim us.¡±

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    ¡°Is it true you reject the Wendish regnant? Although you are both descendants of that line?¡±


    ¡°We are descendants of the Varren royal line,¡± said Sabella sharply. ¡°This is our land to rule.¡±


    ¡°And rule wisely, I trust,¡± said Alain. ¡°The tempest still rages. The storm is not yet passed.¡±


    ¡°What babbling is this?¡± demanded Conrad, laughing. ¡°I feel I am in the presence of a wise and mysterious oracle!¡±


    ¡°Last autumn a great storm passed over the land. You may believe that you survived the worst, but the worst is yet to come. Have any planted, although the season is late? Or does frost still kill seedlings every night? Have you seen the sun? When will the cloud cover lift? What are you doing to prepare, if the weather does not change?¡±


    ¡°Why would the weather not change?¡± asked Sabella. ¡°Summer will come soon. We have stores to last a while¡ªand more to be gained if our current venture prospers.¡±


    Conrad whistled softly, trying to lure the hounds, and although they whined a little and thumped their tails, they looked at Alain and, without receiving permission, refused to move. The duke sat back, letting them be.


    ¡°These are not unreasonable concerns,¡± Conrad said in the mildest voice Alain had heard from him. ¡°As in battle, even the best laid plans may be overturned. One must expect a flanking attack, or disaster. And act so as to overcome it.¡± He nodded at Alain. ¡°That is why we need Lavas County. That is how you can help us.¡±


    ¡°Geoffrey has not ruled in a manner pleasing to me,¡± said Sabella. ¡°Lavas needs a stronger hand.¡±


    ¡°What do you say, Lord Alain?¡± asked Conrad genially. ¡°Are you interested? We can help each other.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not why I came here.¡±


    ¡°Nor need it have been,¡± replied Conrad with that same hearty camaraderie. ¡°Let it be a windfall. You have acted boldly. Boldness can expect reward.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll need a wife,¡± said Sabella, shifting her pieces on the board. ¡°We can find someone suitable. Duchess Yolanda has a daughter. You yourself, Conrad, have a daughter almost of marriageable age.¡±


    There was a great deal in this vein Alain could hear without comment or reaction, but the sight of Tallia had singed him. He winced, thinking of her, of the baby she had given Conrad but denied him and by so doing denied Lavastine. That was the one thing that was hardest to forgive. The one thing that he had tried to conceal with a lie. He had failed Lavastine.


    Briefly, the idea teased and flattered him: he might marry again, be count again, and fulfill his promise to the man he had called ¡°Father.¡±


    ¡°Or my granddaughter,¡± added Sabella, as if the thought had just that moment occurred to her. ¡°Berengaria is¡ªwhat? Four or five? She could be betrothed now, and married later, when she¡¯s older. In another ten years she¡¯ll be old enough to bear children. It would repay him for the loss of Tallia.¡±


    ¡°Is it not incest to marry a man to the daughter of a woman he once had to wife?¡± asked Conrad.


    ¡°Tallia claimed an annulment. They did not consummate the marriage.¡±


    He had to shut his eyes, but if he breathed, if he thought of Adica, these words had no power to burn him.


    ¡°That¡¯s so! In that case, it doesn¡¯t count as a marriage. Yes, it might serve. Berry will need a good marriage. She¡¯ll need a consort strong enough to support her regnancy. One whose power and lands give him respect in his own right.¡±


    Marry Tallia¡¯s daughter. Rule Varre as her consort. And perhaps rule Wendar as well.


    These were serious temptations, indeed.


    ¡°I pray you,¡± Alain began, but the door opened and a steward hurried in, windblown and red in the face.


    ¡°The rider has returned,¡± he said, making way for a messenger who staggered in and knelt before the two nobles. He smelled of leaves and rain and wind and dirt, and of smoke, as though he had sat by many campfires and never washed afterward. He peeled gloves off his hands and accepted a cup of wine gratefully.


    ¡°What news?¡± Sabella demanded.


    ¡°Ai, God!¡± said Conrad. ¡°Let him finish his drink.¡±


    Before he could speak, a second steward appeared at the door.


    ¡°My lady. The soldier you wanted is here.¡±


    She beckoned.


    Captain Lukas entered with Atto. The young man was sweating, as pale as if he were ready to faint. He dropped to his knees at once, caught sight of Alain, and started noticeably.


    ¡°You are the one who brought report of the guivre¡¯s trail?¡± Sabella had a way of looking over young men that made them squirm, but in this case she dismissed his physical charms.

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    ¡°Y-yes, my lady. I come from a village along the West Way. We call it Helmbusch, for the ridge, you know. The rock juts up just above where the chapel sits. There are ten houses and three milk cows and we have our own pair of plowing oxen ¡­¡± He trailed off, licked his lips, and swallowed.


    ¡°Can you lead us to it?¡±


    ¡°To Helmbusch, my lady? Oh, yes, certainly, but I had no intention of returning. Things aren¡¯t so good there, now, with the weather and the livestock wandering off and the refugees bothering us along the road. I came from there to seek employment¡ª¡±


    ¡°To the guivre!¡±


    ¡°To the guivre?¡± He had long since undergone the change from a boy¡¯s voice to a man¡¯s, but his voice shot up an octave nevertheless.


    ¡°The creature¡¯s lair. If you¡¯ve seen its trail, you can guide my soldiers to its lair.¡±


    ¡°But I don¡¯t know about that,¡± he said desperately. ¡°I came to serve as a soldier.¡±


    ¡°So you will. You¡¯ll guide us to the guivre.¡± She examined him as he shifted his knees on the floor and pulled nervously at his sleeve. He kept his head bowed, but his torso, leaning away from her, spoke as clearly as words. ¡°When I command,¡± she added, ¡°my soldiers serve.¡±


    He did not answer.


    ¡°There is a young woman who came with him,¡± said Captain Lukas. ¡°His betrothed. I put her in the kitchens.¡±


    Sabella¡¯s smile was slight but chilling as she examined young Atto. She did not suffer fools or cowards. She appeared to be the kind of woman who didn¡¯t like anybody very much. ¡°Could she not serve us better in the brothels? We have enough servants in the palace.¡±


    Atto flung back his head, shifting forward onto one knee, with the other leg tucked up under as though he meant to push up to his feet. ¡°She is my betrothed! She¡¯s pregnant! She can¡¯t¡ª¡± Too late he recalled to whom he was speaking, and he broke off.


    She nodded, satisfied that she had gotten the reaction she wanted. ¡°If you serve me well, I will see she retains a protected position in the kitchens.¡±


    The threat had jarred Atto. He twisted, angry enough to be bold, and pointed at Alain. ¡°He knows better. He saw the guivre. So he claimed.¡±


    ¡°Did you?¡± asked Conrad with a jovial interest that barely masked his sudden intense attention. He set his elbows on his knees. ¡°Saw it, and lived to tell the tale?¡±


    ¡°I heard it in the forest,¡± said Alain, ¡°although I did not see it. I was concealed within the branches of a fallen tree.¡±


    ¡°He can guide you! Better than I could!¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯ll guide us,¡± said Sabella to Atto, who shuddered. She turned to Alain. ¡°Perhaps you had best go also. I remember it was said of you when you were Lavastine¡¯s heir that you fought well in battle. In fact, I recall it said that you helped Brother Agius kill my last guivre. In recompense, you can help me capture another.¡±


    ¡°It seems a dangerous venture for small gain.¡± Conrad shook his head.


    Sabella turned her gaze to the waiting messenger, who had by now caught his breath and drunk his fill. ¡°What news?¡± Then she settled back as if she already knew what he was going to say.


    ¡°I am come from Quedlinhame, my lady. Prince Sanglant was crowned as regnant in the presence of Mother Scholastica and at least five or six biscops, and many noble lords and ladies.¡±


    None murmured in shock or alarm. No one exclaimed out loud in surprise or indignation. This news was expected.


    ¡°You rode as quickly as you could to bring us this news?¡± she asked him.


    ¡°I did, my lady.¡±


    ¡°Must we expect an attack soon?¡±


    ¡°We have yet some time. He turned east, to ride his king¡¯s progress through Saony and into the marchlands. So that the populace could see him and the nobles acclaim him. He will ride west once he has made himself king throughout Wendar by displaying his crown and his sword. Afterward, he will march west, into Varre.¡±


    ¡°We must be ready,¡± said Sabella. ¡°Captain Lukas!¡± She gestured, and he came forward. ¡°It is time to make ready our attack.¡±


    ¡°Past time,¡± muttered Conrad. ¡°As I¡¯ve been telling you. We need Kassel¡¯s grain stores.¡±


    ¡°There is one other thing, my lady,¡± the messenger added, hesitant to continue. ¡°Difficult to believe, yet I saw with my own eyes.¡±


    ¡°Go on.¡±


    ¡°Griffins, my lady.¡±


    ¡°Griffins?¡± asked Conrad, sitting up. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

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    ¡°The prince marches with a pair of griffins, my lord duke. He captured them in the east. They follow him like ¡­ like dogs.¡±


    Courtiers glanced at Sabella to see if she would believe this outrageous tale.


    She merely nodded. ¡°Now you see. Conrad, why we need a guivre to counter this threat. A guivre will allow us to strike first, before Sanglant expects battle.¡±


    ¡°We are already striking first, by allying with one he trusts.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps. But a guivre will guarantee victory.¡± She smiled bitterly as she shifted her attention. ¡°Do you not think so, Lord Alain? Would this not be a wise strategy?¡±


    Alain nodded. A sense of peace settled over him. He had done the right thing by coming here. He saw now what he had to do. ¡°Yes,¡± he said, ¡°a guivre will grant victory.¡±


    3


    ONCE the necessary formal greetings were fulfilled at the shore, once folk began to unload the cargo of Alban goods, Stronghand climbed the slope of the valley. He walked into the shadow cast by the heights and across the skin of soft green grass that surrounded OldMother¡¯s hall. Late-blooming snowdrops speckled the ground. SwiftDaughters eyed him from where they stood by the mouths of their cave. Their hair swayed like a glamour, and he paused by the threshold, distracted by their beauty. Wind trembled against his back in an unexpected gust, and he shook himself and walked forward.


    He crossed into a gulf of darkness too large to be confined in any finite space, much less the eaves and timbers visible as the outside dimensions of the hall. A tremor teased the ground. He heard as at a great distance a breathy piping like a wheezing breath. No stars shone; blackness veiled the heavens. It was as still as if wind had never been known in the world, utterly silent and cold as the skin of stone in the dark of winter.


    She said, ¡°Stronghand.¡±


    ¡°I am here.¡±


    She said, ¡°Go to the fjall. The WiseMothers await you.¡±


    The air twisted around him, spinning the staff he held in his right hand, and he staggered backward and found himself tossed out the doorway, surprised by the light. The SwiftDaughters had vanished. Below, the ships rode high, or had been pulled up onto the strand, lightened of their load.


    How had time passed so swiftly? Around the hall and the farther village, seen through a fence of pine and spruce, folk were busy sorting and accounting. Most had gone back to work now that the excitement of his arrival had faded.


    They had not forgotten him. He walked among them to reach the trail that led up into the highest reaches of the valley, and as he bent his path in that direction he found himself with an escort, mostly children, none daring to ask what venture he¡¯d set himself this late in the day.


    The children loped alongside like a pack of overgrown puppies, all in a tangle that sorts itself out into pairs and triads before melding together again. Human children ran with the hatchlings he had sired. They jostled each other like littermates, and the softer, weaker human kin whacked at the four-legs with stout sticks to keep their sharp teeth at bay when the nipping and tussling got out of hand. The sight of this extended pack caused a stab of foreboding. What strengthened the human children would surely weaken the children of rock, who did not leap to the kill as they would have done in the old days in such a crowd. They ran as one great many-limbed beast, so that he could scarcely tell one limb from another as they tumbled and shouted and galloped and giggled around him.


    Perhaps it was too easy to condemn, he thought as he strode on tireless legs, as he inhaled the sweet scent of home flavored with burning charcoal, pine sap, and the cold bite of northern air. The old days, by the reckoning of his kind with their short lives, were easily swallowed by the longer span of years in which humankind revel and which they did not fully appreciate. To live seventy years, as some of them did! Even Deacon Ursuline, who claimed to have survived forty or fifty seasons, could boast of a life span unknown even to the sorcerers of the Eika tribes, the ones who schemed and stole hearts and souls and magics in order to extend their lives.


    No matter. A flame may still burn brightly, though its wick is short.


    Rikin Fjord prospered because it was now a many-limbed beast. Sheep grazed where meadows found purchase on level ground, although he noted few twin lambs among the ewes: harbinger of a hard year ahead. Goats scrambled nimbly along the steep slopes of the valley. Pens held pampered cattle, who needed a cozy byre to outlast the winter. It was winter still, with frost crackling under each step and snow heaped where shadows lingered longest. A late sowing might prove too short for a decent crop.


    Still, the Eika could rely on raiding to fill their larders. Long had they honed their skills as the wolves of the sea. Now, it seemed, they must learn and change, so learn and change they would. There was no going back.

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    The ground grew rockier as the path cut steeply toward the fjall. The children quieted. Many turned back although a few dogged his heels, too curious to stop. No adult followed him this far, although down the path he saw a dozen or more looking up after him. The trees became withered and stunted, and fell away altogether, leaving boulders and skirts of moss and a patchy carpet of lichen. He looked in vain for the youngest of the WiseMothers, climbing this path, but she had gone.


    He crossed over the rim and onto the undulating plain that was the fjall. Snow dusted the open reaches, where the wind battered at all things. In the sheltered lee of boulders and along the uneven rise and fall of the earth, old snow had hardened. It was so cold that his footfalls resounded as his weight cut through the remains of last winter¡¯s snowfall.


    In the distance, where the land dipped into a hollow, the WiseMothers congregated. One more stood among them: she had reached her destination who was most recently OldMother, the one who spawned him and his brothers. He crossed the plain, slipping once where the snow concealed loose rock debris along a slight incline. The wind¡¯s howl muted to a moan, and as he reached the edge of the circle the wind ceased altogether. The clouds cast a gray pallor over the day. Every object seemed muted and lessened. Even the WiseMothers looked, for an instant, like nothing more than big, unshapely stones fixed in an irregular oval around a sandy basin, whose smooth surface was untouched by snow or stick or even a wrinkled scrap of torn lichen. The hummock that marked the center had altered. Once, its curve had borne a pearlescent gleam. Now it sat with a kind of menace he could not describe. Corruption had infested it, turning it as black as charcoal, as though it had rotted from the inside out.


    He shuddered, afraid, but of nothing he could touch or smell or hear or see. It seemed stupid to make his way across the sands in order to stand on a place that looked as likely to hold his weight as the deck of a ship eaten away by fire. The smell of sulfur made his eyes water and his skin itch. The stench actually seemed to ripple off the ground. He began to think he could see the stink rising in waves. That smell made him reel, gulping air and expelling it as quickly as he coughed and gagged and, at last, calmed his breathing.


    Of the ice wyrms, he saw no sign, not even a tracery under the glitter of sand.


    He stood for a long time, trying to decide what to do, and after a while he heard the whisper of the wind among the stones and after a longer while he realized that the wind remained becalmed and that these were voices tugging at him, faint and far off, receding as a traveler recedes as he sails away from shore.


    ¡°Your. Brother. You. Owe. Him. A. Debt. Is. It. Repaid.¡±


    A life for a life. He knew what they spoke of.


    ¡°Go. To. Him. Now. Repay. This. Debt. Now.¡±


    Now.


    A sound cracked, as explosive as a heated rock splitting asunder. Not meaning to, he ducked. The air had changed, thickened, hardened until he could scarcely draw in breath. Wave upon wave of heated air rippled out of the hollow.


    Their voices were as faint as the hiss of a feather falling.


    ¡°Our. Task. Is. Ended. You. Are. Now. Alone. Our. Children. Our. Children. Born. Of. Mute. Rock. Human. Flesh. Dragon¡¯s. Blood. You. Must. Make. Your. Own. Way. Without. Us.¡±


    A temblor eased through the earth. Its groan sighed like longing. The surface of the hollow shifted. In branching lines no wider than his claws, the sands poured away as though, underneath, tunnels were caving in. The black hummock snapped fiercely, so loud that the sound echoed off the far mountainsides. He heard it as through a vast chamber, down along a far-reaching path, multiplied over and over as if he heard not one sound but a hundred cracks each one of which sent him plummeting into the ancient past:


    Screaming rage and pain, the dragons plunge. Before they reach the shelter of earth their hearts burst from the pressure of the great weaving. Their blood rains down on the humans who shelter against the stones. The hail of scalding blood burns flesh into stone, melding them into one being, born out of humankind, dragon¡¯s blood, and mute stone.


    A crack shivered across the surface of the hummock, widened, and without warning the slick black curve shattered into pieces. The hollow sagged and collapsed inward as a dark shape uncoiled out of the spilling sands.


    Stronghand scrambled back from the brim, tripped over a rock, and fell to his rump as the hatchling reared up. It raised its golden head on a golden neck and with an effort unfurled moist wings, shaking them in the wind. It was as big as a warhorse, bigger, if more slender and equally graceful. Its eyes were like coals, black and fathomless. It swept its gaze over him without appearing to mark him as anything different than the stone and the sand and the tufts of lichen. It shook its wings, which spanned what was now a sinkhole. Flecks of an acidic spray spattered him, burning him, but he gulped down a cry of pain.

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    A call chased along the horizon.


    The hatchling twisted its neck to stare toward the north.


    Somewhere, out there, another has been born.


    As soon as the thought took form, he understood how foolish it was. Not one, but a hundred and more, one for every tribe, for every circle of WiseMothers, who for this span of time had incubated the eggs of the FirstMothers, the ones who in ancient days bred with the living spirits of earth and gave birth to his kind.


    So the story was told among the Eika.


    It leaped. The pressure of its fledgling wingbeats battered him supine against the ground. It caught an updraft, and yet it beat those flashing wings as though to churn the still day into a gale. The clouds tore apart as it vanished into them. Lying stunned on the ground, he saw revealed the hard blue pan of the sky and felt¡ªso briefly!¡ªthe melting warmth of an early summer sun.


    The wind whirlpooled around him as though trying to suck him up into the heavens. Pebbles scooped up by the gale pummeled him. Lichen and moss writhed in strips through the air. The wind poured into him, blowing right through his skin and into every part of him, enveloping him, drowning him.


    Alain stands at the wall staring toward the north, although he isn¡¯t sure how he has come to be out here with the evening settling in and the wind pouring through him. He burns as if the wind is fire on his skin.


    He hears their calls, even though they rise so far away that he should not be able to hear them. They raise a clangor, deeper than bells, that resonates in his body until he weeps without knowing why. The hounds whine, licking his hands, but he cannot stop the tears.


    A puny, cold, fragile creature moves up beside him, only it is after all the servant assigned to make him comfortable in the palace. ¡°My lord? I pray you, my lord, is there something the matter? How can I help you?¡±


    It hurts, but he doesn¡¯t know why. He listens for the last echoes whispering out of the north.


    Their voices came to him, a thousand, a myriad, but all familiar to him and beloved in their way.


    ¡°Good. That. You. Are. Strong. Of. Hand. Son. Fare. Well. Be. Wise.¡±


    The tempest quieted. A ragged wisp of lichen settled out of the air and onto his face. He brushed it aside, shook himself, and jumped to his feet. Above, the clouds were knitting themselves together again. The wind had failed utterly, and the day became silent and colored With the pearl-gray filter of a clouded sun. The fjall lay empty. Nothing moved, nothing spoke, nothing breathed, except him. He might have been the last creature alive in the entire land.


    Certainly he stood alone here.


    Altogether alone.


    He sensed it at once, greater than emptiness: an abyss where once earth had lain firm beneath the feet of his people. A strange dullness afflicted the ache of the wind and the whisper of sand where grains rolled down the steep sides of the new sinkhole into a shallow chamber half filled with the birth sands that had once covered it. A few tiny ice-white forms lay tumbled in the collapse: the ice wyrms that had long protected the treasure that the WiseMothers had incubated. They, too, lay as still as death.


    He was surrounded by death, although life had sprung from it.


    He stepped forward and pressed a palm against the nearest WiseMother. It felt only of stone. No consciousness animated its core. They were absent. Gone.


    Dead.


    ¡°Can you hear me? Can you answer me?¡± he called to them, who were the life of their children. They had for so long guided them with the foresight of the ancient, who saw farther than their short-lived children could ever do.


    He waited, and he listened.


    But all he heard was the wind.


    V


    OLD GHOSTS


    1


    AS they rode west along the Osterwaldweg, an Eagle met the king¡¯s progress where dappled shadow met open road at the edge of a wide forest wilderness.


    ¡°Rufus,¡± said Sanglant.


    The redhead had been with King Henry in Aosta and lately left behind in Saony together with a few other Eagles when the king had ridden east into the marchlands.


    ¡°Your Majesty. I am sent ahead by Mother Scholastica to let you know she intends to meet with you in Osterburg. I did not expect to meet you on the road.¡±


    Once, a well trained Eagle could have looked through fire to discover the king¡¯s whereabouts by means of observing landmarks glimpsed through the flames. No longer.


    ¡°We shall meet my aunt in Quedlinhame, before she expects us.¡± He liked the thought of surprising her, anything to put her at a disadvantage.


    ¡°She has already left. I rode ahead to alert the stewards in Osterburg. You¡¯ll meet her on this road, Your Majesty.¡±


    Outflanked. Still, two could play that game. ¡°Take drink and food, Rufus. You¡¯ll get new mounts, and return to her. Tell her to await us at¡­¡± He paused, considering the route.

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    For once, Liath was paying attention. ¡°Goslar has a small palace.¡±


    ¡°At Goslar. Is there more, Eagle? Sent she a message? What does she intend?¡±


    ¡°Nothing more, Your Majesty. Nothing she told to me, anyway.¡± He was a good rider with an easy seat, but very serious, pacing alongside the king. If he meant his remark wryly, Sanglant saw no sign of it.


    Liath fell out of line to ride with the young man back along the cavalcade to the supply wagons. Sanglant listened as they moved away. It was always easy for him to catch her voice out of the multitude.


    ¡°When was it again that you first met Hanna? At Darre? Not earlier, then? You never met her before¡ªdid you ride east with Princess Sapientia? Oh, I see.¡±


    Her words faded into the creaks and clops and chatter of the procession.


    Liutgard, at his right hand, glanced back, and he did as well. Although scouts, and a vanguard, rode in front, most of the progress rode behind him, a line of four riders abreast twisting back into a landscape of woodland, open ground, and the occasional farmstead. Half of these small estates and humble holdings were recently abandoned. One had been burned and looted. He and Liutgard had ridden somewhat forward of his other companions, who were bogged down by the incessant palaver of Sophie and Imma. The Saony twins always rode more slowly when they started in on one of their long harangues. They were, as always, being egged on by their bored brother. Their voices had a shrill tone that carried easily above the clatter of the army.


    ¡°Did you see Gerberga¡¯s face when Sanglant brought Ekkehard back to her? She was red. Red! To think of it!¡±


    ¡°How humiliating to find your husband has run off with your sister.¡±


    ¡°At least,¡± remarked Wichman, ¡°neither of you need worry about that! No man would possibly run to either of you.¡±


    ¡°How dare you! As if you could hope for better¡ª!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be murdered by the brother or husband of some poor woman you¡¯ve raped, Wichman.¡±


    ¡°Before or after I am installed as margrave of Westfall?¡±


    ¡°An insult to us, Sophie!¡±


    ¡°It is! It is! To offer him a margraviate, and us¡ªnothing! Not even respectable husbands but only second and third sons of minor lords!¡±


    ¡°I had hoped,¡± Sanglant said to Liutgard in a low voice, ¡°that they would run to Conrad, but I fear they mean to stick.¡± He grinned.


    She did not. ¡°I pray you, Cousin, forgive me for speaking bluntly.¡±


    He sighed.


    ¡°Henry was right after all. He intended to marry you to Queen Adelheid. That would have been a good match. All this would have been avoided.¡±


    ¡°Not all of it.¡± He indicated Rotrudis¡¯ squabbling progeny.


    ¡°Well.¡± She smiled crookedly. ¡°Not all of it.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean to say, Liutgard? You have supported me faithfully. I know your worth.¡±


    ¡°You must marry. Soon.¡±


    He waved away her question.


    ¡°Nay, do not dismiss me! You know I am right.¡±


    ¡°I will not yield on this matter. I am already married.¡±


    She had endured much and complained not at all. She had not seen her own lands in more than four years. Her daughters grown apace while she was gone, her stewards in charge of Fesse, all this she had left behind because of her loyalty to Henry. She had lost half her men, and she had not complained. She had lost her heir, and she had not complained.


    ¡°There is a line even I will not cross, Sanglant. I have suffered too much to allow my lands to be laid under a ban because you have fixed on such a creature as that one.¡±


    ¡°A creature¡ªdo not insult her!¡±


    ¡°Do not misunderstand me. I do not dislike her. But they whisper about her. They fear her.¡±


    ¡°In Gent they placed flowers at her feet.¡±


    ¡°So they did,¡± she admitted. ¡°Let the biscops and abbesses be content with her. Let the excommunication be lifted and the holy women offer their blessing. Then we shall see.¡±


    ¡°Will you support me, in that case? In Autun, when the ban is lifted from her?¡±


    ¡°We shall see.¡±


    It was all she would promise. Her words worried at him as a dog worries at a much chewed bone.


    ¡°What have you heard?¡± he said at last. ¡°What whispers?¡±


    She was a cool one, educated, strong, fertile, and confident, his peer, equal to him in rank. Legitimately born, she needed no justification to hold her position and title as duchess of Fesse, the last descendant of Queen Conradina through the queen¡¯s younger brother Eberhard, who had been Liutgard¡¯s great grandfather.

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    ¡°Do you listen to what you do not want to hear?¡± she asked him. ¡°You ought to.¡±


    2


    THE palace at Goslar was one hundred years old, built in the days of the last queen regnant, Conradina. It boasted a sturdy hall, a stable, and a motley collection of outbuildings including a kitchen and a smithy. A shoulder-high palisade surrounded the palace. Beyond it lay gardens, orchards, fields, and the estate whose inhabitants tended the grounds year round. Goslar belonged to the Wendish regnant, but, as Liath recalled, the steward who administered it was appointed by the abbess at nearby Quedlinhame.


    Thus they arrived to find Mother Scholastica entrenched with her retinue. Although outriders rode ahead to alert her to the king¡¯s arrival, she did not emerge to offer Sanglant greeting but waited inside to receive him.


    ¡°She means me to appear as the supplicant,¡± he said to Theophanu and Liutgard, who rode on either side.


    Liath sat, mounted, away from the rest of the noble companions, examining the scene thoughtfully. She appeared more interested in the layout of the buildings than in the architecture of court politics. For some reason she looked particularly beautiful today with her hair drawn back into a braid, her dusky face filled out and healthy, her blue eyes bright; that uncanny way they had of seeming now and again to spark with laughter or anger still startled him. She was no longer too thin, as she had been before: when he first met her; in their days at Verna; when she had returned to him after the cataclysm. Despite their constant travel and the occasional dearth of food on the trip north, she had gained flesh in all the right places. As he knew, and yet wanted to rediscover again and again and again.


    Liutgard tapped his arm. ¡°If you do not stop staring at her like a lackwit, then every soul in this army will continue to believe she has used her sorcerer¡¯s power to bewitch you.¡±


    Her sharp comment caught him off guard. He looked at her, then at Theophanu. Theophanu shrugged.


    ¡°Do you believe it?¡± he demanded.


    ¡°I do,¡± said Liutgard. ¡°It¡¯s said she ensorcelled Henry in the same manner.¡±


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t her fault! Or her intent! She never had any interest in Henry. She¡¯d already chosen me.¡±


    ¡°A wise decision, since Henry would never have married her,¡± observed Liutgard.


    ¡°What do you say, Theophanu?¡± he said, really irritated now.


    She smiled as a cat might be said to smile, having the cream set before it. ¡°I think you are famous for your weakness for women, Brother. It is remarkable that one contents you. Some might call that a form of magic.¡±


    ¡°Do you?¡±


    She raised a tidy eyebrow. ¡°I do not. She is handsome in a way that attracts men. The question might better be, why does she care for you above all other men when, it seems, she might have had any of them?¡±


    Liutgard laughed for the first time in weeks. ¡°Are you become a wit, Theophanu? Look at him! So brawny and handsome as he is. Women fall at his feet, and into his bed.¡±


    ¡°This is not amusing.¡±


    ¡°True enough,¡± replied Theophanu to Liutgard. ¡°But he is not so beautiful as Hugh of Austra. Hugh never cared one whit for any woman except his mother, or excepting if a woman could give him something he wanted. But he wanted that one.¡±


    ¡°As for what Hugh wanted, I can¡¯t answer, although it¡¯s true enough that Hugh is quite the most beautiful man I have ever seen. May my poor Frederic rest at peace in the Chamber of Light, for I mean no insult to him. Yet if Hugh of Austra wanted her as well, does it not suggest sorcery to you, Theo?¡±


    ¡°Let her be,¡± said Theophanu abruptly. ¡°Leave her at peace, I pray you, Liutgard.¡±


    ¡°She has certainly found a champion in you! Is there something you know that I ought to know, to put my mind at ease?¡±


    ¡°I pray you, Liutgard, let it rest.¡± A shadow of anger darkened Theophanu¡¯s placid face, and she gestured toward the palace and its phalanx of milites dressed in the tabard of the ancient Quedlinhame County: crossed swords on a green field. ¡°What will you do, Sanglant? Set up a siege as you did at Quedlinhame when you first returned to Wendar this spring?¡±


    ¡°If you will be patient, I ask you to await me here. I¡¯ll go in alone, as a humble nephew asking for my holy aunt¡¯s blessing. That may content her.¡±


    He gave Fulk the order to set camp. Dismounting, he offered the reins to Sibold, then sought Liath, but she had wandered off. A few moments searching discovered her: she was chatting amiably and easily with a pride of Lions.


    ¡°Who is that?¡± he said to Hathui, who had come up as soon as Fulk departed.

