《The Gathering Storm (Crown of Stars #5)》


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    PROLOGUE


    SHE dreamed.


    In the vault of heaven spin wheels of gold, winking and dazzling. The thrum of their turning births a wind that spills throughout creation, so hot and wet that it becomes a haze. This mist clears to reveal the tomb of the Emperor Taillefer, his carved effigy atop a marble coffin. His stern face is caught eternally in repose. Stone fingers clutch the precious crown, symbol of his rule, each of the seven points set with a gem: gleaming pearl, lapis lazuli, pale sapphire, carnelian, ruby, emerald, and a banded orange-brown sardonyx.


    Movement shudders inside each gem, a whisper, a shadow, a glimpse.


    Villam¡¯s son Berthold rests peacefully on a bed of gold and gems, surrounded by six sleeping companions. He sighs, turning in his sleep, and smiles.


    A hand scratches at the door of a hovel woven out of sticks, the one in which Brother Fidelis sheltered. As the door opens, the shadow of a man appears, framed by dying sunlight, his face obscured. He is tall and fair-haired, not Brother Fidelis at all. Crying out in fear, he runs away as a lion stalks into view.


    Candlelight illuminates Hugh of Austra as he turns the page of a book, his expression calm, his gaze intent. He follows the stream of words, his lips forming each one although he does not speak aloud. A wind through the open window makes the flame waver and shudder until she sees in that flame the horrible lie whispered to her by Hugh.


    Heresy.


    She knelt in the place of St. Thecla as the holy saint witnessed the cruel punishment meted out by the empress of the Dariyan Empire to those who rebelled against her authority: The blessed Daisan ascended to the sacrificial platform. He was bound onto a bronze wheel. Never did his smile falter although the priests flayed the skin from his body. Joy overwhelmed her, for was she not among the elect privileged to witness his death and redemption?


    The floodwaters of joy wash back over her to burn her.


    Is this not the heretical poison introduced into her soul by Hugh¡¯s lies?


    Yet what if Hugh isn¡¯t lying? Has he really discovered a suppressed account of the redemption? It surpasses understanding.


    In her confusion, the dream twists on a flare of light.


    In a high hall burn lamps molded into the shapes of phoenixes. Their flames rise from wicks cunningly fixed into their brass tail feathers. Here the skopos presides over a synod called to pass judgment over the heretics. The accused do not beg for mercy; they demand that the truth be spoken at last. Her young brother Ivar stands boldly at the forefront. Who will interrogate them? Who will interrogate the church itself? If the Redemption is true, if the blessed Daisan redeemed the sins of humankind by dying rather than being lifted bodily into heaven in the Ekstasis while he prayed, then have the church mothers hidden the truth? Or only lost it?


    Who is the liar?


    ¡°Sister, I pray you. Wake up.¡±


    Dark and damp swept out from the dream to enclose her, and the cold prison of stone walls dragged her back to Earth. Light stung her eyes. She shut them. A warm hand touched her shoulder, and she heard Brother Fortunatus speak again, although his voice had a catch in it.


    ¡°Sister Rosvita! God have mercy. Can you speak?¡±


    With an effort she sat up, opening her eyes. Every joint ached. The chill of the dungeon had poisoned her to the bone. ¡°I pray you,¡± she said hoarsely, ¡°move the light. It is too bright.¡±


    Only after the light moved to one side could she see Fortunatus¡¯ face. He was crying.


    Her wits returned as in a flood. ¡°How long have I been here? Without the sun, I cannot mark the passing of days. I do not hear the changing of any guard through that door.¡±


    He choked back tears. ¡°Three months, Sister.¡±


    Three months!


    A spasm of fear and horror overcame her, and she almost retched but her stomach was empty and she dared not give in to weakness now. Strength of mind was all that had kept her sane in the interminable days that had passed since that awful night when she had heard the voice of a daimone speak through Henry¡¯s mouth.


    ¡°What of King Henry? What of Queen Adelheid? Has she not even asked after me? Have none spoken for me, or asked what became of me? God above, Brother, what I saw¡ª¡±


    ¡°Sister Rosvita,¡± he said sharply, ¡°I fear you are made lightheaded by your confinement. I have brought you spelt porridge flavored with egg yolks, to strengthen your blood, and roasted quince, for your lungs.¡±


    They were not alone. The man holding the lamp was Petrus, a presbyter in the skopos¡¯ court, Hugh¡¯s admirer and ally. What she needed to say could not be said in front of him, because she dared not implicate Brother Fortunatus, the girls¡ªHeriburg, Ruoda, Gerwita¡ªand the rest of her faithful clerics. If she could not protect herself, then certainly she had no hope of protecting them. Her father¡¯s rank and her own notoriety gave her some shelter, which was probably the only reason she was not dead; she doubted Fortunatus and the others could hope for even such small mercies as being thrown into a cell beneath the skopos¡¯ palace.

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    Fortunatus went on. ¡°Sister Ruoda and Sister Heriburg bring soup and bread every day, Sister Rosvita, just after Sext, although I do not know if you receive it then.¡±


    He watched her with an expression of alarmed concern as she worked her way down to the bottom of the bowl. She was so hungry, and she supposed she must smell very bad since she was never given water to wash. But no disgust showed on Fortunatus¡¯ lean face. He looked ready to begin weeping again.


    ¡°You have not been eating well either, Brother. Have you been ill?¡±


    ¡°Only worried, Sister. You wandered off in a sleeping dream that night, as you are wont to do, and never returned. It did not take us long to discover where you had wandered to in your delirium, alas.¡±


    He smiled and nodded as if she were a simpleton whom he was soothing, but she read a different message in the tightening of his eyes and the twitch of his lips.


    ¡°Three months,¡± she echoed, scarcely able to believe it. In that time she had meditated and prayed, and slept, knowing that whatever she suffered at the hands of men would only test the certainty of her faith in God. Yet who had lied to her? Hugh? Or the church mothers? She could not shake that last desperate dream from her thoughts.


    ¡°Truly, the weeks have passed,¡± Fortunatus continued blandly. ¡°King Henry has ridden south with his army to fight the rebel lords, the Arethousan interlopers, and the Jinna bandits in southern Aosta. Queen Adelheid and her advisers rode with him. Since I could not go to the king, I asked for an audience with the skopos. After eight weeks of patient waiting, for you know that the cares of the work and of the heavens weigh upon her, I was admitted to her holy presence two days ago, on the feast day of St. Callista. She refused to release you, but she agreed that you ought to be allowed exercise in the corridor each day between the hours of Sext and Nones. Her generosity is without measure!¡±


    Amazing, really, how he kept his voice steady, how he managed to keep sarcasm from his tone. The horrors of her confinement, the intense focus of mind she had brought to her prayer to keep herself from utter despair, were lightened by hearing him and by clasping his hand.


    ¡°The Holy Mother also gave me permission to pray with you every Hefensday. So do you find me here, Sister, with such provisions as I was allowed to carry as well as a blanket. As long as I am allowed, will come every Hefensday to pray.¡±


    ¡°Then it is almost the first day of Decial. The dark of the sun.¡± Facts were a rope to cling to in a storm at sea. Knowing that she lay confined in this dungeon while, above, the good folk of Darre celebrated the feast day of St. Peter the Discipla, on the longest night of the year, amused her with its irony. ¡°Does the Holy Mother wish me kept in this cell indefinitely?¡±


    ¡°If it is the Enemy¡¯s doing that causes you to walk in your sleep, Sister, then you must be kept apart to avoid contaminating others. There will be a special guard to walk with you at your exercise, one who is both mute and deaf.¡±


    She bowed her head. ¡°So be it.¡±


    They would never be left alone, and even if they thought they were alone, Anne could still spy on them by means of magic. She could no longer speak frankly to him, nor he to her. Hugh knew that she had seen the king ensorcelled by a daimone and Helmut Villam killed by subtle magic at Hugh¡¯s hands, and yet Hugh still had not had her killed.


    She was ill, she was hungry, and she was imprisoned in darkness in the dungeon beneath the holy palace, but by God she was not dead yet.


    ¡°Let us pray, then, Brother, as we will pray every Hefensday, if God so will it.¡±


    She knelt. The straw cushioned her knees, and she had grown accustomed to the aggravation of fleas and the scrabbling of rats. If her limbs were unsteady and her voice ragged, and if she shifted the wrong way because the glare of the lamp hurt her eyes, at least she had not lost her wits.


    God willing, she would never lose her wits.


    As Fortunatus began the service of Vespers, she knew at last what time of day it was: evening song. To this scrap she clung with joy. In an appropriate place she chose a psalm, as one added prayers of thanksgiving or pleading in honor of the saint whose feast day it was.


    ¡°It is good to give thanks to God


    for Their love endures forever.


    Those who lost their way in the wilderness


    found no city to shelter in.


    Hungry and thirsty, they lost heart,


    and they cried out to God,


    and God rescued them from their trouble.


    God turn rivers into desert


    and the desert into an oasis,


    fruitful land becomes wasteland


    and the wilderness a place of shelter.


    The wise one takes note of these things

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    as she considers God¡¯s love.¡±


    When they had finished, Fortunatus answered her with a second psalm.


    ¡°Blessed be the Lord and Lady,


    who snatched us out of the haunts of the scorpions.


    Like a bird, we have escaped from the fowler¡¯s snare.


    The snare is broken, and we have flown.


    Blessed be God,


    who together have made heaven and Earth.¡±


    Too soon, he had to leave. He kissed her hands as servant to master, wept again, and promised to return in one week. It was hard to see him, and the light, go. It was agony to hear the door scrape shut, the bar thud into place, and the sound of their footsteps fade. Fortunatus might return in a week, as he had promised, or he might never return. She might languish here for a month, or for ten years. She might die here, of hunger, of lung fever, or of despair, eaten by rats. It was hard to remain hopeful in the blackness where Hugh had cast her.


    But she had heard the promise implicit in Fortunatus¡¯ choice of prayer:


    Like a bird, we have escaped from the fowler¡¯s snare.


    The King¡¯s Eagle, Hathui, had escaped and flown north to seek justice.


    PART ONE


    EAGLE¡¯S SIGHT


    I


    THE STRIKE OF AN AX


    1


    THE air smelled of rain, heavy and unseasonably warm, and the wind blowing in from the east brought with it the smells of the village: woodsmoke, ripe privies, and the stink of offal from the afternoon¡¯s slaughter of five pigs. Just yesterday Hanna and the cohort of Lions and sundry milites who were her escort had journeyed through snow flurries. Now it was temperate enough to tuck away gloves and set aside cloaks as they ate a supper of freshly roasted pig as well as cold porridge and a bitter ale commandeered from the village larder. Yet neither the food nor the familiar smells of the Wendish countryside brought her comfort. East lay the object of her hatred, still living, still eating. Her choked fury was like a scab ripped open every single day.


    ¡°Come now, Hanna,¡± said Ingo. ¡°You¡¯re not eating enough. If this cut of roast won¡¯t tempt you, I can surely dig up some worms.¡±


    She ate obediently, knowing how her mother would have scolded her for the unthinkable sin of refusing to eat meat when it was available, but her heart was numb. Hate had congealed in her gut, and she could not shake it loose.


    ¡°Ai, Lady,¡± said Folquin. ¡°You¡¯ve got that look on your face again. I told you I would kill him for you. I¡¯d have snuck right into his tent when he was asleep and stabbed him through the heart.¡±


    For months, as a prisoner of the Quman, she had shed no tears. Now every little thing, a stubbed toe, a child¡¯s giggle, a friend¡¯s helpless grimace, made her cry. ¡°I can¡¯t believe Prince Sanglant let him live,¡± she said hoarsely. ¡°He should have hanged him!¡±


    ¡°So said Princess Sapientia,¡± commented Leo, ¡°and so she¡¯s no doubt continuing to say, I suppose, for all the good it will do her.¡±


    ¡°Anything could have happened since we left the army,¡± suggested Stephen quietly. ¡°Prince Sanglant could have changed his mind about killing him. Once the army reaches Handelburg, then the holy biscop might agree with Princess Sapientia and demand his execution. Princess Sapientia is the rightful heir, after all, isn¡¯t she? Prince Sanglant is only a bastard, so even though he¡¯s the elder, doesn¡¯t he have to do what she says?¡±


    Ingo glanced around to make sure none but the five of them were close enough to hear. Other campfires sparked and smoked in the meadow, each with its complement of soldiers eating and chatting in the gray autumn twilight, but certainly far fewer Lions were marching west back into Wendar than had marched east over a year ago.


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand the way of the world yet, lad. Princess Sapientia can¡¯t rule if there¡¯s none who will follow her.¡±


    ¡°What about God¡¯s law?¡± asked Stephen.


    Ingo had a world-weary smirk that he dragged out when dealing with the youngest and most naive members of the Lions. ¡°The one who rules the army rules.¡±


    ¡°Hush,¡± said Leo.


    Captain Thiadbold walked toward them through the overgrazed meadow, withered grass snapping under his feet. Trees rose behind the clearing, the vanguard of the Thurin Forest.


    Ingo rose when Thiadbold halted by the fire¡¯s light. ¡°Captain. Is all quiet?¡±


    ¡°As quiet as it can be. I thought those villagers would never stop squealing. You¡¯d think they were the pigs being led to the slaughter. They¡¯ve forgotten that if they want the protection of the king, then they have to feed his army.¡± Thiadbold brushed back his red hair as he looked at Hanna. ¡°I¡¯ve had a talk with the elders, now that they¡¯ve calmed down. It seems an Eagle rode through just yesterday. Princess Theophanu¡¯s not at Quedlinhame any longer. She¡¯s ridden north with her retinue to Gent.¡±

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    Sometimes it was difficult to remember that the world kept on although she¡¯d been frozen in place.


    When she did not speak, Ingo answered. ¡°Will we be turning north to Gent?¡±


    ¡°Quedlinhame is closer,¡± objected Hanna wearily. ¡°We¡¯ll be another ten days or more on the road if we turn north to Gent.¡±


    Thiadbold frowned, still watching her. ¡°Prince Sanglant charged us to deliver his message, and the king¡¯s Lions, to his sister and none other. We must follow Princess Theophanu.¡±


    The others murmured agreement, but Hanna, remembering duty, touched the emerald ring on her finger that King Henry himself had given her as a reward for her loyalty. Duty and loyalty were the only things that had kept her alive for so long. ¡°So Prince Sanglant said, but what will serve King Henry best? The king needs to know what has transpired in his kingdom. His sister rules over Quedlinhame convent. We might deliver ourselves to Mother Scholastica with no shame. She will know what to do.¡±


    ¡°If Prince Sanglant had wanted us to deliver his message to Mother Scholastica, he could have sent us to her. It seems to me he meant his message, and these Lions, for Theophanu.¡±


    ¡°Not for Henry?¡± Rising, she winced at the painful ache in her hips, still not healed after the bad fall she had taken fourteen days ago during the battle at the Veser River. Pain had worn her right through, but she had to keep going. ¡°Is your loyalty to the king, or to his bastard son?¡±


    ¡°Hanna!¡± Folquin¡¯s whisper came too late.


    Thiadbold studied her, a considering frown still curving his lips. She liked Thiadbold better than most; he was a good captain, even-tempered and clever, and unflappable in battle. The Lions under his command trusted him, and Prince Sanglant had brought him into his councils. ¡°I beg pardon for saying so,¡± he said finally, ¡°but it¡¯s the chains you stubbornly carry of your own will that weigh you down the most. No use carrying stones in your sack if you¡¯ve no need to.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll thank you, Captain, to leave me to walk my own road in peace. You didn¡¯t see the things I saw.¡±


    ¡°Nay, so I did not, nor would I wish any person to see what you saw, nor any to suffer it, but¡ª¡±


    She limped away, unwilling to hear more. He swore and hurried after her.


    ¡°Truce, then,¡± he said as he came up beside her. ¡°I¡¯ll speak no more on this subject, only I must warn you¡ª¡±


    ¡°I pray you, do not.¡±


    He raised his hands in surrender, and his lips twisted in something resembling a smile but concealing unspoken words and a wealth of emotion. A spark of feeling flared in her heart, unbidden and unexpected. She had to concede he was well enough looking, with broad shoulders and that shock of red hair. Was it possible the interest he had taken in her over the last two weeks, after the battle and then once Prince Sanglant had sent them away from the main army to track down Theophanu, was more than comradely? Was he, however mildly, courting her? Did she find him attractive?


    But to think of a man at all in that way made her think of Bulkezu, and anger and hatred scoured her clean in a tide of loathing.


    Maybe Bulkezu had died of the wound to his face that he had received at the Veser. Maybe it had festered and poisoned him. But her Eagle¡¯s Sight told her otherwise.


    She halted beside a pile of wood under the spreading branches of an oak tree that stood at the edge of the forest. Acorns slipped under her feet. Most of the wood had been split by the Lions and taken away to feed campfires, but a few unsplit logs remained. Thiadbold crossed his arms, not watching her directly, and said nothing. There was still enough light to distinguish his mutilated ear, the lobe cut cleanly away and long since healed in a dimple of white scar tissue. He had a new scar on his chin, taken at the Veser.


    Ai, God, so many people had died at the hands of Bulkezu.


    Rolling a log into place between several rocks, she grabbed the ax and started chopping. Yet not even the gleeful strike of the ax into wood could cut the rage and sorrow out of her.


    The wind gusted as a hard rain swept over them. Soldiers scrambled for the shelter of their canvas tents. She retreated under the sheltering canopy of the oak. Out in the open, campfires wavered under the storm¡¯s force. One went right out, drowned by the heavy rain, and the dozen others flickered and began to die. Distant lightning flashed, and a few heartbeats later, thunder cracked and rumbled.


    ¡°That came on fast,¡± remarked Thiadbold. ¡°Usually you can hear them coming.¡±


    ¡°I felt it. They should have taken shelter sooner.¡±


    ¡°So must we all. Prince Sanglant is a man who hears the tide of battle before the rest of us quite know what is about to hit us. He¡¯s like a hound that way, hearing and smelling danger before an ordinary man knows there¡¯s a beast ready to pounce. If he fears for the kingdom, if he fears that his father will not listen while black sorcery threatens Wendar, then I, for one, trust his instinct.¡±

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    ¡°Or his ambition?¡±


    ¡°Do you think so? That all this talk of a sorcerous cabal is only a cloak for vanity and greed? That he is simply a rebel intent on his own gain and glory?¡±


    ¡°What did the great nobles care when the common folk were murdered and enslaved by the Quman? How many came to the aid of the farmers and cottagers? They only thought to defend themselves and their treasure, to nurse along their own petty quarrels. They left their people behind to suffer at the hands of monsters.¡±


    ¡°So that may be. I will hardly be the one to defend the likes of Lord Wichman, though it was God¡¯s will that he be born the son of a duchess and set above you and me. Some say that the Quman were a punishment sent from God against the wicked.¡±


    ¡°Innocent children!¡±


    ¡°Martyrs now, each one. Yet who can say whom God favor? It was Prince Sanglant who defeated the Quman in the end.¡±


    She could think of no answer to this and so fumed as rain pelted down, drumming merrily on the earth. Drenched and shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself. A gust of wind raked the trees while thunder cracked. Branches splintered, torn free by the wind, and crashed to the ground a stone¡¯s toss away. Out in the meadow, a tent tore free of the stakes pinning it to the ground, exposing the poor soldiers huddled within. She recognized three wounded men who couldn¡¯t yet move well; one had lost a hand, another had a broken leg in a splint, and the third had both his arms up in slings to protect his injured shoulders. The canvas flapped like a great wing in the gale, trying to pull free of the remaining stakes.


    Thiadbold swore, laughing, and ran out into the full force of the storm. For a moment she simply stood there in the wind and rain, staring, slack. Then a branch snapped above her, like a warning, and leaves showered down. She bolted after Thiadbold and together, with the belated help of other Lions, they got the tent staked down again while their injured comrades made jokes, humor being their only shield against their helpless condition.


    At last Thiadbold insisted she walk over to the village and ask for Eagle¡¯s shelter at a hearth fire. There she dried out her clothing and dozed away the night in relative comfort on a sheepskin laid over a sleeping platform near the hearth. She woke periodically to cough or because the ache in her hip felt like the intermittent stabbing of a knife, thrust deep into the joint.


    Would she never be rid of the pain?


    The next day they chose a lanky youth from the village to take a message to Mother Scholastica at Quedlinhame. No person among them, none of the Lions and certainly not any of the villagers, could write, so the lad had to be drilled until Hanna was sure he had the words right and could repeat them back at need. He proved quick and eager, learning the message thoroughly although eventually they had to chase away a chorus of onlookers who kept interrupting him to be helpful.


    ¡°I¡¯d be an Eagle, if I could,¡± he confided, glancing back to make sure his father could not hear. The old man was complaining to Thiadbold about losing the boy¡¯s labor for the week it would take him to walk to Quedlinhame and back at this time of year when the fields were being turned under and mash shaken down for the pigs and wood split. ¡°It must be a good life, being an Eagle and serving the king.¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t mind death and misery.¡± He looked startled, then hurt, and a twinge of guilt made her shrug her shoulders. She hated the way his expression lit hopefully as he waited for her to go on. ¡°It¡¯s a hard life. I¡¯ve seen worse things than I can bear to speak of¡ª¡± She could not go on so stood instead, fighting the agony in her hip as tears came to her eyes.


    But he was young and stupid, as she had been once.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind it,¡± he said as he followed her to the door of his father¡¯s small but neat cottage. ¡°I¡¯m not afraid of cold or bandits. I¡¯ve got a good memory. I know all the psalms by heart. Everyone says I¡¯m quick. The deacon who comes Ladysday to lead mass sometimes asks me to lead the singing. B-but, I don¡¯t know how to ride a horse. I¡¯ve been on the back of a donkey many a time, so surely that means I can easily learn how to sit a horse.¡±


    She wiped tears from her cheeks and swung back to look at him, with his work-scarred hands and an undistinguished but good-natured face that made her think of poor Manfred, killed at Gent. She¡¯d salvaged Manfred¡¯s Eagle¡¯s brooch after Bulkezu had torn it from her cloak, that day the Quman had captured her. She¡¯d clung to that brass brooch and to the emerald ring Henry had given her. Together with her Eagle¡¯s oath, these things had allowed her to survive.


    The lad seemed so young, yet surely he wasn¡¯t any younger than she had been the day Wolfhere had asked her mother if it was her wish that her daughter be invested into the king¡¯s service. In times of trouble, Wolfhere had said, there was always a need for suitable young persons to ride messages for the royal family.

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    ¡°Is it your wish to be invested as an Eagle?¡± she asked finally.


    The boy¡¯s strangled gasp and the spasmodic twitch of his shoulders was answer enough. Even the father fell silent as the enormity of her question hit him. His younger sister, left behind when the loitering villagers were chased out, burst into tears.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he whispered, and could not choke out more words because his sister flung herself on him and began to wail.


    ¡°Ernst! My son! A king¡¯s Eagle!¡± The father¡¯s tone was querulous, and Hanna thought he was on the verge of breaking into a rage. But hate had clouded her sight. Overcome by emotion, his complaints forgotten, the old man knelt on the dirt floor of his poor house because his legs would not support him. Tears streaked his face. ¡°It¡¯s a great honor for a child of this village to be called to serve the king.¡±


    So was it done, although she hadn¡¯t really realized she had the authority to deputize a young person so easily. Yet hadn¡¯t Bulkezu taught her the terrible power borne by the one who can choose who lives and who dies, who will suffer and who survive?


    ¡°If you mean to earn the right to speak the Eagle¡¯s oath, then you must deliver this message to Mother Scholastica and bring her answer to me where I will bide with Princess Theophanu. If you can do that, you¡¯ll have proved yourself worthy of an Eagle¡¯s training.¡± She unfastened her brooch and swung her much-mended cloak off her shoulders. ¡°You haven¡¯t earned the Eagle¡¯s badge yet, my friend, nor will you happily do so. But wear this cloak as the badge of your apprenticeship. It will bring you safe passage.¡± She turned to regard Thiadbold, who had kept silent as he watched the unfolding scene. ¡°Give the lad the dun pony. He can nurse it along the whole journey, or perhaps Mother Scholastica will grant him a better mount when he leaves Quedlinhame.¡±


    The lad¡¯s family wept, but he seemed sorry only to leave the sister. The company of Lions marched out in the late morning with the sky clearing and yesterday¡¯s rain glistening on the trees and on wayside nettles grown up where foliage had been cut back from the path. Hanna and the Lions took the turning north and rode for Gent. The lad was soon lost around the bend as he continued west toward Quedlinhame along the northern skirt of the Thurin Forest, but for what seemed a long time afterward she could still hear the poor, artless fool singing cheerfully as he rode into his new life.


    2


    ¡°HANNA? Hanna!¡±


    Blearily she recognized Folquin¡¯s voice and his strong hand on her elbow, propping her up. She had fallen asleep on the horse again, slumped over. In a panic she began whispering the message from the prince which she had committed to memory, afraid that it had vanished, stolen by her nightmares. But as he pushed her up, an agony of pain lancing through her hip tore her thoughts apart. Tears blurred her vision. She blinked them away to focus, at last, on the sight that had caught the attention of her companions.


    After many days of miserable rainy weather, their path had brought them to an escarpment at the border of hilly country, and from this height they had a good view north along the river valley. A broad stream wound north through pastureland and autumn fields, and she recognized where they were with a clarity so ruthless that it pinched. Here among fields of rye the Eika and their dogs had attacked them, when she, Manfred, Wolfhere, Liath, and Hathui had ridden toward Gent in pursuit of Prince Sanglant and his Dragons. Here, when King Henry had come with his army to fight Bloodheart, she had seen the chaos of battle close at hand as Princess Sapientia had urged her troops forward to descend on the Eika ships beached on the river¡¯s shore.


    ¡°Hanna?¡± Folquin¡¯s tone was sharp with concern. ¡°Are you well? You didn¡¯t finish your porridge last night nor eat the cold this midday.¡±


    ¡°Nay, it¡¯s nothing.¡± She sneezed. Each breath made a whistle as she drew it into her aching lungs. Yet what difference did it make if she hurt? If she shivered? If she went hungry or thirsty? Nothing mattered, except that Bulkezu still lived.


    Harvested fields lay at peace. Cattle grazed on strips of pasture. The rotund shapes of sheep dotted the northwestern slopes, up away from the river bottom lands where grain flourished. A few tendrils of smoke drifted lazily into the heavens from the walled city of Gent. The cathedral tower and the mayor¡¯s palace were easily seen from this distance, their backdrop the broad river and the white-blue sky, empty of clouds today. Was that the regent¡¯s silk fluttering from the gates, marking Theophanu¡¯s presence? The chill wind nipped her face, and she shuddered.


    ¡°Best we move on quickly,¡± murmured Leo in a voice so low she thought he did not mean for her to hear him.

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    At the western bridge, a welcoming party greeted them: thirty milites braced in a shield wall in case the approaching soldiers were marauders or enemies. One of Princess Theophanu¡¯s stewards stepped out from behind the shields to greet them as Hanna rode forward beside Thiadbold.


    ¡°I bring a message from Prince Sanglant, from the east,¡± Hanna said. ¡°The prince sends as well these Lions, to strengthen Her Highness¡¯ retinue.¡±


    ¡°God be praised,¡± muttered the steward. She gave a command, and the shield wall dispersed.


    As the Gent milites clattered back through the gates, they swept through a little market of beggars and poor folk gathered in the broad forecourt beyond the ramparts, almost trampling a ragged woman with a basket of herbs for sale. The milites did not even notice their victim, tumbled in the dirt while the folk around her muttered uneasily, but Hanna hurried over to help the beggar woman to her feet, only to be spat at for her pains.


    ¡°Here, now,¡± said Thiadbold as he came up beside Hanna, ¡°never a good deed but goes unpunished by the frightened.¡± His smile melted the old woman¡¯s anger, and she allowed him to gather up marjoram, cinquefoil, and dried nettle. ¡°No harm done, mother, once it¡¯s all set to rights.¡±


    Hanna felt as if she¡¯d been kicked in the stomach. Her heart thumped annoyingly, and her breath came in short gasps.