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    ¡°That is¡ªI think¡ªyes¡ªCaptain Thiadbold¡¯s troop.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Yes. I see him now. His helm covers his red hair.¡± He chewed his lower lip, then said, ¡°She seems to know them well.¡±


    Hathui looked at him strangely. ¡°I can¡¯t say, Your Majesty. An Eagle meets many folk upon the road. Eagles and Lions often depend on each other in a tight spot.¡±


    He frowned, but shook himself. ¡°Attend me, if you will.¡±


    They crossed the grassy forecourt and walked up onto the porch. The guards opened the doors to let them through. Inside, clerics scribbled at tables set up along the length of the hall. Scholastica presided from the dais, although she was not seated in the ducal chair but rather in a handsome seat with a cloth back and pillows. She was making a show of reading, but it was obvious she was expecting him. A nun whispered into her ear. She handed her the book and raised a hand, to give Sanglant permission to come forward.


    ¡°I pray you,¡± he said to Hathui, ¡°hurry to Theophanu and Liutgard and tell them I have mistaken the matter. If they will come at once, I will be grateful for their help. We¡¯ll need my throne as well as their chairs. Make haste.¡±


    She left.


    From down the length of the hall, Scholastica regarded him with patience, or interest, or puzzlement. She said nothing. He said nothing. Theirs was a standoff. The guards had closed the doors, but elsewhere all the shutters had been taken down. As he waited, he heard the noise of the army settling down for the day, goats complaining, men laughing, sergeants shouting, a hostler cursing, dogs barking as they would. Quills scratched indoors; outdoors, wind skimmed the branches of Goslar¡¯s orchard.


    He heard them approach the porch and walk up the stairs. The door opened, and they entered, just the two of them, with Hathui at their back. Without speaking, he beckoned them forward and with one on either side approached his aunt: She looked stern and unbending, not even amused.


    ¡°I come with the Dragon of Saony and the Eagle of Fesse beside me,¡± he said to her.


    ¡°What of Rotrudis¡¯ children?¡± she asked, dispensing with pleasantries.


    Yes, she was annoyed.


    Servants came forward to unfold the traveling chairs. Theophanu and Liutgard waited until he sat; then they sat. Now all four made a cozy little group, but three of them were young and one was getting old. She was holding on to the past when, in fact, the past had been demolished in one night last autumn.


    ¡°Rotrudis¡¯ children are not capable of ruling, Aunt. Theophanu is, as you know.¡±


    ¡°If Theophanu is capable of ruling, then she should by right be regnant,¡± said Scholastica. ¡°Yet she is not. I have a proposition for you, Sanglant.¡±


    He nodded, but she was not waiting for his permission, only pausing to collect her thoughts.


    ¡°Theophanu is not the only candidate. There are others. If you accept retirement, you can retain your place as captain of the King¡¯s Dragons. The realm will need your strength. You can serve best where you are most suited.¡±


    ¡°I am already crowned and anointed. At your hand. To what purpose do you raise these objections now?¡±


    ¡°I wish to prevent war, Sanglant.¡±


    ¡°How will my stepping down prevent war? Who then would rule as regnant?¡±


    ¡°Conrad and Tallia.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± cried Theophanu, standing up. She was furious.


    ¡°Conrad?¡± Liutgard¡¯s laugh had a mean heart. ¡°Tallia? Do you mean Sabella¡¯s daughter? That whey-faced creature who wept blood and moaned and cried?¡±


    ¡°She professed a heresy,¡± said Theophanu. ¡°You yourself threw her out of Quedlinhame, did you not?¡±


    ¡°I did not,¡± said Scholastica coolly. ¡°Henry took her to marry Lavastine¡¯s heir, the one who was a thief and a liar and a bastard.¡±


    ¡°Conrad?¡± murmured Sanglant, but as hard as he could think this through, he could not figure how his aunt would be willing to throw the regnancy out of Henry¡¯s line. Her own line.


    ¡°Conrad has a claim.¡± Liutgard was white with anger. ¡°And I have a claim, Mother Scholastica. What of me? I am the last descendant of Queen Conradina. She, after all, did not give the crown to her younger brother but to her rival and ally, the elder Henry, who was then duke of Saony. Her words are famous. In truth, we learn them early in Fesse so as not to forget the stain upon our family¡¯s honor. ¡®For it is true, Brother, that our family has everything which the dignity of the regnant demands, except good luck.¡¯ Sanglant has brought us this far out of disaster. Who else could have done so? It was Henry¡¯s last wish that Sanglant become king after him. I witnessed Henry¡¯s last words.¡±

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    Sanglant tapped one foot, waiting. The plank flooring of the hall was swept clean. No carpets covered the long boards. The scritching of quills continued unabated. Clerics bent their heads over tables, writing and writing and writing. He wondered that their hands did not begin to ache.


    ¡°Then a proper marriage,¡± Mother Scholastica said.


    ¡°We settled this at Gent,¡± he retorted.


    ¡°A subtle player made that move. Her kinfolk out of Bodfeld are not even counts, nothing more than minor lords. Her father was dedicated to the church and should never have fathered a child. It can¡¯t even be proved that she is legitimate rather than a bastard. It can¡¯t even be proved she has a soul. Without your support, Sanglant, she is nothing more than an excommunicated practitioner of forbidden sorcery. Subject to execution, if the church so desires.¡±


    ¡°With such plain speaking, you can scarcely expect me to withdraw my ¡®protection,¡¯¡± he answered. ¡°I weary of this game.¡±


    ¡°The throne, or the woman.¡±


    ¡°It is a false choice. Why are you so stubborn?¡±


    ¡°Why are you so stubborn?¡± She was mightily displeased. Her anger made him uneasy, but he would not back down. ¡°You are a fool, Sanglant. It would have been better if Henry had married you to Villam¡¯s heir, as Villam wanted.¡±


    ¡°You were against the match at the time, as I recall.¡±


    ¡°So I was. Then. Villam had already too much power in Henry¡¯s council.¡±


    ¡°Waltharia is unmarried, at this moment. Would you object to her now?¡±


    Scholastica hesitated. Liutgard looked surprised, but Theophanu smiled in that elegant, enigmatic way she had, giving away nothing.


    ¡°I would object,¡± said Liutgard finally.


    Scholastica still gave no answer.


    ¡°Had you someone in mind?¡± he asked his aunt.


    ¡°An alliance might be sealed,¡± she said slowly, ¡°with a princess out of Salia or Alba. Even, in these times, with the Polenie, although I account them rather small. A worthy match, bringing with it a worthwhile alliance. Something that will aid us.¡±


    ¡°As Liath did. She saved us. All of us.¡±


    Scholastica¡¯s frown was hard and her tone bitter. ¡°No one knows what she did. Not even you. No one witnessed. She might have done or said anything. You do not know.¡±


    ¡°I know what she told me. I know what happened. I know Anne is dead and her cabal of sorcerers scattered.¡±


    ¡°How do you know that the great tempest was not brought about by that creature¡¯s magic? By her doing? Or with her as accomplice who then murdered her master? You do not know anything, Sanglant. You cannot prove anything. Those who accompanied her are lost. They cannot tell us what they saw. She is a sorcerer. A daimone¡¯s get. Soulless. Dangerous.¡±


    ¡°Visited by a saint in Gent.¡±


    ¡°An illusion!¡±


    ¡°An illusion¡ªif you say so¡ªbelieved by half the population and most importantly by those who witnessed. Those whose lives she saved!¡±


    ¡°They are fools, easily led! She could have said anything to convince them to follow her.¡±


    He rose slowly, hands loose, shoulders tight.


    ¡°Sanglant,¡± whispered Theophanu, warning him.


    ¡°I was there!¡± he said, really angry now. ¡°She saved lives at the risk of her own. She could have run, but did not. Don¡¯t tell me it was an illusion! All my Dragons died, and half the city besides!¡±


    His anger did not sway her, nor did his height and his strength as he towered over her.


    ¡°You did not die.¡± Her lined face showed no fear and no apprehension, only her stubborn will, not to be cowed by the likes of him. ¡°Although it seems to me that you should have. It is said that your mother bound a spell into your flesh. It is said you cannot die. At times I have wondered if your courage in battle is due to honor and duty and loyalty, or to the knowledge that no matter how many of your men die, you will not suffer their fate.¡±


    Almost, he growled at her. She was his enemy, and he had not seen it before. She had lulled him when he stood before her with his army and his griffins and his father¡¯s blessed remains. But he had discipline. He remained silent.


    ¡°What if your concubine was in league with the sorcerers all along?¡± Scholastica continued, tight and controlled. ¡°Now she is in a significant position of power. In your bed! The histories tell us that other women have ruled in such a way, although it grants them no dignity to do so.¡±


    He was too angry to speak.


    Liutgard looked troubled. ¡°It¡¯s true. All this talk of a secret cabal, these Seven Sleepers. It would make sense they would have a deeper plan.¡±

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    ¡°Aunt,¡± said Theophanu in her cool voice, ¡°I pray you, if that is true, then why would Liathano deny that she is Taillefer¡¯s heir? There is no one to say otherwise, except her. We all believed it. Why would she throw away a claim to power if she sought power?¡±


    ¡°Are you defending her?¡± asked Scholastica.


    ¡°You have not answered Theo¡¯s question.¡± Sanglant nodded at Theophanu, and he could not keep a smirk from his face. He liked seeing his aunt discomfited. She deserved it.


    ¡°She is subtle,¡± said the abbess finally.


    ¡°She is not subtle,¡± said Theophanu with a shake of her head. ¡°She is a cub among wolves, here at court. She is awkward and as likely to say the wrong thing as to keep silence. Begging your pardon, Sanglant.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s true enough.¡±


    ¡°Were she subtler,¡± said Liutgard, ¡°there would be less disquiet. But it¡¯s true, she¡¯s no courtier. She has not the least idea of the duties and obligations that bind the consort. Folk fear her, for they have heard many strange stories about her. Yet it seems there are those among the progress who champion her.¡± She smiled a little. Maybe it, too, was a smirk, to answer his. ¡°Eagles and Lions. Common-born folk.¡±


    ¡°A common-born woman cannot become queen, not in Wendar,¡± said Scholastica. ¡°In Salia of old, as it says in the histories, a slave might become a queen if she caught a king¡¯s fancy and aroused his lust¡ª¡±


    Naturally, having said it, she stopped. She thought. She looked at Sanglant, and, God Above, he felt himself blushing.


    ¡°So it seems not only in Salia of old,¡± she remarked, her voice tainted with an ugly tone. ¡°I had forgotten that in her history, so it is said, she was for some time a slave because of her father¡¯s debts. It was said she was Hugh of Austra¡¯s mistress¡ªand he a fine and upstanding frater!¡±


    Sanglant kicked away his chair and strode to the back of the hall, unable to stand still.


    ¡°Does this not trouble you, Nephew?¡± she said to his back.


    He turned to make a retort, but paused.


    Theophanu leaned forward to clasp her aunt¡¯s hands. Scholastica winced as Theophanu tightened her grip. ¡°Never believe that she went to Hugh of Austra¡¯s bed willingly. If I say anything, Aunt, if you believe me at all, believe that.¡±


    ¡°What do you know of the matter?¡±


    ¡°I know enough. She saved my life many years ago, when she was only an Eagle and I was¡ªfoolish and blind.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean? Say more!¡±


    Theophanu would not be drawn.


    ¡°Thus is the spider¡¯s web of deceit woven,¡± said Scholastica as she pulled her hands out of Theophanu¡¯s grasp.


    ¡°You are being stubborn,¡± said Sanglant, pacing back to stand with his hands on the wings of his chair.


    ¡°I am? You are the one being stubborn, Sanglant. You, a bastard, born of a foreign woman. King Arnulf said all along that Henry was indecently obsessed with that woman. That Henry had made rash promises to bring her to his bed. I am only a few years younger than Henry. I recall it well!¡± She smiled mockingly. ¡°An obedient son. Our father¡¯s favorite. Yet for a woman he defied the king. How like Henry you are!¡±


    ¡°I can think of no greater compliment than to be compared to my beloved father,¡± he said grimly.


    She cut him off. ¡°Yet when I look at you, when any person looks at you, they see your mother¡¯s face. They see the face of a people already at war with us.¡±


    There, she struck the blow that stopped him. ¡°At war with us? What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°You have not heard? Ah.¡± Her eyes tightened. Her mouth became a flat line as she regarded him.


    Liutgard shifted.


    Theophanu sat back.


    ¡°I pray you, Nephew, account for me the disposition of your forces. Who rides with you, and who remains behind? Then I will tell you the reports I have heard. I hope they will surprise you.¡±


    ¡°I am already surprised.¡± He sat, but he was too restless to stay still. He tapped a foot a dozen or more times against the floor before switching to the other one. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I mean villages and estates in the lands west of Quedlinhame have been attacked most viciously by the Lost Ones made flesh. Our enemies look like you.¡± She surveyed the hall. Her silent clerics, her noble kinsmen, the distant guards: all had a similar Wendish robustness, light hair, big builds. His coloring and his features alone were markedly different. He alone was the bastard, with an outland mother.


    Theophanu touched him on the knee as if to remind him that she, too, had an outland mother, a foreigner who had never quite been trusted by good honest Wendish folk. Still, Theophanu resembled her father more than her Arethousan mother.

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    ¡°There are some who murmur that you have brought this down on us,¡± said Scholastica. ¡°There are many who wonder how you have come to be regnant. If it is all part of a larger plot to conquer Wendar from without and rule over us. You see, the survivors of these recent assaults have told us that when the Lost Ones attack, they call out your name.¡±


    3


    SHE made ready to leave for the convent of St. Valeria in that twilight passage before dawn when all things stand betwixt and between.


    ¡°Can you not bide here?¡± she asked him, troubled because all yesterday evening he had gone about his business in such an unusual silence. ¡°Until I return from St. Valeria?¡±


    ¡°To what purpose?¡± He turned as Ambrose set a covered pitcher of heated water down on the table beside the washbasin. Sanglant thanked the man. He was attentive to his servants. He knew their names and their histories and their skills and, it sometimes seemed, their sins. Ambrose poured. Sanglant washed his hands and face and accepted a cloth to dry himself. ¡°Best march to Varre early in the season, before they expect me.¡±


    ¡°If your aunt has spoken in their favor, might she not already have sent word of your intentions to them?¡±


    ¡°She may have. Hesitation still does not serve me well. Conrad and Sabella gain the longer I wait.¡±


    ¡°Do they want Wendar, or only Varre?¡±


    ¡°Does it matter?¡± His expression dismayed her. He was Henry¡¯s son. She must not forget that. Henry had ruled Wendar and Varre as had his father and grandfather before him. His heir must not lose what Henry had held so dear.


    ¡°What if there is a battle?¡± she asked.


    He shook his head as Robert and Theodulf brought his under-tunic, leggings, and fine wool outer tunic. The dazzling blue seemed to shine in the dim room, which was lightened only by one burning lamp and the misty gray light, seen through the single open window, that heralded the coming day.


    ¡°Conrad does not want to fight me. His position remains strong as duke of Wayland. It is only Sabella who goads him on, if I am any judge of the matter. She eats at her bitterness. That is all that sustains her.¡±


    ¡°Fierce words. Are you sure?¡±


    He lifted both hands. ¡°I cannot answer so many questions for which there is no good answer. You know that. Do what you must, and catch up to me quickly.¡± He caught her shoulders, kissed her, and released her. ¡°Go, before I change my mind. I have not forgotten about the galla we met upon the road. I also have in mind these stories of Lost Ones attacking helpless folk out in isolated villages and farmsteads.¡±


    ¡°Do not forget bandits,¡± she said, piqued by his strange mood. Anyway, she was scared, not for herself but for him. Yet this one thing she could not bring herself to say to him: Do not die, my love. Only do not die, and I will be content.


    ¡°Bandits are the least of it. Yet you are armed and shielded by a power I cannot match. Do not fear to use it, if you must.¡± He touched her on the arm, frowned at her, brushed a lock of black hair out of his eyes, and let her go. She blinked back tears, picked up her saddlebags, sword belt, and quiver, and left him.


    Sickness dwelt in the pit of her stomach, a fear that made her heavy and weary and nauseated. This tangle had grown into an impossible maze.


    He would be regnant because his father had asked it of him. Some supported him because they loved him. Others supported him because he rode with an army at his back. His own relatives played a deep game on the chessboard, offering him a pawn on the one hand while they lent their strength to his rivals with the other. Had he been Henry¡¯s eldest legitimate child, there would have been no question, but he was not, and she was no fool. Her presence aided him not at all. What Theucinda said aloud snaked through the company like poison. It was Sanglant¡¯s weakness that he would hear no word spoken against her, and hers that she could not sacrifice herself on the hearth of duty. Me for the sake of the kingdom. She could cast herself on the mercy of the unknown Mother Rothgard, pledge herself as a nun, and leave him free to marry as a man of his rank and position must, to save the kingdom in its darkest hour.


    Ai, God! She laughed weakly, seeing her escort waiting. What a miserable nun or deacon she would make! Her life with Da had spoiled her. Like the twilight morning, she stood betwixt and between, not quite suited for anything and not quite willing to be content with that which it was reasonable and responsible to aspire to.


    No doubt God frowned at her selfishness, but surely it were God who poured love into the world. Surely to turn away from love was to turn away from God.


    Unanswerable.


    Or else she had only posed the question in such a way that she could hear the answer she wanted.

 Page 56

    4


    SHE brooded all that day as her party traveled a little worn path, but still took time to remark on the cool late spring landscape. They followed a trail through hilly country. The great estates and farming lands of Saony lay several days¡¯ ride west and east, anchored by Osterburg and Quedlinhame. Goslar was a hunting lodge built in uninhabited countryside where lords and regnants could find a profusion of game wandering the hills and dense forest.


    None among the Eagles currently traveling with Sanglant had ever ridden this way, but Hathui had heard the directions from Wolfhere some years ago and had described them in detail to Liath. By late afternoon of the second day they would come to a small outpost, a free holding established by settlers given the imprimatur of King Arnulf the Elder. Beyond that a river crossing and another two days¡¯ journey would bring them to the convent, sequestered in a tiny valley among rugged hills.


    Liath walked in the van beside Captain Thiadbold, setting the pace along the soggy track. Her horse, saddled, was led by a groom. Ernst and Rufus rode behind her. Fore and back came the rest of the company, two-score Lions under the command of Thiadbold. Not as swift as horsemen, but, Sanglant had noted, a seasoned captain with disciplined infantrymen in his command would serve best for a journey through the wild forest hills. Common knowledge told that St. Valeria lay hidden in the hills so that the holy nuns who used scholarship to battle evil might make their study in peace. Or be cut off so none of them, tempted by the hope of power wielded through the black arts, could easily escape into the wider world.


    ¡°Although it seems to me,¡± she said to Thiadbold, with whom she was having this conversation, ¡°there are folk aplenty who dabble in the black arts hoping to make their crops prosper or their heir fertile, or their rival barren. Would it not be better to train folk to combat it in its turn?¡±


    ¡°That may be. But some such folk will be tempted to use their power for ill, against the neighbors they¡¯re supposed to help.¡±


    ¡°They do that anyway.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true enough. The miller in my village was a prosperous man. He got a lust for a girl¡ªa cousin of mine as it happens¡ªand put out his old wife and made it plain to my aunt and uncle that he¡¯d grind no grain until they gave the girl to him. They went to the deacon, who refused to help them because the miller tithed generously and she did not wish to offend him.¡±


    ¡°So you see, my point is made.¡±


    His answering smile held a touch of irony. ¡°The story¡¯s not done. He beat her and treated her cruelly, so at length her parents went to the lord to beg him to intercede. And when he saw the girl, he took her away to become his concubine.¡±


    ¡°Beauty gave her no advantage.¡±


    ¡°Maybe so. When her parents complained again to the deacon, the holy woman said only what we all know: That it is God¡¯s will that some are set high and others low.¡±


    ¡°Is it? So say the noble clerics and ladies and lords who stand atop the tower.¡±


    ¡°Not only them. So said my cousin, too, after she gave birth to a child who was given, as birthright, title to an estate.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s easy to say, if the advantage is yours. Yet every person stands equal in the Chamber of Light.¡±


    ¡°Do you believe that?¡± he asked her, genuinely curious. He was not, she thought, a man tempted to philosophical speculation, but he had a keen eye and a good mind.


    ¡°I have to believe it. Else my sense of what is just would suffer grievous harm. I have met too many nobles who are fools to believe otherwise.¡±


    He chuckled, then looked around nervously before recalling, she thought, that there was no one to hear them except his own men. ¡°Perhaps so. The church would not approve your words.¡±


    ¡°Look!¡± She pointed. A lumbering shadow moving away into the forest and vanishing in the brush.


    ¡°An aurochs! Mayhap we¡¯ll have game tonight for our supper.¡±


    They did. In the rear guard a scout hauled in a deer. At the fore, a pair of men ranging in the woods to seek out trouble shot an aurochs that had stopped to graze in a clearing a spear¡¯s toss off the road.


    ¡°It might do for a campsite,¡± said one of the scouts, coming to report the kill to the captain. ¡°There¡¯s an old stone circle, and cleared ground.¡±


    ¡°Let me see,¡± said Liath.


    She went with an escort of a dozen soldiers while the rest waited on the road. At the clearing, the other man had already begun butchering the aurochs, and the sharp smell of its blood hit her first. As she pushed aside the low-hanging branches, she saw what manner of place they had come to.

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    She shook her head, scanning the wide span of ground where a low field layer of feather grass and flowering honeysuckle grew. No trees had encroached despite the passage of time. The stones stood upright.


    ¡°Some power has raised this crown recently,¡± she said. ¡°See the pattern of growth around them. You can see where the stones once lay on the ground.¡±


    ¡°Who could raise such big blocks of stone without leaving a track of their labor?¡± asked the scout.


    Sorcery could raise the crowns, but she could not imagine anyone having so much power. After all, how many were left in the world who could even weave the crowns?


    Me.


    And Hugh of Austra.


    She looked at Thiadbold.


    He nodded. ¡°We¡¯ll march on and hope to find a better spot.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said, because she did not like to surrender to fear. ¡°Easier to rest here and eat that good aurochs. My mouth is already watering.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°If you don¡¯t like it, we¡¯ll move on. I¡¯ve seen my fair measure of strange places. I know to respect their power.¡±


    She smelled nothing but vegetation, moist soil, and the innards of the dead animal spilling free as the scout cut a slit in its belly. ¡°If bandits come upon us, we¡¯ll have a better view for our archers if we bide here with the stones as cover. What do you think, Captain?¡±


    He took his time considering. He paced the circumference of the clearing, and walked through the stones, but there were no holes, tunnels, or hiding places. It was a dead place, all five stones standing, their faces unnaturally smooth and unmarked with moss or lichen. Although she had seen many a fallen stone cracked and hollowed by centuries of rain and ice, none of these stones showed any such wear.


    ¡°It seems dry,¡± he said, and sent a man to fetch the rest of the company. ¡°We¡¯ll set fires as our perimeter.¡±


    She laughed, liking his pragmatism. ¡°Fair enough, Captain.¡±


    They ate well around six fires set at points around the clearing just beyond the crown¡¯s circle. Deadwood came easily to hand. It caught and burned with relish, and the meat tasted good, better than any meal she¡¯d had in days because she sat easily with her companions and chatted about nothing and everything.


    Eventually she discovered that some among these men had known Hanna rather better than the others.


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s true, lady,¡± said the one called Ingo, a broad-shouldered, good-looking man with a scar and a wicked smile. ¡°We knew her from before, from the march east with Prince Bayan, may he rest at peace in the Chamber of Light. We¡¯re them who found her at the Veserling. We ripped her from the hands of the monster. We marched with her west and got her settled at Gent, although she was deathly ill there. It¡¯s a miracle she survived, but survive she did. And she did come with us, then, to Osterburg. After that she was sent south to Aosta. As you¡¯ve already heard.¡±


    ¡°She spoke of you,¡± said the youngest of them, shyly.


    ¡°She is a good friend to me,¡± said Liath. ¡°I¡¯d be pleased to know she has survived this tempest.¡±


    She found it easy to chat with these men. They acted, at moments, in awe of her knowledge and education, but Thiadbold and the cheerful scamp called Folquin had no fear of questioning her about what they did not understand. The older men could not be intimidated; they had seen too much. She had saved the life of one of their own. That was enough for them to accept her as a comrade. The endless battles waged on the royal progress had no claws here.


    Later, when the sentry changed, those few men still awake lay down to sleep, but Liath was restless, as if the night¡¯s insomnia that often afflicted Sanglant had passed into her. You would think that afflictions might be rubbed from skin to skin or breathed from mouth to mouth. Anyone who studied medicine knew that sick people often left illness in their wake. Why not other afflictions as well?


    She paced around the sentry circle, pausing between each bonfire to stare up at the heavens. Clouds veiled the stars, yet it seemed to her that she could almost see the faint threads of their light trailing down into the waiting crown. Would it be possible to weave the crowns if the heavens weren¡¯t clear? Any good mathematicus armed with an astrolabe and a table and a knowledge of the date and approximate hour could predict which star was rising and which setting. Could point near enough to the place in the sky where this constellation, or that one, rode and turned as the hours passed.


    She had none of these things, only her memory, and even her capacious memory could not quite hold as much information as an astrolabe. That, after all, was why the Jinna astronomers had devised them.

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    ¡°Hey!¡±


    The shout turned her around to stare at the bonfire burning at her back, beyond the crown, about forty strides away. A sentry staggered back, a hand clapped to his right shoulder.


    ¡°¡¯Ware! ¡¯Ware! I¡¯ve been shot!¡±


    Sentries called out. A pair of men grabbed sticks and lit them out of the fires to create swift-burning torches. She ran to the cursing sentry. By the time she got there, the captain and Sergeant Ingo were standing beside him, examining the arrow. It was a shallow wound. The arrow danced up and down each time the man winced and swore.


    ¡°Where?¡± she asked him.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know,¡± he said through gritted teeth. ¡°Aih! Either pull it free or stop touching it!¡±


    ¡°Back here so I can see if the point is barbed,¡± said Ingo, and hauled him away.


    ¡°Silence!¡± she said, as the camp roused around them, men calling to each other, swords thudding against shields and mail giving its distinctive slinky rattle as men armed themselves.


    ¡°Silence!¡± roared Thiadbold.


    In that silence, quickly fallen, she heard a twig snap, straight ahead, in the trees. She needed no bow. She bent her will to the crown of the trees and called fire.


    The forest flashed into a ghastly bright false day as treetops caught fire, revealing a dozen raggedly dressed men armed with spears and sticks and bows. They ranged just out of the halo of light given by the bonfires, under the shadow of the trees, but with sparks and ash raining down over them and the flames blazing above, they fled into the darkness. Arrows skittered after them, until Thiadbold called the cease. The Lions cheered and hooted to see their foe routed.


    ¡°That¡¯s a neat trick,¡± said Thiadbold somberly, studying the flames, ¡°that might turn a battle or two. Yet I wouldn¡¯t try it in dry lands. Will it spread?¡±


    ¡°I hope not.¡±


    This was no white-hot anger, no blast of fear, to create a wildfire. It was a bigger fire than she had intended, scorching six trees altogether, but with some effort she managed to pinch off its edges so it would burn itself out. The sentry had taken only a slight wound, quickly bandaged. The men settled down as the captain set out a double guard for the rest of the night.


    Even so, Liath could not sleep. Only when the fire had died completely did she lie down, and even then whenever she closed her eyes she saw burning men, their flesh melting off their bodies.


    Is this why Da had sealed her off from her own magic? Had he only been trying to protect her from herself? But this question struck her as impossibly naive. Da¡¯s motives could not be so easily divined, nor were they simple. Da was not stupid, even if he hadn¡¯t had the strength of will necessary to combat Anne.


    Without the stars to mark the passing of time, the night dragged on as if forever, but at length the air lightened and a bird chirped. The sound made her jump. A bird! She rose, unsteady on weary legs, and listened hard and peered into the surrounding foliage, but she did not see it or hear that call again.


    5


    THE outpost had a name, Freeburg, and a population of some four-score wary persons housed in an impressive walled holding consisting of five thatched longhouses, a dozen or so smaller buildings and, remarkably, the blunt spire of a tiny chapel. One lonely cottager lived outside the walls, just where the path emerged from the forest, but it wasn¡¯t clear if this spry old fellow had chosen his exile or lived close by the protecting palisade on sufferance. He watched their company march past without saying a word and turned back to clearing his garden. Six beehives lay within his fence.


    The gates lay open. Folk worked in the fields and women washed clothes in the sparkling river. Meat dried under fenced-in shelters, ready to be brought in and cured. The ring of a blacksmith¡¯s hammer surprised them; smiths, like gold, were usually found in more exalted settlements.


    Folk paused to watch them. A dozen young men stood along the palisade rampart armed with bows.


    ¡°They¡¯re not trusting,¡± murmured Liath to Thiadbold, but he only nodded thoughtfully and led the Lions right into what might be a trap, crossing over the ditch and through the open gate. The Lions halted inside the gate, in an open area with enough space for arms practice, or a market, or foot races. Soon they were surrounded. The council of elders met them.


    ¡°We heard news of you along the road,¡± said their spokesman, a genial man with silver hair, silver beard, and a twisted smile from a palsy afflicting the left side of his face. He looked otherwise hale. ¡°I¡¯m called Master Helmand.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m called Captain Thiadbold. We¡¯re on the regnant¡¯s business¡ªmy Lions and these three Eagles¡ªon our way to St. Valeria¡¯s. If we might bide one night within your walls, we¡¯d be grateful. We were attacked by bandits last night. One of our men got hurt, but we drove them off.¡±

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    ¡°Where was that?¡± asked Master Helmand as the folk around him whispered and nodded.


    ¡°There¡¯s a stone circle. That¡¯s where we camped last night.¡±


    ¡°Old ghosts walk there. No one goes willingly to that place.¡±


    It was clear to Liath that the man thought them fools for having camped on haunted ground, but the confession seemed to peel off a layer of suspicion from his scrutiny. After all, how badly can fools threaten an armed village?


    ¡°You know the convent?¡± she asked him. ¡°We had hoped to ask for a guide to show us the way.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes. They come twice a year to trade with us and sing a mass and read the prayers for the dead.¡±


    Liath gestured toward the chapel, seen now to be so small that no more than twenty folk could crowd into its nave. ¡°You have a chapel, I see.¡±


    ¡°Yet no deacon.¡± He hesitated, glanced at the other elders, and went on as they fluttered their hands and nodded their heads eagerly. ¡°Perhaps you¡¯d take a request to the regnant, Eagle. We¡¯ll host you gladly, though we haven¡¯t much in our stores after this long winter and no good spring. We¡¯re beholden to the regnant here, as you know. Freeholders. We have a charter!¡±


    ¡°Have you?¡± Liath asked with interest. ¡°When was it written?¡±


    He cleared his throat. Everyone looked embarrassed. ¡°Well, then, in the time of the old Henry, father to the first Arnulf, long since. We only hear it read aloud but twice the year at spring and fall, and this year at springtide none came from the convent to us.¡±


    ¡°Did they not?¡± Liath looked at Thiadbold. He shrugged. ¡°Have any gone to see if there is trouble there?¡±


    ¡°The river flooded. The ford hasn¡¯t been passable for months. There¡¯s no other way through.¡±


    ¡°Is there no hope of us winning through?¡±


    He beckoned to a man standing up on the walls. This one came down, and it appeared he was a hunter and tracker for the holding, one who ranged wide.


    ¡°I¡¯m called Wulf,¡± the man said by way of introduction after Helmand had explained the situation. He looked to be about Thiadbold¡¯s age, somewhere between late twenties and middle thirties, dark-featured, wiry, tough, with handsome eyes and a warp to his chin from an old injury. ¡°I was up that way ten days ago. It might be better now. We can try.¡±


    ¡°We must try,¡± said Liath to him before turning to the elders. ¡°We¡¯ll be grateful for your hospitality. I can read that charter for you, if you¡¯ve a wish to hear it.¡±


    Oh, they did.


    An entire ceremony had collected around the twice-yearly reading of their charter in the same way flotsam collects around a boulder rising from the sandy seashore. A table and chair were carried out into the open air and a cloth thrown over the table. Every household brought cups and drink and set them on the common table. Last, a pale horn was produced from a locked chest. Its call rang four times, once at each corner of the stockade, before they put it away. Lanterns were lit as the inhabitants gathered, stationing themselves in a tidy semicircle, children at the front, adults behind. All remained standing as Master Helmand emerged from the largest longhouse with a small cedar chest in his hands. He set it on the table, opened it reverently, and uncovered folded parchment. This he opened on the table, one hand pinning down the top and the other the bottom. Lanterns were set on either side, although there was still enough light for Liath, at least, to read the bold letters.


    The text was succinctly written and began on the paler, flesh side of the vellum. The cream-colored grain side was blank and the corners showed a tendency to curl in that way. The parchment had a hole in it, and the scribe had drawn her ruled lines and written in her text around the flaw. The script had an old-fashioned look to it. For one thing, it used all uncials, as they had done in those days. The scribe¡¯s hand had no beauty; Liath could have done a better job. But she could read it.


    ¡°¡®I, Henry, by the Grace of God in Unity, Regnant over Wendar, do grant to the inhabitants of Freeburg the customs and privileges written below ¡­¡¯¡± Reading, she was reminded of that day years ago in the forest holding west of Gent, when she had read aloud a charter very like to this one. ¡°Whoever shall acquire property by clearing wastelands shall hold it for the same price as her house¡­. No one, not the regnant nor anyone else, shall demand of the householders of Freeburg any requisition or aid¡­. They shall pay neither tariff nor tax upon their food or the wine they have grown in their own vineyards. ¡­ Whoever lives in the holding a year and a day shall afterward remain undisturbed.¡¯¡±

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    The formula had a parallel construction to that diploma given to the freeholders in the Bretwald by the younger Henry, although the details differed. The villagers listened as intently as scholars as she read slowly and in a clear voice.


    ¡°¡®This privilege was confirmed by Henry, by faith and oath approved and accepted by the following persons¡­ in the year 660 since the Proclamation of the Holy Word, on the 11th day of Sormas, on the feast day of the Visitation.¡¯¡± She looked up in surprise. ¡°That¡¯s today!¡±


    Having no deacon to count the calendar for them, they, too, were shocked and delighted. They set to drinking with a cheer. First the children¡ªwho would lay claim to these lands when they inherited¡ªdrank. After them, the elders, who had husbanded the land, and last of all the householders who now worked the fields. There was enough for all, a rare enough thing, Liath thought as she sipped at the sour cider, which was starting to go to vinegar but had not quite turned.


    On such an auspicious occasion all lingering suspicion vanished. Lions and Eagles were fed, and housed at random, some in the longhouses and some in byres or stock sheds on beds of heaped straw. Liath asked for no place greater for herself than any other, and the captain, seeing this without commenting on it, offered her no primacy. For the first time in many days she slept soundly, half buried in a heap of scratchy straw with only a blanket beneath and one thrown over herself where she had wrapped herself in her wool cloak. In old days, long ago, she had often slept so on the road, traveling with Da and later as an Eagle. Slipping into sleep, she could imagine Da near at hand, murmuring under his breath, talking to himself, as he often did when there was no learned adult with whom to converse. How he loved to chat. For all his lonely isolated ways, Da had loved people and loved talking and discussion and argument for argument¡¯s sake. He had had a restless, roving mind, unsettled, dissatisfied, and most likely unsatisfiable. She tucked her saddlebags against her chest. The book was a comforting presence, for all the trouble it had caused her. It was, in a way, Da¡¯s conversation with himself all those years. She wept a little, thinking of him, and fell asleep, and dreamed of Blessing as a tiny baby sleeping at peace in her arms.


    ¡°Liath? Ai, God! It is her!¡±


    That Hanna¡¯s voice should so trouble her dreams did not surprise her, not after marching for two days with the Lions. They were in the dream, too.


    ¡°Well, I told you it was her,¡± said one, sounding aggrieved.


    ¡°Since when should anyone believe your wild tales, Folquin?¡±


    ¡°Since I learned better from following your example, Ingo!¡±


    ¡°Liath!¡±


    That a hand should touch her shoulder in such a familiar way, jostling her out of sleep, did surprise her. She opened her eyes.


    She was still dreaming.


    For five long breaths she stared at the apparition, the dream figure floating before her but in fact not floating at all. The figure crouched in a manner very like that of any creature that has weight and heft. Her leggings creased and bunched around the knees. Her white-blonde braid of hair had pooled on her shoulder, and as the woman shook her head with a smile, it tumbled free down her torso.


    ¡°Hanna?¡± Liath sat up.


    Then, after all, came the hugging and the weeping.


    VI


    NO GOING BACK


    1


    THEIR company set out at once for the convent.


    ¡°I rode from St. Valeria with a request for some laborers to come and rebuild the damaged wall,¡± explained Hanna. ¡°We thought to let our party rest there a few days in peace while I rode here to ask for aid.¡±


    ¡°You managed the river crossing,¡± said the one called Wulf. He hadn¡¯t been able to take his gaze off Hanna since she and Liath walked out of the byre. ¡°Had you no guide? How high was the water running?¡±


    As Hanna described her journey between convent and village¡ªshe had spent the night sleeping outdoors¡ªLiath stared at her. It seemed she had walked into a dream, something hoped for so long that she could not believe it to be true. Had Sanglant stared at her in this manner when she had returned from the aether? Yet she felt less awkwardness with Hanna than she had at first with Sanglant. She felt, more than anything, relief, as though she had discovered that the hand she thought missing was, after all, still attached.


    As Hanna finished talking, she glanced at Liath, grinned, and shook her head. ¡°I still can¡¯t believe it. I¡¯ve thought of you so often over the years. I must still be dreaming. Sorgatani will be eager to see you!¡±


    These astounding tidings must all be explained. As the two women chattered back and forth without pause the day seemed, as the poets said, to fly past. They marched along a grassy track barely more than a cow path footed in mud. The river still ran high¡ªHanna had managed the crossing because of the weight of her horse¡ªand they strung a rope across for the Lions to grip so they would not get swept away in the current. After this, the way wound in rugged leaps and switchbacks up into steep, forested hills troubled by ancient ravines and fresh gullies. Now and again the woodsman exclaimed over a landslide that had obliterated a portion of the path, or a new waterfall pouring down through a cleft in a rocky outcropping. Trees had snapped and tumbled. It was, in truth, a miracle that Hanna had managed to get through at all, let alone with a horse.

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    ¡°This is no ordinary steed,¡± she said, ¡°but Lady Bertha¡¯s own palfrey, a noble steed, impossibly brave and strong-hearted. She¡¯s Wicked.¡±


    ¡°Then why are you riding her?¡±


    Hanna chuckled. ¡°That¡¯s her name. The story goes that when Lady Bertha acquired her, the mare bit her. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s true. She can jump, though, and she isn¡¯t afraid of anything.¡±


    ¡°I pray you, Hanna, tell me again of what has transpired since the tempest last autumn. I cannot believe¡ªLady Bertha survived with some few others of those that accompanied me¡ªand yet so close to home she is killed! Are you sure of what you saw?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you again,¡± said Hanna, soberly, not taking offense at the question as Liath had known she would not. ¡°Ask me what questions you will. Maybe I¡¯ll remember something I¡¯ve forgot. It was a horrible night. Those arrows flying out of the darkness!¡± She shuddered. ¡°Should another have spoken to me of it, I would not have believed him.¡±


    She repeated the story. Hanna¡¯s testimony was well observed and, as far as it was in her power given her place within the night¡¯s events, related without too much emotion clouding her comments.


    ¡°Ashioi, then,¡± Liath agreed. ¡°They have attacked in other places as well. How can they have come so far north?¡±


    ¡°On their own two feet, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Well, then. Why?¡±


    ¡°To kill Wendish folk, I must guess. Or to kill Prince Sanglant. They called his name.¡±


    ¡°Some think they are allied with him, now that he is regnant. That he means to conquer Wendar and Varre and hand the kingdom over to his mother¡¯s people.¡±


    ¡°You do not think so.¡±


    Liath gave her a sidelong look and wondered if Hanna distrusted Sanglant. If Hanna distrusted her because of Sanglant. ¡°I don¡¯t believe it.¡±


    When Hanna frowned, she looked years older. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to think. I fear those warriors with their poisoned darts more than I ever feared Bulkezu and his Quman.¡±


    ¡°Maybe so, but that doesn¡¯t make Sanglant their ally. He would never betray his father¡¯s memory.¡±


    A stream had changed course in the last months and cut a gully across the path. They had to dismount. The Lions scrambled down and cut enough of a ramp into the sides with shovels that the horses could negotiate the obstacle. Pine whispered above. The forest cover made the path dim as they moved forward along higher ground.


    Hanna lengthened her stride. Hurrying to catch up to her, Liath found they were walking out in front of the others, beyond earshot.


    ¡°What troubles you, Hanna? I see it in your face.¡±


    Hanna looked back, looked ahead, even looked up at the canopy of green above them. The heady aroma of pitch caught in Liath¡¯s throat; for such a long time she had smelled only mildewed leaf litter and the icy breath of unseasonable wintry winds.


    ¡°I admit, I¡¯m still angry at Prince Sanglant for letting Bulkezu live when he should have executed him. I¡¯m sorry to say so. It¡¯s the truth. Whether it speaks good or ill of me, I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s honest of you. None of us are saints.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s truth!¡± She smiled wryly, then frowned in a way that made Liath want to touch her, but she held back. ¡°I should know better. If you trust him, so should I.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s thinking of Sorgatani just now that made me realize. The others fear her, because of what she did at Augensburg.¡±


    ¡°They knew the curse laid on her by her power. She never said otherwise, did she? Was she not honest with them?¡±


    ¡°Honesty is not the same as trust. It was worse than the poisoned arrows. They died only from looking at her.¡± She made a kind of hiccup, like a laugh or a cough. ¡°Sorgatani told me you are like sisters, that you alone are not bound to her but¡¯ are powerful enough to see her without dying. Did it not scare you the first time, knowing the nature of her curse?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember thinking of it at all.¡±


    Hanna halted and faced her, looking awful.


    ¡°I spoke too lightly,¡± said Liath. ¡°Forgive me. Of course it would terrify them. As much as it must frighten folk to be around me.¡±


    ¡°Around you? Why so?¡±


    Liath felt how crooked the smile must look on her face. ¡°Because I can kill people, too.¡±


    ¡°So can we all, with a sword or a spear thrust. With our own hands, if we¡¯re strong enough.¡±


    ¡°I can burn them alive. People fear me, and they should.¡±

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    ¡°But you would never¡ª!¡±


    ¡°Sorgatani would never, would she?¡±


    ¡°She cried, afterward.¡±


    ¡°Yet folk will look at her and see a foreigner. A demon.¡±


    ¡°Yes, truly, so they will.¡± With a sad smile, Hanna lifted her hand to touch Liath¡¯s dusky cheek. ¡°I am so glad we have found each other again, at last.¡±


    Liath¡¯s throat was choked, and her voice trembled. ¡°At last,¡± she agreed. It was all she could manage to say without bursting into tears.


    2


    THE convent hid in a ravine whose entrance was so cleverly concealed that Liath would have walked right past it and kept moving southeast on the trail, on into the wilderness. Hanna turned aside where honeysuckle concealed a path. They made their way down a rocky track between high cliff walls of streaked stone. Two men could not walk abreast; it was barely wide enough for the packhorses to squeeze through. A bird whistled, and Hanna responded with a shout to identify herself. The clop of hooves and stamp of feet threw weird echoes into the air. These ceased when the ravine opened into a neat jewel of a valley. A stream crossed their path, straining its banks. Beyond, a substantial stone wall blocked the valley¡¯s mouth, but it had crumbled in three places where floodwaters had eaten away its foundation. Fence segments woven of branches patched the gaps.


    Beyond, a low stockade surrounded a whitewashed long hall and a collection of outbuildings. Chickens clucked. Goats bawled. Fruit and nut trees stood in tidy rows. Freshly turned earth marked a substantial garden.


    Everyone turned out to greet them: lean soldiers armed with spears and swords, clerics in ragged robes, and a dozen nuns of varying ages dressed in sober wool robes and holding rakes and shovels and scythes in their hands. A party of Ashioi could have devastated their ranks in moments, had they only known where to find them.


    Hanna was so excited that she raced forward, leaving her horse behind with one of the Lions. She was still very much the girl Liath remembered from Heart¡¯s Rest¡ªher first true friend¡ªand yet the years had tempered and molded her to become something different as well: the good nature, the pragmatic eye, and the true heart remained unaltered, but when she wasn¡¯t talking, she pinched her lips together in way that made Liath want to hug her, as if hugging could erase pain. What had she suffered that she did not speak of? Those gathered here might know.


    Their joy at seeing Hanna could not be misinterpreted: they trusted and liked her.


    Liath dismounted and approached with more caution as Sister Rosvita came forward to greet her. The journey had turned the cleric¡¯s hair to silver, and she was as lean as a scarecrow, but she had a ruddy gleam to her face and vigor in her stride.


    ¡°Eagle! Or must I call you otherwise? We are hopelessly behind in our news. How do you fare?¡±


    Liath greeted her in the formal manner, clasping arms in the way of courtiers who do not quite trust each other but hope to by reason of their mutual love for the regnant. ¡°It is a long tale. I have business here with Mother Rothgard. Is she here?¡±


    Rosvita shook her head. ¡°She is gone.¡±


    Disappointment did jab. She felt it under her ribs. ¡°Gone where?¡±


    ¡°Dead.¡± Liath heard no grief in Rosvita¡¯s voice, only weariness. ¡°So we discover, arriving here ourselves only two days ago. Here is Sister Acella, who stands as mother to those nuns who remain.¡±


    It took time to sort things out. First, Liath greeted those few of Bertha¡¯s retinue who had survived¡ªthe sergeant and a dozen or so men. She felt sick at heart seeing so few of them, and yet they greeted her respectfully and with every evidence that they were relieved to be reunited with the woman who had marched them to their doom. Each member of Rosvita¡¯s schola made a pretty introduction; the only one she recalled from before was Brother Fortunatus, gone as lean as he once was chubby. The nuns of St. Valeria watched from afar as Sister Acella led her into the hall and sat her at a table, bringing a pitcher of ale.


    ¡°The Lions and the other Eagles will be thirsty, too,¡± said Liath, noting how only Rosvita and Acella sat with her. Hanna had not come inside. A pair of nuns watched her with uncomfortably intent interest from the shadows at the far end of the hall, but they did not approach.


    ¡°They will be taken care of,¡± said Acella. ¡°Tell me what you have come for.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do so, gladly, if you¡¯ll tell me what became of Mother Rothgard and how she died.¡±


    The tale was quickly told. Autumn¡¯s tempest had torn part of the roof off the long hall. Mother Rothgard had died after falling from a ladder while repairing the thatch. Floods had uprooted the wall, and wolves, growing bold, had killed four nuns over the course of the winter. Weaker souls would have abandoned the site, but few chose the isolated, difficult life at St. Valeria¡¯s in any event and those left had voted to bide in the hall and rebuild rather than flee the onslaught of so many troubles.

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    ¡°Otherwise we would have to burn the books,¡± said Sister Acella in her dour voice. She seemed a kind of cheerful cynic.


    ¡°Burn the books!¡±


    ¡°So it commands us in our charter. Such books as have been collected here must never leave this library or be copied and taken away. Otherwise they might fall into the wrong hands.¡±


    ¡°Not even if the regnant commands it?¡±


    Acella had a cordial laugh. Like all of her sister nuns, she was as thin as a reed but with real muscle in those arms, a woman who labored as hard as she prayed. ¡°Especially if the regnant commands it. Our charter comes from the skopos, not the regnant. Many years ago, of course. We were founded in the last year of the reign of the Emperor Taillefer, back when this was wilderness for ten days¡¯ walk in every direction, beyond the frontier.¡±


    ¡°A strange place to collect such dangerous and rare texts,¡± said Liath, ¡°when any raider might sweep down and carry them off.¡±


    ¡°We are well hidden. And better guarded than you might think.¡± She indicated the door, left open to admit a hazy midday light that did not, quite, penetrate to the rafters or under the eaves. ¡°The labor of those Lions would be a great aid to us, if you can spare the time.¡±


    ¡°A bargain, perhaps,¡± said Liath, ¡°as I come at the regnant¡¯s urging to seek knowledge. These clouds must be lifted so that crops can grow, else many will starve in the months to come.¡±


    Acella looked at Sister Rosvita, then back at Liath. She had a feather-light mustache, barely noticeable, the mark of a strong woman who has survived into middle age. ¡°What knowledge is it that you seek? We have heard of you, the Eagle called Liathano. Princess Theophanu was healed here, some years ago. She said that you saved her life. We¡¯ve heard you were excommunicated at a council in Autun. Has that been lifted?¡±


    ¡°I am here,¡± said Liath, wishing that she did not have to dance this merry round again. ¡°I pray you, if you mean to refuse me, do so at once. I do not have the courtier¡¯s gift of persuasion. I seek the secrets of the tempestari in the hope that sorcery can ease the cloud-ridden weather.¡± She laughed, looked at her companions, realizing she had seen no sign of the Kerayit wagon, and sobered quickly. ¡°Where is Sorgatani? She is a weather worker. She learned from the eldest of all, the ancient one.¡±


    ¡°This is holy ground,¡± said Sister Acella, smiling easily. ¡°No heathen is allowed to set foot within the walls.¡±


    ¡°You said yourself you¡¯ve been attacked by wolves at least four times over the winter and spring.¡± Liath stared at them indignantly. ¡°What if there is another Ashioi raiding party? You can¡¯t have left her alone out in the forest!¡±


    They did not answer, although her voice rose passionately. Their silence dismayed her.


    ¡°Do you know what she is?¡± Sister Rosvita asked at last. ¡°No one may look on her and live, only except those who are her slaves and her servants.¡±


    ¡°Hanna is not her slave! Nor am I!¡±


    ¡°You? What are you saying?¡±


    ¡°That I have ¡®looked on her and lived.¡¯¡±


    It was the wrong thing to say. Sister Acella said nothing but Rosvita exhaled sharply, and then looked sorry she had done so.


    Liath rose. ¡°I pray you, show me, or tell me, where her wagon lies, and I¡¯ll go to her myself. As for the rest, let the Lions labor as long as I may consult your library.¡±


    ¡°It seems we have no choice,¡± said Acella dryly. ¡°If we deny you?¡±


    ¡°If crops will not grow, folk will starve.¡±


    ¡°Waters unleashed may irrigate one field while flooding the rest.¡±


    ¡°Are these riddles, Sister Acella, that I am meant to answer?¡±


    ¡°They are cautions. Sorcery lies under ban, for good reasons. I have labored in these ¡®fields¡¯ all my life. We here in St. Valeria know that knowledge can be more dangerous than arms, that magic can do more harm than steel.¡±


    ¡°The storm that swept us last autumn was no natural storm, but one raised long ago by sorcery. How else to combat it except with sorcery of our own?¡±


    ¡°That path is a treacherous one.¡±


    ¡°I prefer not to see folk starve when I might have done something to prevent it.¡±


    ¡°Even if you will be damned for it?¡±


    ¡°The church may damn me, if they must. I do not believe God will.¡±


    Rosvita stood and pressed a hand to the shoulder of Acella to stop her from leaping to her feet.


    The anger in Acella¡¯s face, however, could not be kept still. Her words were clipped and furious. ¡°That was ill spoken, Eagle. Do you claim to know God¡¯s mind?¡±

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    Liath raised a hand, then swept it back down to her side. ¡°Do you?¡± She was too angry to speak further.


    ¡°I pray you, Sister Acella,¡± said Rosvita placatingly. ¡°Let us see the diploma this Eagle has brought from King Henry. She carries the regnant¡¯s seal and the regnant¡¯s authority.¡±


    ¡°Henry is dead,¡± said Liath. ¡°Did you not know?¡±


    ¡°Dead?¡±


    The cleric staggered. She paled. She swayed. Brother Fortunatus, who had stood all this time by the door watching them without trying to overhear, ran to help her sit down on the bench.


    ¡°Is this true?¡± The look on her face broke Liath¡¯s heart.


    ¡°It¡¯s true. He died in Aosta.¡±


    Rosvita hid her face in her hands.


    Fortunatus looked at Liath. He was pale but not as shaken as Rosvita. ¡°In Aosta? If this is true, then ¡­¡± Strangely, he glanced toward the shadowed end of the hall where those two watchful nuns stood as straight and alert as soldiers on guard. ¡°Can it be that after all¡­ ?¡±


    Rosvita lowered her hands. Through tears, she looked at Liath. ¡°Who stands as regnant? Who granted you the power to ride to St. Valeria? Who rules these Lions? Who rules Wendar?¡±


    ¡°Sanglant.¡±


    She might have said ¡°the Enemy¡± and seen them less shocked.


    Sister Acella got to her feet. ¡°Enough! I cannot allow her in the library, Sister Rosvita. We have no way of knowing if her tale is true. How can a bastard rule in Wendar? Not by right, but by the sword.¡±


    ¡°Wait, Honored Mother,¡± said Fortunatus placatingly. ¡°Surely there is an explanation that comes with this news. Lady Bertha and her soldiers were sent into Dalmiaka as an escort to this one, Liathano. To battle against King Henry¡¯s enemies.¡±


    ¡°To battle the skopos, so you say,¡± hissed Sister Acella. ¡°How can we know this tale is true? How do we know that Prince Sanglant did not march into Aosta and kill his own father to gain the throne?¡±


    Liath could barely force civil words out, but she knew she had to. She felt like slapping the bitch, with her smug expression and stony words. ¡°Ask the other Eagles, then, or the Lions.¡±


    Except the Lions had not witnessed the events in Aosta. Stupidly, she had not asked for anyone to march with her who had actually been with Sanglant on the field that night last Octumbre. She had no one with her who had witnessed Henry passing the crown of Wendar into the hands of his beloved son. She had not brought anyone with her who would be believed.


    ¡°If only Hathui had come!¡± She turned to leave, sick of them and of this turmoil in her heart.


    ¡°Hathui?¡± Fortunatus reached to catch her sleeve, but withdrew his hand before touching her.


    ¡°Hathui lives?¡± Rosvita asked. Grief hoarsened her voice.


    ¡°She is with Sanglant. She serves Sanglant.¡±


    ¡°You may say anything you wish,¡± retorted Sister Acella.


    ¡°So I may. In this case, it happens to be true.¡±


    ¡°I pray you.¡± Fortunatus placed a hand on Acella¡¯s elbow. ¡°I pray you, Honored Mother. Sit down. Calm down.¡± He was staring at Liath. They all were.


    ¡°God Above,¡± whispered Acella, in the tone a woman might use when a minion of the Enemy has appeared on her doorstep. ¡°She shines.¡±


    Liath took a step back, as if struck. She saw how they looked at her with fear and with doubt. It was the same expression she had seen when they spoke of Sorgatani, who was to them a kind of horror that might rise in the night to devour them. She had no words, no argument, to convince them. She retreated, wanting to flee.


    ¡°I pray you, Liathano.¡± The voice came from the shadows, a woman¡¯s alto beckoning her with clarity and composure. ¡°If you will, the Holy Mother wishes to speak with you, lady.¡±


    ¡°Let her be gone from this house!¡± cried Acella.


    It pleased Liath to flout her, so she crossed the hall into the shadows where that pair of nuns waited. They were older women, wiry, strong, determined. Their robes had worn so thin that in patches, about the knee and shoulder, they were almost translucent, just waiting to rip. This she saw because she had salamander eyes, able to spy where light failed, and that was no doubt another argument against her.


    ¡°I thought Mother Rothgard was dead,¡± she said. ¡°What means this?¡±


    ¡°We serve another one,¡± said the elder, stepping to one side to reveal a pair of beds built in under the eaves.


    In the right-hand bed two woman sat, staring at her. With a shock, she recognized Princess Sapientia¡ªbut so changed! The princess gazed at her without reaction. The princess¡¯ companion, a nondescript woman in nun¡¯s robes, watched Liath with brows furrowed and lips turned down in an uneasy frown. The nun held the princess¡¯ hand as one holds the hand of a restless child, but Sapientia did not move or speak, only stared and stared as if her stare were her weapon. Or as if she did not know who Liath was.

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    No wonder Sister Rosvita was surprised to hear that Sanglant had taken the throne, when she had his legitimate sister riding with her.


    ¡°My lady?¡± she said, not sure what to say or how to approach this delicate matter. Ai, God. Sapientia had vanished as a prisoner of the Pechanek Quman. She had no reason to love her brother and every reason to hate him, and here she sat. Her brooding stare was beginning to frighten Liath, who had long since lost her fear of most threats from knowing how easily she could destroy them. The desire for revenge was beyond her power, and it scared her.


    How would Sanglant react when the sister he¡¯d led to her doom reappeared on the scene?


    ¡°There, there, lady,¡± said the seated attendant, chafing Sapientia¡¯s hand between her own. ¡°Best if you lie down again.¡±


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t speak,¡± said the elder nun in a practical tone, ¡°and has not for many weeks, not since the cataclysm. Poor creature. We fear she lost her wits.¡±


    ¡°Let her sit, if she will,¡± said a new voice, one rich with age and oddly familiar. ¡°How bright she is! I see Bernard in her. The resemblance is remarkable. Dear child! Dear child! Let me hold your hand.¡±


    A person lay in the shadows of the second bed, a frail figure propped up on pillows. She was perhaps the oldest person Liath had ever seen, older even than Eldest Uncle. As if drawn by that voice, by an emotion in the words she could not name or resist, she moved a step closer and halted at the rim of the bed, staring into a seamed face that crowded her memory and made her sway, dizzy with bewilderment.


    ¡°I know you. I have seen you before.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, dear child. You are she. Bernard¡¯s child.¡±


    ¡°I am Bernard¡¯s daughter.¡±


    ¡°Sit. Take my hand. I will touch you.¡±


    One did not say ¡°no¡± to a woman of such advanced years, a woman, moreover, who was wearing the ring of an abbess.


    Liath sat obediently and reached out hesitantly. That wrinkled, pale, withered hand gripped hers with a fierce strength. The eyes that examined her had a startling heavenly blue color, not unlike her own.


    ¡°Bring the candle closer,¡± said the old woman. Her attendants knelt on the bed with the illuminating flame.


    ¡°The galla!¡± said Liath, recognizing her. ¡°You are the ones the galla stalked.¡±


    ¡°It was your arrow that saved us,¡± said the old woman. ¡°We would have been dead had you not come.¡±


    Liath found no words, although she searched. She had held on to that arrow through storm and battle and she knew now that she had done the right thing and saved the right person, only she did not know why.


    ¡°The brightness is fading,¡± said the old woman.


    She blushed. ¡°It only comes on me when I¡¯m very angry. When any passion takes hold, it fans the flame.¡±


    ¡°So I see. ¡®Liathano.¡¯ This is the name Bernard gave you.¡±


    ¡°You speak of him as if you know¡ªknew¡ªhim.¡±


    ¡°Why, dear child,¡± she said with a chuckle, ¡°I am grown absentminded in my last days. I have waited so long for this that I have supposed you already to know what I have so long dreamt on.¡± She had tears in her eyes and an expression of ineluctable joy on her face, a radiance that took Liath¡¯s breath away. Those fingers stroked hers weakly. The contrast between the light touch of her frail hands and the strength of her voice was striking.


    ¡°I am Bernard¡¯s mother. Your grandmother. We are met at long last. My prayers are answered.¡±


    Surely this was how the ox chosen for Novarian¡¯s slaughter felt when the first hammer blow slammed into its head to stun it before its throat was cut. Once chosen, there was no going back.


    The old woman had expanded to take up Liath¡¯s entire consciousness, the entire cosmos, only her, this delicate crone who claimed so astonishingly to be her grandmother. That the universe should be both vast enough and narrow enough to encompass such a being could not be explained.


    No one spoke to trouble her marveling. There came in due time trailing into her consciousness a faint aroma of mildew rising out of the darkest corners of the bed and blending with it the fragrance of olive oil and sweet rose oil. She began to hear sounds: the rustle of the mattress as someone shifted position nearby; whispering voices as far away as daylight; the strain in her thigh because of the way she had twisted her knee under herself; the scrape of a bench being dragged over the plank floor; Thiadbold¡¯s hearty laugh, from outside.


    His laugh brought her back to earth. The world recovered its normal proportions only it was forever altered by its possession of so simple a thing as a grandmother. Da¡¯s mother.

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    ¡°Impossible,¡± she said.


    ¡°Certainly unexpected,¡± said the old woman with amusement: ¡°I am called Mother Obligatia. I am abbess¡ªor was, for we are refugees now. I was abbess of the convent of St. Ekatarina¡¯s. We bided there in our rock tower in Aosta for many years in peace. All that is gone. I have much to tell you, dear child, and many questions to ask.¡±


    ¡°How can it be?¡±


    ¡°Will you hear the tale?¡± It was difficult to tell if a sudden diffidence had overtaken her or if she was out of breath.