    ¡°Come, now, friend,¡± Thiadbold said as he took hold of the reins of her horse so she could mount again, ¡°she was scared, and acted out of fear.¡±


    ¡°Next time those soldiers will cripple some poor soul, and never bother to look back to see what they¡¯ve wrought. Ai, God.¡± She got her leg over the saddle, but the effort left her shaking. ¡°I still have nightmares about the ones who cursed me.¡±


    ¡°There was nothing you could have done to help them. You were as much a prisoner as they were. You did your duty as an Eagle. You stayed alive.¡±


    Words choked in her throat.


    ¡°What are you speaking of?¡± demanded the steward, who had waited behind to escort them. ¡°We¡¯ve heard rumors of Quman, of plague, of drought, and of foul sorcery, but seen nothing. Rumor is the speech of the Enemy. Lord Hrodik rode off with Prince Sanglant. There¡¯s been no news of him. We¡¯ve been praying every day for news from the east.¡±


    ¡°In good time,¡± replied Thiadbold, glancing at Hanna.


    The steward sighed heavily, then laughed. She was a short, stout woman, with a clever, impatient face and, apparently, a sense of humor. ¡°So do God teach us patience! Come now. Her Highness, Princess Theophanu, will be eager to hear news of her brother.¡±


    They made their way through the streets of Gent, their path cleared by Theophanu¡¯s milites. Once their party entered the palace compound, the steward directed Thiadbold and the Lions to the barracks above the stables but took Hanna immediately to the opulent chamber where Theophanu held court. The vivid colors made her dizzy: a purple carpet, gold silk hangings on either side of the royal chair where Theophanu sat studying a chessboard, a dozen noble companions garbed in reds and blues and greens. Four braziers heated the chamber, but the atmosphere of the chattering women gave it life and energy. As Hanna entered, the women looked at her expectantly, murmuring one to the other.


    ¡°From the east!¡±


    ¡°From Sapientia, do you think? I recognize her. She is the Eagle who served Sapientia before.¡±


    ¡°Make haste to speak, Eagle!¡±


    ¡°I pray you, let us have a moment¡¯s calm.¡± Theophanu rose. At her gesture, a serving woman hurried out of the shadows cast by the silk hangings and carried the chessboard away to a side table. ¡°You look pale, Eagle. Let ale be brought and some bread, so that she may refresh herself. And water, so that she may wash her hands and face.¡±


    Her companions were not so patient. ¡°How can you stand it? After all these months!¡±


    ¡°After everything we¡¯ve suffered, waiting and wondering! After Conrad¡¯s insolence at Barenberg!¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± cried others. ¡°Let her speak first, and eat after.¡±


    Theophanu did not need to raise her voice. ¡°Let her eat. We will not die of waiting, not today. I pray you, Eagle, sit down.¡±


    Two servants carried forward a bench padded with an embroidered pillow onto which Hanna sank gratefully. Ale was brought as well as a fine white bread so soft that it might have been a cloud, melting in Hanna¡¯s mouth. A servingwoman brought a pitcher of warmed water, a basin, and a cloth, and washed Hanna¡¯s hands and face herself, as though Hanna were a noblewoman. The women around Theophanu muttered to each other under their breath, pacing, fiddling with chess pieces, quite beside themselves to hear the message she had brought. One dark-haired woman dressed in a handsome green gown turned the corner of the carpet up and down with her foot, up and down, while servants gathered at the open doors, spilling back into the corridor, eager to hear news from the east. Theophanu alone showed no sign of impatience as she sat in her chair, as easy as if she already knew what Hanna was going to say.

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    It was hard to really enjoy one¡¯s food and drink under such circumstances, and better, perhaps, simply to have done with the message she had carried in her memory for so many long and weary days. When she rose at last to stand before the princess, she heard the crowd exhale in anticipation, and then, like an angry toddler making ready to scream, fall silent as they each one drew in breath.


    Hanna shut her eyes to call the message to her tongue.


    ¡°This message I bring from Prince Sanglant, to his most glorious, wise, and beloved sister, Princess Theophanu. With these words I relate to you the events which have transpired by Osterburg and in the east.¡±


    She had repeated the words to herself so many times that they flowed more easily the less she thought of which word must come next. Not even the wheeze in her chest or her frequent coughs could tangle the message now as she recounted the events of the last two years.


    King Henry had sent her and two cohorts of Lions east to aid his daughter. Their party had met up with Princess Sapientia and Prince Bayan and soon after faced a Quman army under the command of Bulkezu. Only Bayan¡¯s wits had saved the army from a catastrophic defeat. That terrible retreat toward Handelburg with a battered army had been the best of a bad year. It had started going worse once they had reached Handelburg, where Biscop Alberada had condemned Prince Ekkehard as a heretic. Sapientia¡¯s jealousy had made Hanna a target, too, and so she had ridden out with Ekkehard and the other excommunicated heretics into winter¡¯s heartless grip.


    Better not to think of what had happened next, if she could speak the words without listening to what she was saying. Better not to think of the Quman invasion of the marchlands and eastern Wendar that had caught her in its net. Better not to think of the destruction Bulkezu had inflicted on the poor souls unfortunate enough to stand in the path of his army. Plague and misery had stalked them, and only after much suffering had she caught a glimpse through fire, with her Eagle¡¯s Sight, of the war council held by Bayan and Sanglant. Was it she who had persuaded Bulkezu to ride to the city of Osterburg? Or was it God who had inspired her voice? Outside Osterburg, on the Veser River plain, Sanglant had defeated the Quman, but Bayan had been killed in the battle together with so many others, including Lord Hrodik. The Lions had been particularly hard hit, losing fully a third of those left to them, two proud cohorts shrunk to one.


    She had to stop; the effort of speaking was too great. The crowd stood shocked into silence at her litany of war, famine, drought, plague; disease, heresy, and countless villages and towns destroyed.


    Theophanu lifted a hand, a gesture as casual as a lazy swipe at a fly. ¡°All of which,¡± she said, with a hint of sarcasm in her tone although no trace of emotion blotted her smoothly handsome face, ¡°are not unknown to me. We saw each other last at Barenberg, Eagle, where I was helpless to combat the invaders and had no recourse left me except to pay them off temporarily. I am glad you survived your captivity.¡±


    Hanna really looked at her then, seeing in her dark eyes, steady gaze, and firm mouth the mark of a personality not tumbled every which way by the prevailing wind. ¡°That is not all, Your Highness. Indeed, according to your brother Prince Sanglant, that is the least of it.¡±


    Theophanu had the intelligence of a churchwoman, hidden at times by the inscrutable eastern temperament she had inherited from her mother. She rose to her feet before Hanna could continue. ¡°My brother speaks, I believe, of a sorcerous cabal whose plotting will destroy Wendar and bring a cataclysm upon the land.¡±


    ¡°That is so.¡± Surprised, Hanna lost track of her laboriously memorized words. ¡°If I may have a moment, Your Highness, to collect my thoughts¡­.¡±


    A fit of coughing seized her.


    Theophanu waited her out before going on. ¡°Do not forget that I was at Angenheim when Sanglant came with his child and his mother. I heard him speak. Yet I heard nothing to make me fear sorcery more than I already do. It seemed to me that he spoke rebellion against our father, the king. Perhaps he does not know his own mind. Perhaps his mother¡¯s blood taints him¡ª¡±


    ¡°Or it is a madness set on him by the witch he married?¡± said one of her courtiers.


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± replied Theophanu so skeptically that it took Hanna a moment to realize that the ¡°witch¡± they spoke of was Liath. ¡°But if a cataclysm does threaten us, then surely our enemy are the Lost Ones, not those who would protect us against them. I cannot believe that my brother acts wisely in this case. But I am grateful to him for sending me what remains of the Lions who marched east last summer. Why did he not come himself?¡±

 Page 9

    ¡°When I left him, he meant to escort the body of Prince Bayan to Ungria, Your Highness. From Ungria he intends to journey farther east into the lands where sorcerers and griffins may be found.¡±


    ¡°Can such stories of the east be true?¡± demanded the woman in the green dress. She had pressed forward to listen, and now sat on a pillow beside Theophanu¡¯s chair. ¡°Marvels and wonders. Snakes that drink blood. One-legged men who hop everywhere. Did you see such things in the marshlands, Eagle?¡±


    ¡°Nay, I did not, my lady, but we did not ride even so far as the kingdom of Ungria. Most of the time I was in the march of the Villams, or in Avaria and even here into Saony. I do not know what lies beyond Ungria¡ª¡±


    Except that in her dreams she did know, for she had seen the Kerayit princess Sorgatani wandering in desert lands or through forests of grass growing higher than a man¡¯s head. She had felt the claws of a living griffin grip her shoulders. She had touched the silver-and-gold scales of dragons heaped into dunes on the edge of habitable lands. She had seen the tents of the fabled Bwr people, whose bodies combined those of humankind and horse.


    ¡°Any expedition to the east must prove dangerous, and might take years to complete, if he even returns at all.¡± Theophanu beckoned. A servingwoman brought forward a silver cup on a wooden platter with sides carved in the likeness of twining ivy. ¡°Here, Leoba.¡± She offered the cup to the noblewoman sitting at her feet.


    ¡°Is Aosta closed to us?¡± Leoba took the cup but did not drink. ¡°How can it be that a messenger comes to us from Prince Sanglant, but not from King Henry? Why have we heard no news from Aosta when so many troubles assail us here? Where is the king?¡±


    ¡°And where is your venerable husband?¡± Theophanu smiled fondly at her companion. ¡°I am no less troubled than you. It seems strange to me that I have sent three Eagles separately to Aosta and yet no word has come to us from my father.¡±


    ¡°With winter setting in, there¡¯ll be none who can cross the Alfar Mountains.¡± Like Theophanu, Leoba was young and robust, but she had a hound¡¯s eagerness in her face, ready to fling herself forward into the hunt, in contrast to Theophanu¡¯s calm.


    ¡°We must wait.¡± Theophanu took the cup and sipped while her attendants whispered. A tapestry hung in the room between shuttered windows, so darkly woven that lamplight barely illuminated the images depicted there: a saintly figure impaled by knives. Hanna¡¯s hip twinged as if in sympathy as she shifted on the bench. A servant padded forward to refill the wine cup, and the princess sipped, eyes shuttered, as though she were mulling over a difficult question. She spoke in an altered voice, so smooth it seemed doubly dangerous.


    ¡°There is one thing that puzzles me, Eagle. You bring me a message from my brother, Sanglant. You speak of the death of Prince Bayan of Ungria, and of other worthy folk, in the battle against the Quman invaders. But you have spoken no word of Princess Sapientia. You served her once, I believe. What has become of her?¡±


    The question startled Hanna, although she ought to have expected it. ¡°She lives, Your Highness.¡±


    ¡°Where is she? Where is her army? Why have these Lions been sent at Sanglant¡¯s order, and not hers? Is she injured? Lost? Separated from the army?¡±


    ¡°Nay, Your Highness. She rides with Prince Sanglant.¡±


    ¡°How can it be that my brother sends me greetings, but my sister does not? Wasn¡¯t she named by Henry as heir to the throne of Wendar and Varre?¡±


    Spiteful words came easily to her tongue. ¡°Prince Sanglant commands the army, Your Highness. Princess Sapientia does not.¡±


    The courtiers murmured, a warm buzz of surprise and speculation.


    Only Theophanu seemed unmoved by Hanna¡¯s statement. ¡°Are you saying he has taken from her what is rightfully hers to command?¡±


    ¡°I cannot know what is in the mind of princes, Your Highness. I can only witness, and report.¡±


    ¡°Where goes Sapientia now?¡±


    ¡°East to Ungria with Prince Bayan¡¯s body.¡±


    ¡°Did she consent to this journey, or was it forced on her?¡±


    All the anger boiled back. Hadn¡¯t Sanglant betrayed her and all those who had suffered at the hands of Bulkezu by leaving Bulkezu alive? Perhaps it was true that Sanglant was fit to rule, and Sapientia was not. But he was a bastard and meant for another position in life; he had usurped his sister¡¯s place. He had let Bulkezu live. She could no longer trust a man who would let a monster go on living after so many had died under its trampling rampage. Sapientia would have ordered Bulkezu hanged. Sapientia would not have saved him in the vain hope that he would somehow serve Wendar better alive than dead. Sapientia¡¯s choices would have been different, had she been allowed to make the decision, as was her right as Henry¡¯s eldest legitimate child.

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    But she hadn¡¯t had the choice. ¡°This is my army now,¡± Sanglant had said after the battle at the Veser. He might as well have torn the crown from her head. Yet no one in that host had refused him.


    ¡°The command was taken from her against her will,¡± Hanna said.


    Everyone in the chamber began talking at once, and Hanna¡¯s words were repeated back into the mob of lesser courtiers and servants crowded into the corridor.


    ¡°Silence,¡± said Theophanu without raising her voice. After a moment of hissed demands for quiet and a few last hasty comments, the gathered folk fell quiet. Like Sanglant, Theophanu had the habit of command, but she hadn¡¯t his warmth and charisma; she hadn¡¯t fought and suffered beside an army, as he had; she didn¡¯t shine with the regnant¡¯s luck, as he did.


    ¡°If that is not rebellion against Henry¡¯s rule, then I do not know what is. So be it. Nothing can be done today. Eagle, I pray you, eat and drink well and rest this night. Tomorrow I will interview you at more length.¡±


    Hanna slipped forward off the bench to kneel, shaking, too tired even to walk. ¡°I pray you, Your Highness, may I keep company with the Lions? I have traveled a long road with them. I trust them.¡±


    ¡°Let it be so.¡± Theophanu dismissed her. Calling for her chess set, she returned to her amusements. Hanna admired her for her composure. No great heights of emotion for her, however unnatural that might seem in a family whose passions, hatreds, joys, and rages were played out in public for all to see. She was like a still, smooth pond, untroubled by the tides of feeling that racked Hanna. Theophanu, surely, would not succumb to jealousy or greed, lust or pride. Not like the others.


    A servingwoman came forward to help Hanna up. Even standing hurt her, and she could not help but gasp out loud, but the gasp only turned into a painful cough.


    ¡°I beg pardon, Eagle. Let me help you out to the barracks. I can see you need some coltsfoot tea. Are you also injured?¡±


    ¡°I took a fall some days ago and landed on my hip.¡±


    ¡°I have an ointment that might help, if you¡¯ll let me serve you. It came to me from my grandmother, may she rest at peace in the Chamber of Light.¡±


    They moved out through the door, and the servants in the corridor had enough courtesy to stand back to let the two of them pass through, although it was obvious by their whispering and anxious looks that they wished to hear more extensive news of the troubles plaguing the borderlands and the southerly parts of the kingdom. Gent might lie peacefully now, but they had not forgotten what Gent had suffered under the Eika invasion just two years before.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take any help you¡¯ll give me, and thank you for it,¡± said Hanna. Weight pressed into her chest with each hacking cough. ¡°Has the plague reached here?¡±


    ¡°Nay, it has not, thank God. But we¡¯ve heard many stories from the south. They say that in the duchy of Avaria the plague killed as many as the Quman did. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s true.¡±


    Outside the palace they paused on a broad porch while Hanna rested, sucking in each breath with an effort. Such a short walk shouldn¡¯t have tired her so much, but it had, and her hip hurt so badly that her vision blurred. A drizzle wet the dirt courtyard. The barracks lay across that impossibly wide expanse.


    ¡°You¡¯re white,¡± said her companion. ¡°Sit down. I¡¯ll bring some lads to carry you over. You shouldn¡¯t be walking.¡±


    ¡°Nay, no need. I can walk.¡±


    The servingwoman shook her head as she helped Hanna to sit on the wooden planks. ¡°You haven¡¯t caught the plague, have you?¡±


    ¡°I pray not.¡± She leaned against the railing, shivering; aching, and with a dismal pain throbbing through her head and hip and chest. ¡°It starts in the gut, not the lungs.¡± She glanced up, sensing the other woman¡¯s movement, and got a good look at her for the first time: a handsome woman, not much older than she was, with a scar whitening her lip and a bright, intelligent, compassionate gaze. ¡°What¡¯s your name? It¡¯s kind of you to be so ¡­ kind.¡±


    The servingwoman laughed curtly, but Hanna could tell that the anger wasn¡¯t directed at her. ¡°It takes so little to be kind. I¡¯m called Frederun.¡± She hesitated; cheeks flushed. Her unexpected reserve and the color suffusing her face made her beautiful, the kind of woman who might be plagued by men lusting after her face and body. The kind of woman Bulkezu would have taken to his bed and later discarded. ¡°Is it true you traveled with Prince Sanglant? Has he really rebelled against his father, the king?¡±


    ¡°What does it matter to you?¡± Hanna blurted out, and was sorry at once, throwing sharp words where she had only received consideration. Was sorry, twice over, because the answer was obvious as soon as the words were spoken.

 Page 11

    ¡°No matter to me,¡± said Frederun too quickly, turning her face away to hide her expression. ¡°I only wondered. He and his retinue spent the winter here last year, on their way east.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t grieve that Lord Hrodik is dead?¡±


    Frederun shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m sorry any man must die. He was no worse than most of them are. He was very young. But I¡¯m glad Princess Theophanu came, seeing that we have no lord or lady here in Gent. That will keep the vultures away.¡±


    ¡°But not forever.¡±


    ¡°Nay. Not forever.¡± As if she had overstepped an unmarked boundary, she rose. ¡°Here, now, sit quietly and wait for me.¡±


    As soon as she left, shame consumed Hanna. What right had she to torment a kindly woman like Frederun? She pulled herself to her feet and, jaw set against the pain, hobbled across the courtyard as rain misted down around her. She could walk, even if each step sent a sword¡¯s thrust of pain up her hip, through her torso, and into her temple. She could walk even if she could not catch her breath. She could walk, by the Lady, and she would walk, just as Bulkezu¡¯s prisoners had walked without aid for all those months, sick and dying. She was no better than they were. She deserved no more than they had received.


    She was staggering by the time she reached the barracks, and for some reason Folquin was there, scolding her, and then Leo was carrying her back to a stall filled with hay. The smell of horse and hay made her cough. A spasm took her in the ribs.


    ¡°Ai, God,¡± said Ingo. ¡°She¡¯s hot. Feel her face.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll get the captain,¡± said Folquin.


    ¡°Maybe they have a healer here in the palace,¡± said Stephen.


    ¡°Hanna!¡± said Leo. ¡°Can you hear me?¡±


    She choked on hatred and despair. Dizziness swept her as on a tide, and she was borne away on the currents of a swollen river. She dreamed.


    In her nightmare, Bulkezu savors his food and guzzles his mead and enjoys his women, and even the gruesome wound is healing so well that folk who should know better turn their heads to watch him ride by. How dare he still be handsome? How can God allow monsters to be beautiful? To live even in defeat?


    Or is she the monster, because despite everything she still sees beauty in him? Wise, simple Agnetha, forced to become his concubine, called him ugly. Surely it is Hanna¡¯s sin that she stubbornly allows her eyes to remain clouded by the Enemy¡¯s wiles.


    A veil of mist obscures her dreaming, a fog rolling out of marshy ground beside which she glimpses the pitched tents of the centaur folk. Sorgatani walks through the reeds at the shore of the marsh. The fog conceals the world, and she knows that something massive is creeping up on her, or on the Kerayit princess, but Hanna cannot see it, nor does she sense from what direction it means to attack.


    A woman appears, shifting out of the fog as though a mist has created her: she is as much mare as woman. Green-and-gold paint stripes her face and woman¡¯s torso.


    Sorgatani cries out in anger. ¡°I have fulfilled all the tasks you set me! I have been patient! How much longer must I wait?¡±


    ¡°You have been patient.¡± When the shaman glances up at the heavens, her coarse mane of pale hair sweeps down her back to the place where woman-hips meet mare-shoulders. ¡°That lesson you learned well. The elders have met. Your wish is granted.¡±


    ¡°We will ride west to seek my luck?¡±


    The centaur shifts sideways, listening, and after a moment replies. ¡°Nay, little one. She must suffer the fate she chose. But we are weak and diminished. We cannot fight alone¡ª¡±


    She rears back, startled by a sharp noise, the crack of a staff on rock. ¡°Who is there?¡±


    The hot breath of some huge creature blows on Hanna¡¯s neck, lifting her hair. She feels its maw opening to bite. Whirling, she strikes out frantically with a fist, but when her hand parts the mist, she stumbles forward into the salty brine of a shallow estuary, water splashing her lips and stinging her eyes as reeds scrape along her thighs.


    She is alone, yet she hears a confusing medley of voices and feels the press of hands as from a distance, jostling her.


    ¡°It¡¯s the lung fever. She¡¯s very bad.¡±


    ¡°Hush. We¡¯ll see her through this. She¡¯s survived worse.¡±


    A woman¡¯s voice: ¡°I¡¯ve boiled up coltsfoot and licorice for the congestion.¡±


    ¡°I thank you, Frederun.¡±


    Each time she strikes ax into wood and splits a log, she swears, as though she¡¯s trying to chop fury and grief out of herself, but she will never be rid of it all.


    Better if she lets the tide sweep her onward through the spreading delta channels of the lazy river and out onto a wide and restless sea. Yet even here, the horror is not done with her. Fire boils up under the sea, washing a wave of destruction over a vast whorled city hidden in its depths. Corpses bob on the swells and sharks feed. Survivors flee in terror, leaving everything behind, until the earth heaves again as the sea floor rises.

 Page 12

    A phoenix flies, as bright as fire. Or is it a phoenix at all but rather a woman with wings of flame? Delirium makes the woman-figure appear with a familiar face. Is that Liath, come back to haunt her? Is she an angel now, flying in the vault of heaven, all ablaze? As the creature rises, she lifts the slender figure of a man and two great hounds with her. But their weight is too great and with a cry of anguish and frustration the Liath-angel loses her grip on them and they fall away, lost as the fog of dreams rolls across the sky to conceal them.


    Hanna falls with them.


    ¡°How is she?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s delirious most of the time, Your Highness.¡±


    ¡°Will she live?¡±


    ¡°So we must pray, Your Highness.¡±


    II


    THE ACHE OF AN OLD WOUND


    1


    ¡°HANNA?¡±


    Someone held a light close to her face. Squeezing her eyes shut, she turned away from the harsh glare.


    ¡°Hanna.¡± More insistently.


    She smelled horse on his tunic. A breeze tickled her ear, and she cracked open one eye and realized that it was not lamplight but sunlight that lit the chamber. She lay in a neatly appointed chamber with a second rope-frame bed opposite hers, a table and bench, a chest for clothing, and several basins set here and there about the room, five on the floor and two small copper ones on the table. Through open shutters she glimpsed an apple tree in bloom.


    Ingo knelt beside her bed. ¡°Hanna?¡±


    She grunted, reaching out to grasp his shoulder, not sure if he were real or another vivid dream like the ones that plagued her. Even moving her arm took an effort. She was terribly weak, but she could breathe without pain. ¡°You¡¯re really here,¡± she said, mildly surprised that her voice worked.


    ¡°Aye, indeed, lass,¡± he replied with a crooked grin. He wiped a tear from his cheek. ¡°I¡¯ve been here many a day over the winter, but you didn¡¯t know it. We¡¯ve all watched over you. I thank God that you look likely to live.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± All she remembered was the dreaming, although she knew that long stretches had passed in which she was intermittently aware of the struggle it took to draw a single breath, of fever and chills washing through her as though she were racked by a tidal flow.


    ¡°Listen, Hanna.¡± He took hold of her hand. ¡°We¡¯re leaving Gent. Princess Theophanu is marching with her retinue to Osterburg. Duchess Rotrudis has died at last. The princess must go there swiftly to make sure the old duchess¡¯ heirs don¡¯t tear Saony into pieces.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± She had a vague recollection that Prince Sanglant had given her a message to take to his sister, and an even mistier memory that she had, perhaps, delivered it.


    ¡°We leave after Sext. Today.¡±


    Her head throbbed with the effort of thinking. ¡°How long?¡±


    ¡°A week or more¡ª¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s asking how long she¡¯s been sick,¡± said a second voice from the door.


    ¡°Folquin?¡±


    He hurried in to kneel beside her, and suddenly Leo and Stephen pressed into the room as well.


    ¡°Captain said that until she¡¯s stronger¡ª¡± began Stephen hesitantly.


    ¡°She might as well know from us.¡± Folquin¡¯s shoulders were so broad that they blocked her view out the open window. He bent close to her, setting a huge hand on her shoulder as gently as if she were a newborn baby. She didn¡¯t remember them all being so large and so very robust. ¡°You¡¯ve been sick with the lung fever all winter. You almost died. It¡¯s spring. Mariansmass has come and gone. It will be Avril soon.¡±


    Her mouth was so dry that her tongue felt swollen. Still, she managed to smile despite cracked lips. The passing of seasons meant little to her. It was just nice to see their familiar faces, but exhaustion already had its grip on her again. She wanted to sleep. Yet would she be abandoned once they left? Ingo and the others had rescued her from Bulkezu, after all.


    ¡°Who will look after me?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a good woman here, by name of Frederun. She¡¯s been nursing you all winter. She¡¯s head of the servants¡¯ hall here at the palace. Princess Theophanu thinks well enough of you to leave her good companion, Lady Leoba, as lady over Gent. You¡¯ll travel to Osterburg once you¡¯re strong enough to ride. We¡¯ll see you soon, friend.¡±


    They fussed over her for a little longer before being called away, but in truth she was relieved to be able to rest. She¡¯d forgotten how exhausting they were, yet she had an idea that they hadn¡¯t always seemed so, back before her illness, before Bulkezu.


    Days passed, quiet and unspeakably dreary. Her hip had healed, but even to stand tired her and walking from her bed to the door and back again seemed so impossible a task that she despaired of ever regaining her strength. Her ribs stock out, and her abdomen was a hollow, skin stretched tight over hipbones. Some days she hadn¡¯t the will to eat, yet Frederun coaxed her with bowls of porridge and lukewarm broths.

 Page 13

    The passing days became weeks. Avril flowered, and with it the feast day of St. Euseb?, when apprentices sealed themselves into service to a new master. She had recovered enough that she could walk to a chair set outside in the sun, in the broad courtyard, and watch as a dozen youths were accepted into the palace, seven years¡¯ service in exchange for a place to sleep and two meals every day. Lady Leoba herself came by to speak with her, and Hanna even managed to rise, to show the new lady of Gent proper respect.


    ¡°I see you are healing, Eagle.¡± The lady looked her over as carefully as she might a prized mare whom she had feared lost to colic. ¡°My lady Princess Theophanu hoped we could join her by the Feast of the Queen, but I¡¯ve sent a messenger to let her know we¡¯ll be delayed until the month of Sormas. It was a lad who said you had deputized him as an Eagle. He went by the name of Ernst. Do you remember him?¡±


    At first she did not, but when Lady Leoba gave her leave to sit down again, a hazy memory brushed her: the village, the thunderstorm, the eager youth Ernst. For some reason, tears filled her eyes. She didn¡¯t cry as much now but that was only because the world seemed so stretched and thin that it was difficult to get up enough energy to cry.


    ¡°Hanna?¡± Frederun appeared at her side. She had sent the new apprentices to their duties in stable, hall, kitchens, or carpentry. Dressed in a fine calf-length tunic worn over a linen underdress, she looked quite striking with her bountiful dark hair caught back in a scarf and her cheeks rosy with sun. ¡°You look tired again.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to go back to bed.¡±


    ¡°Nay, you must take three turns around the courtyard first. Otherwise you¡¯ll not get stronger.¡±


    Hanna did not have the stamina to resist Frederun¡¯s commands. She did as she was told, because it was easier to obey than to fight. Yet, in fact, she did get stronger. The invalid¡¯s spelt porridge soon had a hank of freshly baked bread to supplement it, and infusions of galingale and feverfew gave way to cups of mead and mulled wine. Light broths became soups, and soon after that she could eat chicken stewed in wine, fish soup, and periwinkles cooked up with peas. By the beginning of the month of Sormas she took her meals in the servants¡¯ hall rather than alone in her room. Gent remained peaceful, a haven, but its quiet did not soothe her. She did not care to explore the city and kept to herself within the confines of the palace compound. Those like Frederun, who tried to befriend her, she kept at arm¡¯s length; the others she ignored. When young Ernst returned late in the month of Sormas with an urgent summons for Lady Leoba, Hanna greeted his arrival with relief. It was time to move on.