    ¡°I will hear this tale,¡± said Liath, who found she could herself scarcely catch breath to form words. She leaned closer. ¡°Rest when you must. I pray you, speak softly. Do not strain yourself.¡±


    How strange that it should seem that the old woman was comforting her, stroking her hands as she spoke in a voice that did not penetrate farther than the tiny audience drawn in tightly around her: Liath, and the two nuns who held light aloft. They, too, seemed to be weeping, in silence, as if their bodies resonated with whatever emotion thrummed in the soul of their abbess. The ridges and shadowed valleys of the rumpled blankets were the only landscape in this scene. Rain pattered over the roof and faded.


    ¡°I am Bernard¡¯s mother, but before that, I gave birth to another child.¡±


    The tapestry of Liath¡¯s life and lineage had always concealed more than it revealed, but Obligatia¡¯s story wove in many of the gaping holes. So it became clear as Liath asked questions where she must and answered those she could. An hour passed as the story unfolded. She drank a cup of ale, shared with the old woman. The grandmother. It was still unthinkable to use that word, but she must use it because although it might all be a fabrication or a mistake, she knew in her gut that this piece of the story made all the rest explicable.


    Bernard and Anne were half siblings. Obligatia herself had been used as a pawn in the dynastic schemes woven by the Seven Sleepers. It was hard to know what Biscop Tallia and Sister Clothilde had hoped for when they had shoved the fourteen-year-old-girl into the path of the fifty-year-old monk, except that they needed a compliant, kinless female to breed with the last direct legitimate son born to Taillefer. No one would ever know the whole, now that Anne was dead, and even Anne could not have comprehended everything because in many ways she had also been their pawn, their creation.


    ¡°Some part of the tale I learned from Sister Rosvita,¡± Obligatia finished. ¡°The rest I know of my own experience.¡±


    ¡°Are you tired? If you must rest, I will wait.¡±


    The hand squeezed her; strength lived there still! ¡°No, I will go on. I have lived past my rightful measure of years. I dare wait no longer, dear child. I held on only for this, to see you and to touch you. I can see in your face that my beloved boy Bernard was your father, but how comes it that Anne claimed to be your mother? Is it true?¡±


    ¡°It is not. My mother was a fire daimone enticed to Earth and trapped here by a net of sorcery. Bernard loved her. Not Anne. The daimone was my mother. This I know because I have walked the spheres ¡­¡±


    What walking the spheres entailed, and how she had come to do so, she explained to Obligatia, who showed no sign of distaste, distress, or fear at discovering¡ªor at any rate having confirmed¡ªthat her granddaughter was not wholly human. She was kind and generous and affectionate and wise and calm and amusing and indeed she possessed every quality that Liath had ever dreamed she might find in a grandmother, the one she had long since resigned herself to never having and never knowing.


    ¡°There is one thing, though,¡± Liath added. ¡°Brother Fidelis was the son of Taillefer and Radegundis. My father was born to you and a lord born into the line of Bodfeld.¡±


    ¡°I always called him Maus, to tease him. His name was Mansuetus, fitting enough, for he was quiet and small and gentle.¡± She chuckled. The memory was so old that it no longer seemed to cause her pain. ¡°And nervous of his aunts and uncle, though he defied them to marry me.¡±


    ¡°That quality runs true, then,¡± said Liath with a laugh. ¡°But who were your parents?¡±


    Obligatia smiled sadly. ¡°No one knows. I was a foundling. I was raised at the convent of St. Thierry. I had a different name, then. Left behind like so much else.¡±


    ¡°Where is St. Thierry?¡±


    ¡°In Varre. In the duchy of Arconia.¡±


    Liath lifted the old woman¡¯s hands and kissed each one and set them back on her blankets. ¡°You lost two husbands and two children¡ªall taken from you. How can it be you have lived so long without falling prey to grief and anger?¡±

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    She lifted trembling hands toward Liath¡¯s face, and Liath grasped them. ¡°I suppose,¡± she said, her voice as shaky as her arms, fading as exhaustion overwhelmed her, ¡°that in some part of me I was always waiting, I was always hoping.¡±


    ¡°For what?¡± Liath asked her, and bent close to listen.


    ¡°For you.¡±


    3


    ¡°MOTHER Obligatia is a powerful ally,¡± said Hanna to Liath much later. They had shared a bowl of porridge¡ªso strongly flavored with leeks that Liath could still taste them after two cups of ale¡ªwhile Hanna told of her adventures in Aosta and farther east. Now, as Hanna finished her tale, they paused at the wall. Lions labored in what remained of the day¡¯s light, lifting stones back into place.


    Thiadbold left off working to come speak to them. Like most of the other Lions, he had stripped down to his under-shift and was nevertheless sweating despite the cooling temperature. He had dirt streaked on his face and his hands were caked with earth. He had tied a kerchief around his hair to keep it clean; red strands curled around his ears, and he used a wrist to wipe a strand out of his left eye.


    ¡°No stonemason would admire it,¡± he said, gesturing toward the hasty work and the laboring men, ¡°but it will hold for a season or two until better work can be done.¡±


    Folquin, down the line, waved at them, then yelped and leaped when Leo dropped a rock a hand¡¯s breadth from his foot.


    ¡°How long will it take to fill it all in?¡± Liath asked.


    He shrugged. ¡°A day or two, not more with this company.¡± He smiled at Hanna. ¡°You¡¯ve seen them in action.¡±


    ¡°So I have,¡± she said, and Liath saw how she reddened, just a little, and how her smile turned crooked, just a little. ¡°The best soldiers in the regnant¡¯s army.¡±


    He laughed. ¡°Fair spoken, and even true. These Lions have served faithfully through hard trials and hard losses.¡± He indicated the forest. ¡°We¡¯ve heard there¡¯s a witch and a wagon out in the trees. Need you an escort?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s close by,¡± said Hanna, ¡°and there is some danger involved to your men, which I suppose you will have heard as well.¡±


    ¡°That a look from the witch¡¯s eyes brings death? We¡¯ve heard such a rumor.¡±


    ¡°To look on her will kill you, yes, and it¡¯s no rumor. It¡¯s a curse set on her, no sorcery that she sought of her own will.¡±


    ¡°A terrible fate for any person, to be always alone,¡± he said, and Liath saw how he looked searchingly at Hanna and how she colored, and spoke to cover her discomposure.


    ¡°Send a pair of archers out to that stump, there. If we have any trouble, or see any wolves, they¡¯ll hear us shout.¡±


    Thiadbold wiped his forehead again as he looked at Liath. ¡°You¡¯ll not be having any trouble with wolves, I doubt.¡±


    ¡°I hope not.¡± Liath brushed a hand over her bow. She had obtained a quiver and arrows and sword and sheath to replace those lost. The griffin-fletched arrows had a metallic smell. ¡°We¡¯re armed well.¡±


    ¡°So you are,¡± he agreed cryptically.


    As soon as they crossed the ditch Liath said in a low voice, ¡°He¡¯s taken a fancy to you, Hanna. How well do you know him?¡±


    ¡°Not that well!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re blushing. He¡¯s a good man, good looking, levelheaded, and has the regnant¡¯s trust. Have you given no thought¡ª¡±


    ¡°Leave it, I pray you. I¡¯ve walked no easy road these past few years.¡± But she relented, smiling with what looked like regret. ¡°I admit all that you say of him is true. At another time, in another place¡ªthey¡¯re good men, those Lions. They¡¯re the company that rescued me from Bulkezu. I suppose when I see them I¡¯m reminded of the monster.¡±


    ¡°Bulkezu? He¡¯s dead.¡±


    ¡°Dead.¡± She halted and looked at Liath. ¡°Sorgatani told me he was dead. How did it happen?¡±


    Liath reached over her own left shoulder and, again, touched the curve of her bow, which was strung, ready for battle. ¡°I killed him.¡±


    Hanna covered her eyes and Liath took two steps before realizing that her friend was weeping. She turned back, hugged her, and they stood under the forest cover until Hanna was done.


    ¡°There. I promised I wouldn¡¯t do that.¡±


    ¡°How badly did he hurt you?¡± whispered Liath.


    Hanna pressed a hand to her own forehead. ¡°I saw horrible things, but I was never touched. Ai, God. I will never forget what I saw.¡±


    ¡°No, of course you won¡¯t. Nor should you.¡±

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    ¡°I wish I could. Is it bad of me to wish I could?¡±


    Liath took her hand. ¡°No. Come, let¡¯s go see Sorgatani.¡±


    A path frequented by sheep and littered with their droppings took them across a burbling stream into a meadow rimmed on three sides with an old earth berm, the remains of an ancient habitation. Along the fourth side the nuns, or their servants, had built a fence so they could corral livestock here. The painted wagon sat in the middle of the green, violets blooming around it. Four horses grazed peaceably. Brother Breschius crouched beside a fire, which was spanned by an iron tripod. He was crumbling herbs into an iron pot hung from the tripod¡¯s upper supports when he heard their voices.


    ¡°Lady!¡± he cried, striding to her with an expression of delight. ¡°Ai, God! We thought you lost!¡±


    He would have knelt and kissed her hand, but she would not let him. He laughed when he saw she was determined in this, winkled his hand out of hers, unhooked a small bell from his belt, and slipped the tiny hood off its clapper. The overtones of its resonant ring echoed back from the forest.


    The door at the back of the wagon opened, and Sorgatani looked out. She saw him, and saw Hanna¡ªand Liath. Her mouth dropped open.


    ¡°Liath!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s safe for you to come out,¡± said Hanna. ¡°We¡¯re alone.¡±


    Overtones still teased at the edge of Liath¡¯s hearing.


    ¡°Does the convent have a bell? Do you hear it?¡±


    ¡°Hear what?¡± asked Hanna.


    Sorgatani paused on the steps.


    Breschius surveyed the clearing and the surrounding woods anxiously. ¡°I hope you told them to keep well away. I only ring the bell when it¡¯s safe for her to come out.¡±


    The breath of that sound floated on the breeze, lighter than the kiss of a butterfly¡¯s wings on waiting lips. Liathano.


    ¡°That¡¯s no bell.¡± Liath got her bow out and an arrow free. ¡°Get in the wagon. I¡¯ll run into the trees to draw it away.¡±


    ¡°Galla,¡± said Hanna. ¡°I¡¯ve heard them before.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s after me. Get in the wagon. I can kill it easily enough with a griffin feather, but if you are in the way, it will devour you.¡±


    Breschius watched them, nervous but uncomprehending. ¡°It¡¯s getting dark. An archer is blinded by night.¡±


    ¡°Not dark yet for me. Go, Hanna!¡±


    Hanna grabbed Breschius¡¯ wrist and tugged him after. ¡°Get inside, Sorgatani!¡±


    Liath ran out of the enclosure, then ducked into the trees, seeking open ground. Better to have met it in the clearing, but she could not control its movements there, where the wagon lay. As she jogged along, leggings rattling against underbrush, she felt its presence veer after her, heard the change of direction in its bell voice as it shifted its course. There was only one.


    Twilight turned to gray. The last of the day¡¯s cloudy light sifted down through the canopy, which here consisted mostly of bare branches and the occasional pine or lonely spruce, densely and darkly green. She saw a lightening beyond the trees, ahead of her, and dashed into a meadow cut by a trickling creek. She splashed through the water¡ªit was no more than ankle-deep¡ªand waded through knee-high grass until she reached a central place in the clearing. After turning, she listened; seeking, she examined the forest. The wind shifted, hiding the galla¡¯s iron tang and muting its deep voice.


    From the trees behind her a warbler droned its chiff-chaff call, answered by the chatter of a magpie. She squinted, wondering, marveling. There was hope still, if the birds had returned to build their nests.


    She heard the sound more as a breath released, too late. She spun. An arrow bit into her thigh. Stumbling backward, she grabbed the haft of the arrow and to her amazement it came free, slipped right out of her flesh all bloody. Blood spilled down her leggings and around the curve of her knee.


    Ai, God, it stung, worse than the arrow that had pinned her to the corpse of a horse. She staggered, fell, but caught herself on a hand.


    Liathano. The galla¡¯s voice rang in her heart like the pulse of her blood; it breathed with her as it closed in.


    She fumbled for her bow, dropped in the grass, but the pain spreading from the wound in her thigh boiled so hot that it burned her flesh from the inside out.


    This is what it feels like to be eaten alive by fire.


    Still kneeling, she fought to keep herself braced up on that hand. If she fell, she died. Grass tickled her face as she swayed. Her entire leg had gone to fire, and the fire sped into her chest until she could not breathe, only burn.


    When the shadows slid free of the forest and came running up to her, she understood at last. They were men with the faces of animals. The Ashioi had come. She had been poisoned.

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    Liathano.


    To her right, the towering blackness that marked the galla¡¯s mortal body swept out of the trees. The smell of the forge washed over her, blinding her. She fumbled with her right hand¡ªthe left was ash¡ªand found the cutting feathers of the griffin-fletched arrow. Pain cut her fingers. She felt her balance going, her body toppling sidelong as the toxin roared into her mind, searing everything before it, even that lingering sour-leek taste from the porridge.


    She tried to speak but had no voice.


    Cat Mask leaned over her. ¡°What creature have you called down on us?¡±


    Shifting the arrow a finger¡¯s length got him to look down at it. ¡°Kill it,¡± she whispered. ¡°With¡ªgriffin¡ªfeather.¡±


    A fox face loomed over her. ¡°This is the one we seek! You¡¯ve killed her!¡±


    ¡°Stand back! Let me aim!¡±


    Liathano.


    Dead anyway, she thought bitterly as her vision clouded, hazed over by a veil of darkness. The galla will devour me. Ai, God, Sanglant. The baby, the precious blessing. The flames devoured her, and she fell.


    I couldn¡¯t even warn Hanna.


    A spark flew. In a shower of light, the galla snapped out of existence. And so did she.


    4


    HAVING once tasted the air roiling around a swarm of galla, Hanna now felt her flesh attuned to their presence. Although Liath had vanished into the forest, Hanna knew, at once, when the creature vanished, as she would know the instant a great weight pressing down on her body was lifted.


    ¡°Come!¡± She opened the door of Sorgatani¡¯s wagon and clattered down the steps. She grabbed her staff, which she had left outside, leaning against high wheels. She stared around the clearing, hoping to see Liath reappear.


    ¡°What think you?¡± Breschius blocked the door. The Kerayit shaman stood behind him, rubbing her forehead.


    ¡°My face hurts,¡± she said. ¡°So it hurts, before a storm front breaks. Something has happened.¡±


    ¡°The galla is gone.¡±


    ¡°Best you not go hunting her,¡± said Breschius, ¡°with the night coming down. You¡¯ll be stumbling through the dark all lost. There¡¯s no telling what you might meet out there, wolves, darts, bandits.¡±


    It had grown too dark to see more than shapes and shadows, no detail, and only the starless sky above, nothing to mark direction or the passing of time.


    ¡°I curse them for fools,¡± said Hanna fiercely.


    ¡°Who?¡± asked Breschius.


    ¡°The nuns, all of them, even Sister Rosvita, for leaving you out here.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± A lamp burned behind Sorgatani; the golden net that capped her black hair glittered in its illumination. ¡°They are safe without me. I am safe alone.¡±


    Hanna had learned not to argue with Sorgatani, who had become morose since the attack in Avaria. ¡°Very well. You wait here for Liath. I¡¯ll warn the nuns and Lions about the galla. Where one comes, another may follow.¡±


    ¡°Is there anything they can do if a galla comes?¡±


    ¡°No. That¡¯s what they must know.¡±


    She drew her sword. She didn¡¯t much like the feel of it in her hand. She had no real confidence that she could kill with it, but like so many other things, it was necessary. She was lucky to have a sword¡ªthis one had belonged to one of Lady Bertha¡¯s soldiers, now deceased.


    A warbler trilled from the woodland, and she frowned. ¡°I¡¯ll come back at dawn. Stay inside.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like this,¡± said Breschius suddenly. ¡°Best if you stay, Hanna. You¡¯ll be safer if you bide by us.¡±


    She ran as much to escape his pleading as to return to the convent. Something was wrong. She knew it, but she could not explain it. Liath should have returned¡ªunless the galla had caught her. Devoured her.


    She must not think like that.


    Twilight ate at her vision, but she had walked this path a dozen times in the last few days. A breath¡ªa pale arrow¡ªwhistled past her.


    ¡°Oh, God.¡± She ducked down, running with short, rapid steps, heart racing, utterly alert. She plunged out of the trees into the open ground surrounding the convent.


    ¡°Attack! Attack!¡± she cried, and heard her own voice choke on fear, and tried again. ¡°To arms! To arms! Aronvald! Thiadbold!¡±


    A shaft sprouted out of the ground a body¡¯s length from her. She zigged and zagged, stumbled once, kept going although she had scraped her hand raw. Blood trickled off her palm. A torch bloomed at the wall, then a second and third and fourth, so much light she could see their figures scrambling to take up defensive positions where the wall protected them. The work they had done this afternoon would not be enough.

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    ¡°Get cover! Get cover!¡± The light exposed them. She sprinted, making for the ditch. Arrows thunked into the dirt.


    A horn lifted to sound the alert. Alarm! Alarm! it seemed to cry. Awake! Stand ready!


    ¡°Archers! Hold your fire!¡± That was Thiadbold, taking command of his men from the shelter of the wall. Voice carrying from the far side of the compound, Sergeant Aronvald called for his three remaining archers: ¡°Stand where you¡¯re covered! The rest of you, get down! Keep your heads down, dammit!¡±


    She ran under the gate, dropped the sword, and fell panting to her knees as Ingo, Folquin, Leo, and Stephen ran to her. She¡¯d had no trouble breathing while she¡¯d been running but now couldn¡¯t get any air in.


    ¡°Hanna!¡±


    ¡°Got¡­ to ¡­ warn ¡­ Arrows are poison. Dead ¡­ if you¡¯re hit, you¡¯ll be dead. Dead.¡±


    She searched their expressions for some sign that they understood how serious the situation was. On the ride here from the village, she had told the story of the attack at Augensburg, but who could believe that a man might sustain the merest scratch on his arm and yet die in convulsions?


    Thiadbold knelt beside her. ¡°Here, now, Hanna.¡±


    She grasped his arm so hard that he gasped. ¡°You must take cover. If¡­ any arrow cuts the skin ¡­ they have poisoned arrows. It will kill at once. Even a scratch. Believe me!¡±


    ¡°I believe you!¡± he cried with a glance over his shoulder toward the gate, being shouldered closed by a pair of brawny Lions. Barely visible as the night swept over them, Lions clustered in shield walls where the wall gapped. The wall had minimal defensive capability; no inner wall walk offered a vantage for sentries and archers. The nuns clearly had never used swords and bows and spears to defend themselves.


    ¡°Still,¡± he added, ¡°they¡¯ll be cautious about attacking against walls when it¡¯s dark.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll shoot arrows.¡± She coughed, and he helped her stand. Her sides heaved as she struggled to catch her breath. ¡°They need only scratch ¡­¡±


    A trio of arrows spat down out of the night, sticking in the dirt.


    ¡°Take cover!¡± shouted Thiadbold as men scattered, startled and dismayed. He looked at Hanna, frowning. Because he had his helm on, she could only see his eyes and the lower part of his face, but he looked as steady as ever. ¡°They can¡¯t afford to waste arrows uselessly. If that¡¯s but a raiding party, they¡¯ll hoard their arrows and their poison.¡±


    ¡°Maybe so, but we are no more than sixty or seventy people all told. If there are only ten raiders and each one has ten arrows, even that could kill every one of us.¡±


    ¡°You fear them.¡± He had his hand on her arm in the manner of a man comforting a loved one.


    ¡°I fear their poison. I saw my companions fall. Ai, God.¡±


    He nodded. ¡°Have you a bow?¡±


    ¡°I do, but I¡¯m only a middling shot. Sergeant Aronvald will have more weapons, for he kept with us the weapons of the soldiers we lost. He has only three good archers left but another half dozen strong bows. We¡¯ve been making arrows as we go.¡±


    He released her and called to Ingo. ¡°Sergeant, you¡¯re in charge while I go to the other side. Keep their heads down and their bodies under cover. Do not shoot unless you have a target. Let no man be exposed by the light of torches.¡±


    ¡°Shall we douse the torches, Captain?¡±


    He worried at his lower lip. ¡°If only we had lit a ring of torches out beyond the wall we might see them coming, if they choose to storm our position.¡± He shook his head impatiently. ¡°But we have not. Leave the torches be for now. Let no man stand where the light will give him away. Come, Hanna. Tell me the story again.¡± He began walking and she sheathed her sword and jogged up alongside him, still puffing.


    ¡°Aronvald!¡± he called, and was answered from the shadows by the weaving shed, where a strong section of wall separated the shed and the orchard from the darkness of the forest.


    ¡°A good place to creep up close,¡± he muttered.


    She stumbled on a rock, an old building stone half buried in earth and grown over with moss¡ªwhat in God¡¯s names was that doing here? Once a structure had stood here, but in the darkness she couldn¡¯t guess what it might have been. Wincing, she got to her feet and dusted off her gloved hands. Seeing her unhurt, Thiadbold hurried to consult with Lady Bertha¡¯s sergeant. The two men stood close together under the eaves of the weaving shed. Hanna looked around, getting her bearings. Her eyes had adjusted¡ªas much as they ever would¡ªto the dark; she hadn¡¯t seen this portion of the compound closely during daylight.

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    Sergeant Aronvald had lit no torches. His men waited in the shadows, four of them up on ladders to get aim over the wall. They were all in mail and helmets, some inherited from the dead. The half dozen Lions waiting below beside the narrow orchard gate wore brigandines and decent helmets. All had boiled leather greaves, gloves protected across the back of the hand with chain mail, and good boots¡ªa soldier¡¯s stout friend on the march. This she had noted when she¡¯d first met them at the village; after so long on the road she had learned to assess quickly what manner of armor her friends, and her foes, kept on them.


    A moaning cry rose out of the forest, more wail than sob, an awful racket that made her cringe and then hate herself for her fear.


    ¡°What was that?¡± whispered one of the men as the sound died. Wind rattled branches. The orchard swayed as if each tree were trying to come unstuck, to move its roots, to flee that noise, which rose a second time, hung in the air, and faded.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like this,¡± said another Lion.


    She encountered no more obstacles as she came up beside Thiadbold and Aronvald, who were talking with the intensity of men who know a decision must be made swiftly and decisively.


    ¡°¡­ fire,¡± Thiadbold was saying. ¡°So we can see them. We might see if we can shoot flaming arrows into the trees.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not likely to work,¡± replied Aronvald, ¡°as it is so damp, but I tell you, Captain, it¡¯s better than no idea at all, and no idea is what I¡¯m having, for we lost half our company and our good lady to these creatures.¡±


    ¡°If that¡¯s what¡¯s out there. It might be bandits. We came across some the night before we reached Freeburg, but Liath chased them off. With fire, that is. Which is how I came to think of it.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a trick to getting the flame to hold as the arrow flies.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll put my men to work on it. Mayhap the good nuns have some pitch¡ªhere! Hanna!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll go and ask them at once, and take the message to Ingo, of what to expect,¡± she said.


    ¡°Folquin and Leo can be in charge of fixing the arrows. They¡¯ve done something like in the past, and are clever. Go.¡±


    This time she knew enough to skirt the stone that had tripped her before, and as she swung wide around it a golden light flared above her, hissing as it spit sparks. Had one of Aronvald¡¯s archers gotten fire fixed so quickly?


    The bright missile pierced the thatched roof of the main hall and at once streamers of flame blazed down the slanted roof. A second arrow skittered along the incline and tumbled to the ground. Two more lit the sky, arcing in over the wall, but they missed the hall and skipped over the tiles of the small chapel, the only building not roofed in thatch.


    ¡°¡¯Ware! ¡¯Ware!¡± shouted Aronvald. ¡°Laurant! Tomas! Get to the horses! Go!¡±


    She turned just as an arrow buried its burning head in the thatch that roofed the weaving shed. The roof of the hall smoldered but did not catch, but when a second arrow slammed into the weaving shed¡¯s roof, flames caught and leaped and danced. The light threw twisting shadows all around, and cast yellow into men¡¯s complexions as they backed away. Their enemy had settled on the same plan of attack: burn them out.


    ¡°Water! Water!¡± cried Thiadbold.


    Horses neighed from the corral where they had been confined. If they panicked¡ª


    Sister Rosvita and Sister Acella appeared on the porch of the hall. Smoke leaked out of the door, wrapping them in a writhing gray aura that dissipated an instant later in the wind.


    Must go, she thought, knowing herself vulnerable out in the open, but she could not make her feet move as a fire broke out in the thatch of a storage hut. A clamor began out by the main gate, men shouting an alert, men running. A man screamed.


    ¡°Hit! Hit!¡±


    ¡°Pull him back!¡± That was Ingo calling out commands. Ai, God. ¡°Where¡¯s that cart? Faster, boys! Get it in place! Keep your heads down!¡±


    ¡°It burns! Ai! Ai!¡±


    ¡°Hold him down! Get him to the hall!¡±


    ¡°Hanna!¡± The cry came from Thiadbold.


    She turned toward him, and saw a streak, a shadow. ¡°Thiadbold!¡±


    Too late. The arrow cut through his glove and stuck, bobbing as he cursed and yanked it free. Aronvald, behind him, sprang forward, shoved the captain to the ground so hard that Thiadbold collapsed straight down on his back, arms flung out. The sergeant swung with all his strength and with precise aim. He severed Thiadbold¡¯s left arm midway along the forearm, cut it clean off.


    Thiadbold seemed in shock, perhaps from hitting his head on the ground, as the sergeant dropped his own sword and fell to his knees, unbuckling his belt. There was blood, but Hanna was too far to see it gush from the wound, only trails of it rushing past Aronvald¡¯s kneeling figure. The flow slowed to a trickle.

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    Aronvald twisted. ¡°Hanna!¡±


    An arrow thudded into the ground a body¡¯s length from her. Another shivered in the earth behind the sergeant, who grabbed his sword and rose.


    ¡°Ai, God!¡± said a calm voice from the wall. ¡°Sergeant, I¡¯m hit. In the shoulder.¡±


    ¡°Come down,¡± said the sergeant in a voice just as calm. Dead men walk because they have no need to run, already knowing their fate. Thiadbold stared heavenward, his left hand lying at an impossible angle to his body.


    Hanna got a foot to move at last, followed by the other. As in a dream, she saw an arrow circling spinning streaking out of the darkness from over the wall, lit by the hellish yellow of the flames as it found its target: it scraped hard across Thiadbold¡¯s remaining arm just above the elbow.


    Aronvald, mute, raised his sword a second time.


    ¡°I would rather die than lose the other one, too,¡± said the captain, his voice as even as if he were discussing the weather. ¡°Get to cover, I pray you. Hanna, if you¡¯ll help me up.¡±


    He had, after all, been watching her this whole time; in this dim writhing light it had been impossible to tell. The roof of the weaving shed roared as the flames rushed skyward. The harsh smoke burned in her nostrils as¡ªat last¡ªshe found her legs and dashed forward. Her eyes stung from the smoke pouring off the roof and along the beams and posts of the building. She grabbed Thiadbold under her arms and heaved him up as Aronvald ran to the wall and got there in time to catch a man collapsing down a ladder in convulsions.


    That eerie cry wailed out of the forest as Hanna lugged Thiadbold along. His remaining hand clutched her shoulder. He could move his feet; he was still in shock. Blood pumped lazily from the stump of his arm. She got him up onto the porch. There was a pallet inside, one of several. She laid him down, and he grunted¡ªwith pain, perhaps, or with fear, or simply with relief. She didn¡¯t know and couldn¡¯t tell.


    Sister Acella knelt beside him. ¡°Sister! A length of stout cord, quickly! This belt hasn¡¯t stemmed the flow of blood. Get the coals hotter. I want a lotion of betony¡ª¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve none left, Sister.¡±


    ¡°Then dead nettle. Bay, if we have it. Best yet, feverwort. I know there is a small stock remaining.¡± She did not look up as she spoke. The younger nun hurried to do her bidding.


    Smoke streamed down from the roof. Hanna coughed. She was weeping from the stink of it.


    ¡°Go, Hanna,¡± said Sister Rosvita, coming up beside her. ¡°If there¡¯s aught else you can do.¡±


    Out into the terrible rain of arrows.


    Hanna shuddered, and yet how was she safer here if more burning arrows lit the thatch of this hall? She hadn¡¯t delivered her message to Ingo about flaming arrows and Thiadbold¡¯s plan. From outside, she heard another bout of screaming, echoed by a second drawn-out wail, that hideous cry emanating from the forest. Under the eaves, clerics huddled in silence, their faces pale as they stared at her. She hated them for hiding here, but only for an instant. There was nothing they could do. They didn¡¯t wield weapons; they wielded pens and prayers, and, by the murmuring, she guessed they were praying as fiercely as they could.


    Thiadbold had his eyes closed. Perhaps he had passed out. Convulsions would begin in moments, and in truth she just could not bear to see him die although she hated herself for her cowardice.


    ¡°Let me watch him.¡± Rosvita crouched beside Thiadbold as Sister Acella got the cord she wanted and set to tying a better tourniquet.


    Hanna retreated like the coward she was. She went onto the porch to see fire consuming the weaving shed and flames spurting along one corner of a hut, not quite catching, not quite dying. A ladder had been thrown up against the eaves at the far end of the hall and there stood Ruoda handing a bucket of water to Fortunatus, to throw atop the smoldering roof. They were just as exposed as she was, except they had nothing with which to defend themselves.


    Ashamed, she ran for the front gate. No arrows struck around her. She came to the shelter of the wall, those stones shaped and settled one atop the other higher than a tall man could reach. The wall had a slight inward incline, being broader at the base than at its top.


    ¡°Hanna!¡± Ingo gestured to three bodies lying on the ground. ¡°As you said. Only a scratch and they died.¡±


    His whisper sounded to her like a shout. It had gone so silent around them that she did not even hear wind rattling in the branches, only the hiss and crackle of the fire. The heat of the blazing weaving shed pressed against them. Suddenly, thunder cracked the silence. Rain pattered, turning between one breath and the next into a downpour that took them so by surprise that no one moved, only got drenched until the deluge ceased as abruptly as it had started.