    Leoba and her retinue rode out the day after Luciasmass, the first day of summer. Fields of winter wheat and rye had grown high over the spring, turning gold as summer crept in. Gardens neatly fenced off from the depredations of wild creatures and wandering sheep stood around hamlets sprung up along the road. Children ran out to watch them ride by. Some enterprising farmers had planted apple orchards to replace those chopped down during the Eika occupation, but these were young trees not yet bearing fruit. As they rode south along the river, fields gave way to pasturelands and a series of enclosed fields of flax and hemp near palisaded villages built up in the last two years to replace those burned by Bloodheart and his marauding army. The cathedral tower remained a beacon for a long while as they rode, but eventually it was lost behind trees. Settlements grew sparser and children more shy of standing at the roadside to stare.


    Ernst insisted on riding beside her. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen such fine ladies as those in the princess¡¯ court! Do you see the clothes they wear for riding? All those colors! I¡¯ve never seen so much gold and silver. God must truly love those to whom They grant so much wealth. I have so much food to eat that every night I have a full stomach! Sometimes I¡¯m allowed to eat the leftovers off the platters the noble folk eat from. I had swan, but some spice in it made my tongue burn!¡±


    He sat a horse well. It hadn¡¯t taken him long to learn, but his simple belief in the glamour of an Eagle¡¯s life would prove a more stubborn obstacle to overcome. She kept silent, and eventually he shut up.


    The warm days and cloudless sky of Quadrii did not cheer her. Each league they traveled seemed much like the last, although there was always something new to look at and plenty of folk willing to offer them a meal of porridge and bread in exchange for news. The local farmers and manor-born field hands had heard rumors of bandits, cursed shades, and plague, but hadn¡¯t seen any for themselves, nor had any of them heard until now of the great battle at Osterburg. Again and again she felt obliged to repeat the story. It was her duty, after all.

 Page 14

    Would it have been better to have stayed in Gent, safe behind bland walls? Yet she had grown tired of the friendliness of Gent¡¯s servants and of her caretaker, Frederun. Everyone knew Frederun had been Prince Sanglant¡¯s concubine when he¡¯d wintered over in Gent the year before, on the road east; they spoke of it still, although never in Frederun¡¯s hearing. He had given her certain small tokens, but she had stayed behind, bound to the palace, when he had ridden on. The prince had had a child with him, but no one knew what had happened to his wife, only that she had, evidently, vanished when the daughter was still a newborn infant.


    What had happened to Liath?


    When she closed her eyes, she saw the fever dream that had chased her through her illness, the hazy vision of a woman winged with flame whose face looked exactly like Liath¡¯s. At night, she sought Liath through fire, but she never found her. King Henry, Hathui, even Prince Sanglant no longer appeared to her Eagle¡¯s Sight, and Sorgatani came to her only in stuttering glimpses, clouded by smoke and sparks. It had been so long since she had seen Wolfhere that she had trouble recalling his features. Only Bulkezu¡¯s beautiful, monstrous face coalesced without fail when she stared into the flames. Even Ivar was lost to her, invisible to her Eagle¡¯s Sight although she sought him with increasing desperation. Had her sight failed her? Or were they all, at last, dead?


    She felt dead, withered like a leaf wilting under the sun¡¯s glare.


    Rain delayed them. ¡°It will ruin the harvest,¡± Ernst muttered more than once, surveying sodden fields, but Hanna had no answer to give. She had seen so much ruin already.


    After twenty days, they rode into Osterburg under cover of a weary summer drizzle that just would not let up. A gray mist hung over the fields, half of them abandoned or left fallow after the trampling they had received from two armies but the rest planted with spring-sown oats and barley and a scattering of fenced gardens confining turnips, peas, beans, and onions. Stonemasons worked on scaffolds along the worst gaps in Osterburg¡¯s walls, but although there were still a number of gaps and tumbled sections, the worst stretch had been repaired. Inside, the streets seemed narrow and choked with refuse after so many days out on the open road.


    Stable hands took their horses in the courtyard of the ducal palace. She and Ernst walked at the rear of Lady Leoba¡¯s escort as they crowded into the great hall, glad to get out of the rain. A steward, the same stout, intelligent woman who had met the Lions outside Gent, escorted them up stairs to the grand chamber where Princess Theophanu held court.


    Despite the rain, it was warm enough that the shutters had been taken down to let in the breeze. Theophanu reclined at her ease on a fabulously padded couch, playing chess with one of her ladies while her companions looked on in restful silence. Two women Hanna did not know but who bore a passing resemblance to the notorious Lord Wichman fidgeted on chairs on either side of Theophanu; it was hard at first glance to tell which one was more bored, irritable, and sour.


    ¡°Ah.¡± Theophanu looked up with a flash of genuine pleasure. ¡°Leoba!¡± They embraced. Theophanu turned to address the women sitting to either side of her. ¡°Cousin Sophie. Cousin Imma. Here is my best companion, Leoba. She is out of the Hesbaye clan, and was married last summer to Margrave Villam.¡±


    ¡°But isn¡¯t she dead yet?¡± asked the one called Sophie, with a leer. ¡°How many wives has Villam outlasted?¡±


    ¡°Nay, it will be a test of the Hesbaye and Villam clans to see which one can outlast the other on fourth and fifth marriages,¡± retorted her sister.


    Leoba colored, but Theophanu drew her attention away, making room on the couch for Leoba to sit beside her. ¡°How fares Gent?¡±


    ¡°Well enough. A spring sowing of oats and barley was put in on the fallow fields. The winter wheat and rye crop has flourished. There are four excellent weaving houses. Each one produced enough cloth over the winter and spring that there is surplus for trade. The market brings in folk from three days¡¯ walk away. Merchants have sailed in from as far as Medemelacha. They pay the regnant¡¯s tax willingly enough. The year the city lay under Eika rule hurt their custom and their routes to the east. There¡¯s to be a harvest fair that will likely bring folk from a week¡¯s walk. Gent is a prosperous place. I have brought five chests of coin and treasure to give into your coffers.¡±


    ¡°That is Saony¡¯s tax!¡± cried Imma. ¡°It belongs to our family.¡±


    ¡°Nay, Imma,¡± said Theophanu mildly, ¡°it belongs to the regnant, and to Saony. You have not been named as duchess, I think?¡±


    ¡°Because I am the elder!¡± said Sophie triumphantly.

 Page 15

    ¡°You are not!¡±


    ¡°I pray you, Cousins, let us not hear this argument again. I have been left as regent while King Henry remains in Aosta. I must judge. As I have already told you, I mean to let my father decide who will succeed my aunt, may she rest in peace, as duchess of Saony. I have only been waiting for an experienced Eagle, one who has traveled before across the Alfar Mountains.¡±


    Every person in the chamber turned to look at Hanna.


    ¡°Dare you send another?¡± asked Leoba. ¡°You have sent all three of the Eagles left in your care south to Aosta and not heard one word from any of them, whether they lived or died or even reached the king.¡±


    ¡°Do I dare not send one more? You did not hear the news, Leoba? My cousin Conrad the Black celebrated Penitire in Mainni as though he were king! He allowed the biscop to receive him outside the city and escort him into the palace as she would if it were my father who had come. The feasting lasted a full three days in the royal manner. He has taken Tallia of Arconia as wife and got her pregnant. She rides with Conrad rather than remaining in the custody of my aunt Constance, in Autun, as my father decreed. If this is not rebellion, then I don¡¯t know what is.¡±


    ¡°Conrad would support my claim to Saony,¡± said Sophie, her expression shifting with animal cunning, ¡°if I offered to support him and Tallia. You forget that, Theophanu. You are not my only recourse.¡±


    ¡°But Conrad is not here, you stupid cow,¡± said her sister, ¡°nor is he king of Wendar, although it seems he would like to lay claim to the kingship of Varre by right of the body and blood of his new wife.¡±


    ¡°Where is the king of Wendar?¡± demanded Sophie. ¡°Can he be king if he has abandoned his people?¡±


    ¡°Henry is king over Wendar and Varre,¡± said Theophanu, ¡°and God have given their blessing to him. I trust you will remember that, Cousins.¡±


    ¡°I remember seeing your troops ride in after your brother stripped us of half our mounted soldiers for his mad journey east! Yet you haven¡¯t half the army Sanglant has, nor could you drive out the Quman invaders. And you can¡¯t do anything to stop Conrad!¡± Sophie¡¯s peevish expression vanished abruptly as she glanced at her sister who, like a cat, seemed ready to wash her paws with disdainful triumph, seeing that her enemy was about to fall into a trap of her own making.


    ¡°Do not think I am unsympathetic to your plight, Theophanu,¡± Sophie went on quickly. ¡°If Sapientia cannot rule after your father, then you are the rightful heir. You have not received what you deserve.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯ll have honey poured on you now.¡± Imma sneered as she reached for her wine cup. ¡°Whom do you mean to flatter and cozen, Sophie? Conrad, or Theophanu?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true enough, nor can any of you admit otherwise!¡± said Sophie. ¡°Theophanu was left to be regent for King Henry but given no support. Henry has an army in Aosta, and Sanglant rides east with the army that defeated the Quman. What are you left with, Cousin?¡±


    ¡°My wits.¡± With an enigmatic smile, Theophanu gestured toward the windows. ¡°It seems the rain has passed. I intend to ride today. My head is quite stuffy from all this chattering. Eagle, you will attend me.¡±


    In this way, Hanna found herself back on a horse and riding beside the princess along the verge of muddy fields where, last autumn, battle lines had been drawn and armies had clashed. Beyond the western shore of the Veser lay the hills where the Quman army had made its camp and where Bulkezu¡¯s prisoners had huddled in those last desperate hours. To the east she recognized the ragged band of forest that concealed the Veserling, where Ingo and the others had rescued her.


    ¡°Where are the Lions, Your Highness? They came to you early in the spring, did they not?¡±


    Theophanu nodded. ¡°I keep them in the city to remind my cousins of my authority. These days, they work on the wall. It was let fall into shameful disrepair by my aunt, may she be at peace. I think she must not have been at all well these past few years.¡±


    Together with two stewards, three servants, and a half dozen of the princess¡¯ noble companions, they skirted several ditches half full of rainwater, an attempt to drain off the excess water collecting on the fields, and approached a low hill that rose out of the plain like a bubble. Theophanu waved her companions back but beckoned Hanna forward with her, and with some difficulty the two women urged their mounts up the slippery rise to the top. Alder and oak had been cut back here only recently, and they had to be careful of burned out stumps laying traps for their mounts¡¯ hooves. Wood rush and bramble bush proliferated. Dill had taken root, flowering in yellow clusters alongside cream-colored bells of comfrey. Yet at the height of the hill, in one man-sized spot, the lush greenery turned to blackened ground, as bare as if salt had been sown on the earth.

 Page 16

    ¡°It¡¯s said that this is where Bayan died.¡± Theophanu pulled her mare up beside the barren patch of ground, surveying it dispassionately. ¡°I never met him. What was he like?¡±


    Hanna dismounted, kneeling to touch the earth. A wasp sting came alive in her chest as her fingers brushed the scorched ground. She knew in her bones that Bayan had been killed here, but the eerie sensation that coursed up her hand lasted only an instant. It was only dirt, after all. Catching her breath, she rose. ¡°He was a good man, Your Highness, may he rest at peace in the Chamber of Light. He was no fool.¡±


    ¡°A good match for Sapientia.¡± Was that sarcasm in Theophanu¡¯s tone? Hanna could not tell.


    ¡°She trusted him, Your Highness. With his guidance she gained in wisdom.¡±


    ¡°Then my father chose wisely.¡±


    ¡°In truth, I believe he did. Bayan¡¯s death grieved Princess Sapientia mightily. Things might have turned out differently for all of us, and for the kingdom, if Prince Bayan had not died at Bulkezu¡¯s hand.¡±


    ¡°The Quman prince himself killed Bayan, in combat?¡±


    ¡°Nay, Quman magic killed Prince Bayan. And his mother.¡±


    Such a complicated expression swept over Theophanu¡¯s face that Hanna looked away, embarrassed. But when Theophanu spoke again, no trace of emotion sullied her voice.


    ¡°Have you command of the Eagle¡¯s Sight?¡±


    No one stood near enough to hear them. The rest of their party waited obediently at the base of the little hill. ¡°I do, Your Highness.¡±


    ¡°Surely you have sought sight of my father.¡±


    Ashamed, she lowered her gaze. ¡°My Eagle¡¯s Sight is clouded, Your Highness. I have looked for him, but I cannot see him.¡±


    ¡°Is it possible that another hand has clouded your sight?¡±


    What a fool she had been! Cherbu had concealed Bulkezu¡¯s army for many months with magic. Surely a knowledgeable sorcerer could shield herself against the Eagle¡¯s Sight. Yet Wolfhere had never spoken of such things to her. Perhaps he had not wanted her to know, so that he could always keep an eye on her.


    ¡°It could be possible,¡± she admitted. ¡°I know little about magic, and less about the Eagle¡¯s Sight save that I can seek for visions of those I know through fire and sometimes hear them speak.¡±


    ¡°You have done nothing wrong, Hanna. The king himself rewarded you with that ring you wear, and therefore I know that he considered you a faithful and trustworthy subject. That is why I am glad you are with me now. My father must understand that I am in an impossible position. The duchy of Saony cannot go to one of Rotrudis¡¯ children. Their greed and mismanagement will only weaken the duchy. But I haven¡¯t troops or authority to install another in their place, and either one of my cousins will ride straight to Conrad if she thinks he will take her part. I have no army, or little enough of one¡ª¡±She gestured impatiently toward distant Osterburg. ¡°¡ªand Sanglant has taken the rest.¡±


    ¡°It seems a large army for even a commander with Sanglant¡¯s reputation to march so far into the wilderness, Your Highness. They must all be fed and housed.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true enough. We¡¯ve heard reports from various places that all of the infantry was dispersed after the battle, sent home to tend to planting. Villam¡¯s daughter is said to be supporting Sanglant. It¡¯s rumored that she¡¯s holding a portion of his army in reserve, in the marshlands, for when he returns from Ungria and the east. It could be true. She wanted to marry him once, but it wasn¡¯t allowed because he was only a bastard.¡±


    Wind tugged at the princess¡¯ hair, bound up with silver pins, but no trace of feeling troubled her expression. Was it possible that the calmer Theophanu looked on the outside the more she raged in her inner heart? No wonder many in the king¡¯s court dared not trust her; if she concealed the truth of her heart behind a veil of composure. Yet after watching Bulkezu do as he willed, giving his whims and frenzies full rein, Hanna could admire a person who had the fortitude and discipline to hold herself in check.


    ¡°I might have been allowed more, born a bastard,¡± Theophanu murmured. As if she had just heard herself, she looked directly, almost defiantly, at Hanna, who gazed back steadily, unafraid.


    ¡°I beg your pardon, Your Highness, for speaking so boldly. I am also a third child, and what was granted to my elder siblings was not possible for me. That is why I joined the Eagles, rather than accept a marriage I would have found distasteful. I am proud to serve King Henry.¡±


    Theophanu¡¯s smile was thin. ¡°Then you and I are perhaps the last folk here in Wendar who remain faithful of our own will to the rightful king. Do you fear magic, Eagle?¡±

 Page 17

    ¡°I fear it, Your Highness, but I have seen too much now to let the threat of magic halt my steps.¡±


    ¡°I am glad to hear you say so, because I must rest all my hopes on you. I have sent three Eagles to Aosta, but none have returned to me although I sent the first more than a year ago. You must travel to Aosta and find my father. I will give you a message to bring to him, but in truth it will be up to you to make him understand that his position here in Wendar is weakening, even here in Saony, our clan¡¯s ancient home. Conrad troubles the west while Sanglant troubles the east. My cousin Tallia is a dangerous pawn in Conrad¡¯s hands, and I have heard no message from my aunt Constance in Autun for many months. I cannot hold here in the center for long, when even my cousins plot to seek help from those who would undermine Henry¡¯s authority. Not when famine and plague afflict Avaria. Not when we hear rumors of civil war from Salia. If the king hears your tale of the Quman invasion and the terrible destruction brought down onto Wendish lands, if he knows the extent of the plots whispered against his rule, surely he will return.¡±


    2


    ¡°HANNA? Did you hear that? Hanna?¡±


    Hanna had been lost in thought, repeating Theophanu¡¯s message to herself for the hundredth time, but the pitch of anxiety in Ernst¡¯s voice started her into alertness. ¡°I didn¡¯t hear anything.¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t listening. Hush. It will come again.¡±


    Fog swathed the beech forest in the central uplands of Avaria through which she and Ernst rode, thirty or more days out of Osterburg; she had lost count because the weather had not favored their journey. They had suffered many delays because of day-long downpours, swamped roads, and pockets of plague they¡¯d had to take detours to avoid. This clinging fog was the least of the hindrances they had faced.


    Above, the sky appeared gray-white, almost glaring, while around them slender trees faded into the fog, their shapes blurred by the mist. Deer darted away, vanishing quickly into the fog, but otherwise there was no sign of life except for the chuckling calls of thrushes, the exuberant song of a blackcap, and the occasional rustle of some small animal thrashing away through the dense field layer of wood rush, or into a stand of honeysuckle. Although the world was obscured, these sounds carried easily enough.


    She listened.


    Nothing, except for the steady clop of hooves, two mounts and two spares. Nothing, except for the sough of an east wind through the summer leaves. East lay memories, and no matter how hard she tried to squeeze them out of herself, they still swelled inside her with the ache of an old wound. On a chill summer¡¯s day like today, her hip hurt. Where fog wrapped its tendrils around trees, she kept catching glimpses of strange figures from her dreams: centaur women stalking warriors with the bodies of humans and the faces of wolves and lynx; Sorgatani kneeling among reeds at the margin of a vast swamp; a pair of griffins hunting in the tall grass; a longship ghosting through a tide of mist like a beast swimming upriver toward unsuspecting prey; men with humanlike faces and the tails of fish swimming through the fogbound trees as through a pillared underwater city.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± said Ernst with disgust. ¡°But I know I heard something. It sounded like fighting.¡±


    His indignation made her smile. To her surprise, the youth had proved to be a decent traveling companion. He no longer talked too much, he did his share of the work, and he never faltered or complained.


    ¡°If I never see any fighting again, I will be content,¡± she said.


    All at once the wind shifted, and she heard the distinctive clap of weapons striking.


    ¡°It¡¯s ahead of us. Come on.¡±


    She slipped her staff free from its harness across her back and, laying it ready over her thighs, pressed her horse forward along the path. With a gasp of excitement, or fear, Ernst drew the short sword the princess had given him and rode after.


    Because of the swallowing fog they came upon the skirmish unexpectedly where the forest opened into a clearing marked by a tumble of stones and a crossroads. A tall woman in a battered Eagle¡¯s cloak had taken shelter with her back to the remains of a stone wall, fending off three ragged bandits armed with staves and a knife.


    ¡°Hai! For King Henry!¡± cried Hanna.


    ¡°For King Henry!¡± bellowed Ernst behind her, voice cracking.


    Hanna got in a good whack at one of the bandits before they ran like panicked hogs into the trees, dropping their weapons in their haste to flee.


    ¡°Do we go after them?¡± shouted Ernst, barely remembering to rein his horse back from the fence of beech trees.


    ¡°Hold!¡± Hanna peered into the forest, but the fog shielded the bandits¡¯ flight, although she heard branches cracking and shouts fading into the distance. Her heart raced from the exertion, but her hands were perfectly steady. Was she glad they had got away? Or would she have gladly killed them?

 Page 18

    Maybe it was better not to know.


    She turned to see the Eagle doubled over.


    ¡°Comrade! Are you hurt?¡± Dismounting, she ran over, grabbed the woman¡¯s arm, and saw who it was. ¡°Hathui!¡± The shock caused her to step back, and she slammed hard into stone.


    ¡°Nay. A cut on the arm, that¡¯s all.¡± Hathui straightened with a grimace. ¡°Hanna! How is it you come here? Where are the bandits?¡±


    ¡°Fled,¡± called Ernst cheerfully from the forest¡¯s edge. ¡°We routed them!¡±


    He dismounted to collect the two staves. The horses bent their heads to graze. The fog seemed to be making an effort to lift, and they could see pretty far into the forest by now. Far back into the misty haze among the trees, nothing moved.


    ¡°God above,¡± swore Hathui. Blood trickled through her fingers where she held them clamped tight just below her left shoulder. ¡°Have you something I can bind this with? He slashed me. Lad, look for my horse. She can¡¯t have strayed far.¡±


    Hanna¡¯s shoulders throbbed where she¡¯d hit the stone wall. Lichen slipped under her fingers as she pushed forward, finally sweeping away the grip of shock. ¡°Ernst! Go on! Keep your eyes open. We don¡¯t want those men creeping back with their friends to attack us.¡±


    She had nothing to say to Hathui. Surprise had mangled her tongue. She hurried to the horse tied on behind the saddled gelding and fished out the roll of linen in their stores packed by Theophanu¡¯s stewards for just such an eventuality.


    Hathui limped over to a ramp of stone half overgrown by a bramble bush heavy with berries. With a grunt, she eased down to sit on the stone and carefully released her fingers. Blood leaked through a gash in her sleeve. The cloth had been mended once, just above the fresh rip, tidy white stitches set into the dirty gray wool that matched a dozen mended tears in her Eagle¡¯s cloak. Her dark hair was caught back in an untidy pony¡¯s tail, and a smudge of dirt darkened her hawk¡¯s nose. Fresh blood smeared one corner of her mouth.


    ¡°Best move quickly,¡± she said without raising her head as she delicately pulled aside torn cloth to examine the cut. She was breathing hard but did not look likely to faint.


    Hanna had seen worse wounds. The blade had caught the surface of the skin and torn it back raggedly, but not deeply. She unfastened Hathui¡¯s Eagle¡¯s brooch and helped her pull off the tunic, then painted a paste of crushed marigold flowers over the cut before binding it up with a strip of linen. Hathui got her tunic on, wincing, just as Ernst returned triumphantly, leading the sorriest-looking mare Hanna had ever seen.


    ¡°My thanks, lad.¡± Hathui limped forward to take the reins from him. ¡°I¡¯m called Hathui. Are you one of us?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m called Ernst,¡± said the youth, staring at her with admiration. Hathui was not, Hanna supposed, a handsome woman, but she was impressive: tough, proud, and looking like she¡¯d ridden through a storm of demons and survived. ¡°I mean to be an Eagle. That¡¯s why I¡¯m riding with Hanna.¡±


    ¡°Well met.¡± After greeting him, Hathui rubbed the mare¡¯s nose affectionately and checked her saddlebag, which seemed to hold nothing more than half a loaf of dry bread and an empty wineskin. Finally, she looked up. ¡°Ai, God, Hanna, it¡¯s good to see you. Where are you bound?¡±


    ¡°Aosta. What news, Hathui? Have you come from the king? I¡¯ve been sent with an urgent message from Princess Theophanu¡ª¡±


    Hathui¡¯s face drained to white, bled dry, and she sank down onto the fallen stone with a grimace of pain. ¡°You must ride straight back to Princess Theophanu!¡±


    ¡°The king¡¯s dead?¡±


    ¡°Not dead when I left him.¡± Hathui spoke so quietly it was difficult to hear her voice. ¡°I pray he is not dead now.¡± Tears trickled down her cheeks, and her breathing became harsh. ¡°That I should take so long to get even this far! And I do not know how far I have left to go.¡±


    Her expression made Hanna tremble as the older Eagle grabbed her sword hilt and pushed herself up, looking grim and determined. ¡°We must make haste, you to Princess Theophanu and I¡ªCan you tell me, Hanna? Where is Prince Sanglant? I have followed rumors that lead me east, but I may be following a cold trail, God help me, for he is veiled to my Eagle¡¯s Sight. I must reach Prince Sanglant.¡±


    Ernst had wandered close to listen, but Hanna chased him off. ¡°You¡¯re sentry, Ernst! You must keep watch. Those brigands could come sneaking back and kill us while we¡¯re not looking!¡±


    She picked up one of the bandits¡¯ captured staves, which was not much more than a stout walking stick carved to a nasty point at one end, and beat down the bramble bush around the stone bench so she and Hathui could sit without fear of thorns. It felt good to batter down the bramble bush, to hear the snap of vines and watch bits of leaf spill like chaff onto the ground, revealing more of the old stone ruin. By the pattern of the tumbled stones and their neatly dressed edges, she guessed this had once been an old Dariyan way station. Dariyan messengers, folk like herself, had sheltered here long ago.

 Page 19

    ¡°Sit down,¡± she said. Hathui sat, shaking and still pale. ¡°You must tell the whole.¡±


    Haltingly she did, although Hanna had never before heard Hathui sound so unlike the confident, sharp-tongued Eagle she had met in Heart¡¯s Rest five years ago. While she talked, Ernst paced out the edge of the clearing, riding a short way down each of the three paths that branched out from the clearing: one led north back toward Theophanu, one east, and one southwest. Each time he returned he glanced over at them and their hushed conversation before resuming his circuit of the forest¡¯s edge.


    Hathui spoke more with rasp than voice. ¡°I bring no message from King Henry, only news of his betrayal. Hugh of Austra has connived with Queen Adelheid and the skopos herself, the Holy Mother Anne, to make Henry their creature in all ways. I know not with what black spells Hugh has sullied his hands, but he trapped an unearthly daimone and forced it into the king, who was all unsuspecting. Now the king speaks with the daimone¡¯s voice, for the daimone controls his speech and his movements.¡±


    ¡°How came Hugh of Austra into the councils of Queen Adelheid and the skopos?¡±


    ¡°He is a presbyter now, forgiven for all his sins,¡± said Hathui bitterly. ¡°I know little of the new skopos save that she claims to be the granddaughter of the Emperor Taillefer. She also claims to be Liath¡¯s mother.¡±


    Could it be true? Hanna had seen Liath¡¯s child, with Sanglant, in the few days she had remained at the prince¡¯s side beyond the Veser, when the prince himself had interviewed her at length about the time she had spent as a prisoner of Bulkezu and the Quman army. Before he had sent her away to carry word of his victory and his plans to his sister. She had heard this tale herself, but it seemed as unlikely then as it did now.


    Or perhaps it was the only explanation that made sense.


    Wind made the leaves dance and murmur. A brown wren came to light among the brambles, eyeing Hanna and Hathui with its alert gaze before fluttering off.