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    They waited, braced for the worst, but no attack resumed. It was as if the world had died beyond the walls¡¯ barrier, as if every living thing had died and maybe even the forest and the land vanished into the pit so they were surrounded only by an infinite black yawning nothingness.


    ¡°Hanna?¡±


    ¡°Eh! What?¡±


    ¡°You were whimpering, Hanna.¡± That was Folquin¡¯s familiar, pleasant voice. She recognized it now.


    ¡°My head hurts.¡±


    He grunted his assent. He was crouched behind her, with Leo and Stephen close behind him.


    ¡°Think they¡¯re still waiting out there, Ingo?¡± Folquin asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m not betting otherwise. Are you?¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯d not volunteer to be the first to walk out past those torches, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re asking. But Leo will gladly take that stroll, will you not, Leo?¡±


    ¡°After I piss on your grave,¡± said Leo amiably.


    ¡°Who¡¯s dead?¡± asked Hanna.


    ¡°No one you knew,¡± said Ingo. ¡°But anyway, there is one we called Corvus for his black hair.¡± He pointed to the closest body. It was too dark to see the corpse¡¯s face; he was only the anonymous dead, unknown and now unknowable except as a name and a few anecdotes. ¡°There¡¯s poor Ermo who had a girl he wished to marry back home. There, his cousin Arno, who was not quick in his wits but could split a cord of wood faster than any man I¡¯ve seen.¡±


    The old, sick choking swelled in her throat, and she knew she was about to weep. She rose, instead. ¡°I¡¯d best see to the captain.¡±


    ¡°Hurt?¡± asked Ingo, voice dropping into a register of dread.


    ¡°Is the captain dead?¡± whispered Folquin, laying a hand on her shoulder more for his own comfort than hers, she guessed.


    ¡°Let me go see,¡± she said, ¡°though I fear it.¡±


    Leo cursed under his breath. Stephen caught in his breath in a sucking sound, between clenched teeth. Folquin released her. Ingo rose with her.


    ¡°Let me know,¡± he said quietly. ¡°I¡¯m next to be captain, as I¡¯m most senior of those left. Better if he lives, to my way of thinking.¡±


    ¡°And for the rest of us, not wanting to dance to Ingo¡¯s tune,¡± said Folquin, trying a joke, but it fell flat.


    She loped back to the hall, pausing at the steps that led to the raised porch. Beyond the wall she heard the wind sough through the trees, picking up again. The flavor of the night with its taste of dying smoke and scent of lush damp green growing things had shifted imperceptibly to something familiar and seemingly safe, almost like an ordinary night.


    From inside, a man screamed in raw agony. She cringed away, then caught herself before she bolted. She stood there, gasping, as the cry cut off¡ªas sharp as a sword¡¯s cut. Voices murmured. She smelled a horrible stench. Caught there, she wept freely until Sergeant Aronvald emerged from the hall, found her, and clapped her roughly on the shoulder.


    ¡°There, now, Eagle! Stop that! You¡¯re yet living. I lost another man.¡±


    Four in all.


    ¡°Is the captain¡ª?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°That nun is not one I¡¯d want to cross. Whew! She burned the stump to stop the bleeding.¡± He swayed a little. ¡°Thought I would faint, but she never wavered.¡± Abruptly, he stumbled sideways and vomited and, in between heaves, waved a hand at Hanna as if he wanted her to go.


    Cautiously, she went inside to discover a dead man, a living one who had been wounded in the leg but not yet convulsed into death, and an unconscious Thiadbold with Acella kneeling beside him. Acello held the stump, which was all raw and singed and stinking, but was lecturing to a pair of younger nuns, one of whom looked interested and the other of whom looked like she was ready to follow Aronvald¡¯s example. All of Rosvita¡¯s young clerics except Gerwita had fled into the shadows. Hilaria sat at Thiadbold¡¯s head, holding his shoulders in case he moved. She had, evidently, helped Aronvald hold him down.


    ¡°It is the minions of the Enemy who kill,¡± Sister Acella was explaining to her charges. ¡°They can¡¯t be seen by mortal eyes. They inflame the humors that balance the body. Fire chases them out and will staunch the flow of blood, which would also kill him. We¡¯ll need salves to further staunch the bleeding, to ease the burn, and to lessen the inflammation. If we can hold the Enemy at bay, the captain may yet survive. I¡¯ll need dead nettle. Sister Hilaria, will you help me?¡±


    All at once, the four nuns rose and walked away to the other end of the hall, where a single lamp burned. Above, noise thumped along the roof beam; someone had gotten up on the roof and was probing for hot spots. There was a leak down where Mother Obligatia lay. Hanna saw someone moving there, pacing back and forth. After a moment she recognized Sapientia¡¯s posture and form.

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    ¡°Sister Acella knows a great deal about healing,¡± said Gerwita in a small voice. ¡°Do you think, when it is safe, that I might come study with her, Sister Rosvita?¡±


    Rosvita smiled at the young woman, patting her hand gently. ¡°Surely you may, child, when it is safe.¡±


    Hanna knelt beside Thiadbold and took his hand in hers. He still lived. His hand was warm. His fingers twitched, and she looked up to see his eyes open and fixed on her.


    ¡°Attack?¡± he said.


    ¡°Quiet for now,¡± she answered.


    Rosvita got up and, holding Gerwita¡¯s hand, moved away.


    ¡°You¡¯d best sleep ¡­ while have chance.¡±


    She smiled at him. ¡°I can¡¯t sleep now. You¡¯re the one must sleep.¡±


    He made a kind of grin although it was more a grimace. ¡°Can¡¯t. Hurts too much. God!¡± His eyes hooded as he gathered strength, then opened again, so fixed on her that at once she knew what was coming and what Rosvita had seen that had caused her to slip away. Dying men said things they might otherwise keep secret.


    ¡°Have you given any thought¡­ to what you will do ¡­ when you leave the Eagles?¡± He had a hard time talking, but he was determined. ¡°Thought¡­ of marriage?¡±


    She pitied him and hated herself, and pitied herself and hated him, all in the space of a breath. She could not lie, yet dared not sadden him, not if he had a chance of living. Mostly, she expected he would die, yet even so she could not lie to him in his last moments, and anyway, what if Sister Acella had certain magical healing arts and he lived and she was faced with a promise she could not honor? Best to speak what was true, even if it was only part of the truth.


    ¡°I am already promised. If I were not, I would be thinking about you a great deal, Thiadbold. You¡¯re a good man.¡±


    He smiled, although he was in so much pain that his jaw was clenched and his neck as tight as rope pulled to the breaking point.


    She bent and kissed him on the lips. To her surprise, she found it true as she tasted the sweat and sweetness of his mouth; she did find him attractive. On another day, in another place, she might have chosen him.


    He slipped away into sleep, of a kind. She waited for a long while, and after a longer while she wondered if he had died from the poison.


    Sister Acella eased down beside her. ¡°If he lives out the week it is likely he¡¯ll survive the wound. As for the others¡ªsix were struck, and four died at once. Some poison, it is agreed.¡±


    ¡°Deadly,¡± murmured Hanna, who was still holding onto Thiadbold¡¯s grimy hand. ¡°Yet why did he and that other one not die?¡±


    ¡°Surely the arrows that struck them were not poisoned.¡±


    ¡°Then did he lose that hand for nothing?¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± The nun had a way of smiling that suggested an old and deep conspiracy. ¡°By cutting the first wound away from the rest of the body, Sergeant Aronvald saved his life¡ªif that arrow was poisoned. So, you see, we will never know. Are they gone?¡±


    Hanna startled, lost in contemplating Thiadbold¡¯s curly beard, neatly trimmed and rather handsome and noble looking, now that she thought on it. ¡°Are who gone?¡±


    ¡°Those who attacked us with poisoned arrows,¡± replied the nun dryly.


    She laid her hand on his chest, to feel his breathing, then rose. ¡°Best to see, although I¡¯ve heard no alarms.¡± Ill at ease, she left.


    Outside, the night remained silent but for the wind and the occasional restless whicker from one of the horses, under the control of half a dozen men. Those horses were precious, having survived a terrible journey. She saw Wicked standing among them, recognizing the mare¡¯s sleek contours.


    Ingo stood at the gate with Folquin, Leo, and Stephen on watch to either side. Half the men were down, trying to sleep right up against the shelter of the wall. The weaving shed still smoked, but all the fires had gone out. It had stopped raining but still smelled of rain. The three dead men were gone.


    ¡°The captain still lives,¡± she said to Ingo. ¡°The nun says if he survives the week then he¡¯ll likely survive.¡±


    He sighed.


    She said, ¡°Let me stand a turn on watch, I pray you. I can¡¯t sleep. Better I look, in case there is something to be seen of the Kerayit shaman. Or had you heard that tale?¡±


    He had. ¡°Down,¡± he said sharply to the others. ¡°Hanna will stand sentry for a while.¡±


    The wall had a ledge built into it two thirds of the way up, alongside the gate, where a watcher could sit almost at her ease and keep an eye on the valley and on the cleft where the ravine gave way to open ground. From here also she could see the forested eastern stretch of the valley to which Sorgatani had been exiled. Hanna settled herself on slickly wet stone and surveyed the dark vista.

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    Of the four torches burning earlier three had gone out. The fourth burned fitfully atop a post. She saw the curve of a helmet at the edge of its aura, but after looking again that way, and a third time, realized that no man inhabited that helm. It had been propped there to draw arrow shot.


    Was it a lie to tell half a truth? Was it right to spare a dying man another sorrow? Or had she only spoken that way to Thiadbold to spare herself the awkwardness?


    I am already promised¡ªto the Eagles.


    Yet after all, alone on this wall, she knew she had not lied. What she had said, discounting the Eagles, was true enough, only she had not known it or had not admitted it to herself. Tears dried on her cheeks and still a few more slid from her eyes, a ceaseless trickling waterfall fed by sorrow and loss. Was this what it meant to have a broken heart? After all, her heart had promised itself what it would never have. Thiadbold would be a good man for a husband, but it would never be fair to him.


    Yet why not? She could come to love him well enough. Love wasn¡¯t everything. In a marriage, it counted less than so many other qualities: respect, liking, trustworthiness, hard work, steadfastness, honor, alliance between families. Or she could stay in the Eagles, like Hathui, always and forever, because she loved being an Eagle even after all this, even after everything. Here she felt at home, standing watch in the middle of the wilderness with enemies all around and a few stout friends at her back, all in service to the regnant. Here she felt a measure of peace, perched on the wall with the damp air and the spattering of rain and the night wind breathing on her. Not knowing what the next day would bring and aching with the misery of wondering what has happened to the ones she loves.


    Her family, mother and father, brothers, selfish sister.


    Sorgatani. Liath.


    Ivar.


    With a groan, the weaving shed collapsed. Ash and smoke cast a pale cloud into the air, visible against the darker night. She followed its thread up, and up, and caught her breath as she craned back to stare at the heavens.


    For the first time in months, stars shone where that brief storm had torn the clouds into rags. So it remained all night, just a few stars shifting as they passed across the zenith. At dawn, the red rim of the sun rose over the trees so bright and glaring that everyone came running outside to stare and rejoice despite their losses, and laughed and cried as the haze bled back over the heavens, covering the rift.


    She saw no sign of anyone out in the trees.


    ¡°I must go look,¡± she said to Ingo, who had remained below her, watchful but silent, all that time.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s a bad idea.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t abandon Sorgatani.¡±


    ¡°If all that¡¯s said is true, then she¡¯s in no danger. And can protect the frater who bides with her, as well. Say.¡± He slanted a look at her, speculating. ¡°A few have said he¡¯s her lover.¡±


    ¡°He is not. For many years he served Prince Bayan, who was later Princess Sapientia¡¯s husband.¡±


    ¡°Here, now.¡± He reached up to help her clamber down, and Stephen climbed up past her to take her place, but Ingo kept his big hand on her upper arm and bent close, drawing her away to speak privately with her. He smelled of smoke¡ªno doubt they all did¡ªbut he had a slight minty smell to him, as though he¡¯d been chewing leaves.


    ¡°What?¡± she asked him, taken aback by his size and strength.


    ¡°Is it true? None of us have seen, but all speak of it. That Princess Sapientia lives?¡±


    ¡°She does.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve traveled with her all this time? Tell me the tale, Hanna, I pray you. We must know.¡±


    She hesitated, and he frowned.


    ¡°Sanglant is a strong ruler,¡± he said, more quietly still, so close that he could have kissed her, but his interest in her had always been that of an older brother. ¡°When he came to Osterburg, we were heartened for the first time since King Henry departed for Aosta. I pray you, Hanna, what does the princess intend? Will she challenge him?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    He sighed, shoulders sagging, glancing away and making a face.


    ¡°She is ill, Ingo. Listen closely. In the days I have traveled with her¡ªmonths now¡ªI have not heard her speak. She suffers some disease of the mind. She¡¯s little better than a simpleton, although I have no right to say such a thing of a royal princess.¡±


    ¡°Best to say it if it is true! Sanglant is regnant, and the army loves him, and we¡¯ll follow him, but there are those who mutter he is not the rightful heir. What will those noble folk do when Sapientia returns?¡±


    ¡°How can we know?¡±

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    ¡°Who will you serve, Hanna, if you must choose?¡±


    ¡°Are you saying there may be civil war between them? The princess cannot feed herself, much less lead an army.¡±


    ¡°An army can be led in her name.¡±


    ¡°Who would do so? Her sister?¡±


    ¡°Nay, not Princess Theophanu, unless she plays a deeper game than we ever glimpsed. We bided in Osterburg for some two years or more, building walls and chasing down bandits. She¡¯s a faithful steward. King Sanglant named her duke of Saony, and she accepted.¡±


    ¡°Then who?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Only wondering, that¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°Best I go and find Liath, if you wish to keep Prince Sanglant happy.¡±


    He considered this, still frowning.


    ¡°What are you thinking?¡± she asked.


    ¡°It would be easier for him were he to marry a proper queen, which he will not. Still, the captain knows her of old and speaks no ill of her, although some say she is a sorcerer and has used ill-starred magic to bind the regnant to her.¡±


    She shook off his hand. ¡°I know her of old, too. I¡¯ll hear no ill words spoken of her. She is not what you say she is. Who has whispered these things? Who?¡±


    He held up both hands as a shield against her anger. ¡°Here, now. I¡¯m only repeating whispers. She¡¯s good to look on, as any man will tell you.¡±


    Hanna snorted. ¡°There is more to her than whether men think her attractive!¡±


    ¡°Thiadbold swears she can hold her own in a fight. That she saved the life of a Lion, in his old cohort, a few year back. We saw it ourselves, just a few days back.¡± He would not look at her. Somehow, the words embarrassed him. ¡°She called flame right out from the treetops. It¡¯s said she can burn a man alive, if she wishes.¡±


    Hanna said nothing.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t that scare you?¡± He still would not look at her, and the sight of this big, strong man with a queasy look made her want for nothing more than to get away from him.


    ¡°I am not afraid of Liath,¡± she retorted. ¡°Nor should you be.¡±


    ¡°Burned alive,¡± he repeated. ¡°What matter my weapons and armor then?¡±


    ¡°Best, in that case, that the regnant keep her tied to his bed,¡± she said sarcastically, but he nodded in all seriousness.


    ¡°Perhaps so. Good strategy on the part of King Sanglant.¡±


    In his eyes, evidently, Sanglant could do no wrong. Strange that he never mentioned that Sanglant had used his own sister as a hostage and later abandoned her with his enemies. That Sanglant had kept Bulkezu alive. That Sanglant had marched against his own father.


    Yet what choice had the prince had? Henry had been possessed by a daimone. Sanglant had saved his father, or come as close as anyone could. The Lions had told her the tale of the battle under the wings of the storm, which had been told to them by the soldiers who had survived, those who had witnessed, those who had returned from Aosta and the death of their emperor and their hopes for empire.


    All this she could now put together, the last story she needed to understand the events of those days when she and the others had been prisoners of the Arethousans.


    ¡°Well, then,¡± said Ingo uneasily, ¡°I¡¯ll get the lads started on that wall again. How many do you want to come with you?¡±


    ¡°None. If the enemy waits, it¡¯s best if only I die.¡±


    ¡°Nay,¡± he said irritably, ¡°I can¡¯t send you out alone¡ª¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± Stephen shouted from the wall and a moment later a second sentry, posted farther down, called out as well. ¡°It¡¯s a man¡ªhe seems unarmed, coming out of the trees¡ªhe¡¯s got only one hand¡­¡±


    ¡°Let me see.¡± Ingo laced his fingers under her boots to give her a boost up. ¡°That¡¯s Brother Breschius. Open the gate.¡±


    She met him just beyond the ditch. He grasped her hand as she came up beside him. He had tears in his eyes.


    ¡°I feared for you,¡± he said, ¡°when we heard the Lost Ones.¡±


    ¡°Sorgatani?¡±


    ¡°Unharmed. As am I, as you see.¡± He looked toward the walled convent. A score of heads had appeared along the wall, watching them, but no one ventured out. ¡°She walked, last night, for we knew they would attack you.¡±


    ¡°Did she scatter them? We heard an ungodly wailing.¡±


    ¡°I know not what that was. Will you come? Liath did not return. Best we look for her.¡±


    ¡°Ai, God,¡± she whispered, sick at heart, with a dull grinding pain in her belly. Well, no doubt the worst would please Ingo, she thought furiously, hating him.

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    ¡°We¡¯ll search more quickly with more scouts,¡± he continued, ¡°but if the Lost Ones bide in the woods, then they¡¯ll kill them.¡±


    ¡°They did not kill you, walking here.¡±


    ¡°I am no threat to them. They may fear Sorgatani, as they should.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll come alone, and Sorgatani will search with us.¡± She ran back to the gate and told Ingo what she meant to do, and when he began to protest, she cut him off. ¡°Let no man walk beyond these walls lest he see what will kill him. Believe what I say, and if you will not believe me, then believe Aronvald or Sister Rosvita. Stay close.¡±


    The path lay quiet. Nothing disturbed them, although water dripped now and again from branches. She stopped once to drink from a brutally cold stream. She had forgotten how thirsty she was, and she gulped down the water and felt her head ache as if the iciness of the water were trying to freeze it.


    Sorgatani waited by her painted wagon, anxious as she scanned the forest. ¡°They are gone,¡± she said to Hanna without turning to see who it was.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    She pointed. ¡°Liathano went in that direction. Come.¡±


    They made of themselves a line with Sorgatani in the middle and Breschius and Hanna to either flank. Moving into the trees, they found no bodies. If Sorgatani had killed any, then some had survived to carry away the dead. The light trailing through the trees had a brighter edge today, although haze again covered the sky. Was it thinner? Was there hope that the weather would change?


    ¡°Here!¡± called Breschius.


    Hanna beat a path to him with her staff, cutting through thickets and slogging through a patch of mud that slimed her boots. He stood in a clearing staring down at an object hidden by grass. Sorgatani stood beside him; she hid her eyes behind her hand, as if she did not want to see but knew she had to look. Hanna came up to them.


    Liath¡¯s bow could never be mistaken for any other. It lay, strung, in the grass, carelessly dropped. Beside it her quiver rested untouched, still full of arrows. A polished black beetle crawled across the clustered shafts of arrows, then balked as it tested the cruel ledge made by a griffin feather.


    ¡°Do you think ¡­¡± whispered Breschius, as if the words actually hurt ¡°¡­ that the galla caught her?¡±


    The beetle vanished down the shaft of one of the ordinary arrows, hidden by the stirring of grass as the wind gusted and died. A weight settled on Hanna¡¯s chest and she could not shake it loose. But she must observe. She must report. Such was her duty. She released a clenched hand and bent to pick up the bow.


    ¡°There would be bones. That¡¯s all the galla leave of their victims.¡±


    ¡°Where is she gone?¡± Sorgatani scanned the forest. Only the wind cried in the trees.


    Hanna steadied herself. The bow hummed in her grip, as though trying to communicate. Its touch prickled her skin rather like the wasp sting that bound her to Sorgatani. Magic lives here, she thought, setting down the bow. She hoisted the quiver, and strained because of its unexpected weight. Tucked in with the arrows, wrapped in oilcloth, rested another object whose dimensions were familiar to her. She unwrapped it to glimpse the cover, but she already knew what it was. How had The Book of Secrets come back into Liath¡¯s possession?


    No matter. Seeing it, she despaired.


    She looked at her companions. ¡°Liath would never have left these things behind of her own choice. Never.¡±


    ¡°Is she dead?¡± cried Sorgatani.


    ¡°The simplest answer is usually the best one,¡± said Hanna. ¡°Though it makes me sick at heart to think of it. Because it would also explain why the raiders disappeared.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± said Breschius.


    She nodded. ¡°They captured her, and ran with their prize.¡±


    ¡°How could they have captured her?¡± demanded Sorgatani. ¡°She is too powerful for them to bring down.¡±


    Breschius knelt, reached, and brushed his hand over the grass where, having some time ago been flattened, it was slowly springing back. ¡°Blood.¡± He sniffed it, but did not taste it, turned his hand up so the two women could see the red stain on his fingers.


    Sorgatani tilted her head back and without warning trilled a high, long, keening wail that made Hanna shudder to her bones. Folk might cry so over the grave of one lost.


    ¡°She is always vulnerable to arrow shot,¡± said Breschius pointlessly, since they could all see for themselves, ¡°if she is taken unawares.¡±


    ¡°Oh, God.¡± Hanna collapsed to her knees. She thought she would faint, but she did not. She held on. ¡°A poisoned arrow would kill her!¡±

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    ¡°Stay, now.¡± Breschius steadied her. ¡°Why, then, would they take the body?¡±


    ¡°To prove they killed her,¡± said Sorgatani. ¡°Such is the custom among my people. A trophy. A prize.¡±


    How had it come to this, that she had found Liath only to lose her?


    ¡°This is not news that I look forward to bringing to Prince Sanglant,¡± Breschius added.


    She shook her head and rose. After all, she would go on. It¡¯s what she had done before. It¡¯s what Eagles must do, even if their hearts were broken. ¡°You don¡¯t have to, because I will do so, as is my duty as the King¡¯s Eagle.¡±


    5


    THE king¡¯s progress arrived in Quedlinhame late of an afternoon to find an Eagle waiting in the audience hall of the old ducal palace, dozing by a warm hearth. She had been wounded in the left shoulder, and although she wore clean, mended clothing and a linen bandage over the wound, it was clear she¡¯d been lucky to survive an arduous road.


    ¡°What news?¡± he asked her, before tasting the drink offered him, before taking off his armor. His courtiers crowded into the hall, a smoke-stained structure about half the length and breadth of any of the newer palaces built by either of the Arnulfs. It dated from a time when the lords of Quedlinhame had more modest ambitions. ¡°When did you arrive?¡±


    ¡°Four days ago, Your Majesty,¡± she answered, overawed by him. If she wondered what had happened to King Henry, she knew better than to ask him. He had a vague memory that he had seen her years ago, younger, less weathered, but he did not clearly recall her name or her origin. Elsa, maybe, something common. ¡°Ill news, I fear. I barely escaped with my life, as you can see. Kassel is fallen to treachery.¡±


    ¡°Kassel!¡± Liutgard grasped Theophanu¡¯s arm to steady herself. ¡°What news?¡±


    ¡°An unexpected attack by Lady Sabella¡¯s troops, out of Arconia. They arrived asking for guest rights. Lady Ermengard offered them respite for the night. There was talk that the company had been attacked. They said creatures lurking along the forest road assaulted them with poisoned arrows. Maybe that happened, or maybe it was a lie. At night, they rose up and killed most of the palace guard and took your daughter prisoner. The steward¡ªthat is, not her, but her son Landrik¡ªgot me out, with a horse, but he was shot down defending me so I could escape. I was wounded.¡± She touched her bandaged shoulder, but it was obvious that the injury pained her far less than did the memory. ¡°I knew some little-used paths, so I evaded them who pursued me. My lady, your daughter was alive last I saw her.¡±


    Having spoken, she wept.


    ¡°Let her sit down,¡± said Sanglant. ¡°What is your name, Eagle? You¡¯ve done well.¡±


    ¡°Elsa, Your Majesty,¡± she said through tears. ¡°Of Kassel, years past, before I became an Eagle.¡± Ambrose led her to a bench.


    Liutgard let go of Theophanu and gripped Sanglant¡¯s elbow so hard he winced. ¡°This I paid for following your father to Aosta on his fool¡¯s errand,¡± she said, her voice hoarse and her expression grim. ¡°One daughter lost, and the other in the hands of a woman who has proclaimed herself my enemy through her actions!¡±


    ¡°Sit down, Liutgard,¡± said Theophanu in her calm voice.


    She allowed Theophanu to lead her to a bench, where she sat staring accusingly at Sanglant.


    He nodded, acknowledging her anger. ¡°We ride on in the morning, Cousin. I will not fail you.¡±


    By the door, Mother Scholastica watched them. She looked stern and annoyed and superior¡ªand not one whit surprised.


    He woke at dawn out of a restless sleep filled with the noise of horses being saddled and men making ready to ride. The bed he lay in had seen a hundred years of restless sleepers, no doubt. Boxed in and placed under the eaves at the midpoint of the hall, it had recently been furnished with a new featherbed and feather quilt, which kept him as warm as anything could, although he never really felt warm unless Liath lay beside him.


    He sat up and drew one curtain aside to see that someone had already thrown the doors open. Cold air blasted in as folk rose from their bedrolls and prepared to travel. Many still slept. All those up and moving wore Fesse¡¯s sigil.


    Hathui walked in from outside. Seeing him awake, she hurried over. She smelled of the stables.


    ¡°Your Majesty.¡±


    ¡°What news?¡± he asked her. ¡°Any news of Liath?¡±


    ¡°None, Your Majesty. You can¡¯t expect to hear from her for many days.¡±


    He shut his eyes. He had abandoned his own daughter, as God witnessed. He had himself made, after all, choices no different than those Liath had made years ago, the same choices he had been so angry at her for making. So be it. At this stage of the journey, there was no going back.

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    ¡°She will be well,¡± he said hoarsely. ¡°She is more powerful than any of us.¡±


    Hathui nodded, although she seemed pale. ¡°Yes, Your Majesty. What is your wish?¡±


    He beckoned to his servants, who came forward bearing his clothing and armor. ¡°We can¡¯t wait here. Liath must follow us, as she¡¯ll know to do. We ride west, to Kassel.¡±


    VII


    A CHANGE OF DIRECTION


    1


    SHE burned.


    As she twisted in the flames, she saw the face of Cat Mask hovering above her. First he was a cat, sleek and bold, and then he was a man, proud and handsome, with that beautiful reddish-bronze complexion she adored so much in Sanglant and the broad cheekbones and broad shoulders of a man who is not a hunting cat but only looks like one sometimes, as he did now. He had changed again.


    He did not speak, but she heard him or she heard others speaking as she floated in a bed of fire. The words came to her as through a muting veil. The hiss of their voices reminded her of the sound of water ebbing along a sandy shore.


    ¡°The poison should have killed her.¡±


    ¡°She has sorcery in her blood. She walked the spheres.¡±


    ¡°Walked the spheres? She was sacrificed? What can you mean?¡±


    ¡°When we lived in exile, some who studied magic walked the spheres. They walked up into the heavens. I don¡¯t understand it, but it happened. Most who tried it died, but Feather Cloak survived. That is how she grew so powerful.¡±


    ¡°This one did such a thing? I don¡¯t believe it. Walking up into the heavens! She was only lucky. Not all of the arrows are poisoned.¡±


    Cat Mask¡¯s voice was the only one she recognized. ¡°All mine were poisoned! Why would a shallow arrow wound plunge her into this delirium? It is sorcery that spares her from the poison.¡±


    ¡°She fell so fast. How could she have had time or opportunity to twist sorcery to save herself?¡±


    ¡°Maybe not sorcery but something deeper saved her. Secha¡ªwho was Feather Cloak before¡ªbanished this one when she walked in our country. Secha said this one had more than one seeming. More than one aspect.¡±


    ¡°Abomination!¡±


    ¡°She said this one was heir to the shana-ret¡¯zeri.¡±


    ¡°Let her die!¡± murmured the other voices. ¡°The blood knives can take her, and her blood will feed the gods.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t give her to the blood knives,¡± said a woman¡¯s voice, spiking over the others. ¡°This is the prize he wanted.¡±


    Cat Mask¡¯s scorn was unmistakable. ¡°You care for what that Pale Hair wants?¡±


    ¡°His knowledge is a weapon. It has already aided us. We sealed an alliance. Go to the stones and wait for him. When he comes, tell him what we have.¡±


    Cat Mask snorted in the manner of a proud man who has turned stubborn. ¡°I will not act as his procurer. You do it yourself.¡±


    ¡°Better yet, better yet,¡± said a new voice. ¡°Let Feather Cloak decide.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Yes. Let Feather Cloak decide.¡± Their voices caught her as on a breaking wave and drove her under.


    2


    THEY called him ¡°count¡± and ¡°my lord,¡± and he rode at the head of the procession beside Lady Sabella and Duke Conrad and their noble companions, all of whom were eager to take part in the sport of capturing a guivre. The dirty and dangerous work would be done, of course, by the men-at-arms marching behind them, but this hunt had attracted an unusual crowd, several hundred folk at least. Duke Conrad ordered fourscore eager soldiers to remain with the force garrisoning Autun, and they went with frowns and sighs of displeasure but did not disobey.


    For several days the cavalcade rumbled northwest¡ªback the way Alain had come¡ªalong the main road. Of riders at the front there ambled two dozen noble folk on fine horses and behind them mounted soldiers. The wagons carrying hooks, nets, grapples, and the cage rattled along afterward, followed at the rear by the twoscore men-at-arms who would hunt on foot and three packs of hunting dogs with their handlers. The dogs barked incessantly, but no one minded, being accustomed to a clamor.


    The first night they slept in comfort at an estate belonging to a royal monastery, the second at a lord¡¯s outlying manor house. They camped a pair of nights, but on the fifth night they spread their company around a village, and in the morning carried supplies out of the village storehouse although folk wept to see their stores depleted, for Sabella demanded all of the sacks of grain.


    ¡°This is our seed corn,¡± said the man who set himself forward as their spokesman. He twisted his hands, fearful as he knelt before Sabella. He could not look her in the eye. ¡°I pray you, lady. This is what we saved aside from last year, and not even all of it, for we¡¯ve ourselves of necessity nibbled at it. With this weather! It¡¯s almost Quadrii, but the frosts still hit us every night.¡± He gestured toward puddles rimed with ice. His hands were red from the cold. ¡°We dare not plant.¡±

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    ¡°Soon it will be too late to plant!¡± called a woman from the crowd.


    ¡°I pray the weather turns soon.¡± Sabella was already mounted, and impatient to depart. Her stewards would finish their provisioning and follow after the forward party. ¡°I have need of these stores for the sake of the duchy.¡±


    The man grimaced anxiously and spoke again, gaze fixed on the ground. ¡°If we¡¯ve nothing to plant, we¡¯ll have no harvest. We¡¯ll starve.¡±


    ¡°If we lose this war, if Wendish and Salians and bandits and Eika invade our shores and there is none to defend you, then your corpses will be rotting in your fields before you starve! Do not trouble me further!¡±


    ¡°I pray you,¡± said Alain, for all the company remained silent and the villagers knelt in the dust, ¡°let them keep half of their stores. There is truth in what they say.¡±


    She glared at him¡ªshe was a woman who did not expect or appreciate being questioned¡ªbut he did not cower.


    At length he said, more softly, ¡°Their sweat and toil makes you rich.¡±


    Her expression tightened. Her courtiers hunched their shoulders, waiting for the blast, but it did not come.


    Unexpectedly, she chuckled, not so much because he had amused her but because she was unused to being challenged. ¡°Spoken like a frater. Very well. Let them keep half the stores. The rest we take.¡±


    3


    LIATH woke into darkness. Her thigh throbbed. When she rolled to shift position and ease the pressure, her stomach spasmed and she retched, although she had nothing to throw up. Not even bile.


    She hurt all the way down to the bone. Her lungs felt as ragged as if she had been breathing smoke, and perhaps in some way she had. She was burned clean, made weak and thirsty, but she was still alive¡ªor so it seemed to her, because she could feel the rise and fall of her chest with each inhalation, because she could feel the gritty rock under the palms of her hands, because there was dried blood on her cheek where she had scraped her face. She possessed nothing except her clothes and her life. Her bow, quiver, book, knife, sword¡ªall this was gone.


    She rested until her stomach quieted and risked sitting up. For a while after that, she had to swallow convulsively and repeatedly as she struggled to control the nausea. She was so exhausted that the simple act of sitting seemed impossible, but she braced herself on her arms and hung on until she could think. Even with her salamander eyes she could not penetrate the darkness. She must listen, and seek with her mind¡¯s eye, but all she sensed was air and rock.


    I am buried alive in a vast cavern.


    She had not the strength to grasp the tendrils of fire that slept within the rock, so she lay back down and rested. She probed the rent in her leggings and touched dried blood. Tracing the contours of the blood led her inward to the wound itself: a shallow, ragged hole that hurt to press anywhere near it.


    She grunted and withdrew her hand, thinking of those who waited for her: Sanglant. Blessing. Hanna and Sorgatani. A grandmother!


    She slept.


    Woke, hearing a noise, a stealthy murmur, a foot sliding along the ground. She sat up. She was still weak, but the nausea had lessened. She heard the sound again, although now it sounded more like someone sweeping, two scrapes, a silence, and a rapid series of scrapes.


    Was it better to remain silent and hope to escape notice, or to assume that whatever creature made the noise already knew she was here? She chose prudence, and therefore silence.


    Once more she heard the scraping but this time, after the second scrape, it did not resume.


    Cautiously, she probed the wound, and while it remained tender and painful, it was already drying out and knitting. She rolled carefully onto hands and knees and found she could crawl without pain overwhelming her. She felt her way forward. The rock floor proved unnaturally level. No abyss gapped. No loose stones impeded her path. She counted each hand fall so she could gauge the distance, and at two hundred and eight the feel of the air changed markedly and in ten more hand paces she reached a wall. It rose sheer out of the floor, almost perpendicular. Its relatively smooth face and the curve where wall joined floor suggested that man-made effort had helped form it. Her thigh ached and her knees hurt and her hands stung, but the darkness made her too nervous to stand and walk. After a rest she felt around for anything to mark her place but could not find even enough loose pebbles to construct a marker. Finally, she eased down her drawers and peed, like a dog. She hadn¡¯t much; she desperately needed water, but waiting in the middle of the pit was no way to go about getting it.


    She crawled. She was too weak to crawl quickly, so it was possible to taste the air and run her right hand up the rock face as high as she could go to search for an opening. She forced herself to pace a hundred hand falls before resting, and to rest no more than a hundred slow breaths before going on. Her knees became bruises and one of her palms bled, but the wound in her thigh did not reopen, so she kept going.

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    It was hopeless. She found four shards of rock, which she tied up in her sleeve. One was sharp enough to use as a weapon, if it came to that, and the others could mark her starting point if she ever got back there in such time that her mark was still moist. She found no trace of water and no hint of any kind of opening that might lead her out.


    After one thousand three hundred and sixty-nine hand falls, she found a smear of liquid smelling of urine: her own mark. She had come full circle. If there was a tunnel leading out of this cavern it was either high up in the wall or somewhere out on the cavern floor, drowned in darkness and easy to miss no matter if she crossed and crisscrossed the floor a hundred times as she weakened, thirsted, and failed.


    She was trapped.


    There it was again: two scrapes, a silence, and two scrapes. But she listened for a long time after, and heard nothing more.


    4


    ROSVITA sat in the hall of the convent of St. Valeria with The Book of Secrets open on a table before her. She had stolen this book years ago, and lost it again soon after, so she had never had leisure to examine it page by page. A monstrous document, absolutely fascinating. The book contained three books. One was written on paper, in the infidel manner, and with the curling script used by the Jinna. It was impossible to decipher. The middle book was written on ancient, yellowed papyrus, the alien letters glossed here and there in Arethousan. ¡°Hide this¡± read the first words of the gloss, and so Bernard had hidden it. Most of the text was not translated, but what was written in Arethousan allowed her to guess that this scroll preached the most dangerous heresy known to the church, that of the Redemption.


    She hadn¡¯t the strength to consider it now. She turned to the first portion of the book.


    The man called Bernard, Liath¡¯s father, had compiled a priceless florilegia. For years he had written down every reference he had found to the arts of the mathematici. She was familiar with the methods of timekeeping according to the rising of stars and constellations, but much of what was recorded here she found difficult and technical: quadrant, angle, equant point, trine, and opposition. There was a catalog of several hundred stars, including the latitude, longitude, and apparent brightness of each one, written in such a tiny hand that it was almost impossible to read. But other selections she could skim as she paused on each page to marvel at its secrets, many of them contradictory.


    The whole universe is composed of nine spheres. The celestial sphere is outermost, embracing all the rest ¡­ In it are fixed the eternally revolving movements of the stars. Beneath it are the seven underlying spheres, which revolve in an opposite direction.


    Below the moon all is mortal and transitory. Above the moon, all is eternal. In the center is the Earth, never moving.


    Her hypotheses are that the fixed stars and the Sun are stationary, and that the Earth is borne in a circular orbit about the Sun.


    It is easily demonstrated to anyone that the immutable aether is distributed over and penetrates all the wholly changeable substance around the Earth.


    The most chance events of great importance clearly display their cause as coming from the heavens.


    The stars weave the fate of humankind.


    Maybe so, but God had created the stars and every part of the universe, as the blessed Daisan taught, and she recalled the blessed Daisan¡¯s words as well:


    The sun and the moon and the fixed and wandering stars are subject to law, that they only do what they are ordered to do and nothing else. However, it is given to humankind to lead life according to free will.


    ¡°Sister Rosvita!¡±


    The voice startled her out of her book. ¡°I pray you, Sister Acella! I did not see you come in.¡±


    Sister Acella had the pouched mouth and narrowed eyes of an angry woman, and she did not hesitate to speak her mind. ¡°What rumor is this I hear? You send the Eagle to call me, yet already I hear the soldiers saying that you mean to abandon the convent and force us to leave!¡±


    ¡°You must.¡±


    ¡°We will not go.¡±


    With a sigh, Rosvita closed the book. She had lingered over it for too long since Hanna had dropped it in her lap together with the news that Liath was gone, possibly dead, and almost certainly in the hands of the Ashioi.


    ¡°Sister Acella, you must go. In the name of the regnant, I command it.¡±


    ¡°Henry is dead! So they say. If the bastard Sanglant is king, you have no status in his progress.¡±


    ¡°I maintain my position in the regnant¡¯s schola, having not heard otherwise.¡±


    ¡°You cannot command me!¡±


    ¡°I can, and I will, because I must.¡± She rose, sorry that it had come to this. ¡°It is no longer safe here. Do you think, Sister Acella, that I wish your treasure-house of books to fall into the hands of the Ashioi? Into any hands, except that of the church?¡±

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    Acella remained silent, but she nodded, to show she would listen. Already, Rosvita saw in her expression the first bitter acceptance of the unfortunate truth.


    ¡°If one raid can come, so can another. I ask myself, how can the Ashioi raid in so many places so far apart in place and so close together in time? We ourselves suffered an attack in Avaria, and the one last night. We hear reports from these Lions of raids to the north and west. Everywhere, it seems. Although it took our party weeks¡ªmonths!¡ªto journey over the Brinne Pass out of the south.¡±


    Acella looked at the book, and Rosvita opened it to display the closely written pages of the star catalog.


    ¡°The Ashioi are using sorcery. They are walking the crowns. Some among them can weave the crowns. We cannot take the chance that they do not know of this library. We must protect it at all costs. You will pack up your books and take provisions and any animals and seed corn and cuttings from your best trees. All else, abandon. If we are fortunate, you may lead your sisters back here one day.¡±


    ¡°We must burn the books, as it is written in our charter.¡±


    ¡°I cannot allow it.¡± She did not say, but she knew it was understood: I have a cohort of Lions to carry out my will.


    ¡°Do not be tempted by sorcery! That one, called Liathano¡ªshe cannot understand what we have studied for generations here at St. Valeria. Tempestari can change the weather, call in winds, or a storm, but this passes briefly. They can bring no great change.¡±


    ¡°A spell woven thousands of years ago brought a cataclysm to us all. There must be a way to counteract its effects.¡±


    ¡°Beware of tampering with what you do not understand, for if this tale is true of a spell woven long ago that brought about this cataclysm, then who knows what meddling will bring! This is why the church condemned these arts. They are too dangerous. No person can control them, not truly. So Mother Rothgard taught.¡±


    ¡°I believe you,¡± Rosvita said, ¡°but we must not turn aside onto the path of deliberate ignorance if there is any possibility that we might save ourselves by walking a more treacherous road.¡±


    For a long time Sister Acella said nothing, but the subtle play of feeling on her face spoke as in words.


    ¡°It must be done,¡± repeated Rosvita, ¡°and the entire library given into the hands of Mother Scholastica at Quedlinhame, if you will not have it given to the custody of the king¡¯s schola.¡±


    ¡°We dare not trust the king,¡± said Acella, ¡°who, if the rumor we hear is true, beds the very woman whose hands are black with sorcery.¡±


    She walked out, passing Hanna, who walked in.


    Hanna looked at Acella¡¯s tense back, at Rosvita¡¯s expression, and whistled softly. ¡°Did she protest?¡±


    ¡°She did. Never mind it, Hanna. What news?¡±


    ¡°Aronvald says that we can leave in the morning. All will be ready. There are a pair of wagons in one of the sheds that can be repaired easily.¡± She paused, and Rosvita listened with her to the telltale sound of hammers pounding.


    She still had a hand on the book. ¡°Frater Bernard traveled in the east, and there he found strange things,¡± she murmured.


    ¡°I beg your pardon, Sister?¡±


    ¡°Nay, nothing. If you will, Hanna, find Fortunatus and ask him to oversee the packing of the library. Him alone, none other. Let Heriburg and Ruoda aid him.¡±


    ¡°You think Sister Acella will try to hide books from you?¡±


    ¡°Impossible to know. There must be a record in the library of every codex and scroll that is here. Ask him to find that, and match each book as it is packed away. Nothing can be left behind or forgotten.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Sister.¡± She hesitated.


    ¡°Is there something you wished to say, Hanna?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just¡ªwhat did you think of Liath¡¯s plan, Sister? That she wanted to learn the arts of the weather workers, in order to banish the clouds and cold weather. Do you think the church would allow it?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Do you condemn her for thinking so?¡±


    ¡°For thinking like a mathematici, which she is?¡±


    ¡°I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Well, it is difficult to know if the ends justify the means in a case such as this one, after we have seen the terrible cataclysm wrought by sorcery. Had the ancient ones not troubled the orderly working of the universe with their spell, we would not suffer now. You must understand, Hanna, that I am skeptical at this notion that sorcery can save us when it is sorcery that harmed us in the first place.¡±


    ¡°You saved us with sorcery, when you wove the crown and we escaped Lord Hugh.¡±

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    ¡°I cannot believe otherwise. I am alive because of it.¡±


    Rosvita smiled. ¡°I thank you, Eagle. I am not always sure that my path is a righteous one.¡±


    ¡°That is why we trust you, Sister, because you lead us with honesty.¡±


    Unexpectedly, the words brought tears to Rosvita¡¯s eyes. Hanna saw it, and she leaned forward as if to touch Rosvita¡¯s hands but pulled back at the last moment with a wry smile, and hurried off on her errand. Eagles did not comfort noble clerics. It was not their place.


    Yet the gesture reminded Rosvita of Hathui, whose dignity was unimpeachable. The Lord and Lady love us all equally in their hearts, Hathui had said. We are equal, before God.


    Rosvita stepped outside, onto the porch, and watched the Lions and guardsmen at work, hammering, packing, hauling. There were sealed jars of oil and a basket of last year¡¯s apples hauled up from a cellar. There were precious iron and bronze tools, copper-lined buckets, and baskets filled with iron nails and tallow candles. Skeins of spun wool, wool cloth, a churn, a cream pot and paddle, strickles, parchments still stretched on frames, an ox yoke but no ox, and the convent bell with its clapper sheathed. The library was an annex built off the chapel and sharing its tile roof, and here Fortunatus directed half a dozen nuns as they wrapped and stowed books in baskets and in crates being nailed together on the spot by a pair of Lions. Sister Acella emerged from the infirmary, carrying bundles of dried herbs.


    ¡°Sister Rosvita, how may we aid you?¡± asked Sister Hilaria, coming out onto the porch with Diocletia beside her. ¡°If you will sit with the Holy Mother, we will do what we can.¡±


    ¡°Diocletia, if you will take an accounting of the bedding and household items in the hall, and pack what is necessary for the journey or too valuable to discard. Hilaria, I pray you, attend Sister Acella.¡±


    Hilaria smiled sharply. Nothing escaped her. ¡°I¡¯ll see that no stray items are left behind.¡±


    It was a relief to return into the hall and seat herself under the eaves beside Mother Obligatia. Princess Sapientia bided in the bed next to them, singing a nonsense song:


    tru la tru lee tru lo tru lye


    where the river flows, did the crow fly


    ¡°Books are a precious treasure,¡± said Mother Obligatia, when Rosvita had poured out her concerns to the old woman.


    ¡°Even books as dangerous as the ones hidden here?¡±


    ¡°Even so. In ancient days folk recalled all things in their heads and in this way passed down knowledge from mother to son and father to daughter. What is written in books is more easily lost.¡±


    ¡°Do you think so?¡±


    ¡°Think of the library at St. Ekatarina¡¯s. I still weep to think of it abandoned, perhaps forever lost.¡±


    ¡°We have a copy of your chronicle. My history. The Vita of St. Radegundis.¡±


    ¡°So few! What if they were the only books which escaped this cataclysm? All of St. Marcia, lost!¡±


    ¡°There are other copies.¡±


    ¡°A few, and those scattered. Eustacia¡¯s Commentary on her dream. St. Alisia¡¯s Memoria, and the holy writings of the Holy Mother, St. Gregoria. St. Augustina¡¯s wise words¡ªalthough now that I think on it, she was a bit of a prig, running wild in her youth and then scolding others ever after. What of St. Peter the Geometer and his Eternal Geometry?¡±


    ¡°Which I do not fully understand.¡±


    The abbess chuckled. ¡°You are not the first to make that admission. What of the Catechetical Orations of St. Macrina? What of Biscop Ariana¡¯s Banquet?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a heretical text. By an Arethousan!¡±


    ¡°So it is, but so entertaining. Have you never read it?¡±


    ¡°I have not!¡±


    ¡°Ah! She had a wicked eye and a wickeder tongue, that one, rather like our dear Brother Fortunatus. I cannot believe it is better that even her heretical writings be thrown out. Best they be remembered, so we remember how to argue against them. They are chronicles in their own way. Like Euseb?¡¯s History.¡±


    ¡°Like the Chronicle of Vitalia,¡± agreed Rosvita, recalling the books she and her novices had read in Darre, ¡°and the Annals of Autun.¡±


    ¡°Just so. Memory is our armor, and our weapon, Rosvita. Otherwise we are vulnerable again and again.¡±


    ¡°So we are.¡± Rosvita squeezed Obligatia¡¯s cold hands as gently as she would handle a newborn pup. ¡°We must soldier on and do the best we can.¡±


    ¡°Where do we go?¡±


    ¡°To the regnant.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Then I shall meet my grandson-in-law.¡± She smiled. ¡°I look forward to it. A fine, brawny, handsome man, so they say.¡±

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    ¡°So he is. More than what he seems.¡±


    ¡°Cleverer than he looks?¡± the old abbess chuckled.


    ¡°So it appears from the news we have heard of the battle in Dalmiaka and these new tidings from Wendar, if it is all true.¡±


    ¡°tru lo tru lye tru la tru lee


    where the river flows, did the deer flee¡±


    ¡°What will happen,¡± Obligatia asked in a low voice, ¡°when we are come with Sapientia?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. She does not seem capable of ruling.¡±


    ¡°Our chronicles tell us that fitness was no barrier to the kings of Salia and Aosta. There are here and there stories of feebleminded children raised up to the throne, and ruled by those who held their leading strings.¡±


    ¡°It is not true of the Wendish, for we Wendish have always demanded that our regnants be worthy of the name.¡±


    ¡°Is Prince Sanglant that one? Worthy of the name?¡±


    ¡°Laws are silent in the presence of arms, so it is said. Sanglant possesses the loyalty of the army. And, if the story is true, Henry¡¯s blessing, and the luck of the king, without which no regnant can prosper. The rest of his claim is not as strong. According to the Lions, there is debate and dissension on the matter of his queen, who was excommunicated and is known to be a sorcerer. That cannot help him.¡±


    Mother Obligatia considered these words, and at length touched the book Rosvita held on her lap. ¡°Will we see her again? Do you think her lost?¡±


    ¡°Like the books?¡± Rosvita had forgotten The Book of Secrets, clutched against her. She was afraid to let it go, as if it would vanish once no part of her body grounded it to the Earth. ¡°She is lost to us. We must leave, quickly, before we are attacked again. We must pray we reach Quedlinhame and the king¡¯s progress safely. As for the rest, I cannot know. It is taught that the daimones of the upper air can see into both past and future. But we are mortal, you and I, bound to the present.¡±


    ¡°Mere clay,¡± agreed Obligatia, and the thought made her smile as she patted Rosvita on the hands in the same manner she would pat a child¡¯s head to comfort it. Her gaze strayed toward the nuns busy at their packing and came to rest on Sister Diocletia, who was peering into a chest and counting something on her fingers: eleven. At the far end of the hall, a young nun hung shutters and locked them into place against the coming departure. It was a sturdy hall, meant to weather storms and years. When all this trouble passed, it would still be standing.


    ¡°I would be at peace, having met her at long last,¡± said Mother Obligatia, ¡°but I have a few questions I must still ask her. Therefore, I am selfishly sure that she must still be alive and that she will return to us.¡±


    Rosvita nodded sadly. ¡°That is hope enough for me, then. Let us pray you are right.¡±


    5


    ¡°LI-AT-DANO.¡±


    She woke disoriented and still blind. She hadn¡¯t meant to doze off, knowing that something moved in the darkness with her, but the lingering effect of the poison had swallowed her.


    ¡°Li-at-dano.¡±


    The voice was female, caustic, and familiar. It came from out of the darkness but from no particular direction.


    ¡°Why am I here?¡± she asked. It was difficult to speak. She was desperately thirsty.


    ¡°Accident, perhaps. The favor of the gods, perhaps. Do you know who I am?¡±


    ¡°I know who you are. Let me go free. Let me return to your son.¡±


    ¡°The rock that cages you is more powerful than the sorcery that runs in your veins.¡±


    ¡°Where am I?¡±


    ¡°You lie at the Heart-of-the-Mountain-of-the-World¡¯s-Beginning. You can burn stone, I suppose, but not quickly. It will tire you. You will not work your way free of this place easily.¡±


    ¡°I will be dead of thirst and hunger before then. If that¡¯s your aim.¡±


    ¡°It might be more effective than the snake¡¯s poison, now that I think on it. You will find water and food against the wall.¡±


    ¡°Why keep me alive at all?¡±


    ¡°I have a use for you.¡±


    ¡°Show yourself.¡±


    ¡°I will not.¡±


    ¡°I could burn you!¡±


    ¡°If you did, you would still be trapped. You do not know the way out. Only I do.¡±


    Liath rose, but she hadn¡¯t the strength to keep to her feet. She left one rock shard to mark her old position and moved as quickly as she could, hoping to creep up on her enemy. She had to crawl, despite knees and hands already abused and scraped raw. It hurt to crawl, and the ache in her thigh was worse than before.


    Five hundred hand paces from her starting point, she found a cache of leather vessels where there had been none before. The water was cool, and there was enough for several days, if rationed carefully. She drank first, almost weeping as she savored the touch of liquid in her parched mouth. She felt, then tasted, wedges of salty, dried fish, nibbled to test tough rounds of flatbread, and explored the oblong shape and smooth skin of a dozen sweet fruits. The softest proved easy to peel open with the edge of her rock scraper; its moist sweetness had a flavor she had never tasted before, like ambrosia, surely¡ªthe food of the gods in ancient Arethousa. She ate and drank cautiously, not sure if she would feel nauseated again, but the worst effects of the toxin had passed.

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    Food and drink then, enough for a hand or so of days.


    Of Kansi-a-lari, whose voice had mocked her, she heard and felt no sign.


    6


    IVAR had been left behind with a dozen outriders to guard the horses in case the bandits slipped away from Captain Ulric and the strike force. They waited in a clearing ringed with beech trees. Faint trails of mist spun away through the forest. He gazed downslope, where oak trees encroached and bramble flourished. Beyond, at the base of the long hill, lay a fen populated by low-growing wet birch, stands of alder, and every manner of sedge and meadow grass. The captain knew better than to ride into such ground; the soldiers had gone in at dawn on foot.


    Ivar and the others listened. Because of the lay of the ground, they heard the attack as if it were the peal of distant chimes: the ring of weapons clashing; a shout; a dog barking; a silence as the wind turned; and scattered shouts and noises as the wind shifted back. He blew on his hands. Sentries prowled at the edge of his sight. Two dogs snoozed on the damp ground. Above, clouds lingered, but it seemed to him that the mist was white and the heavens whiter still, as though the sun were trying to burn through.


    ¡°You¡¯d think it¡¯d be warmer, or that summer would come,¡± muttered one of the grooms, stamping his feet.


    ¡°Hey!¡± shouted a sentry. ¡°It¡¯s Erkanwulf!¡±


    Ivar stayed aloof as the others crowded to meet the returning hero, who had blood on his cheek and a frown on his face.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s over.¡± He caught Ivar¡¯s gaze, and nodded. ¡°Dedi got slashed on the thigh, and Guy got knocked cold, and a couple of lads have scrapes and bruises, but we¡¯re all safe. We took them by surprise. We got a dozen prisoners for the biscop. The rest are dead.¡±


    ¡°For Lord Geoffrey,¡± objected the man who had complained about summer. He was a Lavas retainer.


    ¡°For the biscop,¡± repeated Erkanwulf. ¡°For justice.¡±


    The smell of smoke cut the air, wafting up from the fen.


    ¡°What about those murdered girls?¡± asked Ivar.


    Erkanwulf made a face. ¡°Yeah, we found them. Dragged off to one side like rubbish. Seems to me they treat their soil better, burying it, like, so it doesn¡¯t attract flies. Animals had gotten into them. I didn¡¯t stay, but I know the captain meant to bury them there instead of hauling their bones back, which we couldn¡¯t do anyway seeing as how what was left was all scattered.¡± He had gotten red as he talked, and he wiped his forehead with the back of a hand, although it wasn¡¯t at all warm.


    ¡°Bad?¡± asked Ivar, and Erkanwulf looked right at him and nodded. They had traveled far enough together that they no longer needed long explanations to be understood. ¡°I could have said a prayer over them.¡±


    ¡°Captain¡¯s orders,¡± said Erkanwulf. ¡°He wanted you to command the rear guard.¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t want me to come along at all, as I recall.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a cleric, Ivar. You¡¯re not meant to be soldiering.¡±


    But Ivar was restless. Since Biscop Constance had established herself at Lavas Holding, he felt himself betwixt and between. He had few clerical skills to bring to her schola, but likewise he was no soldier to serve her in that guise. In truth, as hard as that journey with Erkanwulf had been, he had liked it best of all the things he had experienced and suffered in the last few years. It made him think of Hanna, riding as an Eagle. On the road, he had felt that he was at least going somewhere, and the rescue of Baldwin had brought him a measure of peace even if Baldwin was no longer what he had been.


    So are we all changed, he thought.


    He wished Hanna was there, so he could tell her his thoughts as he had used to do, but no doubt she would only laugh at him. If she was even alive to do so. Fear pinched him, and he ducked his head, rubbing his eyes.


    ¡°Good land there at Ravnholt Manor,¡± continued Erkanwulf, oblivious to these signs. ¡°Shame to see it gone fallow, like, with no one left to farm it.¡±


    ¡°There they come!¡± called a sentry.


    Captain Ulric led the company out of the mist. Among that number walked Gerulf and Dedi, the two Lions Ivar and his friends had rescued at Queen¡¯s Grave. They saw Ivar and nodded to acknowledge him. Dedi was limping.


    The victors had bound the bandits with rope at the ankles and wrists. The prisoners shuffled with heads down, broken in spirit, wounded, sniveling, and groaning. One man with a bloodied nose staunched the flow with a fist pressed against his blistered lips. A younger lad cradled a bleeding hand in the other arm. Lord Geoffrey walked at the end of the line, but everyone knew that Captain Ulric had plotted the raid and commanded it in all but name.

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    ¡°They¡¯ll be shown more mercy than those girls they murdered,¡± said Erkanwulf.


    ¡°How so?¡± asked Ivar, who was wondering how any folk could fall so low as these. They looked worse than he felt! They were the filthiest people he had ever seen, coated in dirt and worse things, besides their sins.


    ¡°They¡¯ll receive a trial, and their death¡¯ll come quick. Lucky for them.¡± He spat.


    ¡°There was a woman, the one that man Heric said goaded them to murder the girls.¡±


    Erkanwulf looked away and wiped his mouth. ¡°She was dead. I don¡¯t know who killed her.¡±


    The lad with the injured hand wept. To Ivar, the day seemed dark; the clouds would never lift. Ravnholt Manor was avenged, but no one seemed likely to rejoice.


    In Lavas Holding, the prisoners were locked into the kennels once reserved for Count Lavastine¡¯s famous pack of hounds. Ivar paused to speak to Sergeant Gerulf, who had been assigned to the first shift of guards.


    ¡°How is Dedi?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll do, as long as the wound doesn¡¯t get infected, but Biscop Constance knows a bit about healing and anyway that one, Brother Baldwin, can heal him, surely, if it comes to that.¡±


    ¡°Maybe so.¡±


    ¡°You doubt it?¡± asked Gerulf, with a hint of a smile. ¡°They say he¡¯s a saint, that one.¡±


    Ivar sighed, but he and Gerulf had a bond sewn up out of grim circumstances survived together. ¡°It¡¯s difficult for me to see Baldwin as¡ªwhat you say.¡±


    ¡°It might explain his handsome face, since some say that¡¯s a sign of God¡¯s favor.¡± Gerulf chuckled. ¡°There now, my lord, I¡¯m just joking. Dedi will do well enough. It was a shallow cut.¡±


    ¡°Are you satisfied, still, with your service with Captain Ulric?¡±


    ¡°Duke Conrad assigned us to the captain, and I hold no grudge against the duke, since he treated us fairly considering the lady wished us all dead. It must have been for a reason that Dedi and I came to Ulric¡¯s troop. My loyalty remains to King Henry, my lord, and I serve Henry by serving his sister, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ¡°If Henry still lives.¡±


    ¡°Then Henry¡¯s heir. That¡¯s not all. There¡¯s a widow in Ulric¡¯s following I¡¯ve a mind to marry. That lad Erkanwulf got to talking about taking a small company of men to settle Ravnholt Manor, now that it¡¯s abandoned. It¡¯s something to think about, especially for a man of my age. I¡¯m content, my lord Ivar. Are you?¡±


    Ivar shrugged, and Gerulf smiled crookedly, as if to say he knew what words Ivar would speak, if he dared¡ªwhich he did not. Restlessness ate at him, a mortal disease. Somewhere, surely, events of great importance transpired and as usual he was stuck here waiting in the backwaters while the battle moved on and left him behind.


    In the hall, Constance was seated beside the blazing hearth with her schola and young Lady Lavrentia in attendance, listening to testimony from a pair of woodsmen.


    ¡°That was a few years back, Your Holiness. We got a good look at these refugees, and we knew they was likely to be dead come winter. But the next year we swung back that way on the trail of a boar and they were still living. They said it was the cloak, that they had been blessed by God or some such. It were a little hard to understand them being as they did not speak quite right, coming up from the south as they did.¡±


    Baldwin and Sigfrid were writing, and Ermanrich was cutting quills on the opposite side of the table. Lavrentia was seated awkwardly on a chair beside Constance, with her hands folded in her lap and her twin canes resting against her knees. She uttered no word and made no sign, and Ivar could not tell what she might be feeling except that when, on occasion, Constance smiled at her, the girl smiled back.


    On the other side of a hall a trio of wounded soldiers lay on the floor. Hathumod knelt beside one of them, smearing a white salve on the cut that had opened his thigh. That was Dedi, grimacing at the pain, but then he gave a snort of a laugh as Hathumod said something that amused him.