    ¡°There is more,¡± said Hathui at last, sounding exhausted, her shoulders slumped. ¡°The infant Mathilda is to be named as heir. Adelheid wanted Henry to stay in Aosta to fight in the south, although it was his intent to return to Wendar. That is why they bound him with the daimone. Now he only does what they wish.¡±


    ¡°Why go to Sanglant, then?¡±


    ¡°He must be told what has happened.¡±


    ¡°He is himself a rebel against the king. You must take this news to Theophanu at once!¡±


    ¡°Nay, to Sanglant. So Rosvita counseled me. She said ¡­¡± Hathui grasped her injured arm again, shutting her eyes, remembering. Her words were almost inaudible. ¡°She said, ¡®a bastard will show his true mettle when temptation is thrown in his path and the worst tales he can imagine are brought to his attention.¡¯ Ai, Lady. She allowed herself to be taken prisoner so that I might escape. I do not know if she lives, after all this time. I have searched with my Eagle¡¯s Sight, but I see only darkness.¡± To Hanna¡¯s horror, indomitable Hathui began to weep. ¡°I fear she is dead.¡±


    Rosvita meant little to Hanna beyond being Ivar¡¯s elder and half sister. ¡°When did this happen? How long have you been traveling?¡±


    She wiped her cheeks with the back of a hand. ¡°Months. Since last year. I had to ride west, toward Salia. Even then I came too late to the mountains. Snow had already closed the pass. So I laid low and lived as I could, all winter. They hunted me. A dozen times or more I saw soldiers wearing Queen Adelheid¡¯s livery along the roads. It was only three months ago that I was able to fight my way through the snow and into Salia, and then I had to travel in the wilderness, or at night, until I came at last to Wayland. There I found that Duke Conrad¡¯s soldiers would as soon throw me in prison as aid me. I have not come easily to this place.¡± She patted the cold stone, almost with affection. ¡°Those bandits were the least of the troubles I¡¯ve faced. I fear I have a long and difficult journey still ahead of me.¡±


    ¡°So you do, if you will not turn north to bring your tidings to Theophanu. Prince Sanglant rides to Ungria. He left last autumn from Osterburg, after the battle there, although I do not know how he fared this past winter. He is hidden to my Eagle¡¯s Sight as well. You would be a fool to ride east after him. You must take this news to Princess Theophanu¡ª¡±


    ¡°Nay!¡± She rose, striding toward her horse. ¡°I must ride to Sanglant! I will do as Sister Rosvita commanded me, for she is the last one I know who is loyal to the king now that Hugh has murdered Margrave Villam.¡±


    ¡°Villam!¡± The words came at her like barbs, pricking and venomous. ¡°May God save us if it¡¯s true.¡± And yet ¡­ ¡°We¡¯ve heard no news from Aosta. Nothing. Princess Theophanu sent three Eagles to her father with desperate tidings¡ª¡±

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    ¡°One at least delivered that message, but she has been detained in Darre. Perhaps the others have as well, if they reached the court after I fled. They will not let Theophanu¡¯s Eagles leave Aosta now. King Henry knew that he was needed in Wendar! He meant to return!¡± She halted beside the tallest segment of wall, which came to her shoulder; a pair of fallen wooden roof beams lay covered in nettles and moss at her feet. Her expression was set and stubborn. Unshakable. ¡°I go to Sanglant, Hanna. Sanglant will avenge his father¡¯s betrayal. He will save Henry. No one else can.¡±


    ¡°Sanglant is not the man you think he is, Hathui. Do not ride to him, I beg you. Princess Theophanu¡ª¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Hathui tied a stave to her saddle and made ready to mount. ¡°I will not be bent from my task.¡±


    This was the stubbornness that King Henry had admired so much that he had made Hathui his favored Eagle and, indeed, an intimate counselor whose opinion he consulted and trusted. Hathui loved the king.


    But she was wrong about Sanglant.


    ¡°Very well,¡± said Hanna at last. ¡°Ernst will return to Theophanu.¡±


    The answer gave Hathui pause as she swung onto her mare and, turning, gazed with an expression of dismay at Hanna. ¡°What do you mean to do?¡±


    ¡°I mean to do as Princess Theophanu commanded me. I will ride to Aosta to the king.¡±


    ¡°Hanna!¡±


    ¡°I can be as stubborn as you, Hathui.¡± But as she spoke the words, she felt the wasp sting burn in her heart. Was she turning away from Sorgatani because the Kerayit princess had not rescued her from the Quman? Was she punishing Sanglant, who had betrayed his own people by letting Bulkezu live? Or was she only doing what was right?


    ¡°You can¡¯t have understood what I¡¯ve told you¡ª¡±


    ¡°I understand it well enough. I will deliver Theophanu¡¯s message, as is my duty. I will deliver my report about the Quman invasion to King Henry, as I swore I would. I shall see for myself how he responds.¡±


    ¡°You cannot trust them! What they might do to you¡ª¡±


    ¡°They can do nothing worse to me than what I¡¯ve already suffered.¡±


    Imperceptibly, as they spoke, the sun had burned off the fog, and now light broke across the clearing. Dew sparkled on nettles and glistened on ripe berries, quickly wicked away by the heat of the sun. The morning breeze faded and a drowsy summer glamour settled over the green wood, broken only by the song of birds and the caw of an irritated crow.


    The light of camaraderie had fled from Hathui¡¯s face, replaced by the expression of a woman who has seen the thing she loves best poisoned and trampled. ¡°So be it. You have chosen your path. I have chosen mine.¡±


    Enough, thought Hanna. I have made my choice. The core of rage that these days never left her had hardened into iron. As long as Bulkezu lived, she would never give loyalty, aid, or trust to the man who had refused to punish him as he deserved.


    ¡°So be it,¡± she echoed.


    There were three paths leading out of the clearing. She would ride hers alone.


    PART TWO


    THE UNCOILING YEAR


    III


    AN ADDER IN THE PIT


    1


    IN the east, so it was said, the priests of the Jinna god Astareos read omens in fire. They interpreted the leap and crackle of flames, the shifting of ash along charred sticks, and the gleam of coals sinking into patterns among the cinders, finding in each trifling movement a message from the god revealing his will and the fate of those who worshiped him. But no matter how hard Zacharias stared at the twisting glare of the campfire, he could not tease any meaning from the blaze. It looked like a common fire to him, cheerfully devouring sticks and logs. Like fire, the passage of time devoured all things, even a man¡¯s life, until it was utterly consumed. Afterward, there was only the cold beauty of an infinite universe indifferent to the fate of one insignificant human soul.


    He shuddered, although on this balmy summer¡¯s night he ought not to be cold.


    ¡°What do you think, Brother Zacharias? Do you believe the stories about the phoenix and the redemption?¡±


    Startled, he glanced up from the fire at Chustaffus. The stocky soldier regarded him with an affable smile on his homely face. ¡°What phoenix?¡± he asked.


    ¡°He wasn¡¯t listening,¡± said Surly. ¡°He never does.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s seeing dragons in the fire,¡± retorted Lewenhardt, the archer. ¡°Or our future,¡± said quiet Den.


    ¡°Or that damned phoenix you won¡¯t shut up about, Chuf,¡± added Surly, punching Chustaffus on the shoulder.


    They all laughed, but in a friendly way, and resumed their gossip as they ate their supper of meat, porridge, and ale around their campfire, one of about fifty such fires scattered throughout pasturelands outside the Ungrian settlement of Nabanya. Why Prince Sanglant¡¯s loyal soldiers tolerated a ragged, cowardly, apostate frater in their midst Zacharias could never understand, but he was grateful for their comradeship all the same. It allowed him to escape, from time to time, the prince¡¯s court, where he served as interpreter, and the grim presence of his worst enemy who was, unfortunately, not dead yet.

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    ¡°Prince Ekkehard was a traitor,¡± said Den. ¡°I don¡¯t think we should believe anything he said.¡±


    ¡°But he wasn¡¯t the only one who spoke of such stories,¡± insisted Chustaffus. ¡°Men died because they believed in the redemption. They were willing to die. Takes a powerful belief to embrace martyrdom like that.¡±


    ¡°Or a powerful stupidity.¡± Surly drained his cup and searched around for more ale, but they had drunk their ration. ¡°I don¡¯t believe it.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t heresy that saved Prince Ekkehard,¡± said black-haired Everwin, who spoke rarely but always at length. ¡°I hear he was treated like a lord by the Quman. If that Eagle¡¯s testimony was true, and I don¡¯t see any reason why I shouldn¡¯t believe it, then there¡¯s many honest, God-fearing folk who died while Prince Ekkehard ate his fill of their plundered food and drank stolen wine and dandled women, none of them willing to have been thrown into his bed. They might have been any of our sisters forced to please him or die.¡±


    ¡°Prince Ekkehard wasn¡¯t the only one who survived,¡± objected Chustaffus. ¡°Don¡¯t forget Sergeant Gotfrid of the Lions, and his men. They escaped the Quman, and shades in the forest, and bandits who sold them into slavery before the prince redeemed him. Gotfrid is a good man. He believed in the phoenix. Even that Lord Wichman admits he saw the phoenix.¡±


    ¡°Give it a rest, Chuf,¡± said Lewenhardt. ¡°If I have to hear about that damned phoenix one more time, I swear I¡¯m going to put an arrow through the next one I see.¡±


    Den, Johannes, and Everwin laughed longest at this sally, but Chustaffus took offense, and it fell to Zacharias to coax the glower off the young soldier¡¯s face. As a slave to the Quman, he¡¯d learned how to use his facility for words to quiet his former master¡¯s dangerously sudden vexations.


    ¡°Many a tale is truer than people can believe, and yet others are as false as a wolf¡¯s heart. I wonder sometimes if I really saw that dragon up in the Alfar Mountains. It might have been a dream. Yet, if I close my eyes, I can still see it gleaming in the heavens, with its tail lashing the snow on the high mountain peaks. What am I to make of that?¡±


    The soldiers never got tired of his story of the dragon.


    ¡°Were its scales really the size and color of iron shields?¡± asked Lewenhardt, who had a master archer¡¯s knack for remembering small details.


    ¡°Nothing that big can fly,¡± said Surly.


    ¡°Not like a bird, maybe,¡± said Lewenhardt. ¡°It might be that dragons have a kind of magic that keeps them aloft. If they¡¯re made of fire, maybe the earth repels them.¡±


    ¡°Kind of like you and women, eh?¡± asked the Karronishman, Johannes, who only spoke to tease.


    ¡°Did I show you where that Ungrian whore bit me?¡± Lewenhardt pulled up his tunic.


    ¡°Nay, mercy!¡± cried Johannes with a laugh. ¡°I can dig up worms enough to get the idea.¡±


    ¡°Someone¡¯s been eating worms,¡± said Surly suddenly, ¡°and not liking the taste. There¡¯s been talk that King Geza is going to divorce his wife and marry Princess Sapientia. That¡¯s the best way for the prince to get rid of her.¡±


    ¡°Prince Sanglant would never allow that!¡± objected Lewenhardt. ¡°That would give King Geza a claim to the Wendish throne through his children by the princess.¡±


    ¡°Hush,¡± said Den.


    Captain Fulk approached through flowering feather grass and luxuriant fescue whose stalks shushed along his knees and thighs. Beyond him, poplars swayed in the evening¡¯s breeze where they grew along the banks of a river whose name Zacharias did not yet know. Where the river curved around a hill, an old, refurbished ring fort rose, seat of the local Ungrian noble family. Beyond its confines a settlement sprawled haphazardly, protected by a palisade and ditch but distinctively Ungrian because of the many stinking corrals. Every Ungrian soldier kept ten horses, it seemed, and folk who walked instead of riding were scorned as slaves and dogs. Yet who tilled the fields and kept the gardens? The farmers Zacharias had seen working in hamlets and fortified villages as Prince Sanglant and his army followed King Geza¡¯s progress through the Ungrian kingdom were smaller and darker than the Ungrian nobles who ruled over them. Such folk were forbidden to own the very horses they were scorned for not riding.


    All the men rose when Fulk halted by the fire¡¯s light.


    Lewenhardt spoke. ¡°Captain. Is all quiet?¡±


    ¡°As quiet as it can be, with the army marching out in the morning.¡± Fulk surveyed the encampment before looking back over the six soldiers seated around the fire. ¡°I posted you out here to keep alert, not to gossip.¡± He nodded at Zacharias. ¡°Brother, I come from the prince. You¡¯re to attend him.¡±

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    ¡°I thought he had Brother Breschius to interpret for him tonight. Isn¡¯t it only Ungrians and Wendishmen at the feast?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t answer for His Highness. You¡¯re to come at once.¡±


    Surly began whistling a dirge, breaking off only after Chustaffus punched his arm.


    ¡°You take your watch at midnight,¡± said Fulk to his soldiers. ¡°I¡¯ll be back to check up on you.¡±


    That sobered them. Zacharias rose, with a sigh and followed Fulk. They walked along the river, listening to the wind sighing in the poplars. Although the sun had set, the clouds to the west were still stained an intense rose-orange, the color lightening toward the zenith before fading along the eastern hills to a dusky gray.


    ¡°I miss the beech woods of home,¡± Fulk said. ¡°They say we¡¯ll ride through grasslands and river bottom all the way to the Heretic¡¯s Sea. There are even salt marshes, the same as you¡¯d see on the Wendish coast, but lying far from the seashore. When I left home to join the king¡¯s service, I never thought to journey so far east. But I suppose you¡¯ve seen these lands before.¡±


    ¡°I have not. I traveled east the first time through Polenie lands.¡±


    ¡°Did you see any one-legged men? Women with dogs¡¯ heads? Two-headed babies?¡±


    ¡°Only slaves and tyrants, the same as anywhere.¡±


    Fulk grunted, something like a laugh. Like all of Sanglant¡¯s personal guard, he wore a pale gold tabard marked with the sigil of a black dragon. ¡°The Ungrians are a queer folk,¡± he continued, humoring Zacharias¡¯ curtness. ¡°As friendly as you please, and good fighters, yet I know their mothers didn¡¯t worship God in Unity. I¡¯d wager that half of them still sacrifice to their old gods. One of the lads said he saw a white stallion being led out at midwinter from the king¡¯s palace, and he never saw it come in again for all that King Geza spent the Feast of St. Peter on his knees in church. God know they¡¯re half heretics themselves, for it was Arethousan churchmen who first brought the word of the blessed Daisan to these lands.¡±


    ¡°It is Brother Breschius who presides over mass, not an Arethousan priest.¡±


    ¡°True enough. It¡¯s said the last of the Arethousans fled Ungria when we arrived with Prince Bayan¡¯s body last autumn. They¡¯re worse than rats, skulking about and spreading their lies and their heresy.¡±


    ¡°It seems to me that there¡¯s heresy enough in the ranks of Prince Sanglant¡¯s army. I hear whispers of it, the phoenix and the redemption.¡±


    Fulk had a deceptively mild expression for a man who had survived any number of hard-fought battles and had abandoned King Henry to join the war band of that king¡¯s rebel son. His lips twitched up, as though he meant to smile, but his gaze was sharp. ¡°If you toss an adder into a pit without water and leave it alone, it will shrivel up and die soon enough. But if you worry at it, then it will bite you and live.¡±


    In silence they left the river and followed the track across an overgrazed pasture to the palisade gate. The ring fort had been built along the bend in the river, but in recent times houses, craftsmen¡¯s yards, and shepherds¡¯ hovels had crept out below the circular ramparts and been ringed in their turn by a ditch and log palisade.


    The two men crossed the plank bridge thrown over the palisade ditch and greeted the guards lounging at the open gates. With the king in residence, the Quman defeated, and a good-sized army camped in the fields beyond, the watch kept the gates open all night because of the steady traffic between town and camp.


    In Ungria, peace reigned.


    Half a dozen soldiers were waiting for Fulk just beyond the gate, leaning at their ease on the rails of an empty corral. As soon as they saw their captain, they fell in smartly behind him.


    ¡°A captain cannot appear before the prince without a retinue, lest he be thought unworthy of his captain¡¯s rank,¡± said Fulk wryly.


    ¡°You came alone to get me.¡±


    ¡°So I did. I wanted to get a good look at camp without being noticed. Smell the mood of the men.¡±


    The settlement had a lively air. A summer¡¯s evening market thrived near the tanners¡¯ yard, although the stench of offal, urine, and dung at times threatened to overpower the folk out bargaining over rugs, bronze buckets, drinking horns, pots of dye, woolen cloth, and an impressive variety of shields. Small children with feet caked in dried mud ran about naked. A woman sat beside a crate of scrawny hens, calling out in an incomprehensible tongue that seemed only half Ungrian to Zacharias¡¯ ears, shot through with a coarser language closer to that spoken out on the grasslands.

 Page 23

    Horses pounded up behind them. Zacharias glanced back just as Fulk swore irritably. A sweep of pale wings brushed the dark sky; in an instant the riders would be upon him. The frater shrieked out loud and dropped hard to the ground, clapping his hands over his head. Death came swiftly from the Quman. They would strike him down and cut off his head. Terror made him lose control; a hot gush of urine spilled down his legs.


    But the horsemen swept past, ignoring him, although in their passage they overturned the crate. Freed chickens ran squawking out into the market. One of the birds ran right over Zacharias, claws digging into his neck.


    ¡°Here, now,¡± said Fulk, grasping his arm to pull him up. ¡°Did you get hit?¡±


    They hadn¡¯t been Quman after all, come to behead him. It was only a group of Ungrian cavalrymen wearing white cloaks, the mark of King Geza¡¯s honor guard.


    Fulk¡¯s soldiers ran down the chickens and returned them to the woman, who was cursing and yelling. At least the commotion hid Zacharias as he staggered to his feet. The darkness hid the stain on his robe, but nothing could hide the stink of a coward. As long as he feared the Quman, and Bulkezu, he was still a slave. Blinking back tears of shame and fear, he tottered over to the dirty watering trough and plunged in as Fulk and his soldiers shouted in surprise. Chickens, goats, and children made an ear-splitting noise as they scattered from his splashing. He was sopping wet from the chest down when he climbed out. Someone in the crowd threw a rotten apple at him. He ducked, but not quickly enough, and it splattered against his chest.


    ¡°For God¡¯s sake,¡± swore Fulk, dragging him along. ¡°What madness has gotten into you now, Brother?¡± The ground sloped steeply up and the ramparts loomed dark and solid above them.


    ¡°I fell into a stinking pile of horse shit. Whew! I couldn¡¯t attend the prince smelling like the stables.¡± As they walked into the deeper shadow of the rampart gates, lit by a single sentry¡¯s torch, he found himself shaking still. ¡°Next time those Ungrian soldiers will cripple some poor soul and never bother to look back to see what they¡¯ve wrought.¡±


    ¡°Here, now,¡± said Fulk, taken aback by his ferocity but obviously thrown well off the scent, ¡°it¡¯s a miracle you weren¡¯t trampled, falling like you did.¡±


    The passage through the ramparts took a sharp turn to the left, and to the right again, lit by torches. Sentries chatted above them, up on the walls from which they watched the passage below. One of the soldiers was singing a mournful tune, his song overwhelmed by the hubbub as they came into the central courtyard of the inner fort.


    The nobles were feasting in the hall, late into the summer night, in honor of St. Edward Lloyd, a cunning and pious Alban merchant who had brought the faith of the Unities as well as tin into the east. Zacharias heard singing and laughter and saw the rich glow of a score of lamps through the open doors. Servants rushed from the kitchens into the hall, bearing full platters and pitchers, and retreated with the scraps to feed the serving folk, the beggars, and the dogs.


    Fulk gave the bright hall scarcely a glance and headed straight for the stables, currently inhabited by the rest of Sanglant¡¯s personal guard and a sizable contingent of Ungrian cavalrymen. Wolfhere met them at the door.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t raining,¡± the old Eagle said, looking Zacharias up and down in that annoyingly supercilious way he had, as though he had guessed the means and nature of the injury and. found the frater wanting yet again.


    ¡°An accident.¡± The words grated, harsh and defensive.


    Wolfhere shrugged. ¡°This way, Captain. We got her porridge and ale, as the prince requested. She said she¡¯d rest and bathe after she¡¯d delivered her report.¡±


    Instead of heading up a ladder to the loft where the soldiers quartered, the old Eagle led them past stalls, about half of them stabling a horse and the rest storing arms, armor, or barrels of grain and ale, down to an empty stall where Heribert and Sergeant Cobbo hovered beside a tall, dark-haired, big-boned woman who had a stained Eagle¡¯s cloak thrown around her shoulders and a mug of ale at her lips.


    Was the floor heaving and buckling? His knees folded under him so fast that he had to brace himself against the wall to stay upright.


    ¡°Well met, Eagle.¡± Fulk stepped into the halo of lamplight. ¡°You¡¯ve ridden far.¡± Straw slipped under his boots as he moved forward and the Eagle, lowering her mug, stood up to greet him.


    Hathui.


    Only a strangled gasp escaped Zacharias¡¯ throat. He tugged at his hood, pulling it up to conceal his face, but she had already seen him. For the length of time it might take a skilled butcher to cut a calf¡¯s throat she stared at him, puzzled, her hawk¡¯s gaze as sharp as a spear¡¯s point. He was so changed that she did not know him. If he was careful, he could make sure that she would never know who he was, never be ashamed by what he had become. He turned to hide his face in the shadows.

 Page 24

    Her eyes widened as recognition flared. She dropped the mug. Ale spilled down her leggings; the mug hit and shattered on the plank floor. Her lips formed his name, but no sound came out. Staggering, she folded forward and fell as though she¡¯d been slugged and, reflexively, as he¡¯d always done when she was only his little sister and had got into trouble yet again, he leaped forward to catch her.


    She clutched him hard. ¡°Ai, God.¡± She was as tall as he was, with a strong grip and a rank smell. ¡°I thought you were dead.¡±


    I am dead. I am not the brother you knew. But he could not speak.


    ¡°God¡¯s mercy,¡± said Wolfhere softly, much surprised. ¡°I knew you had a brother, Hathui, who walked into the east as a frater and was lost. Can this man be the same one?¡±


    She wept, although she¡¯d never been one to weep as a child, scorning those who cried; her beloved older brother had been the only soul ever allowed to see her rare bouts of tears.


    ¡°Hush,¡± he said, remembering those days bitterly. Memories swept over him with such strength that he felt nauseated. Now she would know. Now she would despise him.


    ¡°I thought you were dead,¡± she repeated, voice hollow. Tears still coursed down her face, but her expression had changed, taut and determined, the hawk¡¯s glare focused again on its distant prey. ¡°All things are possible, if you are truly alive after all this time. My God, Zacharias, there is so much for us to speak of, but first I must deliver my news to the prince.¡±


    She nodded to the others and strode out of the stables. He was left behind to follow in her wake, fearing the worst: that she brought ill news, and that he had been called because Prince Sanglant intended to bring in the captive Quman and needed Zacharias to interpret. Yet why not? Let the worst be known at once, so that her repudiation of him would come now, the pain of her rejection suffered immediately. That was better than to be left lingering, malignant with hope.


    They pushed into the hall past servants and hangers-on, brushing aside a pack of hopeful dogs waiting for bones. Hathui walked with a pronounced limp, as if she had aggravated the old childhood injury that had left her with a slight hitch in her stride. Was it really almost two years ago when he had glimpsed her that day in Helmut Villam¡¯s presence? Zacharias had kept back in the shadows, and Hathui had not recognized him. Since that day, she¡¯d grown thin and weary and worn, and her sunken cheeks made her hawk¡¯s nose more prominent, bold and sharp. But when they pushed through the crowd and came before the high table where King Geza presided over the feast, she stood proudly in her patched Eagle¡¯s cloak and tattered clothing and spoke in the voice he remembered so well, confident and proud.


    ¡°My lord king of Ungria, may all be well in your kingdom. I pray you, forgive my abruptness.¡±


    The hall grew quiet as the feasting nobles settled down to listen. Sapientia sat in the seat of honor to Geza¡¯s right while Sanglant sat between the robust but gray-haired King Geza and Lady Ilona, a ripely handsome and fabulously rich Ungrian widow. Brother Breschius leaned down to whisper into Geza¡¯s ear as Hathui turned her attention to the royal siblings.


    ¡°Your Highness, Princess Sapientia, I come from Aosta bearing news. My lord prince, my lady, I have traveled a long and difficult road to reach you. It has taken me almost two years to come so far, and I have escaped death more than once.¡±


    Sanglant rose to his feet, holding a cup of wine. He wore a rich gold tunic embroidered with the sigil of the black dragon and finished with red braid, and his black hair had been trimmed back from his beardless face. No person could look at him and forget that his mother was not born of humankind.


    Yet neither could they forget that he was a prince, commander of the army that had defeated the Quman. Even, and especially, Sapientia, dressed in all the finery appropriate to a noblewoman, looked as insignificant as a goldfinch perched next to a mighty dragon.


    ¡°You bring ill news,¡± said Sanglant.


    Hathui almost choked on the words. ¡°I bring ill news, Your Highness, may God help us all. King Henry has been bewitched, ensorcelled with the connivance of his own queen and his trusted counselor. He lives as a prisoner in his own body. You are the only one who can save him.¡±


    2


    BLESSING had a disconcerting habit of leaning so far out tower windows that it seemed in the next instant she would fall, or fly.


    ¡°Look!¡± She had crawled up into the embrasure of an archer¡¯s loophole and was still¡ªbarely¡ªsmall enough to push into the narrow opening so that she could look down into the forecourt. ¡°My father has left the feasting hall. I don¡¯t like it when he makes me stay here, like I¡¯m in prison. Doesn¡¯t he have enough prisoners to lord it over? Why does he pick on me?¡±

 Page 25

    ¡°Your lord father does not like it when you behave as you did this morning,¡± said Anna for the tenth time that evening. ¡°When you act like a barbarian, then you must be treated as one.¡±


    Matto sat by the cold hearth, a lit lamp dangling above him. He had made use of the long and dreary afternoon to oil the young princess¡¯ harness until it gleamed. Looking up, he winked slyly, and Anna blushed, gratified and irritated at the same time.


    Blessing forced her shoulders through the loophole. Anna hastily grabbed her trailing feet just as the girl called out, words muffled by the stone. ¡°Who¡¯s that with him? It looks like an Eagle! He¡¯s coming back here!¡±


    Anna tugged, grunting, but Blessing was either stuck or was holding on. ¡°Matto!¡±


    He was more than happy to set down the harness and help her, because it gave him an excuse to put his arms around her as he grasped hold of Blessing¡¯s ankles as well. ¡°Your Highness!¡± he said. ¡°I pray you, do not get stuck in there or we will be the ones who will face your father¡¯s anger.¡±


    There was a pause.


    Blessing wriggled backward, half slid down the stair-step embrasure, and hopped to the carpeted floor. Despite everything, the girl had a profound sense of fairness and did not like to see her attendants blamed for her misadventures.


    ¡°Well, there is an Eagle with him,¡± she said defiantly. ¡°I don¡¯t know where she came from, or how she could have found us out here in Ungria. I hate Ungria.¡±


    ¡°We all know you hate Ungria, Your Highness,¡± said Anna wearily, allowing herself to lean against Matto¡¯s broad chest. His hand tightened on her shoulder.


    ¡°Thiemo won¡¯t like that.¡± Blessing had a sweet face still, although she stood as tall as many a nine- or ten-year-old child, but her expression was sharpened by a spark of malicious glee as she bared her teeth in something resembling a grin. ¡°I hear him coming up the stairs now.¡±


    Anna stepped out from under Matto¡¯s arm.


    ¡°I¡¯m not afraid of him!¡± Matto muttered as the latch flipped up.


    The door had a hitch to it, and the floor was warped, so it took Thiemo a moment to shove it open. To be safe, Anna took two more steps away from Matto.


    ¡°My lord prince is returning,¡± said Thiemo, addressing Blessing. ¡°Your Highness.¡± His gaze quickly assessed Anna, and Matto, and the distance between them, and then he grinned winsomely at Anna, the smile that always made her dizzy. How could it be that a lord like Thiemo even noticed a common-born girl with skin stained nutbrown from the tanning pits?


    Blessing¡¯s tunic was twisted around from climbing. As Anna helped the girl to straighten herself and found a comb to brush her untidy hair, Thiemo and Matto gathered up the harness, neatened up the chamber, and did not speak one word to each other. The two young men had never been friends, since the gulf in their stations did not truly permit such intimacy, but had once been friendly companions in Blessing¡¯s service. Not anymore.


    The clamor of footsteps and voices echoed up from below. Lamplight glimmered and, all at once, fully a dozen people crowded into the tower chamber. Blessing scrambled up to hide in the stair-step embrasure, crouching there like a sweetly featured gargoyle with Thiemo and Matto standing as guards to either side of the opening. Anna retreated to the hearth while Prince Sanglant and his noble companions and loyal followers took up places around the chamber. His sister seated herself at the table with her faithful companion Lady Brigida at her side and the others ranged about the room, standing respectfully or sitting comfortably on the bed or the other bench, according to their station. It was the usual retinue: Lady Bertha of Austra, Brother Heribert, Wolfhere, that nasty Brother Zacharias, whose robes were damp, Captain Fulk, kind Brother Breschius, even-tempered Lord Druthmar, who commanded a contingent of Villam cavalry, and the one they all called the Rutting Beast, the notorious Lord Wichman. The only Ungrian present was Istvan, a noble if rather grim captain who, like Brother Breschius, had thrown his loyalty to Sanglant after Prince Bayan¡¯s death at the Veser. Anna had expected to see the prince¡¯s mistress, Lady Ilona, whose favorite gown Blessing had so thoroughly ruined this morning, but evidently she did not hold an intimate enough rank within the prince¡¯s personal circle to be invited into this private assembly.


    Sanglant paced, wearing a path from the door to the window and back again, but his attention remained fixed on the battered Eagle who had been given Anna¡¯s stool for a seat, the only common-born person in the room not on her feet. This was no arrogant privilege granted her by reason of her Eagle¡¯s status; she looked too exhausted to stand on her own. But although her shoulders drooped, her keen gaze did not waver from the prince¡¯s restless figure.

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    ¡°So it¡¯s true,¡± Sanglant said at last. ¡°Wolfhere glimpsed the truth with his Eagle¡¯s Sight, but we had no way to confirm what he had seen.¡± He glanced at Wolfhere, who regarded the other Eagle with a thoughtful frown, as though the news she had brought were nothing more troubling than the screech of a jay.


    ¡°We must march on Aosta at once!¡± cried Sapientia.


    Sanglant barely glanced at her, nor did she try to interrupt him when he spoke. ¡°With what magic will we combat those who have imprisoned the king? Nay. This changes nothing, and in truth only makes our course more clear. We must continue east. That is the only way to defeat our enemies.¡±


    ¡°But, Your Highness,¡± objected the Eagle, ¡°I have been already two years seeking you. How can we know what has befallen King Henry in that time? He is hidden to my Eagle¡¯s Sight. He may be dead. They may do any foul deed to him that they wish!¡±


    ¡°And so may they continue to do,¡± said Heribert quietly. ¡°I have seen the power of the sorcery they wield. We cannot fight it with spears or swords.¡±


    ¡°But, Your Highness,¡± pleaded the Eagle, ¡°if you ride east, into unknown country and the lands where the Quman breed, it may be years until you return to Wendar. What will happen to your father meanwhile?¡± She knelt at the prince¡¯s feet, her presence forcing him to stand still.


    ¡°They need Henry alive in order to rule through him,¡± said Sanglant. ¡°His Wendish armies will desert Adelheid and her advisers if Henry dies. The nobles and their retinues will return to Wendar without the king to lead them.¡±


    ¡°There is the child, Your Highness.¡± The Eagle¡¯s voice was soft, but Sapientia all at once burst into noisy exclamations.


    ¡°Abandoned! Set aside! And for a toddling brat!¡±


    Wichman snorted, but fell silent at a glance from the prince.


    ¡°It is true that the child can become queen in Henry¡¯s place, but she cannot yet be three years of age.¡± Sanglant looked toward the embrasure where his unnatural daughter had concealed herself in the shadows of the window¡¯s stone archway. Blessing was not more than three years old, but she appeared so much older that King Geza had suggested to Sanglant that he betroth her to Geza¡¯s favorite child, a brash fifteen-year-old boy whom many whispered had been all but anointed as heir despite having a dozen older brothers.


    ¡°Regents have ruled through three-year-old children before, Your Highness,¡± said Wolfhere. ¡°This girl, Mathilda, would no doubt be easier to control than a mature man of Henry¡¯s stature and experience.¡±


    ¡°Are you suggesting we give up our quest?¡±


    ¡°Nay, I do not, my lord prince, but I implore you to listen carefully to what Hathui has seen and heard. I trained her myself, and King Henry saw her worth and raised her up to stand at his right hand as a trusted adviser.¡±


    Sanglant¡¯s lips twitched, as though he wasn¡¯t sure whether to smile or frown. ¡°Just as you stood beside my grandfather, King Arnulf?¡±


    Wolfhere shrugged, unwilling to be drawn into an argument so old that Anna could only guess at its contours. Intimately involved as she was in the care of Blessing, she often witnessed the interactions between Sanglant and his closest counselors. Despite Wolfhere¡¯s status as a respected elder, she had seen tempers flare and accusations thrown like knives.


    Sanglant returned his gaze to the younger Eagle. ¡°I do not question your loyalty to my father, Hathui. You have proved it by riding so far to seek my help.¡±


    ¡°What of the king?¡± she demanded.


    ¡°To fight the rebellious lords of Aosta, to fight the Jinna bandits and the Arethousan usurpers, it seems to me they must have Henry to lead the army. Why kill him if they can control him with sorcery? Why control him with sorcery if they felt powerful enough to kill him and still keep the crown of Wendar on the child¡¯s head? Nay, let us pray that my father lives, and that his queen and her counselors will keep him alive until the child is old enough to stand up at the war council herself.¡± He glanced again toward the embrasure, but the shadows hid his daughter from view. Only her eyes winked there, two sparks of fire. ¡°We cannot fight the sorcerers unless we have a hope of winning, and we have no hope of winning unless we can protect ourselves against their magic.¡±


    ¡°Griffin feathers,¡± murmured Zacharias. His face was flushed, and he was perspiring.


    ¡°I fear the Kerayit will not care about Wendish troubles, Your Highness,¡± said Breschius softly. ¡°They may not choose to aid you.¡±


    ¡°So you have said before. I do not neglect your counsel, Brother. But Anne¡¯s plotting threatens the Kerayit as much as any people. No place on earth will be safe.¡±

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    ¡°And we could all die tomorrow,¡± added Lady Bertha cheerfully.


    Wichman guffawed, caught sight of Anna, and gave her a wink. She shifted nervously. He had tried to grope her once, although Sanglant had put a stop to it, but the duchess¡¯ unruly son still made her uneasy.


    ¡°Set aside for a babe in arms!¡± muttered Sapientia. Yet it had been months since anyone had paid much attention to her, and although she still had the luster of the royal blood, she had faded in an intangible way, like silver left unpolished. ¡°Did the Wendish nobles not hear my father confirm me as heir? How can they bow before an infant in Aosta?¡±


    ¡°What of Wendar itself, my lord prince?¡± Hathui asked.


    He paced to the door, pausing there with his back to the assembly.


    ¡°I should return to Wendar!¡± cried Sapientia.


    ¡°I wonder if my sisters still quarrel over Saony,¡± remarked Wichman, ¡°and if Ekkehard has managed to stick his key into his wife¡¯s treasure chest yet.¡±


    Sanglant ignored these comments as he replied to the Eagle. ¡°I commanded a cohort of Lions to attend Theophanu. I sent many levies of fighters back to their farms. As you can see, I rode east with less than a thousand soldiers. Two thirds of the army we had at the Veser no longer rides with me. They must defend Wendar until I return.¡±


    ¡°Can they?¡± Grimacing with pain and favoring a leg. Hathui rose to stand defiantly in the middle of the room. ¡°Do you know what I have seen in the two years I have traveled, struggling to reach you, my lord prince?¡±


    From no other common-born person might a noble lord hear such a tone, but it had long been understood that Eagles had to have a certain amount of freedom to speak their mind if their information was to be of any use to their regnant. She went on without asking his leave.


    ¡°Salia lies torn apart by civil war, plague, and drought. Bandits lurk along every road. I heard little news of Varre as I rode through Wayland, and received nothing but scorn from the retainers of Conrad the Black. It is said that he celebrated Penitire in Mainni as if he were king, with Sabella¡¯s daughter Tallia beside him as his new wife. Avaria has been swept by plague. I rode through more than one empty hamlet, and as many where the path was blocked by fallen trees and villagers standing there with scythes and shovels to guard themselves from any who might bring the contagion into their homes.


    ¡°Princess Theophanu refuses to name any of Duchess Rotrudis¡¯ children as heir to the duchy of Saony, but both the daughters have threatened to seek Conrad¡¯s aid to gain the ducal seat.¡±


    ¡°Two sows rooting in the mud while the boar looks on!¡±


    ¡°I pray you, Wichman,¡± said Sanglant, ¡°let the Eagle finish her report without interruption.¡±


    Hathui continued. ¡°Cousins fight among themselves to gain lands and titles come free because there have been so many deaths in the recent wars. Riding through the marchlands, I saw fields withered by drought. I saw children laid low by famine, with their stomachs swollen and their eyes sunk in like those of corpses. In Eastfall, it rained every day for two months straight and black rot destroyed half their stores of rye. Heretics preach a story of a phoenix offering redemption. It is no wonder that people listen. The common folk fear that the end of the world is coming.¡±


    Wichman laughed. ¡°What evil does not plague Wendar?¡±


    Hathui was not so easily cowed. ¡°I have heard no report of locusts, my lord, nor has there been any news of Eika raids along the northern shores these past two years.¡±


    ¡°A spitfire! Do your claws come out in bed, too?¡±


    Impatiently, she turned back to Prince Sanglant. ¡°Princess Theophanu has sent three Eagles to Aosta and heard no answer from her father in reply to her pleas for help. I crossed paths with a fourth¡ª¡± Anger creased her lips, quickly fled. ¡°¡ªlast summer, who rode south to seek the king. I saw with my Eagle¡¯s Sight that she crossed the Alfar Mountains safely this spring, but as soon as she came near to Darre she was lost in the sorcerer¡¯s veil.


    ¡°Conrad of Wayland acts as if he is king, not duke. Yolanda of Varingia is embroiled in the Salian wars. Biscop Constance remains silent in Arconia. Liutgard of Fesse and Burchard of Avaria ride at Henry¡¯s side in Aosta. Saony has no duke. Theophanu cannot act with the meager forces she has at her disposal. Who will save Wendar, my lord prince? Who will save the king?¡±


    Sanglant said nothing. Within the embrasure, Blessing shifted, feet rubbing on stone. Sapientia wept quietly while Brigida comforted her. The others waited. Anna glanced over toward the window to see both Thiemo and Matto looking at her. Heat scalded her cheeks, and she looked down. What would happen if they came to blows? Would Prince Sanglant banish them for creating trouble? She didn¡¯t want to lose either of them, but matters could not remain in this tense stalemate. She was going to have to choose. And she didn¡¯t want to.

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    ¡°You have the army and the leadership, my lord prince,¡± continued Hathui. ¡°Turn your army home.¡±


    ¡°I cannot.¡±


    ¡°You can! Henry left Wendar in a time of trial. If he had stayed in Wendar, he would not have become bewitched. He ought to have stayed in Wendar and not ridden off to Aosta in search of a crown. And neither should you!¡±


    ¡°I am not riding to Aosta in search of a crown.¡± Anna heard the edge creep into the prince¡¯s voice that meant the Eagle¡¯s words had angered him, but perhaps the Eagle did not care, or did not know him well enough, to heed the warning.


    ¡°But you are riding east, in search of other tokens of power. Some have named you as a rebel against your father. I see for myself that you have usurped your sister¡¯s command of this army.¡±


    Silence, cold and deadly.


    Yet wasn¡¯t it true? Even though nobody said so?


    A sharp snap caused everyone to jump, but it was only Wolfhere treading on a twig carried up to the room in the crowd. Lord Wichman chuckled, looking at Sapientia to see what she would do, thus challenged. Lady Bertha folded her arms across her chest, her smile thin and wicked.


    Sapientia stared up at her elder brother, waiting. In a strange way, thought Anna, Prince Bayan had trained her to listen to him and wait for his approval before acting or reacting. Now she looked to Sanglant in the same way. Over the last three years she had been broken of the habit of leading.


    ¡°I have done what I must.¡± The hoarse scrape of his voice lent a note of urgency and passion to his words; but then, he always sounded like that. ¡°I have never rebelled against my father. Nor will I. But the war is not won yet. Adelheid and her supporters have traded in the king for a pawn who speaks with the king¡¯s voice but without Henry¡¯s will. Who will act as regnant now? I say, the one who can save him by acting against Anne and her sorcerers.¡±


    Heribert cleared his throat and spoke diffidently. ¡°Do not forget that Anne sits on the skopos¡¯ throne. She is no mere ¡®Sister.¡¯ She is Holy Mother over us all. To go against her, my lord prince, you must war against the church itself.¡±


    ¡°Even those who call themselves holy may be agents of the Enemy,¡± murmured Wolfhere.


    ¡°As you well know,¡± replied Sanglant with a mordant laugh, moving restlessly toward the table. ¡°Is there wine?¡±


    ¡°Return to Wendar, my lord prince,¡± said Hathui stubbornly. ¡°Raise an army, and ride to Aosta to save the king. I beg you.¡±


    He allowed Heribert to pour him a full cup of wine, which he drained. ¡°No.¡± He set down the cup so hard that the base rang hollowly on the wooden table. ¡°I ride east, to hunt griffins.¡±


    3


    AFTER the conference with the king¡¯s Eagle, Sanglant made his way to the privacy of Lady Ilona¡¯s bedchamber. Her four attendants slept soundly on pallets lined up along the far wall, and Ilona lay naked on her stomach among the tangled bedclothes. Smiling slightly, she watched him as he stripped, then raised an eyebrow when he went to the unshuttered window instead of coming immediately to her bed.


    ¡°What are you thinking?¡± she asked.


    Sanglant lingered by the window, staring east, yet all he saw was stars and campfires and, beyond them, unknown country lost in darkness. The moon had not yet risen. The night was mild, the breeze a caress against his skin. ¡°That my daughter is impossible.¡±


    ¡°She is only jealous. She wants you to herself. She does not like this attention you pay to a woman. It was only one gown. I have others.¡±


    ¡°You are very forgiving.¡±


    ¡°No. I am patient. She grows quickly, your daughter. Soon enough she will become a woman, and she will desire men herself.¡±


    ¡°Oh, God,¡± he groaned.


    ¡°Then you will be jealous,¡± she said with a chuckle, ¡°because you will no longer be first in her heart. She will be torn between father and lover. If she is wise and fortunate, she will choose to follow her own destiny in the end, not that of a man.¡±


    ¡°I am chastened,¡± he replied, clapping a hand over his heart. ¡°Now I realize that you have not given that gown a second thought, although its fate has been nagging at me all day. What are you thinking of, then?¡±


    She smiled, stretching. The single lamp gave off enough light for him to admire the mole on her left hip, the curve of her buttocks, and a glimpse of rosy nipple as she shifted. With an exaggerated sigh, drawn out and almost musical, she rolled up onto her side. He felt the familiar stirring, heat suffusing his skin.


    He had met the persuasive widow last autumn, when they had finally arrived at King Geza¡¯s court in Erztegom. She had propositioned him within a week of their first encounter, but it wasn¡¯t until the winter, when they were confined by a succession of blizzards within the town walls, that he had finally allowed her to seduce him. The arrangement had lasted through the spring.

 Page 29

    He crossed the room to sit on the bed.


    ¡°I am thinking of the sorrow in my heart,¡± she said warmly, ¡°now that we journey close to the borderlands.¡±


    ¡°Are you sorry I¡¯m leaving?¡±


    ¡°But of course! Now that you are leaving they are at me again, all those grasping relatives! Marry this lord! Marry that lord! Don¡¯t be selfish with your wealth and independence! How good it was when they could not insult me with their offers because they feared to anger you!¡±


    He grinned, twining a strand of her copper hair between his fingers. ¡°You could enter a convent.¡±


    ¡°I think not! All this praying would be very bad for my knees. I am very careful of my knees. Among my people it is said that after too much kneeling, you can no longer ride a horse.¡±


    ¡°Then will you let your uncle choose a husband for you?¡±


    ¡°That old fool! It is very lucky he cannot touch my inheritance, or he would have married me himself even if the church would call him a whore for it. Is that the right word?¡±


    He withdrew his hand from her hair. ¡°That would be incest.¡±


    ¡°So it would. I am thinking of marrying the one they call the White Stallion, Prince Arhad¡¯s eldest son by the Arethousan woman.¡±


    ¡°Ah. The lady with the white-blonde hair.¡±


    ¡°Yes, that one. Why is it that men find her so fascinating? Already she is an old woman, at least forty. I cannot see it.¡±


    ¡°Women can be beautiful in many different ways.¡± He traced the shape of her body from the shoulder, along the dip of her waist, and up along the ample curve of her hip. Her copper-colored hair and lush figure did not make him think of Liath each time he set eyes on her. Ilona had her own exceedingly pleasant charms.


    She stretched to savor the touch of his hand. ¡°Men who find so many women beautiful in so many different ways are the ones who break their hearts and steal their treasure!¡±


    ¡°Ilona, has any man ever broken your heart?¡±


    ¡°Of course not!¡±


    ¡°Or stolen your treasure?¡±


    ¡°Do not laugh at me, you heartless man. My mother chose my first husband very carefully!¡± She burst into the laughter he found so attractive. ¡°When she found us in bed together! It was a good thing he was the son of a princely family. Alas that he died so young. My second husband smelled bad. I am determined not to make this mistake two times.¡±


    ¡°Thus the White Stallion? He¡¯s handsome enough, a good fighter, young, and he looks clean and maybe he even smells good.¡± That was another thing he liked about Ilona: she smelled good. She burned perfumed oils in the lamps that lit her chamber, oil of violets, if she had them, or vervain or sage. Tonight a garland of sweet woodruff hung on a nail above the window, stirred by the soft breeze. Even from this distance he could smell its dusky scent.


    ¡°He is not so powerful in Geza¡¯s court that he will think he can rule me. I do not like to be ruled.¡± She shifted onto her back and eased herself up onto the bolster that lay along the head of the bed, resting her head on a bent arm. ¡°You would make a bad husband for me, Sanglant.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not the first to have said so.¡±


    She laughed again and let her free hand caress his shoulder. ¡°Ah, yes. What was I going to say?¡± She seemed distracted by the feel of his skin, and certainly the way she stroked him made it difficult for him to pay attention to her words. ¡°Of course. The White Stallion. My mother as a girl spent three years among the veiled priestesses. They serve the Blind Mother, who is one of the gods worshiped by those who follow the old ways. My mother would be amused to think that even though I abandoned her ways to embrace the God in Unity, I will have brought a man called by the name of the Blind Mother¡¯s companion to serve in my bed.¡±


    By this time he had relaxed onto one elbow, beside her, but the comment made him sit bolt upright. ¡°Do you mean that when a white stallion is sacrificed at midwinter, he is going to be husband to the Blind Mother? That is not how I heard the ritual explained.¡±


    ¡°You heard what the men say. This is what the women know. Our grandmothers brought the old ways from the grasslands when we came to Ungria four generations ago. Out in the wild lands, the Kerayit shaman women still take a handsome young man as a companion, to keep their bed warm.¡±


    ¡°As a slave, Brother Breschius told me. A pura, which means ¡®horse¡¯ in the Kerayit speech.¡± For an instant, Sanglant had the uneasy feeling that Ilona had been playing with him all along, these past months, as though she were pretending that he were her pura. Maybe she wasn¡¯t as fond of him as he had become of her. But it was impossible to guess anything when she laughed like that, and maybe it didn¡¯t really matter.

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    ¡°The White Stallion, the pura, is also a sacrifice, for the well being of the tribe. Be careful that the Kerayit women do not demand you for a pura, Sanglant, in exchange for their help to defeat your western sorcerers. Because there will be a price. The Kerayit and their masters make no bargain without exacting a steep price in return.¡±


    4


    ¡°I¡¯M afraid to go to sleep.¡± Hathui clutched Zacharias¡¯ hand as they sat together on the lip of the stone water trough set in the broad courtyard in front of the stables. ¡°When I wake up, you might not be here any more.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be here.¡± He wanted to weep. How could he be so happy, reunited with his beloved sister, and yet so terrified? ¡°I won¡¯t be going anywhere.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I thought you were dead,¡± she replied, lips curving in an ironic smile. The moon had finally risen, chasing scattered clouds, and because he knew her expressions so well he could interpret them although there wasn¡¯t really enough light to see her clearly. ¡°Not very faithful of me.¡±


    ¡°Nay, do not say so. You couldn¡¯t have known.¡±


    Her hand tightened on his as she stared across the silent courtyard. A spear¡¯s throw away, two guards walked the ramparts. Their figures paused beside a torch set in a tripod above the gate; the flickering firelight glimmered on their helmets. ¡°Zacharias, can I trust him? Is he worth giving my loyalty to, until the king is restored?¡±


    ¡°What other choice do you have, except to return to Aosta?¡±


    ¡°I can go to Princess Theophanu. That¡¯s what Hanna said I should do. Had I done it last summer, when I met Hanna, we might be in Aosta with an army by now.¡±


    He shuffled his feet in the dirt, blotting the lines where a servant had raked away manure and litter earlier that evening. The smell of horse lay heavily over them. Nearby a dog barked, then fell silent when a man scolded it. He saw the dog suddenly, a dark shape scrambling along the rampart in the company of a guard, its leash pulled taut. Choking him.


    He rubbed his throat as the nasty whispers surfaced in his mind. She would hate him when she found out the truth. She would despise him, which would be worse. It was bad enough being a coward, but he could not bear it if she turned away from him with contempt.


    ¡°Yet who else?¡± she asked, unaware of his silence, his struggle, his agony. ¡°Who else can save Henry? Who can fight Hugh of Austra, and Holy Mother Anne? Princess Sapientia is like a lapdog, suffered to eat and bark but kept on a chain. She cannot lead this army. Yet what can Princess Theophanu do against Hugh of Austra¡¯s sorcery? She fell under his spell once before. She might do so again.¡±


    He did not need to answer, simply to listen as she worked her way through her own argument. She wasn¡¯t really asking for his advice; she was trying to convince herself because she was desperate.


    ¡°Sister Rosvita told me to come here. She must have known the prince¡¯s worth. She must have had a reason. She has served the king loyally, and wisely. What else do I have to go on?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d better sleep. The path will show more clearly in the morning.¡± Up on the ramparts, the guard dog growled. A person emerged from the stable carrying a candle; its light splashed shadows around them. Without turning, he knew who had come to look for her.


    ¡°Hathui? You¡¯d best sleep.¡± Wolfhere sounded concerned, even affectionate. All those humiliating years while Zacharias had lived as a slave among the Quman, Wolfhere had trained and ridden with Hathui, her mentor among the Eagles. She respected Wolfhere; she¡¯d said so herself, as they¡¯d eaten in the soldiers¡¯ barracks after being dismissed from the prince¡¯s chamber.


    She would never respect her own dear brother, not once she knew the truth.


    She let go of Zacharias¡¯ hand. ¡°True enough, old man. So many times in the past months I despaired of finding Prince Sanglant. Yet now that I¡¯m here, my path seems just as troubled. Where will it end? Have you an answer?¡±


    ¡°You say it was Sister Rosvita who sent you to find my lord prince,¡± the old Eagle answered. ¡°She is a wise woman, and a faithful counselor to King Henry. Stay with us, Hathui. That is the only way to save Henry.¡±


    She grunted, half a chuckle, rising to her feet with a grimace. ¡°Spoken by the man whom King Henry put under ban. You¡¯ve never liked him.¡±


    ¡°Nay. I¡¯ve never disliked him. It is Henry who did not trust me.¡±


    ¡°Wisely,¡± muttered Zacharias, but neither heard him. Hathui had already begun moving away, pausing when she realized he wasn¡¯t following her.

 Page 31

    ¡°Where do you sleep, Zachri?¡± she asked, using the pet name she¡¯d called him when she was too young to fit his entire name to her tongue.


    ¡°Elsewhere,¡± he said softly, hoping Wolfhere would not hear. It hurt to hear her use that fond old name. He was no longer her cherished older brother, the one she followed everywhere. He was no better than the dogs, sleeping wherever he found a corner to curl up in. No one tolerated him enough that he had a regular pallet¡ªor perhaps it was more fair to say that Anna could not stand him, he could not himself bear to sleep near Wolfhere, and the camaraderie of the soldiers grew painful after a few nights. He could only exist on the edge, never in the heart.


    She came back to hug him. ¡°There¡¯s room enough in the stall where I¡¯ve been given straw¡ª¡±


    ¡°Nay, nay,¡± he said hastily. Tears stung his eyes. ¡°Go to sleep, Hathui. I¡¯ll see you in the morning.¡±


    She remained there a few breaths longer, staring at him in the hazy halo of light wavering off Wolfhere¡¯s candle. She was trying to understand his hesitation, knowing him well enough to see that there was something wrong. But she could not yet see what he had become. She still saw the older brother who had walked proudly into the east to bring the light of the Unities to the barbarians. How could she know that he had become lost in the umbra? That he had compromised his honor, submitted to the worst indignities, and licked the feet of those who owned him, in order to stay alive? It was only when they had threatened to cut out his tongue that he had fled. Shouldn¡¯t he have offered up his tongue, his very life, before he had sacrificed his faith and his honor?


    ¡°You look tired, Zacharias,¡± she said at last, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. ¡°You should sleep, too. I¡¯ll be looking for you at first light, to make sure you aren¡¯t a dream.¡±


    She went inside the stables with Wolfhere. The light fled. So small a thing had the candle¡¯s flame been, to cast so harsh a light onto his soul.


    When she found out the truth, she would hate him. And she would find out the truth in the end, because the one person who knew everything still traveled with Sanglant¡¯s army and had no better way to amuse himself. He would know. He would see Zacharias¡¯ weakness, his fears, and his hopes. He would destroy Zacharias¡¯ last chance for redemption, as long as he still lived.


    Zacharias got to his feet and staggered like an old man to the door of the stable. It was dark inside, Wolfhere¡¯s candle vanished entirely, although he heard a murmur of voices that faded. Half of the stalls were empty; at this time of year, and in a peaceful city, many of the horses had been put out to pasture beyond the inner walls. But soldiers stored other things here as well.


    Groping, as quietly as he could, he found a stout spear leaning with its brothers in a stall. He slipped his fingers around it, eased it free, and crept out of the stable. Hands trembling, breath coming in gasps, he hugged the shadows, having to steady himself on the butt of the spear every time his knees started to give out. The haft kept wanting to spring right out of his grasp, but he clutched it tightly.


    He would not lose Hathui, not after losing everything else.


    Beside the great hall lay the old keep, said by the locals to have been built in the time of the ancient Dariyans, although Heribert had firmly proclaimed that it could not possibly have been built by Dariyan engineers: the technique and stonework were too crude. With a new hall and stables now built inside the ring fort¡¯s restored walls, the old keep was considered too drafty and damp for the king and his court. But stone made good prison walls.


    The two Ungrian soldiers standing guard at the entrance to the keep knew him by sight and let him pass. Up the winding stairs lay the tower rooms where King Geza kept certain prisoners who traveled with him wherever he went¡ªhis first wife, an unrepentant pagan whom he had divorced on his conversion to the Daisanite faith and whom he was forced to hold hostage so that her angry kinfolk did not murder him for the insult; an Arethousan priest who had poisoned a young Ungrian princeling but whom Geza dared not execute because of the priest¡¯s connections to the Arethousan royal court; an albino boy who was either a witch or a saint, too crazy to be allowed to roam about on his own and too valuable to be given into anyone else¡¯s care.


    Others, too, slept confined in chambers, but they weren¡¯t the dangerous ones, only hostages. Usually the dangerous ones were killed outright.


    As he should have been killed, the day they captured him.


    Zacharias used the butt of the spear to feel his way down the curving stairs to the lower level, where stone foundations plumbed the ground. It was cooler here, damp, smelling of mold and decay.

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    ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± asked the guard in Wendish, rising from the stool where he waited out the night in the dank, dark dungeon. An oil lamp hung from a ring set into the wall. The light barely illuminated the hole cut into the plank floor and the ladder lying on the planks beside it. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s just you, Brother. What brings you here so late?¡±


    Would his trembling hands and sweating brow give him away? He must not falter now. His glib tongue had always saved him before.


    ¡°My lord prince has sent me to interrogate the prisoner.¡±


    ¡°In the middle of the night?¡±


    He raised a finger to his lips and beckoned the soldier closer, so that they wouldn¡¯t wake the prisoner. ¡°Malbert, when did you come on watch? Did you hear that an Eagle rode in?¡±


    ¡°An Eagle? Nay, I¡¯ve heard no such news. From Princess Theophanu? News of Wendar?¡± Malbert came from the northern coast of Wendar, near Gent, and was always eager for news of the region where he¡¯d grown up.