    The woodsmen left. A man twisting a soft cap in his hands walked forward hesitantly.


    ¡°Do not fear,¡± said Constance gently. ¡°Are you the one who came all the way up from the southern borders of Lavas County? Lady Hildegard holds the land in that part of the county. I hear it was a long walk¡ªfive days!¡±


    He dropped to his knees as if she had shot him. ¡°Six, Your Holiness. I was sent by our village to bring our request to the count.¡± He glanced around the hall apprehensively, looked at Lady Lavrentia, rubbed his cap against his chin, and coughed. ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure who to speak to, Your Holiness.¡±

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    Constance touched the girl on the arm, and she piped up in a clear, soft voice. ¡°Where are you from?¡±


    ¡°We call it Shaden, my lady. Begging your pardon, Your Holiness, but is it true there¡¯s a new count? We heard some folk say so, which is why we folk at Shaden thought to send one of us to speak, but it seems from what I hear at the holding they were talking nonsense.¡±


    ¡°Lord Geoffrey still stands as regent for his young daughter, Lavrentia,¡± Constance said, indicating Lavrentia. ¡°Is that who you meant?¡±


    He ducked his head, too flabbergasted to speak. The girl stared at him but said nothing, and finally looked at Constance.


    Before her injuries, Constance might simply have overawed him, being a noble woman so grand and mighty that a simple farmer would be too tongue-tied to utter a word in her presence, but what she had suffered had made her less formidable in appearance, although Ivar knew that she had not changed.


    ¡°Lord Geoffrey is resting, and I am here with Count Lavrentia, as you see. We will write down your statement, here,¡± she gestured to Sigfrid, ¡°if you will tell us to what purpose your village sent you.¡±


    A man might frown so, Ivar thought, making ready for a charge against an armed and powerful enemy. But the man swallowed, braced himself by letting out a sharp exhalation, and began in a firm if slightly rushed tone.


    ¡°We lost our deacon last summer to the black rot, and most of our seed corn, as well as a dozen or more good folk in our village. We were hoping the count might see fit to send another deacon our way so that we can live properly and pray when it is fitting and hear the stories of the Holy Verses told out to us. We were promised a few year back that we¡¯d have the use of this new plough we heard tell of, to break up some bottomland, but we¡¯ve heard no more of it. It would aid us this year especially with the weather bad as it is. We¡¯ve had a score settlers come to our valley, driven out of a pair of villages that were torn right down in the great storm last autumn. We can¡¯t feed all without this new land put to the plough. And with them, we¡¯re asking we be allowed to pay a lower tithe this year, to hold back more of what we grow so as to feed the many more mouths we have and will have next winter. My lady. And if I may be bold, Your Holiness.¡±


    ¡°Go on.¡±


    Sigfrid¡¯s quill scratched as he wrote. Baldwin was staring dreamily at the fire.


    ¡°We have a tax we pay to Lady Hildegard, but she died when the roof of her hall fell in the storm.¡±


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s been recorded,¡± said Constance. ¡°She left no immediate heirs. I¡¯ve been told there is a cousin from farther east who will inherit, but there¡¯s been some trouble finding her.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Your Holiness. So we pray, Your Holiness, for the lady¡¯s steward has dealt poorly with us in the past and now is threatening to come with men-at-arms and rob us to pay our back taxes. If the lady doesn¡¯t come soon, we are come to ask if another steward might be set over us who will govern more justly.¡±


    ¡°You are bold,¡± said the girl.


    ¡°Begging your pardon, my lady. We are desperate, Your Holiness. We thought all was lost last year, and then¡ª¡± He faltered, twisting the cap.


    Baldwin smiled in that way that calmed because it dazzled.


    ¡°Go on,¡± said Constance kindly.


    ¡°There were signs and portents, Your Holiness. A scythe I had borrowed¡ªI lost its iron blade in the pond, and yet it was returned to me although it was hopelessly lost in the water and weeds. My niece, a good girl, was killed when a wall fell in on her, I swear to you in God¡¯s name that she stopped breathing, but she lived, and lives still, a sharptongued brat but one we all love. These were portents of change. Don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ¡°Miracles,¡± said Constance sternly.


    He bowed his head.


    ¡°Tell us again, and in more detail,¡± she said, ¡°for I have a wish that my clerics will record all these stories. I have heard many tales these days, here in Lavas, and others on the road. Strange tidings.¡±


    Lavrentia looked at her hands.


    Constance looked at Ivar and nodded, but he was of no use to her. He could barely scratch out his letters in the crudest fashion imaginable, and unlike some clerics he had no trained memory to recall the Holy Verses in their entirety or recite the genealogy of regnants and nobles back to the tenth generation.


    The farmer began telling a confused story about a madman dressed only in dirt and moss. As Baldwin began writing, Ivar went outside where he kicked pebbles across the courtyard and all the way to the gate and farther yet to the fosse and walked aimlessly before coming to the little church where the peculiar and unsettling stone effigy of the last count rested.

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    He set foot on the porch but saw that another person knelt, praying and weeping, in the dim interior: Lord Geoffrey.


    I am not the only troubled soul. And were his troubles so very desperate? Discontent was not the same as desperation. Watching the shadowed figure from the porch of the little church, Ivar sensed that, outside, he waited under the skies of a far finer day than the one that, inside, plagued Geoffrey with rain and tempest. Lord Geoffrey had lost his wife, and his cousin¡ªif he had held much affection for the deceased Count Lavastine, which Ivar had no way of determining. His now-crippled daughter had only a tenuous hold on the county claimed in her name, and his two young sons were being held in Autun in the tender care of Lady Sabella. The local folk muttered against him, and some said openly that Geoffrey had usurped the place of the rightful heir in order to get the lands and title for his daughter and thus¡ªbecause she was still a child¡ªhimself.


    No wonder he wept.


    Back by the gate, the watch bell rang. A pair of banners fluttered in the distance as a party of riders approached the holding.


    ¡°What news?¡± demanded Geoffrey, emerging from the church.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± said Ivar, taken aback by that brusque tone.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t Biscop Constance send you? Who are those riders?¡±


    ¡°I know no more than you do.¡±


    ¡°Then you know that this life is only tears and suffering! Or do you clerics have some psalm for that, to tell us otherwise?¡±


    Ivar couldn¡¯t think of any. The psalms all ran together in his mind, praising God, smiting foes, rejoicing at deliverance, and punishing those who did not act as they should, although the blessed Daisan had taught that to act against what is right was, in a way, its own punishment since humankind knew that it were better and easier to do what is good than what is evil.


    ¡°The actions of humankind are a mystery,¡± he said at last, ¡°since many do evil things who ought to know better, and some do good when they mean to do ill.¡±


    Geoffrey grunted as if irritated and set out for the gate to greet the newcomers. Ivar hastened after him, and came to the hall in time to hear a haughty young man, with the bearing of a youth raised in a noble house, speak to Geoffrey and Constance while a crowd gathered to listen.


    ¡°Lady Sabella sends this message to Lord Geoffrey of Lavas, regent for Lavrentia, count of Lavas. ¡®Tidings have reached me that you are sheltering Biscop Constance, who has fomented rebellion against me. Turn her over into my custody, in Autun, or your sons will be forfeit, executed for your treason.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Treason!¡± Geoffrey raged. The messenger held his ground, unmoved by the lord¡¯s anger. ¡°They are children! The younger hasn¡¯t seen four summers.¡± He pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead and muttered curses while his daughter sat small and quiet behind him. ¡°It would have been better if they had died with their mother!¡±


    Lavrentia¡¯s face crumpled as she fought to restrain tears.


    ¡°Despair is a sin, Geoffrey,¡± said Constance, taking hold of his arm and drawing his hands down.


    ¡°Am I to rejoice instead?¡±


    She caught his gaze and held it, and after a moment his wild look subsided to something more like shame. Ivar squeezed forward through the ranks to his friends, who were waiting beside the hearth. The messenger glanced their way, attracted by Ivar¡¯s movement through the assembly, and dismissed them with a smirk.


    ¡°I would not have burdened you with my presence if I had known Sabella would threaten you in this particular way,¡± said Constance.


    ¡°She¡¯s listening to Salian advisers!¡± Geoffrey seemed ready to laugh. ¡°Salians are always murdering their children to clear their own path to the throne or to riches.¡±


    ¡°So the chronicles suggest,¡± agreed Constance in a mild tone that was meant to warn him, but Geoffrey was not able to listen.


    ¡°They might be dead already. Then nothing will be served by giving you up to her as well. Better stick with what we know is true. Or Sabella may be bluffing. She may not have the heart to kill two innocent children.¡±


    ¡°Do you think so?¡± asked Constance.


    He swayed, jerking side to side as though tugged this way and that by a sharp pull on a rope. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to think! How can it have all gone wrong? I must go! I¡¯ll exchange myself for them! Let her kill me if she wishes! I would welcome death!¡±


    ¡°Lord Geoffrey! For shame!¡±


    He hid his face. His daughter sobbed into her hands, echoing her father. The company of retainers and servants stood in awful silence, and a few crept away like beaten dogs hoping not to be noticed. The messenger watched carefully, absorbing the scene into his memory so that, Ivar suppose, he might report Geoffrey¡¯s weakness to Sabella.

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    ¡°You must stay here in Lavas and guard your daughter and these lands, Geoffrey. Captain Ulric and his company will remain behind. Consider that this may be a feint to draw you out.¡±


    ¡°Why? Lavas County is nothing to Sabella, surely. She wants you because you represent Henry¡¯s claim to sovereignty in Varre. Because you are the rightful duke of Arconia, after Sabella forfeited the title by her own rebellion. She is the traitor! I am not. I am not! Anyway, if you go to her, she will have no reason to give up my sons. Then she¡¯ll have you back, to do with as she please¡ªeven to kill¡ªand she¡¯ll still hold my sons.¡±


    ¡°No child of Arnulf would dare kill her own sibling,¡± said Constance. ¡°We are not Salians!¡±


    ¡°I must go, or I¡¯ll be dishonored!¡±


    ¡°You must stay, and guard Lavas together with Captain Ulric. I¡¯ll leave you a hostage in your turn¡ªthis messenger.¡±


    The young man started and took a step back, looking around as for an escape route, but Ulric had already moved his men into position to block his retreat.


    ¡°I will take my trusted retainers.¡± She gestured toward her clerics.


    ¡°Then it is all for nothing,¡± moaned Geoffrey, ¡°freeing you from Queen¡¯s Grave. All this! It has all rotted in my hands!¡±


    ¡°We are not dead and defeated yet, Geoffrey!¡± She got hold of her walking stick and pushed to her feet, and her smile might have come because of the pain of rising or her annoyance at Geoffrey, or because Sabella¡¯s messenger looked so flummoxed at being outflanked as he realized he was now a prisoner. ¡°Trust in God. I do.¡±


    ¡°Truth rises with the phoenix,¡± muttered a voice in the crowd.


    ¡°So I have come to believe.¡±


    Ulric met her by the door into the inner apartments.


    ¡°Your Grace. We know that bandits haunt the roads, and worse things, perhaps. Wolves. Shadows. I trust God, but I wish you will take armed men on the road to protect you.¡±


    ¡°Sabella has kindly sent an escort. I¡¯ll return with them, all except for the messenger, who will remain here. Most of my schola are too frail to travel, and I trust you will see them well cared for here, Captain. But I think a few of my faithful clerics can accompany me!¡± She smiled at Ivar, Sigfrid, Ermanrich, and Hathumod. Her gaze lingered longest on Baldwin, whom she examined with a slight frown.


    ¡°They may even be able to bear weapons,¡± said Ulric with a look of disapproval, ¡°although I don¡¯t know how much good they¡¯ll do you in a fight, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve fought!¡± said Ivar. ¡°We¡¯ve ridden into battle with Prince Ekkehard.¡±


    Ulric began to roll his eyes, but stopped himself with an inhalation and a sharp cough.


    ¡°My bold clerics!¡± she said, and somehow, from her lips, the statement did not sound mocking.


    7


    WHAT woke her? She lay still, listening, but heard nothing and saw nothing. A sour scent teased her; it was as pungent as rotten eggs but fading fast.


    At length she decided that nothing unusual had woken her. She shifted, sitting up, and in that moment a puff of sulfurous air gusted against her cheek. She heard two scrapes as of a weight dragged across gritty rock, a sigh like those of a bellows, and again two scrapes. The stink of the air made her eyes water, but it had direction, wafting at her from the north-northwest if she deemed her back against the rock wall to measure due south. Out there, some movement made the air shift. Where there was a breeze, there was a breach to the outside.


    She tested her thigh. The old blood was flaking off, and there was only a smear of moistness at one end of the wound where it had ripped a little. A long scab was beginning to form. She still ached throughout her body, but food and drink and rest had eased these hurts and her mind had regained its clarity.


    I can win free, if I can only be patient and clever.


    She sat for a long while and listened. The weight of rock oppressed her, but power lived here, too, felt as a hum deep in the earth. Kansi-a-lari had called this place ¡°the Heart-of-the-Mountain-of-the-World¡¯s Beginning.¡±


    The Ashioi cities she had seen looked different than the towns and habitations erected by humankind, which rose haphazardly although any one might be built around a central building grounded with sacred power¡ªa cathedral or church or, in older days, a fort. The crowns held power; weaving threads into a stone crown brought to Earth the melody of the spheres.


    She breathed into her belly, into the stone, and it seemed to her that the deeper she breathed the deeper she fell. The Ashioi understood the power that lies in the landscape, and they built to encourage and enhance it. This heart was a kernel around which the city had risen. So deep, and so high, and pulsing with a force whose heat and contours, almost too faint for her to perceive, had the taste of the aether, funneled into this place as canals channel rainwater into a central pond.

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    She stood, and called her wings.


    They flared golden, and she lifted a hand¡¯s breadth off the ground. A vast ceiling vaulted so high that its peaks lay in shadow. Above, frozen spears of lightning glistened, rock formations hanging from the ceiling like so many points. The cavern was immense, its far walls lost in dimness. The floor stretched smooth and unbroken.


    Except there.


    A narrow, black spire, somewhat taller than a man, rose out of the floor, so far from her that it was barely visible in the gloom. Blue fire flickered along its length where the aetherical glamour cast by her wings brushed it. Like a shadow, a second, insubstantial pillar blossomed into existence beside it, a burning stone through which she could see


    ¡°Liat¡¯dano! Where are you?¡± The shaman speaks to her from beyond that gateway. The centaur woman is insubstantial but nevertheless present. She shades her eyes as against a harsh light and peers through the gateway toward Liath.


    ¡°I am here, at the Heart-of-the-Mountain-of-the-World¡¯s Beginning!¡± Liath cries.


    ¡°I have been looking for you, Daughter, but the aether is thin and the gateway closes. Come to me! Quickly!¡±


    The pulse of the aether was too feeble, even here, to sustain her wings. They withered, and she dropped the hand¡¯s span to Earth and stumbled as too much weight came down on her injured leg. The glowing illumination faded and the burning stone dissolved into a pale nimbus, rapidly dissipating.


    Caught in the last lambent twilight, a figure hunched out of the shadows and scuttled to the spire. It turned, and she saw that it was not human. It had luminous bulges where eyes ought to have been. Its skin had the look of granite.


    Blackness swallowed her, and it. She heard two scrapes, that bellows sigh followed by two scrapes, and then nothing.


    She dug deep, and fought to call her wings again, but the first effort had taken its toll on her and they only flickered, like the spark of a wick catching for an instant before snapping out. She could not get illumination enough to make her way to the black spire.


    She had not hallucinated that creature. Indeed, she had a good idea of what it must be, because Mother Obligatia had told her of the inhuman creatures deep in the rock beneath the convent of St. Ekatarina¡¯s whose charity had sustained the sisters for many months. In legend, humankind had many names for them: goblins and ¡°Old Ones¡± and more besides.


    Creatures who lived in the earth must have some means of moving around, just as moles shifted through tunnels. Where they could crawl, so could she. It was only a matter of having provisions and steady light.


    Ai, God, if only the gateway of the burning stone had not collapsed so suddenly. If she could step through¡ªreach Li¡¯at¡¯dano¡ªshe could gain her freedom and be reunited with Blessing, if her girl lived.


    She must live.


    ¡°I will it so,¡± she murmured, knowing that words are not magic in themselves but only because we weave them in a way that, like sorcery, creates a spell around our listeners.


    She sat for a long while, breathing to quiet her heart and mind but also fighting against the exhaustion that washed at her and between one breath and the next swept over her. Pain from the wound in her thigh stabbed every time she twitched, and she braced herself against the wall to stop her legs from moving. Could she reach Li¡¯at¡¯dano? Thoughts wound down lazily, and she dozed off.


    What had woken her?


    Liathano.


    Was that the shaman¡¯s voice? It nagged at her. She must have heard the shaman calling her name in the dream she had just been having, which had already faded, leaving a slow trembling ringing in her ears as if she had dreamed in sounds and not images.


    Liathano.


    One voice, tolling like a bell.


    A sick dread infested her, shuddering her body inside and out.


    Ai, God. A galla.


    Kansi had captured her and meant to kill her. No, that was fear talking. She had no reason to believe that Kansi knew the galla or had ever used them.


    Liathano.


    The galla came from a plane outside of this world, and therefore they did not fully inhabit this world. Air and water meant nothing to them. Heat and cold could claw no purchase into the forms that passed for their bodies. Rock did not halt them.


    It was coming for her, and she had no weapon with which to kill it.


    Liathano.


    She was cold, and determined, and flush with the heat that comes of a racing heart and bitter knowledge. I am dead, but I will not go down without fighting.


    She rose, fixed her feet and, ignoring the pain of her wound, sought by taste and smell and hearing for the direction of the galla.


    Where is it coming from? There!


    There! The cavern was pitch-black, without light enough even to see her own hand held right in front of her nose. But the galla was blacker still. Seen in such darkness, she perceived it as a void cut through onto another place, a worse place, a plane of existence racked with torment that, to the galla, seemed a blessed mercy compared to the torments of Earth. It was not like humankind, not meant to dwell in this world even for the space of a breath, her own, one in and one out, as she stood her ground and sought deep into the rock for the scattered grains of fire embedded within the structure of stone.

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    So faint they were, but she was desperate, and it rang closer and closer, floating across the vast black expanse of the cavern.


    Liathano!


    It knew her. It only wanted to go home, and she was its gateway.


    The thought gave rise to ugly hope. She swept her awareness past the grains of fire and sought those attenuated veins of aether. Through the gateway she could find griffins. She might escape through the gateway.


    She called her wings. As they flared, the towering black pillar that was the galla fluttered as in a strong wind.


    She sought: At the heart of the aether lies the burning stone, the gateway¡ªso far off, so faint¡­


    It bloomed, frangible but present, a man¡¯s height and breadth in size, shimmering with the pulsing blue aether.


    The shaman stood there still¡ªor had come again to seek her. The pale figure of the Horse woman wavered, limned in blue as she reached out her arms in a gesture of welcome.


    ¡°Liath!¡± called the shaman.


    ¡°I¡¯m coming! There is a galla¡ª¡± she cried out as she lunged forward, but her leg collapsed under her. Already the gateway was collapsing from man height to child height to knee height. Too late! Too weak! There was not enough aether to sustain it. Her wings shredded into sparks. The galla swept down upon her.


    The shaman¡¯s voice rang clear through the last hand¡¯s span of the opening. ¡°I am Li¡¯at¡¯dano. Come quickly, to me!¡±


    It was the same name, blurred by the centuries into a word that breathed more softly from the lips but which in its essence had not changed.


    It was the same name, and she had carried it for far longer than Liath had.


    The stinging presence of the galla scorched her, but it passed her by and twisted through the vanishing gateway on the trail of the one called Li¡¯at¡¯dano. Liathano.


    There came a cry of pain, and a dazzling blaze that flared as the galla engulfed and consumed its prey.


    The last light of aetherical fire curled in on itself, and winked out as the gateway collapsed.


    Dead.


    Devoured.


    Into silence, into darkness, Liath fell. Her ears rang and her pulse throbbed, beating wildly as she knelt on the cold stone and sobbed so raggedly that it seemed she could never stop.


    8


    THE weather held fine. It did not rain, or even feel like rain. They luxuriated in a string of pleasant early summer days that might have run warm had it not been for the constant veil that concealed the sun and cooled the land. All the noble lords and ladies watched Sabella day by day to gauge her mood; it was Conrad¡¯s heartiness that warmed the party.


    ¡°So I said to her, ¡®then, pray tell, if a woman as lovely as you has held to your vows these four years and had no congress with any man or his member, why does this toddling sprout cling to your leg and call you Mother?¡¯ She looked me dead in the eye, and she spoke coldly, I will tell you! ¡®Because I am abbess of this poor institution, my lord duke, not the serving maid you take me for. I am Mother to those who rest under my care.¡¯¡±


    His listeners laughed, and he went on. ¡°It is a shame, truly, that God should steal such treasures and lock them in the church. I have rarely seen a finer looking woman, as ripe as Aogoste berries. But I had no fortune that day! Her scornful look was enough to wither any man! Still, I wondered about that little child. He had a dusky complexion, you know.¡±


    One of the courtiers chortled. ¡°Mayhap you came to her in the night, like an incubus, Conrad, eh! A year or two previous? She all unwitting? They say holy women have moist dreams!¡±


    Conrad raised a hand to stop the chatter and laughter. ¡°Not me! I would have recalled it! Mayhap, back in those days, the Dragons of those times might have ridden by. In truth, now I think on it, I recall there was talk of them sheltering a night or more in the convent¡¯s guesthouse two years before I came calling. Where such men shelter, one at least might have found a more inviting hall to rest himself. For you know, this was at St. Genovefa¡¯s Convent, and she the saintly patron of dogs.¡±


    That brought a new round of laughter.


    ¡°Are you only prattling, Conrad?¡± asked Sabella, ¡°or do you honestly believe it to be true? Did Sanglant get some bastard child on a holy abbess back when he was captain of Henry¡¯s Dragons? Where is this supposed to have taken place? How can the child¡¯s existence give us an advantage? Otherwise, do not waste my time.¡±


    Her glare cowed the courtiers, but Conrad laughed. He had a remarkable smile, one that invited all folk to smile with him, and he was not afraid to poke fun at himself, although it seemed to Alain that he had made sure that the knife thrust more deeply into his unwitting rival¡¯s flesh. ¡°I will tell tales to please myself and my companions while we ride this dreary road. If not, then you must listen to me sing.¡±

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    Even Sabella must chuckle, although the softening lasted only a moment. ¡°Best tell your tales, for I will have none of your singing without my good clerics to make it sweet.¡±


    ¡°And your sweetest singer is fled,¡± remarked Conrad with an innocent expression. ¡°Fled to the angels from which he arose.¡±


    Her eyes flared, and her horse minced as she jerked the reins. Off along the verge, where the hounds padded, Rage barked, a rumble that startled the nearest horse and set off a chain of missteps among the riders and then the stewards and mounted soldiers behind. ¡°Enough, Conrad!¡±


    ¡°She did not sing for me, that lovely creature,¡± said Conrad, continuing as if he had not noticed the rogue current he had stirred into life. ¡°Mother Armentaria, I think her name was. I do wonder about my cousin and that dark little creature who held the holy woman¡¯s skirts and stared at me with eyes so rich a brown. A taking thing. I don¡¯t know if it was girl or boy, but it was pretty enough to be either even if scarcely old enough to walk. It might have been a beggar¡¯s child, or a prince¡¯s. How can we know when the mother will not or cannot speak?¡±


    He glanced at Alain before turning his attention back to his courtiers.


    ¡°It¡¯s said Prince Sanglant sowed a hundred bastards, being a bastard himself,¡± said one of the younger courtiers, ¡°but is it true?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a handsome man,¡± said Conrad. ¡°Were I born a woman, instead of a man, I suppose I might try a kiss from him. As it is, I can only envy him, for he has a fair beauty for a wife, a fine creature as bright as fire.¡±


    ¡°Of uncertain lineage,¡± said Sabella. ¡°Both bastards, most likely. She is excommunicated and accused of being a sorcerer.¡±


    ¡°Yes, truly,¡± said Conrad with a crooked smile, ¡°it is as well you and I, Sabella, make our way to save our grandfather¡¯s precious kingdom from such usurpers.¡±


    ¡°Your great grandfather,¡± she said curtly. ¡°Tallia is your very distant cousin.¡±


    ¡°Yes, indeed, distant enough that we might be married with the sanction of the church,¡± he agreed cordially. He had an expression that might have been amused or annoyed. ¡°Yet when I pressed my suit elsewhere, my dear cousin Henry deemed my cousin Theophanu too close to agree to the alliance.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t speak to me of Henry!¡±


    Her look was meant to quell, but Conrad smiled. ¡°We are among allies, Sabella. No one in our retinues will cry to the church that I have married consanguineously. What is it? Seven degrees? Eight? Six? Far enough except for Henry¡¯s taste, since he wanted no such connection between his children and mine.¡±


    ¡°He feared you.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps. I think all along Henry was only waiting.¡±


    ¡°For what?¡± she asked him, and all the courtiers, heads turning side to side as they looked first at Sabella and then at Conrad and then back again, fixed their attention on Conrad.


    ¡°Waiting to find a way to raise Sanglant as heir above Sophia¡¯s children. He found it. We battle not Sanglant, but Henry¡¯s sentimental attachment to the child who could not have the thing Henry most wished to give him. He has gotten it anyway. Sanglant always did seem to get his own way, though he was never gloating or crude about it. The best of men!¡±


    Sabella smiled harshly. ¡°Say you so, Conrad? Will you be turning your milites east to join up with him? The best of men?¡±


    Conrad had such an infectious way of laughing that everyone joined in. When the fit of hilarity had passed, he spoke in a voice whose easy charm did nothing to affect its sincerity. ¡°I am sure of what I want, what I deserve, and what I intend to claim.¡±


    ¡°Horses ahead, my lord duke. My lady.¡± A sergeant called from the foremost line of riders, and a ripple¡ªmen checking swords, easing spears free¡ªpassed backward through the company. ¡°Nay, it¡¯s only the scouts.¡±


    Atto returned with the trio of men sent ahead to help him seek out their way, and to make sure he did not bolt. Certainly the lad looked nervous enough, sweating and pale and hair a rat¡¯s nest since he couldn¡¯t stop running his hands through it. He consulted with Sabella¡¯s captain, and in time they came to a fork in the road. Instead of continuing on the main road, they cut into broken woodland along a rutted track where they had to ride two abreast. Their line of march stretched back a good ways. The other nobles competed for position, but Alain hung back and let the main part of the company pass before swinging into line with the wagons. He nodded at the soldier who was riding beside the great cage meant for the guivre.

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    ¡°My lord,¡± said Captain Tammus reluctantly, dropping his gaze while his hands clenched on the reins.


    Sorrow growled, low in her throat, but Alain let the captain and these foremost wagons pass as well and came up behind the supply wagons with their barrels of ale and sacks of grain or flour and small woven sapling cages filled with squawking chickens and a furious goose. A trio of steers paced at the end of ropes. Two dozen sheep followed, pursued by a pair of shepherds and their clever dog. Behind the last wagon walked a half dozen men, each one pushing a flat-bedded cart on which lay the trussed carcass of a deer.


    ¡°Where have these come from?¡± he asked one of the stewards.


    The woman rode a stocky pony and was young and weary, hair covered by a pale yellow scarf. She wore a glove on her right hand and her left bare, revealing a rash prickling across her three middle fingers.


    ¡°You know the way of it, my lord,¡± she said cautiously, recognizing him, as any good steward must recognize by sight every noble who rode with the lady. ¡°Three our hunters brought down yesterday and the day before. We hung them all night, though they¡¯ll still be tough. The others came from the manor. Folk are hunting deer in numbers early this year. The sheep we took as part of the tithe, together with the grain. Out in the forest we¡¯ll not find much provender, for few folk live in the wilderness. We must feed all with what we gain here.¡±


    He nodded, and to her evident relief he fell back to ride alongside the rear guard. Farther behind might be found the rear scouts, but he held his position the rest of that day. The land changed its character, and they entered a region of precipitous hills, rugged rocky outcrops, and low spines of rock protruding from otherwise unexceptionable earth. Streamlets flowed in plenty, and there was no sign of human habitation. Folk whispered that they were nearing the lair of the guivre, who hid within a maze of stony dikes. Even the animals grew nervous. A faint odor of rotting carcasses laced the breeze at intervals, but faded as quickly as he caught its touch.


    9


    KANSI¡¯S voice came sooner than she expected, echoing out of the darkness. ¡°What creature stalked our land? What was it?¡±


    ¡°Set me free, and I¡¯ll tell you,¡± said Liath, hoarse from weeping and exhausted with rage.


    ¡°Tell me!¡±


    Although Kansi-a-lari cursed her and commanded her, Liath did not speak.


    After that came silence for a long while during which she slept, drank, ate, and slept again. Although she had taken no physical harm, she felt battered and she felt bruised, and the right side of her face where the galla had swept closest was as tender as if she had scraped it against rock. Strangely, the wound in her thigh did not hurt as much.


    When the exhaustion passed, the rage remained, but now she knew better than to curse impotently at Kansi-a-lari, who had her own schemes and hopes but who had not, after all, called the galla. She hoarded her strength, and made her plans.


    ¡°Li¡¯at¡¯dano!¡±


    It hurt to hear her name spoken in the antique manner, but although she wanted to scream in fury for everything she was guilty of and quite a bit she was not, she answered in as calm a voice as she could muster.


    ¡°Here I am. What do you want?¡±


    ¡°The answer to my question. That creature murdered a child, four adults, and many precious goats in its passage through our land. Flensed them to the bone. Is this your way of doing battle against us?¡±


    ¡°Lower down more food and drink. Then I¡¯ll tell you.¡±


    ¡°I know how much you have. There is enough, if it¡¯s rationed.¡±


    ¡°I want more. And a knife.¡±


    She laughed. ¡°No knife. Knives you will have enough of, if I decide to give you to the priests.¡±


    After that came silence, but later, listening, Liath heard a faint scraping and a fainter thump.


    Out of the darkness, Kansi spoke. ¡°Answer my question. I have done as you asked.¡±


    She is above me.