    ¡°Nay, she brings news from Aosta. King Henry is ill. He¡¯s being poisoned by sorcery.¡±


    ¡°God save him!¡±


    ¡°Prince Sanglant doesn¡¯t know whether to ride east or return to Aosta. I¡¯m to ask the prisoner again of the eastern lands. See if he¡¯ll talk, give us any information.¡±


    Malbert snorted. ¡°As if he would! He¡¯ll laugh at you.¡± But not for long.


    ¡°If he¡¯s groggy from sleep, he might reveal something. How many days to the eastern swamps. Where the griffins hunt.¡±


    ¡°Hasn¡¯t the prince come to listen and watch? Where is he?¡±


    ¡°Well. Well. Just where most men wish they were in the dead of night. Heh, yes. He¡¯s gone to his bed.¡±


    Malbert grinned. ¡°I wish I were in as sweet a bed as he¡¯s in now. But I can¡¯t come down with you. You know the rule.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s better if he thinks I¡¯m alone. I¡¯ve got this spear with me to keep him honest.¡±


    He bit his tongue to hold back the frantic words that wanted to spill out: to silence him.


    That was the only way. Hathui must never know.


    Malbert had an open face and was himself too honest not to let his skepticism show. They all knew how disgracefully Zacharias had behaved in a skirmish before. ¡°So you say. I¡¯ll keep watch from above.¡±


    They slid the ladder down through the hole until it rested on the dirt beneath. Malbert held the lamp over the opening to light Zacharias¡¯ descent. With the spear tucked under one arm, he climbed down into the pit.


    Although the prince had had the pit swept clean the day they had arrived here, it still stank of garbage, urine, and feces. Dirt squeaked under his feet as Zacharias steadied himself. Malbert lowered a second, newly lit oil lamp to hang from a hook hammered into the underside of the plank floor. Drops of water beaded on the stone walls, dripping onto the soil. The stink of closed-in air almost choked him, but hatred drove him on.


    The prisoner lay silent, still asleep, on a heap of straw. Chains draped his recumbent body, iron links fastened to the wall. Without chains he was too dangerous, so the prince had discovered. No matter that Zacharias had warned him. Two servants had died and three soldiers been injured in that first and only escape attempt one month after the battle at the Veser. Yet even the heavy chains did not weaken him. They barely contained him.


    Do it now, while the fever burned. Do it for Hathui, so she need never know. So she need never spit in her brother¡¯s face.


    Sweat dripped in his eyes and tickled the back of his neck. Flushed, heart pounding as though he were running, he stumbled forward. Triumph flooded him as his hands wrapped tight around the haft of the spear and he thrust hard at the exposed back of the man lying in the straw.


    He should have done this long ago.


    Lithe as a serpent, the shadowed figure twisted, and his manacled forearm batted the spear aside. The point drove into the dirt beneath the straw. Quick as a striking snake, he grabbed the haft with his right hand and with his left wrapped the chains shackling his arms around the point. Linked by the shaft of wood, the two men stared at each other. A smile quivered on Bulkezu¡¯s lips as he slithered to his feet, confined only by the limit of his chains.


    The wound that had torn a flap of skin half off his cheek had healed remarkably well, but the ragged scar marred his beauty. No one could possibly look at him now and wonder how a man so handsome could be so monstrous. It had never been true that God so wrought the world that those things They lavished loving care on by granting them beauty were, because of their beautiful nature, therefore also good. Sometimes you met evil in the guise of beauty. You had to be careful.

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    ¡°So the worm comes with a long knife to poke at the lion.¡±


    Bulkezu thrust. Propelled backward, Zacharias hit the opposite wall, first his back, then his head colliding with cold stone. His shriek was cut short as the butt of the spear, still with his own hands clutching it, jammed hard into his gut, pinning him against the wall.


    ¡°Impotent worm,¡± said Bulkezu in his soft voice. Now that he had hold of one end of the spear, he could reach anywhere in the cell. ¡°But worms aren¡¯t men, they¡¯re only worms. They can¡¯t even bark like dogs or rut like them, can they?¡±


    How he hated that voice, and the bubbling laughter, sweet with delight and with the cunning madness that had made Bulkezu the greatest chieftain of his day, that had allowed him to unite many of the Quman tribes into an army with which to ravage Wendar. All he could do was grasp the haft more tightly.


    If he let go, it was all over.


    Adjusting his grip, bending slightly at his knees, Bulkezu lifted Zacharias from the floor and slammed him against the wall again. A second time the Quman pitched him against the stone as Zacharias screamed with anger and pain.


    Malbert¡¯s face appeared above like some sort of angel illuminated by the lamp¡¯s glow. He shouted down unintelligible words as Bulkezu kept battering Zacharias against the wall and Zacharias kept holding on.


    Was that the sound of footsteps, clattering on the floor above? Impossible to tell. Again and again, Bulkezu slammed him against the wall as spots sparked like fire before Zacharias¡¯ eyes and sound roared in his ears. A stone fell from above, then a second, but the angle was wrong, the trapdoor set too far to one side. The guards could not reach Bulkezu as he battered Zacharias against the wall again, and again. Yet was that frustration growing in the monster¡¯s laugh?


    If he could only hold on a moment longer. He had escaped the Quman in the first place simply by holding on, by not giving up. He had to remember that.


    A new voice rang above the fray.


    ¡°Zacharias!¡±


    Horror gripped him, and his throat burned as bile rose.


    Hathui would witness it all.


    Again, Bulkezu thrust, and Zacharias smashed into the stone behind him, but this time when his head hit his vision hazed and darkened. The shaft of the spear slid out of his weakening grip. His legs no longer held him up. He toppled over, hit the ground and, as his sight faded, he braced himself for the final, killing thrust.


    5


    HE could not sleep. Again. Not even the soft bed and the voluptuous woman breathing softly beside him, her full breasts pressed against his arm, could soothe his agitated thoughts tonight. He slipped from the bed as quietly as he could, pulled on his tunic, swept up leggings and belt and court shoes from the bench where they had been left in a heap. Ilona did not wake. She never did, when he was restless¡ªnot as Liath had, attentive to his moods¡ªor perhaps she only pretended to sleep, having got what she wanted out of him and being unwilling to give more of herself than her body.


    She was loyal to Ungria, not to him, loyal to her estates and her young children, who would inherit her portion when the time came. No reason she should offer him her heart, her confidences, any intimacy beyond that shared in the bed, two lonely people finding release.


    For some reason it bothered him mightily that, as much as she enjoyed his company, she seemed to harbor no actual love nor even any particular companionable affection for him at all.


    One of her servingwomen woke and, with barely a glance at him, no more than a respectful bob to acknowledge his princely rank, opened the door to let him out. In this same way she would let out a scratching dog.


    He walked barefoot down the hall, down the stairs, feeling his way by touch to the entrance to the great hall. The feast had ended. Men snored in the hall, reeking of drink and urine. A dog growled, and he growled right back, silencing it.


    The whole world seemed asleep, able to rest¡ªas he could not.


    Yet that wasn¡¯t all that was bothering him. Something wasn¡¯t right; he could smell it. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and he stepped out into the open air, taking in a deep breath, listening. His hearing had always been as good as that of a dog.


    Shouts and motion roiled the night over by the old keep, where the prisoners were kept.


    He ran, reaching the door to the keep just as Wolfhere did.


    ¡°Trouble?¡± he asked.


    From inside a guardsman shouted unintelligible words and he heard the voice of the Eagle, Hathui, raised in fear. Taking the stairs three at a time, he fetched up beside a clot of guardsmen, all crying out and exclaiming, one of them on his knees dropping stones through the open trapdoor.


    ¡°Damn fool,¡± cursed one as Hathui tried to push past him to get to the ladder. ¡°The damn fool took a spear. Now the prisoner¡¯s got hold of it.¡±

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    ¡°Give me a sword,¡± said Sanglant.


    Malbert handed him a sword. He grabbed it before dropping down through the trap, practically sliding down the rungs and slats with a single hand for balance. His eyes had already adjusted for the dim light, although an oil lamp swung unsteadily to his right, creaking.


    Movement flashed in his vision.


    Leaping from the ladder he spun, sword raised, breaking the spear in two as Bulkezu thrust at the prostrate figure slumped against the opposite wall. Left with only a splintered half, the Quman chieftain hefted it and threw it as a javelin at Sanglant¡¯s torso. With a cut of his sword, the prince struck it down in flight.


    Bulkezu hit the limit of his chains and came up short, jerked back by unyielding stone. He was shaking¡ªwith laughter or with rage. It was impossible to tell. Was he mad, or merely feigning madness? How could any man stand to be chained and a prisoner for as long as Bulkezu had been without succumbing to insane delusions?


    That ungodly cackle echoed within the stones. ¡°I¡¯m a cleaner man than you, prince, because I rid myself of the worms that crawl into my tent.¡±


    ¡°This one still lives.¡±


    ¡°Oh, God, Zacharias.¡± Without being asked, Hathui scrambled down the ladder to crouch beside her brother, who moaned and struggled, trying to get up. ¡°Nay, don¡¯t try to stand. You¡¯re safe now.¡±


    ¡°Does the worm have a paramour?¡± Bulkezu whispered.


    In the lamp¡¯s mellow glow, Sanglant saw the chieftain¡¯s lips still fixed in that mad smile.


    Hathui looked up, more curious than frightened now that her brother¡¯s assailant was disarmed. ¡°Who is this, my lord prince?¡± Then her expression changed so entirely that Sanglant stepped sideways, startled, as if her gaze were an arrow that he had to avoid.


    ¡°I know who you are!¡± she exclaimed as Zacharias climbed groggily to his feet, a hand clapped to the back of his head.


    Bulkezu¡¯s smile vanished. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the Eagle, annoyed and puzzled. He was always at his most dangerous when exasperated.


    ¡°Hathui.¡± Zacharias staggered forward between his sister and the chained prisoner. ¡°He¡¯s dangerous.¡±


    ¡°I know that.¡± She stepped past him to confront Sanglant. ¡°My lord prince, I demand satisfaction. His Majesty King Arnulf the Younger sent his subjects east to settle pagan lands and in exchange he promised they could rule themselves with the king alone, and no lady or lord, set over them as their ruler. The king¡¯s law sets a price for certain crimes, does it not?¡±


    ¡°So it does,¡± said Sanglant, glancing at Bulkezu. The prisoner clearly had no more idea than his captor did what she was talking about.


    ¡°This man raped me when I was a virgin of but fourteen years of age. He cut me, too, and after that the wisewoman of my village said I would not be able to bear children. So I set my sights on the King¡¯s Eagles. Otherwise, I would have stayed in my village and inherited my mother¡¯s lands, and had daughters of my own to inherit in their turn. Do I not have a claim, my lord prince?¡±


    ¡°He raped you, Hathui?¡± croaked Zacharias. He looked around wildly, grabbed the broken haft of the spear, and hoisted it.


    ¡°Stay.¡± Sanglant yanked the spear out of the frater¡¯s hand and tossed it against the ladder. ¡°Do nothing rash, Brother. Is this true, Prince Bulkezu?¡±


    Bulkezu laughed again. ¡°One looks like another. I don¡¯t remember. It must have been years ago. But I recall clearly what I did to the worm. Does she know, your paramour, that you have no cock, Zach¡¯rias? That we cut it off because you told us you¡¯d rather lose your cock than your tongue? Does she know that you let men use you as a woman, just so you could stay alive? Does she know that you watched others die, because you wanted yourself to live? That it is you who taught me to speak the Wendish language, so that I could understand the speech of my enemy without them knowing?¡±


    Zacharias screamed with rage and leaped toward Bulkezu. Sanglant swung to grab him, but Hathui had already got hold of her older brother. She stood almost as tall and had the strength of a woman who has spent years riding at the king¡¯s behest.


    ¡°Stay, Brother, do nothing rash,¡± she said, echoing Sanglant¡¯s words. ¡°What does it matter what this prisoner says to you or about you?¡±


    Despite himself, Sanglant took a half step away from the ragged frater, a little disgusted by Bulkezu¡¯s accusations and repelled by the thought of a man so mutilated. What kind of man would watch his own kind die without doing all he could to prevent it? What kind of man would submit to any indignity, just to save his own life? For God¡¯s sake, what kind of man would rather lose his penis than his tongue?

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    ¡°What answer do you make to these accusations?¡± he asked, struggling to keep contempt out of his tone. It was remarkably easy to believe that Zacharias had done these vile things. The frater never acted like a real man. Whatever drove him¡ªand he wasn¡¯t without courage¡ªhe so often faltered, recoiled, and hid. Nor had he ever truly become a full member of Sanglant¡¯s court. He loitered on the fringe, not quite accepted, never able to push himself forward to join with the others.


    To the prince¡¯s surprise, the frater wept frustrated tears. ¡°All true,¡± he gasped. ¡°And worse.¡± His expression was so bleak that pity swelled in Sanglant¡¯s heart. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Hathui. Scorn me if you must¡ª¡±


    ¡°Sorry for having been a slave for seven years to this monster?¡± She dropped Zacharias¡¯ arm, took three steps forward, and spat into Bulkezu¡¯s face. The Quman chieftain flinched back from her anger, surprised rather than scared. ¡°I will lay my case before the prince and demand full recompense. And for the crimes you committed against my brother as well.¡± She did not wait for his response. ¡°Come, Zacharias. It was foolish of you to come down here, but I suppose you were afraid that I would turn away from you if I knew the truth.¡± Her anger hadn¡¯t subsided; it spilled out to wash over her hapless brother. ¡°I would never turn away from you. What a man suffers when he is a prisoner and a slave, under duress, cannot be held against him. Come now, let¡¯s get out of this stinking pit.¡±


    Zacharias croaked out her name, broken and pathetic, but he followed her obediently up the ladder. Malbert¡¯s face appeared.


    ¡°My lord prince?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m coming,¡± said Sanglant, turning to pick up the two halves of the spear.


    Bulkezu wasn¡¯t finished. ¡°She wore the badge of an Eagle. Are all the king¡¯s Eagles also his whores?¡±


    ¡°A weak thrust, Prince Bulkezu, and unworthy of you.¡± He set a foot on the lowest rung, stretched, and handed the broken spear to Malbert, then passed up the sword as well.


    Bulkezu¡¯s lips had a way of quivering, almost a twitch, that Sanglant had learned to recognize as a prelude to his worst rages. ¡°What weapons do you give me?¡± he asked in that voice, as soft as feathers but poisoned at its heart.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you a spear, as I promised, once you have guided me to the hunting grounds of the griffins. On that day you¡¯ll go free¡ª¡±


    ¡°And until that day? You¡¯d have done better to kill me if you¡¯re so afraid of me that you must shackle me, as a dog must a lion. At least Zach¡¯rias is an honest worm. You call yourself a man but you act like a dog, slinking and cowering.¡±


    Sanglant laughed. That surge of restlessness that had driven him from Ilona¡¯s bed swept back twice as strong. For two years they¡¯d made their slow and circuitous way eastward, delayed by blizzards, snow, high water, rains, and bouts of illness in the troops and the horses. He had never seen as much rain and snow as he had in the year and a half since the battle at the Veser. Rain had drenched the land, causing floods and mildew in the grain, and snow had buried it for two winters running, as if God were punishing them for their sins.


    But God¡¯s hand alone had not caused all their troubles. They had also been delayed by the necessity of making nice to King Geza, whose lands they had to cross. He didn¡¯t like Geza nearly as much as he¡¯d liked Bayan, and Sapientia¡¯s presence was a rankling sore, a constant source of frustration.


    Or perhaps it had just been too long since he¡¯d had a good fight.


    ¡°Malbert!¡±


    ¡°Yes, my lord prince.¡±


    ¡°Throw me down the key and pull up the ladder.¡±


    ¡°My lord!¡±


    ¡°The key!¡±


    Cursing under his breath, Malbert hauled up the ladder through the trapdoor, then threw down the key, which Sanglant caught in his left hand. Bulkezu did not move as Sanglant unlocked his wrists and tossed the key to the wall, but he struck first, still quick after months of being chained. Sanglant ducked the blow. Catching wrist and arm, he drove his foe headfirst against the stone wall. Staggered, Bulkezu dropped to his knees, only to dive for Sanglant¡¯s legs. They went down together, rolling and punching, until Bulkezu sat for an instant atop Sanglant¡¯s chest. Bulkezu¡¯s hands closed on his throat, but he twisted out of the choking grip, flipped the Quman over, and sprang back to his feet, laughing breathlessly, flushed, his heart pounding in a most gratifying manner as he allowed Bulkezu to crawl back to his feet in grim silence.


    Above, the lantern rocked as men crowded around the trapdoor to stare down. He heard their whispers as they laid wagers on how many blows it would take their prince to lay the prisoner out flat.

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    All at once he was tired of the charade. What kind of contest was it, really, to fight a man chained up for almost two years? Bulkezu remained remarkably strong, yet what kind of man was he, to torment another as Bloodheart had once tormented him?


    Bulkezu struck for his face. Sanglant blocked the blow and delivered his own to Bulkezu¡¯s gut, knocking him back, then stepped in, turning sideways as Bulkezu kicked out so the blow glanced off his thigh. As he closed, Bulkezu lunged for his throat. Sanglant seized his wrists and they froze a moment, locked, motionless.


    ¡°No creature male or female may kill me,¡± Sanglant muttered, ¡°so it was never a fair fight.¡±


    With a curse, Bulkezu twisted his hands free, spinning to strike with his elbow. Sanglant caught the blow on his forearm and delivered a sharp punch below the ribs followed by a flurry of blows that made the men watching from above cheer. Bulkezu collapsed limply to the ground.


    ¡°On that day you¡¯ll go free,¡± Sanglant repeated, ¡°and we¡¯ll see which man wins griffin feathers.¡±


    Malbert pushed down the ladder and climbed down, eager to help shackle the prisoner.


    ¡°Nay, I will do it.¡± Let him do the dirty work himself, chaining a warrior who would rather die fighting than leashed like a slave¡ªor a dog. But perhaps Bulkezu deserved no better than the fate he had meted out to the many people he had enslaved and murdered.


    What was justice? What was right?


    ¡°Here¡¯s the key,¡± he said, handing it to Malbert, glad to be rid of it, although he would never be rid of the responsibility for what he chose to do.


    Yet his night¡¯s work wasn¡¯t done. He crawled up the ladder to discover that King Geza had been alerted by his own guard. Sanglant met him just outside the keep. The king came attended by a half dozen of his white-cloaked honor guard, young men with long mustaches and scant beards. Geza was about ten years older than Bayan, rather more burly, gone a little to fat, and keenly intelligent. He had the luck of the king, that powerful presence, but he lacked the wicked sense of humor that had made Bayan a good companion.


    ¡°A problem with the prisoner?¡± he asked through his interpreter. Was he suspicious, or amused?


    ¡°He insulted my father,¡± replied Sanglant.


    ¡°Ah.¡± Geza spat on the ground to show his contempt for the prisoner. ¡°Is he dead now?¡±


    ¡°Not until he¡¯s given me what I need.¡±


    Geza nodded and took his leave, returning to his bed. He had been grateful enough to get Bayan¡¯s body back, and he had stinted in no way in making Sanglant a welcome guest in the kingdom of Ungria, yet it remained clear that he was only waiting for Sanglant and his army to leave and that he was by no means happy at the thought of that same army returning to cross Ungrian lands on their road back to Wendar. He had even suggested that Sanglant take his army north into the war-torn Polenie lands. Yet he didn¡¯t want to fight Wendish troops either; after all, he and King Henry were nominally allies. When Geza had offered one of his sons as a new husband for Sapientia, Sanglant had actually flirted with the idea¡ªfor the space of three breaths.


    As Geza and his entourage crossed the courtyard to the hall, Sanglant caught sight of Hathui and Zacharias over by the stables, she with her arm around his waist as if she were holding him up. Wolfhere stood by the doorway, lighting their way with a lamp as they ducked inside. How had Zacharias hidden his mutilation all these months? No one had even suspected. But then, Zacharias kept to himself, never truly part of the group, and in truth he stank because he so rarely washed.


    ¡°My lord prince!¡± Heribert hurried up, hair mussed and face puffy with sleep. ¡°Everyone is saying you killed Bulkezu.¡±


    ¡°Rumor has already flown, I see. Thank the Lord we¡¯re moving on tomorrow. These Ungrians sing too much.¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t complained of Lady Ilona¡¯s attentions.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s worst of all! I¡¯m nothing more than a stallion to her, brought in to breed the mare. No more women, Heribert.¡±


    The cleric chuckled. ¡°Isn¡¯t that what you said in Gent?¡±


    ¡°I mean it this time!¡±


    Mercifully, Heribert did not answer, merely cocked an eyebrow, looking skeptical as he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to comb it down. The first predawn birds cried out, heralding the day to come.


    ¡°The Ungrian camp followers will stay behind when we leave Geza¡¯s kingdom. Who will be left to tempt me? Pray God the sorcerers we find will know how to get Liath back.¡±


    ¡°Yet what lies beyond Ungria? A trackless plain, so they say. How will we find these griffins and sorcerers you seek?¡±

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    Sanglant smiled, but in his heart he felt no peace, knowing that some choices were ugly, made for expediency¡¯s sake rather than being ruled by what was just. ¡°That is why Bulkezu still lives. He¡¯ll guide me to the griffins in exchange for his freedom¡ªand a chance to kill me.¡±


    IV


    THE SUMMER SUN


    1


    AT the Ungrian town of Vidinyi, King Geza made his farewells and turned his court west to return to the heartland of his kingdom. A small fleet of broad-beamed merchant ships and a dozen smaller, swifter galleys had been put at the disposal of Prince Sanglant. After off-loading their cargoes of wine, oil, and silk from the Arethousan Empire, they took on grain for the return journey downriver as well as the two thousand horses, eight hundred soldiers, and two hundred or more servants with their miscellaneous carts and pack animals.


    The river seemed as broad as a lake to Sanglant as he stood on deck, Heribert beside him, watching the lengthy and difficult process of horses coming up onto the ships. Beyond the wharves, earth-covered fires burned along the strand. Because there was no wind and the air lay heavy and humid, wraithlike streamers of smoke from these fires stretched out along the shoreline, screening willow scrub and sapling poplars.


    ¡°They can¡¯t get much more charcoal near town,¡± Heribert said. ¡°Look how far back the woodland is cut.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re using charcoal for their ironworks, to forge more weapons. Ungria grows stronger every year and expands its border eastward.¡± Sanglant gestured toward the new palisade wall surrounding Vidinyi. ¡°They say it¡¯s a seven-day trip downriver to the Heretic¡¯s Sea. We won¡¯t be gone from Ungria fast enough for my taste.¡± ¡°Missing Lady Ilona already?¡±


    ¡°I suppose I deserve that! Missing Bayan, more like. He was the best of them.¡±


    ¡°If what Brother Breschius and Zacharias say is true, and considering the example of Bulkezu, you may look more kindly on the Ungrians once we are out on the plains at the mercy of the Quman and the Kerayit.¡±


    ¡°Maybe so. But Geza delayed us here for his own reasons. He¡¯s a stubborn man and more conniving than he seems.¡±


    ¡°Hoping to convince Sapientia to marry one of his sons? Or hoping to loose us into the wild lands so late in the season that the winter finishes us off?¡±


    ¡°Hard to say. He¡¯s not simple. No doubt the barbarians are more honest about what they want.¡±


    ¡°Our heads? Our horses?¡±


    ¡°Our selves as their slaves and puras?¡± He laughed curtly, wiping sweat from the back of his neck. ¡°Something like that.¡±


    The woodland had indeed been cut back on all sides of the town, but when they at long last cast off and the press of the current took them round a bend out of sight of Vidinyi, forest gradually took hold on either side until it became a monotonous fence of trees broken at intervals by clusters of low houses dug into the ground. The folk about their daily chores stared as they passed; some of the children shouted greetings; then the little village would be lost behind a new screen of forest as if it had never existed.


    In those stretches of wilderness between holdings, he heard nothing except the intermittent beat of oars keeping them in the main channel and the lap of water at the bows. Once he saw a hawk half hidden among the branches of a poplar. Above, the sky was a vivid blue. In the distance the rugged mountains lifted up from a horizon untouched by haze, as though the air were somehow purer there, closer to the heavenly aether.


    If he looked hard enough, could he see Liath shining in the heavens? But the air was clear, only scraps of clouds and the bright sun, concealing neither angels nor daimones. He had seen no sign of her since that awful day at Gent. Two and a half years had passed since then; it was almost as though their brief life together was only a dream remembered as if it were real.


    ¡°Do you suppose she is dead, Heribert?¡± he asked finally.


    Heribert sighed. The slender cleric had never been one to tell him only what he wanted to hear. That was why Sanglant prized his companionship. ¡°How can we know? I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Papa! Look at me!¡±


    Blessing had got herself into the furled rigging of the lateen sail and shinnied halfway up the mast, clinging to a rope.


    ¡°Oh, God!¡± Heribert hurried toward her, unsteady enough on the rocking ship that he careened into one of the sailors.


    ¡°No matter,¡± called Sanglant after him, laughing. ¡°She¡¯ll either fall and kill herself, or she won¡¯t.¡±


    But it quickly became clear that the captain of the ship wished no brat getting in the way, and soon enough Sanglant found himself presiding over his sullen daughter at the bow of the ship.

 Page 38

    ¡°On this boat, you obey the captain, who is like the regnant.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s only a common man, Papa.¡±


    ¡°In your first battle, will you tell Captain Fulk he¡¯s wrong when he gives you advice just because he was born the son of a steward and you are a prince¡¯s daughter? A wise ruler knows how to listen to those who may know something she does not, and seeks out advisers who tell her the truth rather than those who simply flatter.¡±


    Ai, God, she was well grown enough to pout, arms crossed and shoulders hunched as she stared at the river. Here, as forest gave way to marsh, a heron took wing, slow flaps along the shallows until it was lost in the haze that clung to the waters. Would her life pass as swiftly as the bird¡¯s flight? Would she become an old woman before he reached thirty? He could not bear to think of losing her in such an unnatural way, having to watch as age captured her and made her its prisoner. How soon would she flower and be ready to wed? She still had a child¡¯s body, all innocent grace and coltish limbs, as lively and strong as any creature let run free. Thank the Lady she was not yet showing signs of the woman she would become; the longer he could put off such considerations the better. Yet he would have to choose carefully what man she married, because she would need every advantage when it came time to restore to her what was due her: her birthright as a descendant of the Emperor Taillefer.


    In such moments, watching her, he despaired. She had much the look of Liath about her, delicate features, that creamy brown complexion, and unexpectedly blue eyes, but she had the night-black hair of the Aoi and a cast of features that reminded him of his own mother. The older she grew, the more the resemblance sharpened. By appearance alone, no one would take her for Taillefer¡¯s heir; she had not the look of the west at all. Maybe there was something of Henry in her¡ªshe had his rages, after all, and his generous ability to forgive¡ªbut as hard as ever he looked he could see no resemblance to Anne, not one bit. That made him glad.


    She had such a fierce expression of affronted ire on her sweet face that he almost laughed, but he knew better than to laugh at her. She struggled, lower lip thrust out and quivering, a tear welling from one eye to slide down a cheek. Heribert moved forward to console her, but Sanglant checked him with a gesture. Anna, Thiemo, and Matto, standing alertly nearby, knew better than to intervene when he had laid down a punishment.


    ¡°Papa,¡± she said finally, gaze still stubbornly fixed downriver. The prow of the ship cut the current to either side as the oars pulled them on and the current pressed them forward. Ahead, the gray-green waters purled around a snag that thrust up out of the water. ¡°I would listen to Captain Fulk. I would. When can I start training to arms?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re too young¡ª¡± he began, the old refrain, then broke off. Why deny what was obvious to any fool traveling with his army, of whom he was obviously the chief example? He had himself been sent at the age of seven to begin his training. Six months ago she had been too young, but for Blessing a few months was like to a year for any normal person. If he did not start training her now, it might be too late, she might be grown and past her prime before she had a chance to prove herself. If she were doomed to a brief life, at least he must try to give to her all that he could, including her heart¡¯s wish: to be a soldier like her father.


    ¡°Look!¡± she shrieked as a cry rose from the warship running before them, the vanguard of their fleet.


    The spar had grown to reveal itself as the topmost ruins of an ancient tower, now drowned in the shallows of the river by rising waters and a change in the river¡¯s course. Like all earthly power, the fortification had fallen in the end, its builders and queens long forgotten. But in the eddy where the river parted around that base of crumbling stone, something waited and watched. Shouts shattered the silence as other oarsmen and sailors saw what lashed in the murky water. Their cries rang out with fear and horror. Yet there it floated, a creature from nightmare, more fish than man with flat red eyes, a lipless mouth, and no nose, only slits for breathing. Each strand of its writhing hair was as thick as an eel with beady little eyes and a snapping mouth.


    ¡°Lord save us,¡± murmured Heribert, clinging to the rail: He had gone white.


    Thiemo cursed and drew the Circle of Unity at his breast, and Matto grabbed Anna as though to shield her from the sight of that ghastly thing, but she shook him off, shaking and stuttering as she gaped.


    ¡°Look, Papa!¡± cried Blessing, as blissful as a child who sees the first snow of winter swirling down to the ground. ¡°It¡¯s a man-fish! I want to swim with it!¡±

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    He grabbed hold of her as they shot past, the current pouring them through a narrowing funnel between high bluffs. Yet it seemed for a long while after that he could hear the cries and alarmed shouts behind them as the other ships passed, one by one.


    ¡°What does it portend?¡± demanded the captain of the ship, his words translated by Brother Breschius. ¡°An evil thing, to see one of the sea brothers swimming up the river.¡±


    ¡°Have they a name?¡± asked Sanglant.


    ¡°Nay, my lord prince. My grandfather spoke of them, for he was a ship-master as well. He said they were just a legend.¡± He gestured, spitting on the deck and stamping his left foot, then recalled where he was and before whom he stood, and hastily drew the Circle of Unity at his chest as would any God-fearing man. ¡°An evil omen, my lord prince.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps. Did your grandfather say whether such creatures had intelligence, or whether they were only dumb beasts?¡±


    ¡°They have cunning, my lord prince, and hunger. It was always said they would eat any man who fell overboard.¡±


    ¡°Yet did your grandfather or any man who sailed with him ever see such a man-fish?¡±


    ¡°Nay. They had only heard tales.¡±


    Tales aplenty ran round their camp that evening when they lay up alongside the shore for the night in a stretch of marshy wilderness teeming with birds. From the deck Sanglant could see five ships, one ahead and four behind, as well as a few fires burning on the strand upriver, but only the foolhardy or the thick-skinned ventured to shore, where gnats and stinging flies swarmed. It was, if anything, hotter and stickier than it had been earlier in the day.


    When Captain Fulk rowed back from the foremost galley and Bertha, Wichman, Druthmar, and Istvan arrived from up-river, rather fly-bitten, he called a council. Many old tales came to light but only after he had gone round his council to hear what each member had to say did he see Zacharias standing at the back of the gathering between Hathui and Wolfhere. The frater¡¯s expression gave Sanglant pause.


    ¡°Have you something to say, Brother Zacharias?¡±


    The frater stammered out a meaningless denial. ¡°N-n-no, my lord prince. N-nothing.¡±


    ¡°Have you ever seen such a creature yourself?¡±


    The hesitation betrayed him.


    ¡°Tell me,¡± he commanded.


    Hathui bent closer to her brother and said a few words into his ear, too quietly even for Sanglant to hear above the whispering of the folk around him and the lap of water against the ship¡¯s hull. The wind brought the smell of the marsh, heavy with decay.


    ¡°It was a dream, my lord prince, a vision. You know that I traveled for a time with your mother, who took me to a place she called the Palace of Coils.¡±


    ¡°The spiral gate!¡± muttered Wolfhere, but Zacharias paid him no heed as he went on.


    ¡°There I saw many visions, but it also seemed to me that for a short time I became such a creature as we saw today. I swam with my fellows, out in the salt sea, following a fleet of ships.¡±


    Zacharias shuddered. ¡°That¡¯s all.¡±


    He was lying; there was more, but Sanglant doubted he could coax it out of him. Perhaps Hathui could.


    ¡°That is all?¡±


    ¡°First we hear tales of a phoenix and now we see a merman,¡± remarked Lady Bertha with pleasure. Strife and difficulty amused her.


    ¡°It was damned ugly,¡± said Wichman. ¡°I thought mermaids had great milky breasts huge enough to smother a man. This was a nasty fiend!¡±


    Bertha smiled. ¡°It¡¯s said that in the end times all the ancient creatures of legend will crawl out of their hiding places to stalk the earth once again.¡±


    ¡°Now we shall see the truth of it,¡± said Sanglant, looking at Wolfhere as he spoke. The old Eagle made no reply as he crossed to the railing to stare at the scattering of fires along the shoreline.


    They returned to their places, but no man washed in the river water. No one knew how close in to shore the merfolk could swim. As he did every night, Sanglant gave orders to bring the chained Bulkezu up from the hold to take the night air, under guard. Only a few men were fit for the task, since Bulkezu might in the middle of the night taunt them in his soft voice, which was his only weapon, trying to make them angry enough to get within his reach.


    After Bulkezu was chained to the mast, Blessing crept up close to her father where he stood at the stem of the ship; she stared at the Quman chief. His chains clanked and rattled as he stretched, flexing his muscles, testing the limit and strength of the chains. Bulkezu never stopped testing those chains. He never despaired. Perhaps he was too crazy to do so. Perhaps he was too cunning, or too sane. It was the only way he had to keep up his strength.

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    ¡°I would rather be dead than a prisoner like that,¡± Blessing whispered, leaning against her father and wrapping her arms around his waist. Her head came almost to his chest. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be more merciful to kill him? He must hate you.¡±


    As I hated Bloodheart.


    ¡°No prisoner loves his jailer,¡± he said at last.


    ¡°Do you think if I¡¯d jumped in the river that merman would have eaten me?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    The river flowed past, more sluggish now as it was glutted with waters leaking out of the marshland. A chorus of frogs chirped, then fell silent as though a passing owl had frightened them. There came a moment of deeper silence, with the flowing waters of the river and the steady lap of waves against the hull the only sound. A hard slap hit water out on the river, answered by a second and a third.


    ¡°They¡¯re talking,¡± said Blessing.


    ¡°Who is talking?¡±


    ¡°The merfolk.¡±


    ¡°How can beasts talk?¡±


    ¡°They do! They¡¯re watching us.¡±


    He smiled, but an itchy feeling between his shoulder blades made him reluctant to laugh at her comment. ¡°It¡¯s too dark to see them.¡±


    ¡°No, it isn¡¯t. There are eleven of them. They travel in packs. Like dogs. They came to spy on us.¡±


    Was she just making up a fanciful story to amuse herself on the long journey? Or had she inherited an uncanny sense from the blood of her parents?


    ¡°Is there more you can see that you haven¡¯t told me?¡±


    ¡°Well, I can see Mama sometimes.¡±


    The casual comment came like a jolt, like a man riding a placid gelding that suddenly bucks and bolts. He broke out in a sweat, skin tingling as if he were beset by a swarm of gnats. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Only sometimes. She¡¯s still trapped in the burning stone. She¡¯s trying to find her way back.¡±


    How difficult it was to keep his voice calm. ¡°Is there anything we can do to help her?¡±


    She shrugged, painfully unconcerned. ¡°We just have to wait. The merfolk are waiting, too, you know.¡±


    ¡°What are they waiting for?¡±


    He could feel her concentration by the way her small body tensed against his. At the mast, chains scraped against wood as Bulkezu shifted position again. His guards¡ªMalbert and Den tonight¡ªchatted quietly with each other, reminiscing about a card game they¡¯d lost to a pair of cheating Ungrian soldiers.


    ¡°Oh!¡± said Blessing, sounding surprised and a little intrigued. ¡°They¡¯re waiting for revenge.¡±


    2


    AS the river broadened and grew sluggish winding its way through marshy wilderness, Zacharias spent more time on deck watching the riot of birds that flocked everywhere: ducks, egrets, storks, terns that skimmed along the flat sheet of the water, cormorants. Once, but only once, a gray crane. Hathui never moved far from his side unless she was called away by the prince. It seemed strange and terrible to him to stand beside his beloved younger sister in this companionable silence. He kept waiting for Hathui to come to her senses and repudiate him, but she never did.


    Instead, she questioned him about Sanglant¡¯s retinue, their names and character. ¡°And the three young folk who attend Princess Blessing? There¡¯s trouble brewing there.¡±


    He glanced toward the bow where Anna stood between the two young men. Matto was shorter but broader through the shoulders, strong enough to wield an ax with deadly measure. Thiemo, half a head taller, still retained a whippet¡¯s slenderness, but he had a cool head in most circumstances, a loyal heart, and a charming smile.


    Anna had changed markedly since that day in Gent when Sanglant had taken her into his retinue. She had bloomed.


    ¡°True enough,¡± he said. ¡°She was a scrawny thing when she first became Princess Blessing¡¯s nurse.¡± Anna would never be truly pretty, but she had a quality of candor about her that made her as attractive as girls with unblemished complexions and handsomer features. She had also matured quite startlingly, with a voluptuous body that any sane man would crawl a hundred miles to worship.


    ¡°They¡¯re like dogs snarling over a bitch in heat. Doesn¡¯t anyone else see it?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s to be done? They¡¯re young. They can¡¯t help it.¡±


    ¡°Poor girl,¡± she said disapprovingly, but her gaze was caught by a thicket of dense shrubs hugging the shoreline, branches brilliant with red berries. ¡°Look at the hawthorn!¡± she cried with real passion.


    Briefly the land rose out of the mire, and poplars and willows took hold, leaves flashing as the wind disturbed them, before the ground leveled again into grassy banks that looked inviting but were more likely sodden, swampy traps infested by the ubiquitous stinging flies. He scratched his chin, batting away a swarm of gnats; it was bad enough out on the water.

 Page 41

    ¡°Hathui ¡­¡± He wanted to speak, but he was too afraid.


    ¡°Yes?¡± When he did not reply, she went on. ¡°Did you mean to say something?¡±


    ¡°No, no. A strange country, this one. There aren¡¯t many people living in these reaches. I admit I never thought a river could seem more like a marsh or a lake than a river.¡±


    ¡°Yet there¡¯s still a current that pulls us east. Have you seen the Heretic¡¯s Sea?¡±


    ¡°I have.¡±


    ¡°What is it like?¡±


    ¡°Filled with water.¡± Slavers had captured him within sight of those waters. ¡°The shores are crawling with heretics and infidels. Thus the name.¡±


    ¡°What do the heretics and infidels call the sea?¡±


    Surprised, he looked at her, but she was studying the shore, smiling as she watched sheep grazing on a spit of land watched over by a skinny boy and his companionable dog which ran to the edge of the water and barked enthusiastically, tail wagging. She kept her gaze on them until they were lost to sight and at last she said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry. What did you say?¡±


    Nothing, he wanted to say sourly, but he was ashamed of his ill temper. ¡°The infidels, who worship the Fire God whom they name Astareos, call it the Northern Sea, because it lies north of their own country. I don¡¯t know what the Arethousans call it. Maybe they call it the Heretic¡¯s Sea, too.¡±


    ¡°Why would they do that?¡±


    ¡°Because they think we are heretics!¡± he said with a laugh, but Hathui stared at him.


    ¡°How could they think we are heretics when we are the ones who worship God in Unity in the proper manner? The skopos is God¡¯s deacon on Earth.¡± Her expression darkened as it always did when she thought of Darre, and Aosta, and the stricken king. ¡°I pray we will find what we seek, and quickly.¡±


    ¡°The grasslands are wide. Do not think it will be so easy to find anything on those trackless wastes, and especially not griffins and sorcerer women.¡±


    ¡°Have you ever seen these Kerayit?¡±


    ¡°I saw one of their war bands but I¡¯ve never seen the cart of one of their sorcery women. Nor have I seen their masters, the Bwr people, the ones who were born half of humankind and half of a mare.¡±


    ¡°Are there really such creatures?¡±


    The water slipped past, a mottled brown ripe with vegetation and dirt. ¡°I have seen one in my dreams. I was never more frightened than at that moment.¡±


    ¡°Never?¡± she asked softly.


    He flushed. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Never, Zacharias?¡±


    He said nothing, and when it was clear to her that he would not answer, she glanced toward the prince and spoke in a different tone, as if introducing a new subject. ¡°What about the merfolk?¡±


    ¡°Let it be, Hathui! I beg you. Let well enough alone.¡±


    But he had exasperated her, although it was the last thing he wanted. ¡°You can never be content, can you?¡± she said. ¡°That¡¯s why you left the village, isn¡¯t it? You can¡¯t find peace.¡±


    ¡°Peace was torn from me by Bulkezu! It¡¯s his fault I can¡¯t find peace!¡±


    ¡°Nay. You won¡¯t let yourself be at peace. You suffered. You did what you had to, to survive. I don¡¯t blame you for that. We¡¯ve all done things we aren¡¯t proud of. But don¡¯t think you can run away from the Enemy. The demons can¡¯t give up their grip on you until you let them go.¡±


    He did not answer, and at last she let him be. For a long time they simply stood at the rail together, watching the shoreline slide past. It was a measure of peace. It was as much as he could ever hope for, that much and no more.


    3


    BY the next morning the grassy banks became overrun with reeds until all through the afternoon it seemed they sailed upon a brown ribbon cast through a green sea that stretched to the horizon on all sides. So many channels cut through the reeds that Anna marveled that the ship-master could navigate so unerringly along the main channel, if there even was one anymore. They tied up that night alongside a spit of land, but no one dared disembark because of the flies, and because they had not forgotten that glimpse of the merfolk.


    At dawn they set out again, passing spits of land overgrown with rushes. There seemed to be nothing but reeds, water, and sky; they had left the land behind them but not yet entered the sea. Yet in the end the last islands of rushes fell behind and the brown water of the river poured into the blue of the Heretic¡¯s Sea, mingling until the earthy color was utterly lost. The rushy delta lay green in the west. All else was either the blue of sky or sea.

 Page 42

    Anna stood next to Blessing at the railing. She had never seen anything so vast in her life. Even Blessing, for once, was stricken to silence by the immensity of the waters and the answering sky, mottled with clouds. The wind whipped her braid along her shoulders and rippled her clothing across her skin like a caress.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen the sea before,¡± Thiemo was saying boastfully to Matto. ¡°The Northern Sea. I rode there with Prince Ekkehard, when we were at Gent.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just a poor country boy, my lord,¡± retorted Matto in a tone that made her wince. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen such sights.¡±


    They both chose that moment to look at her, testing her reaction, and she flushed and looked away over the waters.


    ¡°They¡¯re following us,¡± said Blessing, head turned to gaze at the ships behind.


    ¡°Of course, my lady. We¡¯ll all sail together, just as we marched together.¡±


    ¡°No. I mean the men-fish. They want to know where we¡¯re going. They¡¯re following us. But I don¡¯t think they can follow us up onto land.¡±


    Anna shuddered, but although she peered at their wake, she saw no merfolk.


    For seven days they sailed north and east along the sea, always in sight of land and mostly in good weather, disturbed by one bracing squall out of the north. They often saw other ships sailing southeast, and three times the ship-master caught sight of a sail that looked like a skulking privateer, but no lone pirate wished to attack a fleet and so they continued on their way unmolested. On the eighth day they put into the port of Sordaia.


    At least five hundred Arethousan soldiers stood in tidy ranks along the waterfront, alerted by the number of ships, and it quickly became obvious that any attempt to disembark would be met with force. The governor of the town, an Arethousan potentate from the imperial capital, had sent a representative to speak to the arrivals. The Most Honorable Lord High Chamberlain in Charge of the Governor¡¯s Treasure, Basil, had no beard but was not a priest. He was, Brother Breschius explained, a eunuch.


    ¡°He¡¯s had his balls cut off?¡± exclaimed Matto, horrified. He glanced at Anna and blushed.


    ¡°Like Brother Zacharias,¡± said Thiemo, ¡°but this one doesn¡¯t look the same. He looks softer.¡±


    ¡°What was done to Brother Zacharias was nothing like this,¡± said Breschius gently. ¡°That was mutilation. No doubt the operation on this man¡ªif we can call him such¡ªwas carried out when he was a boy. It¡¯s considered a great honor.¡±


    Thiemo laughed nervously, and Matto was too embarrassed and appalled to speak. After lengthy introductions and some kind of tedious speech on the part of the eunuch, Sanglant sent Brother Heribert, who spoke Arethousan, to the palace with an assortment of gifts¡ªa cloak trimmed with marten fur, a gold treasure box, delicately carved ivory spoons, and an altar cloth embroidered with gold thread. The negotiations took the rest of the day, ending in the late afternoon after Prince Sanglant agreed to go with a small party to the palace the next day as a hostage for the good behavior of his troops.


    ¡°The Most Honorable Lord High Chamberlain Basil informs me that we are allowed to set up camp in an abandoned fort built by the former Jinna overlords outside the town walls,¡± said Heribert, still flushed and sweating from traveling back and forth between harbor and palace in the hot summer sun.


    ¡°There won¡¯t be time to disembark many before it gets dark,¡± said the ship-master, examining the sun. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s better done tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Or we could send a smaller force tonight to begin setting up,¡± said Fulk. ¡°That¡¯s what I recommend.¡±


    ¡°Is it safe?¡± asked Hathui. ¡°The few who disembark tonight will be easy to kill, if these Arethousans intend treachery.¡±


    ¡°It seems a foolish way to provoke our anger,¡± said Sanglant. ¡°We can disembark fighting, if need be. How would it benefit them to anger us in such a petty way?¡±


    ¡°They are Arethousans, my lord prince,¡± remarked Lady Bertha, who had been rowed over from another ship. ¡°They imbibe treachery with their mother¡¯s milk. You can¡¯t trust them.¡±


    ¡°Nor do I. Nevertheless, Captain Fulk has the right of it. Captain, send one hundred men tonight. Not Wichman or any of his company. There should be time for them to reach the fort and reconnoiter before it¡¯s too dark to see.¡±


    ¡°I want to go! I want to go!¡± cried Blessing.


    ¡°No.¡± Sanglant beckoned to Breschius. ¡°I need Heribert to attend me at the palace and you to remain here with the ships until everyone is off. You are the only ones who can speak Arethousan. There must be no misunderstandings.¡±

 Page 43

    ¡°Yes, my lord prince.¡±


    ¡°I want to go see the palace tomorrow with you, Papa!¡±


    ¡°No. You¡¯ll stay with the army.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to stay! I want to go!¡± The girl grabbed the railing ready to fling herself over the side and swim for shore.


    ¡°No.¡±


    The confinement of a sea voyage had not improved Sanglant¡¯s temper, nor had a day cooling his heels in the harbor made him patient. When he grabbed his daughter¡¯s arm, the girl whimpered.


    ¡°I will.¡± Her mouth quivered, but her gaze remained defiant.


    ¡°You will not.¡± The prince turned to Anna. ¡°You¡¯ll go, Anna, to set up camp for your mistress. And take¡ª¡± his gaze flicked to Matto and Thiemo, pushed to the back during the day¡¯s negotiations. ¡°Lord Thiemo, you¡¯ll go as well.¡±


    ¡°I want to go!¡± Blessing tried to wriggle out of her father¡¯s unforgiving grasp.


    ¡°If you give me any trouble tonight, Blessing,¡± her father added softly, ¡°you won¡¯t even be allowed off this ship tomorrow when the troops disembark. You¡¯ll stay here locked in the cabin until we leave this port. Is that understood?¡±


    Fighting back tears, she nodded but did not resist when Sanglant thrust her into Matto¡¯s care. Yet Matto¡¯s furious expression could have wilted flowers as he watched Anna. She felt his gaze like the prick of an arrow on her back as she descended the gangplank. Although she stood on solid earth, the ground still moved and it was difficult to keep her feet under her. With Matto and Blessing both so angry, she dared not look back as they marched away. The unsteady ground made her a little nauseated, and the flap of canvas from the rolled-up tent she was carrying that got loose from the ropes and flipped over her eyes only made the dizziness worse. She staggered as they ascended a broad avenue through the town. With the canvas obscuring her vision she could only see her feet, garbage, and an occasional pile of dog shit. The town stank in a way the ship had not; there wasn¡¯t enough wind to chase out the smell. Voices rang all around her¡ªthe streets were crowded¡ªbut she heard not a single recognizable word.


    How had she ever come so far from Gent? What if she died here in this land of barbarians and foreigners? Was this God¡¯s punishment upon her for her sins? Tears welled in her eyes, but she bit her lip hard until the pain calmed her down. Crying never did any good.


    Yet it seemed a long and lonely walk out to the fort. Sunset washed the land with pale gold when she finally negotiated a narrow plank bridge over a steep-sided ditch, a yawning abyss that made her tremble, and found herself in the fort. She allowed the rolled-up canvas to slide down onto the ground. Her shoulders ached, but at least the ground had stopped swaying. It was good to be back on dirt.


    As she stretched the knots out of her shoulders, she examined the empty fort. A wall built of stamped clay surrounded the interior buildings, which resembled a bee¡¯s hive, a series of cell-like rooms built haphazardly in sprawling units. A number of soldiers wandered out to explore. She followed them.


    ¡°Those infidels lived like pigs,¡± observed Lewenhardt as he retreated from yet another chamber filled with mounds of rubbish and dried excrement.


    ¡°Or else they kept their animals stabled here,¡± said Den.


    ¡°Don¡¯t look like cow shit to me,¡± said Surly.


    ¡°What do you think, Brother Zacharias?¡± asked Chustaffus. ¡°Do infidel kings stable their soldiers like beasts? Is there no hall for the men to eat together with their lord?¡±


    Zacharias shaded a hand against the sun. ¡°I don¡¯t know the customs of the Jinna, but I see no hall, only these small rooms.¡±


    ¡°This one is empty!¡± shouted Lewenhardt, who had gone on to the next. The majority of the little chambers lay empty, each one just big enough to sleep four men, but no more than that, more like stone tents than proper barracks.


    ¡°Enough of that!¡± called Sergeant Cobbo. ¡°Get to work. We¡¯ll need tents set up, and you lot haul whatever you can find over to that gate to build a barrier.¡±


    Anna was helping Den post rope lines to keep horses from straying into the tented area when the last of the advance force arrived: a dozen horsemen who had to dismount by the gate in order to lead their horses across the plank bridge over the pit. It wasn¡¯t precisely a true gate. The old gates had long since fallen down and, evidently, been carted away, and only the deep ditch protected the entrance, although a fair bit of debris¡ªposts, planks, discarded wheels¡ªhad been dragged over to form a makeshift wall on the inner side of the pit.

 Page 44

    Was that Thiemo among them? She shaded her eyes to get a better look.


    ¡°Hey!¡± said Den. ¡°Don¡¯t let the rope go slack!¡±


    She went back to work, but as it began to get dark, there was no point in doing more. She wandered over to the horse lines but did not find him there. What was she thinking? Usually she shared a bed with Blessing every night. She wasn¡¯t used to so much freedom.


    She could not stop thinking about finding him, yet she didn¡¯t want to appear to be seeking him out. She climbed a narrow staircase that led up to the walkway along the wall, to survey the camp. A pinkish-purple glow rimmed the western horizon, although the east lay in darkness. The town revealed itself as glimmers of distant lamplight. Below, campfires burned and Sergeant Cobbo began singing. A footstep scuffed on the wall, but it was the watchman in the corner watchtower.


    ¡°Anna.¡±


    When he took hold of her arm, out of the dark, she gasped, and he slipped an arm around her, pressing her close. He was a head taller than her, broad through the shoulders but with a young man¡¯s slenderness in the torso and hips.


    ¡°I have something to show you,¡± he whispered, breath sweet against her ear. ¡°Come with me.¡±


    ¡°I have to go back¡ª¡± she began, suddenly nervous. Suddenly elated.


    ¡°We¡¯re stuck here for the night, Anna. There¡¯s no one else who needs us. Come this way.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t see.¡±


    ¡°Shhh. We¡¯ll go slowly.¡±


    In the dark it wasn¡¯t easy to retrace their path along the wall, where they could have tumbled off the inner side at any moment and fallen two man-lengths to the hard-packed dirt below. It took a fair bit of groping, and tangling, and holding on to each other, to negotiate the worn steps, and by the time they reached the ground they were both giggling yet trying not to, fearing that Cobbo or some other soldier would find them.


    ¡°This way.¡±


    Thiemo still had hold of her hand, but as he started along the base of the wall, she hesitated. He turned back to her, ran a hand up her arm to her shoulder to caress the curve of her neck.


    ¡°Anna? I found a place where no one will find us. It¡¯s clean, too. I left a blanket there.¡±


    She wanted him so badly. Even to touch him made her hot in a way the sun¡¯s heat never did.


    ¡°What will happen then?¡± The future opened before her like the wide waters of the sea, fathomless.


    His lips brushed hers, light as a butterfly¡¯s kiss at first, suddenly insistent. When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing in gasps. Anna clung to him.


    ¡°We could be dead tomorrow,¡± he murmured.


    What about Matto? But she could not speak Matto¡¯s name out loud. Matto would be in Thiemo¡¯s place now, had Prince Sanglant sent one and not the other. And if it were the prince himself, holding her in the darkness?


    She dared not walk down that path. Thiemo was a lord, but only the eighth child of a minor count. That was why he had been sent to ride in Prince Ekkehard¡¯s retinue, to make his own way as a noble servant to a higher born man. He was disposable, the kind of boy sent into the Dragons. Maybe that was why he wasn¡¯t as haughty as the other nobles, because he was assured of so little.


    ¡°Death is sure,¡± she whispered, and if not now, then later. Someday. None of them knew what kind of trouble the prince was leading them into. Maybe the prince himself did not know. Anything could happen.


    Anything.


    ¡°Thiemo.¡± The top of her head barely came to his chin, but it wasn¡¯t difficult to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him down to kiss her again.


    What would she be sorry for, the day she died?


    Not this.


    V


    SORDAIA


    1


    IN the morning Zacharias slept late, having made a bed for himself in blessed solitude in one of the little chambers. By the time he stumbled bleary-eyed into the hammer of the late morning sun, all men, beasts, and belongings were accounted for, Captain Fulk had posted guards at the gate and lookouts on top of the wall, and the men were assembling on the open ground in front of the gates. Lord Wichman, Lord Druthmar, and the other nobles watched from beneath the shaded luxury of spacious awnings, lounging at their ease while they sipped wine and played chess and listened to one of their number playing a lute.


    Fulk¡¯s speech to the soldiers was stern.


    ¡°You will not go into the town unless you have been commanded to by myself or by Prince Sanglant. No markets. No brothels. No taverns. Is that understood?¡±


    Dismissed, they sulked in the dusty fort, having nothing more to look at than each other and nothing more than sour beer to drink. ¡°No wonder this place looks like prison,¡± said Surly. ¡°That¡¯s what it is.¡±

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    ¡°I always wondered what Jinna women look like,¡± mused Lewenhardt. ¡°Is it true they dance naked through fire to worship their god?¡±


    ¡°You might wish,¡± laughed Johannes, ¡°until you had to do the same thing. And then the fire would burn off your¡ª¡±


    ¡°Hush,¡± said Den. ¡°Here comes the captain.¡±


    ¡°Brother Zacharias!¡± Captain Fulk nodded at his soldiers and they moved away. ¡°The prince wishes a small party to investigate the market, to scout what¡¯s available for provisions and guides for the journey east. You¡¯ve lived in the grasslands, Brother. You¡¯ll know what kinds of things we must look for.¡±


    ¡°Wagons.¡± He remembered wagons too well.