    ¡°I will,¡± said Liath, ¡°once I am sure I have what I want.¡±


    Since Kansi-a-lari was speaking from above, surely the provisions should have hit the floor in the same place she had found them the first time. Since it had not, there must therefore be other openings, hidden to her salamander eyes. Kansi-a-lari could not be speaking from a place where daylight gleamed, or Liath would have discerned any least particle of light¡¯s being. A cave above a cave? Rock sheltered Kansi. Liath could get no sense of her position, her scent, or even her presence except for her voice.


    She walked the circuit of the wall, sweeping her feet and finding her leg aching, but sturdy. After 435 footfalls she struck riches: a dozen bulbous fruits; a dozen flat circles of bread; three big leather pouches swollen with a sweet-tasting nectar; a cheese that tasted better than it smelled; eggs cushioned in greasy uncombed wool.

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    No knife.


    ¡°I am satisfied,¡± she said, pitching her voice to carry upward, ¡°that you have dealt fairly with me in this particular matter. Set me free.¡±


    ¡°I will not.¡±


    ¡°Then listen. The creature is called a galla. It comes from another plane of existence.¡±


    ¡°From the aether?¡±


    ¡°I think not. Step sideways through a crack in a wall and you may come to a lost garden. Step sideways through the spheres, and there may be other worlds.¡±


    ¡°A curious notion,¡± said Kansi. ¡°Go on.¡±


    ¡°The galla are called, with blood, to this world. The one who calls them grants them their freedom in a name. This person they must hunt down and devour. When they have devoured the one they sought, the crack in the wall opens, and they can return to their home.¡±


    ¡°Why did you call it?¡±


    ¡°I did not call it. I have been attacked by such creatures before. That is how I know what they are.¡±


    ¡°How did you rid yourself of it? Is there a spell?¡±


    She choked, but eventually found her voice, because she had to speak. ¡°Griffin feathers dispel the galla. It is the only way to banish them, that I know of.¡±


    ¡°You came to us naked except for your clothes. How did you banish this one?¡±


    ¡°You may believe I came to you with nothing, but I banished it nevertheless.¡± She had to push on, before she thought too hard and burst into tears. She burned with anger, and she must remember the right person to blame. ¡°I have no griffin feathers now. If another galla comes for me, I am helpless.¡± She could not swallow; she could not speak lest her voice tremble. Yet, why not? Let Kansi believe her terrified. It was the truth.


    ¡°If you want me alive, understand that I am helpless now against the galla. And understand this: The galla are after your son as well.¡±


    ¡°Zuangua says Sanglant has griffins. He is well protected. Wise boy!¡±


    ¡°He had griffins. They are flown back into the east to breed. He has seven feathers left him. For each galla that comes, he has one less. Do you mean to let him die once he runs out of griffin feathers?¡±


    ¡°I cannot fight these galla without griffin feathers? Then tell me, Liathano, if you care for my son: what sorcerer calls the galla to pursue you?¡±


    Liath smiled, and her lips formed a silent prayer as she weighed her words and spoke. ¡°I cannot know for sure, I admit. There is only one person who in the past had the knowledge and the skill and the desire to call galla. Her name is Sister Venia, although she was also once called Biscop Antonia of Mainni. I don¡¯t know where she is.¡±


    There came silence for such a long time that Liath finally decided that Kansi must have left. She peeled open one of the fruits and savored the sweet, sloppy mess inside. She tasted bitter to herself, wiping her chin with her fingers and licking off the trails of juice.


    Kansi¡¯s voice slipped out of the darkness, surprising her.


    Her tone was cool, but it made Liath shiver. ¡°My people will find her, and I will deal with her.¡±


    ¡°Why do you keep me here?¡±


    ¡°That is a foolish question. You are¡ªwhat would they call it at the court of Wendar, this game of carved pieces moved across a board? You are a pawn, in my keeping. With you in my hand, I have power over those who desire to take you for themselves.¡±


    ¡°Who would that be?¡± Liath demanded, for it seemed strange and ominous that Kansi used the plural.


    ¡°The blood knives, and of course¡ª¡± She broke off, then finished.¡°¡ªmy son.¡±


    ¡°Sanglant wants peace. He needs peace, to rebuild after the cataclysm. Why do you wish to fight him?¡±


    ¡°I wish to protect my people. We cannot trust humankind.¡±


    ¡°You let Henry raise him.¡±


    ¡°That was all along the intention of the council of elders. A poor plan, which failed. We will do better, I promise you.¡±


    ¡°Those days are long past. We must trust each other in order to survive.¡±


    ¡°These are tiresome words. Do you even believe them yourself?¡±


    ¡°Sanglant is not your enemy.¡±


    There was no answer, and in time Liath had to accept that Kansi had gone.


    So be it. She rested a while longer and ate and drank a little more, starting with the raw eggs, which were sure to get broken. Afterward she chipped away at one of the blunt rocks to get more of an edge on it. She took off her wool outer-tunic and stripped off the lighter linen under-tunic before putting the over-tunic back on. The wool itched, but it was better to save the sturdier, warmer tunic. With the scraper she severed threads and managed with real effort to separate the tunic so that with knots and curls she could hang all of her provisions safely around her hips. She finished the eggs, rose, and walked and jumped a little to test the security of her knots.

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    They held.


    Facing the center of the cavern, she called her wings.


    They flared and faded so quickly that it left afterimages against her eyes. She tried again, but it was no use. The undercurrents of aether still thrummed through this heart, but something was missing: Li¡¯at¡¯dano¡¯s power calling to her from the far side of the gateway.


    Had it always taken two to open the gateway of the burning stone? Was there a thread woven between one and the other? Did she need more of a focus, or was the burning stone fading surely and slowly from the compass of the world?


    She wiped away stinging tears and scratched her itching shoulders and allowed herself one burst of frustrated overpowering thwarted despairing fury, not a scream but a wash of emotion like the tidal surge that had obliterated the shore.


    ¡°Liath.¡±


    Just like that, she snapped alert. In like manner, a hound comes to point, sensing an enemy. Any creature does. She was clear and empty and as sharp as steel.


    ¡°Liath,¡± he said again.


    It was like an hallucination, because there was no possible way that Hugh of Austra should be speaking to her in this place at this time when she was imprisoned at the very heart of the land belonging to the Ashioi.


    But it was his voice, and it was obvious from his tone that he knew she was there.


    When she did not reply, he went on.


    ¡°I am a prisoner of the Ashioi.¡±


    This comment bestirred her, because for some reason she found it amusing. ¡°Not so deep in prison as I am, it appears, since you are there, and I am here. How came they to capture you?¡±


    ¡°They caught me on the road as I was fleeing Queen Adelheid.¡±


    He paused again, and she played along. ¡°What cause had you to flee Adelheid? Before, as I recall the story, you were her ally.¡±


    ¡°No longer. Adelheid blames me for Henry¡¯s death.¡±


    ¡°Can you possibly believe that I might believe you innocent of any share in Henry¡¯s death?¡±


    ¡°Believe what you will. Adelheid desired to kill me.¡±


    Liath forbore to comment, and in any case she was having a difficult time parsing his tone into its component emotions without the text of expression and his body¡¯s language to study.


    ¡°I took Blessing away from Adelheid,¡± he added.


    Blessing! The name felled her. She sank, found herself sprawled on the ground. Her hands had gone numb. Hugh¡¯s smooth words flowed over her as though she were stone.


    ¡°I freed her from captivity. Adelheid would have murdered her in revenge for the death of Berengaria.¡±


    She tried words on her tongue and found that she could speak. ¡°Who is Berengaria?¡±


    ¡°The younger child. She had two by Henry, Mathilda and Berengaria.¡±


    Two children, Henry¡¯s youngest offspring. Of course she remembered them. They held a claim to the Wendish throne that many would consider more legitimate than Sanglant¡¯s, even if their mother was Aostan.


    ¡°I stole Blessing away to save her from Adelheid. The Ashioi captured us. We are prisoners here, as you are.¡±


    This story made no sense, but no matter. She wiped sweat from her forehead, although it wasn¡¯t hot.


    ¡°How did Blessing come into Adelheid¡¯s custody?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. She and her party were discovered by Adelheid¡¯s soldiers on the road near Novomo. How did the child¡¯s father come to carelessly leave her behind in Aosta? I would not have done so.¡±


    She hesitated, knowing she must phrase both questions and answers precisely in order to get the information she needed without giving away too much. ¡°She was too ill to be moved,¡± she said as evenly as she could.


    He laughed. ¡°She has recovered. Her uncle Zuangua is training her to be a warrior. You and I, however, have common cause. We desire to escape. I will help you.¡±


    She found herself trembling between one breath and the next, only there was nothing within arm¡¯s reach to strangle. At last, she sorted past laughter and weeping and found pragmatism. ¡°In exchange for what?¡±


    ¡°Nothing. I seek only to aid Wendar.¡±


    The first shock survived, this made her smile cruelly. Surely Hugh was too subtle to believe that she would believe this!


    ¡°It is strange to me that small parties of Ashioi mask warriors strike in Wendar. They come unheralded and without any trace of how they have arrived and where they go after. Yet if a mathematicus had allied with the Ashioi, he might weave gateways through the crowns for such raiding parties. How would that be aiding Wendar?¡±


    ¡°My plan is deeper than it seems. I will destroy Feather Cloak.¡±

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    ¡°So you say. Many innocent souls have lost their lives.¡±


    ¡°But the rest will live in peace because of it.¡± He fell silent, awaiting her response.


    What flowered within her was an astonishing sense of peace.


    Hugh had no power of his own except what he could wreak against others, a man armed with a sword who must stand on the field against disciplined ranks of archers and cavalry. This made him no less dangerous. A man with a sword can still kill anyone who comes within arm¡¯s reach. As long as Hugh could twist others to do his will, he could, and would, harm his enemies and every innocent soul who got in his way.


    He was the bastard child of a powerful noble who had used him poorly, giving him education and desire without any way to wield it or the strength of will to rein it in. Margrave Judith had put him in the church, where he could rise to be presbyter, as he had done by a circuitous route. But becoming presbyter was not enough for Hugh. He wanted a different sort of power, and he had no way to obtain it except through sorcery. He had wielded power through Adelheid¡¯s agency, by ensorcelling Henry, because he had no power in his own heart.


    Any person with the will to do what is right has power of a kind, however frail a reed that may seem when it comes time to stand tall against the storm. But in the end, in God¡¯s heart, it is the only power that matters.


    He had seen, before anyone but Da and those who knew what she was, that she had power he wanted to possess. But it was the fire at the heart of her that he desired, not her. Never her, that person whom Sanglant was perfectly willing to argue with, cajole, irritate, and love.


    She had what Hugh wanted. She was what Hugh wanted to be.


    ¡°What is your plan?¡± she asked him.


    ¡°I have a rope. I¡¯ll throw it down to you, and haul you up. We can escape through the crown that stands near here.¡±


    ¡°Where is it?¡±


    ¡°A few days¡¯ walk, beyond the White Road.¡±


    ¡°Very well. Throw down the rope.¡±


    She heard it uncoil with a scraping slither. Its final lengths thumped lightly on the cavern¡¯s floor. She fished for and found the greasy wool, tossed it high into the air, and called fire into this cloud. It blazed.


    There! Alongside the smooth cavern wall dangled the rope, with no more than a single coil remaining on the ground. She reached it before the wool burned itself into nothing.


    She jerked hard on the rope, but it held.


    ¡°I¡¯ve made it fast. You must hurry. Tie it around your waist, and I¡¯ll haul you up.¡±


    ¡°How did you come to find me?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re imprisoned in a secret place in the midst of their great city.¡±


    ¡°I know. How did you find me?¡±


    ¡°The priests are in a rage, claiming they are owed a sacrifice. A raiding party had taken a powerful captive, rumor said, but the members of that raiding party would not speak of it. The Feather Cloak need answer no questions.¡±


    ¡°Feather Cloak?¡± She recalled Feather Cloak, that stern and pregnant leader who had banished her from Ashioi country.


    ¡°Sanglant¡¯s mother is Feather Cloak.¡±


    She caught a surprised laugh, making a kind of a snort. Sanglant¡¯s mother had grasped the reins of power among the Ashioi. What had happened to the other Feather Cloak?


    ¡°It was Feather Cloak who told you I was here?¡±


    ¡°It was not. I am her prisoner, but I have other sources of information.¡±


    No doubt a woman¡ªsome flint-eyed warrior girl who spilled the truth to him in the hope of gaining his smile and, perhaps, a kiss. Women could be stupid, that was certainly true. Liath did not hope to be one of those women today. Hugh was certainly lying, she just wasn¡¯t sure what part of his story was false, and which truth.


    Blessing is recovered. Alive. Living.


    ¡°I want a knife before I¡¯ll come up,¡± she said, ¡°to defend myself with. I have no reason to trust you.¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t trust me, you¡¯ll remain their prisoner. At their mercy. Do you know what the priests do to their sacrifices? Why they are called the blood knives?¡±


    ¡°I want a knife. Or I won¡¯t come up.¡±


    ¡°If I drop it, it might hit you.¡±


    She slid backward along the wall ten paces, and called. ¡°A knife, or I won¡¯t come up.¡±


    ¡°I pray you, Liath. If we wait too long, we may be discovered.¡±


    ¡°A knife.¡±


    He wanted her so badly that he betrayed himself. An object rasped along rock. Silence swallowed its fall, then it rattled on stone.


    What manner of fool gave a knife to a prisoner?

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    How had Hugh of Austra come to be allied with the Ashioi?


    She moved forward in darkness, knelt, and patted the ground until its cool blade came under her hand. Good iron, this. The hilt bore an embossed crest which she read by touch: the letter ¡®A¡¯ surrounded by a circle.


    ¡°Liath, you must hurry,¡± he said.


    She rose, gripped the rope, and looked up. The rock clouded her vision, and the vision that lay beyond those things seen with the open eye. Rock was heavy and slow moving, but there was something there, a presence. It was as if she could smell the edge of Hugh, like smelling a perfume: lavender for beauty, wolfsbane for deadliness, and something less tangible, twisted and rotten.


    She could not quite grasp him, but she forged with her awareness as high as she could reach up the rope to a place where it tightened against a curve in the ceiling, perhaps a narrow vertical tunnel. There, where the rope receded into oblivion, she kissed the sleeping fire within it, and told it to burn.


    His shout woke fire. The rope burned hard, far above her, just out of her sight. The red glow spit flakes of ash, and she yanked. The rope tumbled down around and on top of her, the fraying end smoldering and blackening at the tip.


    ¡°Ai, God! Liath!¡±


    No need to answer. She had what she wanted. The glow gave just enough light for her salamander eyes. She coiled the rope over and under around shoulder and torso like a bulky sash, holding the slowly burning end out away from her, and tested the knots of the complicated arrangement of food and drink tied up against her body. It would hold.


    She pushed into the darkness. When she approached the black spire, she found what she had prayed for: a stairway into the depths.


    10


    IN the late afternoon he rode into a clearing ringed by stately beech trees just coming into leaf. Beyond lay a tangle of mixed woodland with many massive trees listing sideways or fallen to the ground and slender saplings and a thick layer of shrubs grown up in a profusion that blocked all lines of sight. An ancient wall formed a crumbling pattern within the clearing. No place along the wall was more than knee-high, but it provided a barrier of sorts where otherwise they must lie open to whatever the forest might bring them. Within this ruin he found canvas tents being erected and fires burning and the deer being skinned and butchered and prepared for spit roasting over the remains of stone hearths. The offal was thrown to the hunting dogs, to keep them strong, although in any village such fare would have been served up as a stew. Alain had put aside some bones saved out from yesterday¡¯s dinner, and these Rage and Sorrow gnawed on while he walked through the camp speaking here and there to servants and soldiers.


    He came at length to the cloth screens set up on poles that divided the main portion of the camp from the smaller camp where the nobles would eat and sleep. No guards patrolled this gate, situated where a second inner ruin lay within the first.


    Servants and soldiers moved about freely, but none lingered where the nobles sat on stools at their leisure while waiting for their roasting supper. The lords and ladies laughed and chatted, at their ease. He went to pee, leaving camp behind and stepping under the trees for a little privacy. The dogs lifted their heads and beat their tails one two, growling to warn him that he was being followed. Finished, he greeted Duke Conrad, who came accompanied by a swarm of nobles, servants, and faithful soldiers. Half of them followed the duke¡¯s lead in taking a piss, a social activity on any noble¡¯s progress, but when the duke was finished, he waved his retainers away and gestured toward a mossy stretch of thigh-high wall thrust up from the dirt and grown about with honeysuckle and crocus.


    ¡°A pleasant bench,¡± Conrad said amiably, but in his smile Alain saw the expectation of obedience.


    They sat, and considered the woods around them, oak and hornbeam with a scattering of ash and this one proud circle of beech, obviously planted decades ago for an unknown purpose. Ivy had worked its way along the shadowed folds. Sorrow and Rage settled at Alain¡¯s feet, staring fixedly at Conrad.


    ¡°You¡¯re a quiet one,¡± said the duke, ¡°most of the time.¡± A servant approached, Conrad dipped his head slightly, and the man retreated. The swarm had spread out of earshot, leaving them a measure of peace. ¡°What do you think of, Lord Alain? What goad whips your mount? Do you envy me my wife?¡±


    ¡°Do you believe I must?¡±


    He smiled as he glanced away from Alain, then back again. ¡°It would be natural to envy the man who holds the treasure you once possessed yourself.¡±


    Alain waited. Conrad, by all appearances a restless and energetic man, had the unusual ability to sit without the least appearance of becoming impatient. Men walked out in the woods, and over by the unseen fires singing broke out, a lewd song relating the amorous adventures of a young man peculiarly afflicted with a member whose size varied depending on the weather. ¡°But when the sun came out, oh! When the sun came out!¡±

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    Conrad smiled slightly, but did not stir as the impromptu verses ground on.


    Realizing that neither Conrad¡¯s silence nor the song was likely to end soon, Alain felt obliged to answer. ¡°I was sorry to disappoint Count Lavastine, who hoped for an heir.¡±


    Conrad bent to pluck a plant out of the dirt. ¡°Bastard balm.¡± He crumbled the leaves in his big hand and tested the scent its oils left. ¡°Not to my taste, the flavor of this plant. Did Lavastine believe you to be his baseborn son? Or was that only a lie? Not that it matters to me, mind you. I¡¯m content with matters as they stand between you and me. But I¡¯m curious.¡± He indicated the hounds. ¡°These give you a powerful claim. The tale was well known, that the black hounds answer to none but the rightful heir of Lavas County. That they would kill any other person who sought to claim them.¡±


    He whistled softly, extending his hand palm up. Both Rage and Sorrow whined piteously and thumped their tails on the ground as they looked at Alain for permission.


    ¡°Go on,¡± Alain said, and the hounds crept closer to Conrad, snuffled at his knees, and groaned a little, not quite a growl, allowing him to rub their huge heads and fuss a bit over them.


    ¡°I like dogs,¡± Conrad said. ¡°They are more faithful than men¡ªwith the natural exception of my good retainers.¡± His grin charmed effortlessly. ¡°I trust my dogs not to turn on me. What about you?¡±


    ¡°Am I your dog?¡±


    Conrad laughed. ¡°A hard question. Yet again I must say, I don¡¯t know. You came to Autun with some purpose. We offered you Lavas, and you have not precisely turned us down. We spoke of your marriage to my daughter Berengaria, which might bring you to rule Varre at her side. Yet I see in you no grasping servility, seeking our favor in this scheme. I see no testing of bonds with the other lesser lords, whom you may one day hope to command. No clawing and biting and growling for precedence.¡±


    ¡°I am sorry,¡± said Alain. ¡°I am not what you think I am.¡±


    ¡°So it would seem,¡± said Conrad as the hounds moved away from him to flank Alain. ¡°Yet these hounds puzzle me. You puzzle me. What do you want?¡±


    ¡°Healing.¡±


    ¡°Healing for the scar in your heart? From the marriage gone wrong? The lady torn from you and given to another? The loss of your father? The loss of Lavas County, and its riches?¡±


    ¡°I am but one man. Observe the world, Duke Conrad, and you will see what I mean.¡±


    ¡°I have taken the measure of the world, Lord Alain. It is a cruel abode, containing many pits for the unwary. So do I act.¡±


    ¡°So must we all.¡±


    Conrad looked closely at him. ¡°You do not speak of Lavas County, or the woman who was once your wife and is now mine. You do not speak of my sweet daughter, Berengaria, who might possibly become your wife. You do not speak of a consort¡¯s chair.¡±


    ¡°I do not.¡±


    Conrad folded his arms across his chest. Alain was tall, but Conrad had bulk in addition to height, arms made thick by many years riding to war and wielding the reaper¡¯s scythe. Alain had met few men more formidable than the duke of Wayland. He had a sword, and Alain only his crude staff, and his hounds.


    Conrad made no move, although his frown suggested his displeasure. ¡°A spy might speak so, sent into my ranks to learn my secrets. Yet it¡¯s also said that wise men speak in riddles. Seek you revenge for the wrong done to you when Henry took Lavas County out of your hands?¡±


    ¡°Was it wrong to cast me out as the count of Lavas?¡±


    ¡°I cannot answer that question! Lord Geoffrey has a legitimate claim in the name of his daughter. In his own name, truth to tell, since he is the great grandson of the last countess, Lavastina, and the grandnephew of Lavastine¡¯s grandfather, Charles Lavastine. Still, Geoffrey preferred to push his daughter forward instead of himself, since she is a girl and the old countess ruled by the ancient law.¡±


    ¡°The ancient law?¡±


    ¡°Still held to in Alba, I might add, and in much of Varre. The identity of a woman¡¯s children is always known, since they have sprung from her womb. That of a man¡¯s offspring¡ªwell, no matter what anyone says, in the end it is always a matter of faith. Therefore, by that custom, a daughter will always hold precedence over a son because her heirs are assuredly the descendants of her foremothers. Geoffrey chose to ally himself with the old custom, while Lavastine chose you, a boy of uncertain parentage. No doubt that influenced Henry¡¯s decision. Yet, for Geoffrey, the rule of Lavas County comes to the same thing, as his daughter is still a child and he must therefore be her regent for many years.¡±

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    ¡°She is an invalid now. Lamed in a fall from her pony.¡±


    Conrad had a ready sympathy for daughters. ¡°Poor creature! What incompetent taught her to ride? Or gave her the wrong mount?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps it was only an accident.¡±


    ¡°Or justice served on her because of the sins of her father.¡±


    ¡°An innocent child? I do not believe so.¡±


    ¡°Do you know God¡¯s mind, then?¡± Conrad chuckled. ¡°I ask my clerics every day, and they remain blind. Only my wife insists that she speaks with God¡¯s wishes brimful on her tongue, and in truth, Lord Alain, I despise her. She is a sniveling, lying, whining weakling, no better than a ¡­ a ¡­ God know there is no creature I despise as much!¡±


    ¡°She deserves respect from the man who married her.¡±


    ¡°So the church prattles, but they are not wed to her¡ªalthough they were once, and cast her out because of all her puling and moaning! She brought me only one good thing, and that is Berry. Tallia is like to ruin the child if she got her way, which I will not let her do.¡±


    ¡°Tallia brought you an alliance with Lady Sabella and a claim to the throne of Varre for your daughter.¡±


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s true. I am hasty in condemning her. A duchy for ?lf and a throne for Berry. Ai, God. My poor Elene.¡±


    ¡°Who is that?¡±


    ¡°Never mind,¡± he said so curtly that both hounds stiffened, coming to stand, and growled, ears going flat. ¡°Something I gave away, because I am an obedient son.¡±


    Amazingly, he wept. Alain was too surprised to speak because the duke¡¯s grief was so stark and expansive that it seemed the heavens themselves must weep in sympathy, although no rain fell and only the wind¡¯s rattle through late blooming leaves and the distant clatter of the company about its twilight business accompanied Conrad¡¯s tears.


    He sighed but did not wipe away the remaining tears. He was a man who need never apologize for any strong emotion.


    ¡°I pray that which you cherish be restored to you,¡± said Alain, unexpectedly moved by the display.


    ¡°Do you so? She is dead. I was warned it would be so, and I feel it in my heart. How, then, can she be restored to me? Even a miracle cannot bring her home.¡±


    ¡°Who is she?¡± he asked again.


    Conrad rose. He wore a light cloak against the cool evening. Its hem slid down to lap at his hips, and he moved away, answering only when he had gone several paces out, and even then casting the words over his shoulder as though they were a dart meant to wound. ¡°My eldest child. My own beloved daughter. My chosen heir, who will not now sit in my place when the time comes. Henry had that advantage over me, did he not? I feel inclined to spoil his wishes.¡±


    ¡°Who could have taken this beloved child from you?¡±


    ¡°My mother. To whom I owe my life.¡±


    Alain bowed his head.


    Sorrow growled, and Rage lifted her ears. A familiar figure walked toward them, accompanied by a trio of young men whose handsome faces were illuminated by the lit lamps they carried.


    ¡°Here you are, Conrad.¡± Despite her age, Sabella moved as easily as a much younger woman. She marked Alain, seated, and Conrad, standing, and the hounds with their alert if not quite threatening posture on either side of Alain. ¡°I wondered where you had gone. Is there anything I should know?¡±


    A suspicious woman will see intrigue flowing on all sides. No doubt the duchess of Arconia drank deeply at that river.


    ¡°You know everything I know,¡± said Conrad, wiping his face before turning to face her.


    She snorted. ¡°I doubt it. Had you kept no secrets from me, I would not respect you.¡±


    Conrad gestured toward Alain. ¡°As for this one, you know what I know. He makes no claims, no demands, no refusals.¡±


    ¡°None, but for grain. What do you make of that?¡±


    ¡°I judge him too subtle to measure.¡±


    ¡°A common man pretending to an eminence he does not deserve?¡±


    ¡°Think you so?¡±


    ¡°He does not appear so to me,¡± she admitted. ¡°No common-born man speaks to Arnulf¡¯s heir with such words and such boldness. What have you to say to this, Lord Alain?¡±


    ¡°Nothing.¡±


    She had a twisted kind of grimace that posed as a smile. If she had ever known happiness, it was by now buried under a mountain of worldly cynicism that must make her dangerous because of the weight on her heart. ¡°It is my experience that people do want things, and want them more the closer they are to grasping them. Are you a spy, sent to ferret out our secrets?¡±

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    ¡°I am not.¡±


    ¡°Yet here you are. Well. Lavas may be yours again, and more besides. Men are all the same. Easily teased to attention by a glimpse of treasure. Is that not so, Conrad?¡±


    ¡°So the church teaches,¡± he said without looking at her, as if the shadows of the forest hid something he needed to see. ¡°There¡¯s something out there,¡± he said in a changed voice.


    A sentry called out a challenge just as he spoke. A second call alerted the camp, but as the soldiers jumped to their feet and servants hustled to the safety of the wagons, pale figures wandered out of woods with hands extended, murmuring the familiar refrain.


    ¡°I pray you, noble one. Have you food?¡±


    ¡°Just a corner of bread for my child, I pray you.¡±


    ¡°God¡¯s mercy, help us. Any that you can spare.¡±


    ¡°Beggars!¡± said Sabella, retreating. ¡°Captain! Chase them off.¡±


    Alain walked after her. ¡°Surely you can spare your leavings for these poor creatures. They are harmless, and suffering.¡±


    ¡°Chase them off!¡± she ordered.


    Conrad fell back into the circle made by his retainers, all of whom had drawn their swords. ¡°Be on alert,¡± he called.


    ¡°They may be a distraction, I¡¯m thinking.¡±


    The beggars faltered before they entered the camp, seeing the weapons. Children sniveled, held tight against their mothers¡¯ hips, and all weeping, adults and small ones alike. They were afraid, and yet again and many times one of the half-naked, starving beggars would look behind toward the deeper darkness of the forest as if wolves were driving them into the light. From back in the camp Alain heard Atto cry out, and the sound of a scuffle.


    ¡°Stand ready!¡± Conrad¡¯s voice carried easily; he meant unseen others to hear him. ¡°We¡¯ll slaughter them, my good fellows, and let the maggots clean their corpses.¡±


    ¡°Nay! nay! I know these folk!¡± Atto¡¯s voice was a wail. ¡°How comes it my kinfolk beg here in the wilderness? They live but a day¡¯s walk from Helmsbuch, cousins to us. I beg you! I beg you! Do not harm them! They are innocent!¡±


    Soldiers clattered into position. Shields fell into line to protect the ranks if arrows flew from the woods. A horn called twice. Horses whinnied nervously.


    ¡°Step back!¡± called Conrad to Alain.


    But it was Conrad and Sabella¡¯s soldiers, standing with their backs close to the fires, who were easiest to see. In the darkening twilight, Alain knew he appeared as no more than a shadow. The undyed linen-and-wool clothing of the beggars and their exposed limbs made them conspicuous, but he was cloaked by the fine dark colors of his clothing, by his gloves and boots, and by his dark hair and darker hounds. He was not at risk, not as the beggars were, caught between the noble company and whatever pushed at them from deeper in the woods.


    He stood in silence, hearing the scrape of feet, the muttered comments of the soldiers, the nervous laughter of one of the lordlings, the tick of a branch clacking against another, the snuffling of horses, and the thump of a spear haft against the ground. A child whimpered. In the distance, an owl hooted, and he threw back his head, surprised, and listened as hard as he could. As he breathed, he caught the inhalation of the world and the slow trembling and settling of air as the earth cooled with the onset of night. Under the trees waited the wolves who hunted in this night, concealed by underbrush and broad tree trunks and the uneven carpet of the ground with its low rock dikes and knee-deep hollows. The outlaws were a sturdy, cautious band, and he listened carefully, counting each man¡¯s breath: thirty-eight in all¡ªno, there was the thirty-ninth, behind the bole of an ash. Not enough to attack a company some three times greater and better armed unless a cunning intelligence led them, but he smelled and sensed no such mind among their number, not unless it was hidden from him.


    ¡°Stay,¡± he said to the hounds He walked into the trees, as silent as death, and came up behind each crouching man out of the darkness and lay a hand atop each head, each one so unsuspecting that the touch made him freeze in terror.


    Alain said only, in a whisper, each time, ¡°Go. Do not prey on the weak and helpless any longer.¡±


    They ran, a scattering of footsteps as the first he touched fled, and then the second. The sound turned briefly into a tumult, like a shower of hard rain, and pattered away into the depths as the last of them bolted. He waited, but all he heard were cautious shouts and answers coming from the camp as Conrad and Sabella shifted their sentries farther out to probe the darkness, and the quiet misery of the score of beggars abandoned betwixt the company and the wild.