    ¡°You¡¯ve said so before,¡± said Fulk with the skepticism any westerner might show who did not understand the grasslands. ¡°We don¡¯t know how long we¡¯ll be delayed here. We¡¯ll need supplies and plenty of ale or wine to drink, with this hot sun. Wolfhere will go with you, as will Lady Bertha¡¯s healer, Robert, who can speak somewhat of the Arethousan language.¡±


    Their departure was delayed at the gate when Blessing ran up. ¡°Take me with you! I hate it here!¡±


    ¡°My lady!¡± Matto arrived, huffing from the exertion in the heat. ¡°You must come back to the tent now. You know what your father the prince told you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to stay here! I want to go see the governor¡¯s palace. I want to see people with big ears like tents. Maybe they have a phoenix in the market.¡± Matto started, looking guilty, as the girl crossed her arms over her chest and glowered. ¡°I want to go with them.¡±


    Wolfhere softened as that glare was directed at him. ¡°What harm if she comes with us?¡±


    ¡°Has the sun cooked your head?¡± demanded Zacharias. ¡°There¡¯s a slave market in this port!¡±


    ¡°I want to see the slave market!¡±


    Anger made him clench his jaw, but he struggled to remember that she was only a child. ¡°It¡¯s no merry thing to be sold in a slave market, my lady, as I should know. What¡¯s to stop some Arethousan thief from seeing what a proud, fine noblewoman you are and stealing you away and selling you to the infidels?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d bite him!¡±


    ¡°He¡¯d slap you so hard you¡¯d lose your wits,¡± retorted Zacharias, earning himself a sharp glance from Fulk.


    Blessing was hopping from one foot to the other; she hadn¡¯t heard. ¡°I¡¯d bite him five times, until he let me go!¡±


    ¡°For God¡¯s sake, Wolfhere, dissuade her from this foolish notion!¡±


    ¡°A day of freedom would not harm the child,¡± muttered Wolfhere irritably. ¡°I don¡¯t like the heat and the dust any better than she does. This is an unnatural place.¡±


    ¡°Unnatural, indeed! How can you think it safe for her to go wandering in the market when we don¡¯t even know how we¡¯ll be greeted by the townsfolk?¡±


    Blessing screwed up that adorable face and put her fists on her hips; she was steering hard for a big storm.


    ¡°My lady.¡± Captain Fulk motioned for Matto to step back. ¡°I will personally escort you into the market, but not today. Any disruption may harm your father¡¯s negotiations with the governor. You would not want that.¡±


    Captain Fulk was the only person besides her father she truly respected. Everyone else she either ignored or had wrapped up tight on a leash like an adoring dog. Her frown was so terrible that Zacharias was surprised that it didn¡¯t draw in clouds to cover the heartless sun.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go anyway,¡± she muttered.


    ¡°I must obey as your royal father commanded me, Your Highness, and keep you in this camp. If I do not, he will strip me of my rank and cast me out of his war band, and he would be right to do so.¡±


    She could never bear the thought of any one of those she had a fondness for being torn from her. With a wounded sigh, she stalked away, Matto hastening after her while Fulk shook his head helplessly.


    ¡°Where is Anna?¡± the captain asked, but no one knew.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here,¡± Zacharias said to his companions, ¡°while we still can.¡±


    ¡°A willful child,¡± observed Lady Bertha¡¯s healer as they hurried toward the gate. Robert was bald, short, and fat, but he had neat hands, nimble fingers, and an easy smile¡ªremarkable considering how much suffering he must have seen in the course of his work. ¡°Yet it seems to me that her body grows faster than her mind does. When shall the one catch up to the other?¡±


    ¡°When, indeed?¡± murmured Wolfhere.

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    The guards offered suggestions about what they wanted most from town: wine, women, or at least a sweet apple. Then they had to walk the plank bridge.


    The entrance to the fort was guarded by an exceptionally deep, vertically-sided ditch, too steep to climb and dug all the way across the opening. Into this chasm Fulk had lowered Bulkezu. Zacharias saw the Quman begh pacing below. The prisoner looked up at the sound of men crossing the plank bridge that provided the only access into the fort.


    ¡°I smell the worm creeping out. Do you go to sell yourself in the slave market, worm? Do you miss it so?¡±


    Zacharias stumbled forward, leaping for solid ground, and did not wait for the others as he hastened along the dirt track that circled around the wall and back toward town. But they caught up to him nevertheless. Mercifully, they did not mention Bulkezu.


    ¡°The builders seem to have feared the steppe more than the sea,¡± observed Wolfhere as he surveyed the placement of the fort, with its gates facing the water, not the land.


    ¡°They say there are men in the grasslands who can turn themselves into wolves,¡± said Robert.


    ¡°Do you listen to everything you hear?¡± asked Wolfhere with a laugh.


    ¡°I hear many strange things, and I¡¯ve found it unwise not to listen to them.¡± Robert was a westerner from the borderlands between Varingia and Salia. He had never explained how he had come into the service of marchland nobles, far to the east of his birthplace, and Zacharias did not choose to ask, considering that he had once glimpsed a slave brand on Robert¡¯s right shoulder. He¡¯d met a few Salians sold into slavery among the Quman tribes, cast out of their homes by debt or poverty. Those whom hunger or abuse hadn¡¯t killed had died of despair.


    They soon came to the sprawling borderlands of the town, gardens, corrals, orchards, and the hovels and houses of those who could not afford a space to live inside the wall. Children trotted alongside, shouting in their gibberish tongues. They had all sorts of faces; they might be kin to Quman horseman or Aostan merchant, to Arethousan sailor and Jinna priest, to dark Kartiakans or to the sly and powerful Sazdakh warrior women with their broad faces and green eyes. Yet there were no blond heads among this pack. Wolfhere stood out like a proud silver wolf among mangy, mongrel dogs.


    The guards at the gate did not wish to admit them into town, but Robert had a few Ungrian coppers for bribes.


    They crossed through a tunnel cut into the wide turf wall and emerged into the streets. The lanes stank alarmingly, strewn with refuse baking in the heat, and yet even so they were crowded with folk busy about their errands and mindful of where they set their feet.


    ¡°Beware pickpockets,¡± said Zacharias. A few heads turned to look at him, hearing an unfamiliar language. Wolfhere¡¯s hair caught attention, too, but mostly they were left alone. Too many travelers came into a port like Sordaia for three scruffy visitors to create lasting wonder.


    They passed windowless walled compounds, all locked away, a dozen of the distinctive octagonal Arethousan churches, and once a circular Jinna temple with its stair-stepped roof and central pillar jutting up toward the heavens, tattered streamers of red cloth flapping idly from the exposed portion of the pillar as a lazy wind out of the north teased them into motion. The barest ribbon of smoke spun up along the pillar¡¯s length, suggesting the fire within.


    ¡°Is it true they burn worshipers alive?¡± whispered Robert as soon as the temple was lost to view. ¡°That their priestesses copulate with any man brave enough to walk into the fire?¡±


    Wolfhere snorted.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Zacharias glanced around nervously. ¡°But it¡¯s death for any person who has witnessed those rites to speak of them. Be careful what you say lest you hit on something true, and find a knife between your ribs.¡±


    ¡°Can anyone here understand us?¡± asked Robert. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard a single soul speaking Wendish.¡±


    It was more obvious still once they reached the marketplace that sprawled in a semicircle around the harbor with its docks and warehouses. Zacharias heard a dozen languages thrown one upon the other and melding together into a babble, but he never heard one clear Wendish word out of that stew. Here, in the port of Sordaia, the north traded with the south but they had journeyed so far into the east that the west, their own land, seemed only a tale told to children. Ships unloaded cloth and spices and precious jade trinkets for the rich beghs of the grasslands, those who cared to trade rather than rob. Timber floated down the river from the northern forests lay stacked, ready for loading, beside fenced yards heaped with fox and bear furs and soft marten pelts. Open sheds sheltered amphorae of grain destined to feed the great city where the Arethousan emperors reigned supreme over their country of heretics.

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    The slave market was always open.


    Even Robert stopped to stare at a line of fair-skinned, redheaded, and entirely naked young women who, roped together, were prodded up onto a platform so buyers could examine them. Jinna merchants with their hair covered, Hessi women with their faces veiled, Arethousan eunuchs with beardless chins, and other folk whose faces and apparel Zacharias did not recognize fondled legs for strength and breasts for firmness, tapped teeth, and studied the lines of palms.


    ¡°Must we watch?¡± demanded Zacharias, sweating heavily, seeing the tears on their faces as their bodies were sold away to new masters. If he stood here any longer, he would have to recall the day it had happened to him. ¡°They don¡¯t need onlookers staring at them in their misery!¡±


    They moved on to the wharves where two ships were just mooring as the noon sun began its fall westward. The ships that had ferried Sanglant¡¯s army here were already taking on cargo, eager to depart. Robert and Wolfhere went to find the ship-master who had sailed with Sanglant, since the man knew Sordaia well and had promised to recommend honest merchants. Zacharias did not follow them at once, his attention caught by the interplay between a groom and the magnificent gray stallion the man was trying to coax down the gangplank of a newly arrived merchant ship. A step forward was followed by a nervous shy back, while meanwhile a traveler waited impatiently on the deck, eager to disembark but impeded by the skittish horse. The man hopped aside to avoid being kicked.


    A westerner, Zacharias thought, noting the light cloak and broadbrimmed hat worn by the waiting traveler. Although not a particularly tall man, his arrogant stance marked him as a person of noble birth, and his robes and the carved ebony staff he leaned on suggested a man of clerical vocation. He had a servant with him, a stocky, stoop-shouldered fellow whose torso was slung about with rolled-up bundles and a small sealed wooden chest, almost too much for a single person to carry. The groom coaxed the stallion forward again. It took a step, snorted, and shied back.


    That was enough for the westerner. He made some comment to the groom, and the man, sweating profusely, bobbed his head as though a thousand apologies would not suffice and reined the stallion aside with an effort, the horse sidestepping and tossing its head, restless and unhappy. It was a beautiful beast, not unlike Prince Sanglant in its fierce, masculine beauty, alive to the touch of the wind and the pitch of the ship on the waters as it rubbed up against the pilings. Others had come to watch; such superb creatures were not seen every day. No doubt it was for this reason that women admired Prince Sanglant so very much.


    A person bumped into him; it was the heavyset servant from the ship clearing a way through the gathered crowd for his master. Dressed in clerical robes, the nobleman passed next to Zacharias, the brim of his hat tilted in such a way that the frater got a look at his face: a dark-haired man, cleanshaven like a churchman, with a pursed, judgmental mouth. His gaze swept the crowd, skipping past Zacharias as he moved briskly after his servant.


    Was there something familiar about him? Or was it only that any westerner looked familiar in a land filled with barbarians?


    The press of the crowd had cut him off from Wolfhere and Robert. He was alone. Ai, God, it was in a place like this that he had been taken by slavers. The shaking hit so suddenly that he thought his feet would drop out from under him. His throat closed tightly and he couldn¡¯t draw breath. He swayed, dizzy, and his palms became clammy.


    No one else was troubled by the shaking ground. It was only him. Frantically, he plunged through the crowd and, glancing beyond the turbaned heads of Arethousan market-wives and the red caps and ponytails of Jinna merchants, saw Wolfhere pushing his way through the crowd. Robert was nowhere in sight.


    Zacharias raised a trembling hand, meaning to call out, but no words came.


    Wolfhere¡¯s expression changed as abruptly as an avalanche alters the side of a hill. His eyes widened in surprise, eyebrows lifting. His seamed face opened with a glimpse of panic, or joy, before closing tight into a stony mask as he turned, saw Zacharias, and shoved through the crowd toward him.


    Zacharias¡¯ heart was pounding so hard he was out of breath. He could not fight against the crowd as it shoved him away from Wolfhere. The stallion trumpeted in fury and fear, and he was half spun about by the force of a man knocking into him in time to see the horse break away from the hapless groom. With a graceful leap, the stallion plunged down the gangplank and landed in the midst of the crowd, trampling a hapless bystander. People screamed and scattered.


    Zacharias yelped out loud, too terrified to move. The crowd surged around him as people fought to get out of the way of the frenzied horse, now bucking and kicking like a demon.

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    ¡°Fool of a groom!¡± Wolfhere, emerging from the mob, grabbed hold of Zacharias¡¯ wrist. ¡°He should have waited until evening and peace¡ª¡± The next word lodged in his throat. Only a croak came out. ¡°God help us!¡±


    Screaming, the stallion reared. It had cleared the space around it, although a dozen people lay on the ground, some stirring and crawling away, others lying motionless where they had fallen. Blood smeared the stones. The groom was shouting to his fellows on the ship, and they had brought rope, but they didn¡¯t leap into the fray quickly enough.


    Because one bold soul strode forward to confront the gray stallion. One person was eager to test herself against the wild creature that now terrorized the docks. One small, stubborn, and recklessly foolhardy child too spoiled to understand the meaning of caution or the strength of an animal many times her size and vastly more powerful.


    ¡°Blessing!¡± Wolfhere was trapped behind a brace of brawny sailors loudly laying bets on whether the girl would go down under the horse¡¯s hooves.


    ¡°Brother Lupus!¡± cried a voice triumphantly from behind Zacharias. ¡°I have tracked you down at last!¡±


    2


    TO Sanglant¡¯s surprise, the Arethousan governor did not greet her visitors at the marble portico to the governor¡¯s palace house but made them wait in the sun without offering them even the shade provided by the colonnade that ran along the forecourt. A smooth-cheeked eunuch, declared¡ªin Arethousan¡ªthat he had to properly learn their names and titles before they could be announced to the Most Exalted Lady Eudokia.


    ¡°We¡¯re being snubbed,¡± murmured Sapientia, her skin flushed either from heat or annoyance. ¡°Treated as if we¡¯re impoverished supplicants! Made to stand out in the sun like commoners! The governor should have met us personally and escorted us in!¡±


    ¡°Hush.¡± In truth Sanglant did not know what to make of the eunuch¡¯s supercilious attitude, looking them over as though they were a prize lot of horses brought in for the master of the house to consider buying. Sapientia quieted, still fuming. ¡°Heribert, I pray you, do what you can.¡±


    While Heribert haggled with the eunuch in Arethousan, Sanglant glanced at the other companions he had chosen to accompany him: Lady Bertha, because she had insisted on coming, Captain Istvan because he had traveled to Arethousan towns before, three young lords who had the sense to remain silent, Hathui, and twenty of his most levelheaded soldiers. All sweated profusely. It was nearing midday, when the sun¡¯s hammer seemed doubly strong. Bertha winked at him. She alone seemed to be enjoying herself.


    No doubt the heat accounted for Heribert¡¯s rising anger as he and the eunuch, looking cool in his linen robe and jeweled slippers, descended into a snappish disagreement. It ended when the eunuch retreated through the doors.


    ¡°What were you arguing about?¡± Sanglant asked when Heribert returned to him.


    ¡°The title by which you and Princess Sapientia will be introduced to the governor, my lord prince. The chamberlain insisted that the word meaning ¡®lord¡¯ and ¡®lady¡¯ will do, a title I refused to accept. We struck a bargain. The soldiers will remain outside, in decent shade, within shouting distance, and you and Her Highness shall be referred to as ¡®princeps.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡±


    ¡°Do not trust the Arethousans, my lord prince. They are devious, greedy, and will flatter you while they steal your purse. Rank means everything to them. Bargain where you must, but do not give way in any matter that will make you seem low in their eyes.¡±


    ¡°Why do we accept these insults?¡± demanded Sapientia. ¡°We should just leave!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll need the assistance of the governor to fully equip ourselves for a trip into the grasslands,¡± said Sanglant, rather tired of having to point this out to Sapientia once again. ¡°We¡¯ll need guides as well.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t we have Bulkezu for a guide?¡± she retorted. ¡°Is that not why you spared his life?¡±


    ¡°I would not put my trust in him alone, but I promise you, Sister, he will serve us in the end. As for the governor, we must travel as diplomatically as we can. Better we leave no trouble in our wake that we must deal with on our way back.¡±


    The heavy doors opened silently, hauled back by unseen figures, and the eunuch reappeared, his jade-green robes swirling about his legs as he indicated that they could follow him. Once within the palace, the heat became bearable. Marble floors graced the colonnades. The palace had the appearance of great wealth considering its location in a frontier trading town. They passed several courtyards with fountains running merrily and glimpsed chambers fitted with gold-and-ivory ornamentation and jewel-studded divans. Finally, they entered a shaded arbor overgrown by thick grapevines and screened off by cunningly worked, lattices. A dozen soldiers stood at guard, holding spears. A trio of eunuchs whispered in one shadowy corner beside a table laden with wine and fruit. Two slaves worked fans on either side of a couch, whose occupant reclined at leisure, eyeing them as though they were toads got in where they did not belong. She was past the prime of life, with gray showing in her elaborate coiffure and two coarse black hairs growing out of her chin, but the precious rings on her stubby fingers and the gleam of gold weighing heavily at her neck indicated her rank. A simple gold circlet crowned her head.

 Page 49

    Sanglant could get no good idea of her height or shape because of the light blanket draped over her form. For all he knew, she could have been a lamia, hiding a serpent¡¯s body where her legs were supposed to be. Certainly she had no welcoming smile in her expression, nor did her tiny molelike eyes examine him with interest, only with contempt.


    Two rickety stools had been placed before her, the kind of seat a stable boy might sit on while milking his cows.


    ¡°Are we meant to sit on those?¡± hissed Sapientia.


    ¡°Surely there is another couch,¡± said Sanglant to Heribert before he turned to the eunuch who had led him in. He knew how to edge his smile into a threat. He knew how to step forward in a manner that was not aggressive but made best use of his size. He knew how to loom. ¡°I cannot sit on such a humble seat, but I can stand over my dear cousin, the Exalted Lady Eudokia, if need be.¡±


    Of course, it did not do for him to seem so large and threatening and the governor to seem an invalid in his presence. A pair of servants lugged in a second couch and set it down at a discreet distance from the governor.


    Sapientia sat first, at the head. Sanglant waited until Bertha and Captain Istvan took the stools, on either side, and the others ranged behind him in an orderly half circle appropriate to their respective stations before seating himself at the foot of the couch. It was so low that he had to stretch out his long legs, an obstacle for the eunuchs hurrying forward to offer wine.


    Despite his thirst, he could barely drink the noxious combination that tasted like pitch, resin, and plaster mixed into a nasty brew.


    Abruptly the governor spoke. She had a remarkably mellow voice, quite at odds with the unpleasant lineaments of her face, and it was impossible to tell from her tone what manner of words she uttered. Heribert flushed, hot color in his cheeks.


    ¡°So speaks the Most Exalted Lady, Eudokia,¡± he said, stalwartly forcing a placid expression onto his face. ¡°¡®I am duty bound to give a courteous reception to those of noble blood who come to my province. I know you are the daughter of Princess Sophia, my cousin, who was exiled to the barbarian kingdoms because of her sins. Yet how can I entertain in good faith the children of a master who has most impiously invaded lands in Aosta long sworn to serve the Most Just and Holy Emperor of Arethousa, my kinsman? This hostile invader has captured the holy city of Darre which rightfully belongs to those of us who profess the true faith. He has forced my countryfolk into exile. He has burned cities who pledge their faith to the Most Just and Holy Emperor, he has massacred loyal citizens. He sends his heretic priests to roam in our westernmost province of Dalmiaka, plotting what manner of evil and mischief I cannot guess.¡¯¡±


    Sapientia had got so red that she looked fit to swoon, but Sanglant laughed curtly, laying a steadying hand on her arm. ¡°If that is to be our welcome, Heribert, then I pray you let her exalted ladyship know our response.¡± A eunuch bowed before him, offering him more wine, but he waved him away. ¡°My father did not invade Aosta. The embattled citizens begged him to save them from murderers and bandits. The rightful queen was assaulted in her own palace by usurpers, so it came to my father to restore to her what had been stolen from her by rebels and traitors. Your most exalted emperor would have done the same thing to lords who had sworn fealty to him and then revolted against him. Furthermore, it is well known that all of Aosta once knelt before the Emperor Taillefer, whose greatness is known even into the east. It is only in later years that it came under the hand of the east. The folk of the south speak the same language as those of the north. They belong as one kingdom, not sundered into many.¡±


    The Most Exalted Lady Eudokia raised her thick eyebrows. She had rouge-reddened cheeks, not enough to disguise her age, but her hands were as soft and white as a girl¡¯s, as though she had done nothing more strenuous in her life than dip them in rose-scented baths.


    ¡°With what force of ships will your master defend the south?¡± she asked through Heribert. ¡°Last year he rode south from Darre with his wife and all his army, his Wendish and his Varrens, with Aostans and Karronish, yet he could not take one small city. His soldiers are gluttons and drunks. They run from mice. What will they do when my cousin the Most Just and Holy Emperor sends troops against your master to take back what he has stolen?¡±


    ¡°Well, then, you shall see the worth of Wendish soldiers, will you not? I have fully eight hundred of good, tried soldiers at my back, encamped outside the city. We will willingly take the field against your own troops if you are impatient to test our strength.¡±


    She gestured to her servants, who hurried forward with a platter of peeled grapes. She chose among them, popping the most succulent into her mouth. As she chewed, her cunning gaze flicked from Sanglant to Sapientia and back again. No wind stirred the arbor except that created by the slaves, who were dripping with sweat. The heat was bearable mostly because he was not moving. Oddly enough, his irritation with his host¡¯s arrogance made him patient, although Sapientia shifted restlessly, gulping at the wine and then wincing at its wicked bite.

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    ¡°Let me speak bluntly.¡± Lady Eudokia waited for Heribert to translate before she went on. ¡°Why are you here? If you had wanted another princess for your master, you would have traveled to Arethousa, for it is only the Most Just and Holy Emperor who can dispose of his cousins and sisters and daughters. In any case, it is well known that your master married the Aostan widow. I have not heard that your people follow the idolatrous Jinna custom of marrying more than one spouse at a time, or is it possible that you are still as barbaric as the Ungrians?¡±


    Captain Istvan snorted audibly, but said nothing.


    ¡°Perhaps it is you who wish a princess for your own bed,¡± she went on, confronting Sanglant with her gaze but still refusing to use his name or dignify him with any kind of title.


    ¡°I am already married,¡± he said sweetly, ¡°or else surely I would ask for your hand in marriage, Lady Eudokia.¡±


    Was that amusement or anger that made her lips twitch? She beckoned for the servant and ate another dozen grapes before indicating that the man should offer the platter to her guests. Sapientia ate eagerly, but Sanglant waved him away.


    ¡°Then what brings you here? Have you come to embrace the true faith and cast aside the apostate heresy that the Dariyan clerics preach?¡±


    ¡°Outrageous!¡± exclaimed Sapientia, a grape poised before her lips.


    ¡°Do you not suppose,¡± Sanglant murmured, ¡°that there stand among the servants one who can understand Wendish? Do not be incautious.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± She studied the attendant servants as if she could puzzle out their linguistic skills simply by the cut of their faces.


    ¡°How do I respond, my lord prince?¡± asked Heribert.


    ¡°Say this, Heribert.¡± Battling with wits he found himself nervous, palms damp. He smoothed his tunic over his thighs, the movement draining off a sliver of his tension, and continued. ¡°Most Exalted Lady Eudokia. What do you know of sorcery?¡±


    Sapientia turned to him, startled, and grasped his wrist, but Eudokia, amazingly, chuckled. She clapped her plump hands. A eunuch bowed before her while she whispered into his ear. He left the arbor by a side door.


    They waited in silence while the servants brought around grapes, figs, and sliced apples, still moist. Sanglant touched nothing. A sense of foreboding crept along his spine like the brush of venomous fingers. He shifted, marking Lady Bertha and seeing that she, too, sat erect, watchful, ready, as did Captain Istvan. The Eagle, Hathui, dipped her chin to show that she was alert. Sapientia nibbled anxiously on grapes, frowning between bites.


    The eunuchs returned. One waited in the corner while the other knelt before Lady Eudokia, pale golden robes rustling into folds around him. He held a lidded ceramic pot. Lady Eudokia began to hum, slipping sideways into a wordless chant, as she removed the lid and slowly lowered her hand into the pot. Was that a bead of sweat on the eunuch¡¯s face, trickling alongside his nose? Probably it was only the heat.


    ¡°God Above!¡± whispered Sapientia, hand tightening on Sanglant¡¯s wrist as Lady Eudokia removed her hand from the pot.


    A banded asp twisted upward to encircle her wrist. It reared its head back, hood flaring, and struck the hapless eunuch on the forearm.


    Sapientia gasped. One of the lordlings shrieked.


    The pot slipped from the servant¡¯s hands and shattered on the floor, shards scattering everywhere. He cried out, choking, as he slapped a hand over the bite, but already the flesh swelled horribly, a red mortification creeping onto the offended hand. Lady Bertha and Captain Istvan leaped to their feet, but Sanglant raised a hand to caution them, and they paused with knives half drawn, unwilling to sit down again but respecting Sanglant¡¯s command.


    One of the other eunuchs hurried over with an uncovered pot into which Lady Eudokia gently deposited the writhing snake. He clapped a lid over it and placed the pot on the floor beside the stricken man, who was gasping for breath as a drop of blood squeezed out of his right eye. The noise of his labored breathing and his whimpering moans was the only sound in the arbor except for the wheeze of the bellows worked by the slaves. The sleeve of his robe, covering the bitten arm, had gone tight because of swelling flesh.


    ¡°Basil.¡± The green-robed eunuch padded forward and offered Lady Eudokia a gold cup and a shallow bowl filled with fragrant herbs. She took hold of the stem in her right hand and with her left sprinkled crushed herbs into the cup while muttering all the while words whose meaning Sanglant did not understand.


    ¡°Beroush. Beroush ¡­ keddish gedoul.¡± She switched into the familiar cadences of Arethousan, and Heribert bent down to whisper a translation.

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    ¡°I invoke and beseech you, in the name of the seven blessed angels, in the name of the blessed Daisan who rebuked the poisonous serpents, let this become a cup of healing and cleansing, let the one who drinks from it be cured of poison. I adjure you, holy one, nameless one. Quickly! Quickly!¡±


    The stricken eunuch collapsed onto his back, clawing at his throat as beads of blood dripped out of the side of his mouth. His arm had grown to monstrous proportions, swollen all the way to the shoulder, and his face, too, had begun to swell. Sanglant had never seen poison work so fast.


    Basil knelt beside his fellow eunuch and captured his head between his hands, prying his teeth open so Lady Eudokia could let droplets fall into the man¡¯s mouth. He thrashed weakly, fading, as blood leaked from his eyes like tears. Stilled, and went limp.


    ¡°He¡¯s dead,¡± whispered Sapientia.


    ¡°No,¡± said Sanglant. ¡°He is still breathing.¡±


    Lady Eudokia poured the rest of the wine into her servant¡¯s slack mouth, although most of it slipped down his cheeks to stream away along the cracks in the flagstones. Already his face looked less swollen, and the wine had washed away the last of the blood, red drowning red.


    ¡°Sorcery,¡± said Lady Bertha. ¡°Look at his hand.¡±


    ¡°Sorcery,¡± said Lady Eudokia, although it wasn¡¯t clear if she were responding to Bertha¡¯s comment. Heribert kept up a running translation. ¡°I am familiar with sorcery, son of Henry. It runs in the blood of the women of my house, but we do not spend it unwisely, because sorcery exacts other costs, not so evident to you now but dangerous just the same. Is it sorcery you have come for?¡±


    ¡°You are not alone in commanding sorcery, Most Exalted Lady. Not every person who wields such powers uses them wisely, or well, or to the advantage of humankind.¡±


    ¡°An odd notion, Prince Sanglant. I use sorcery to the advantage of my family. Why should I use it to benefit others, who might be my enemies? Have you come to seek help from me against your barbarian magi? I will not interfere in quarrels that are beneath my notice.¡±


    ¡°What if this one is not beneath your notice? Sorcery can be harnessed in many ways. Its effects can cause tremors far beyond its point of origin. Do you know of the ones we call the mathematici, who weave threads of starlight into crowns formed of stone?¡±


    Her color changed. Like the man bitten by the snake, her skin flushed and a tremor passed through her body. She dropped the cup, which landed squarely on the body of the prone eunuch before rolling off his chest to ring as it struck stone. The bitten eunuch groaned and sat up, rubbing his arm.


    A door opened and closed, and a young eunuch in gold robes hurried in to whisper a message into Basil¡¯s ear. Basil, in turn, bent down to speak to the lady. Her color restored, she nodded and spoke a command.


    ¡°Go, now.¡± Basil¡¯s green robes flared as he stepped away from the couch. ¡°A suite has been made ready. You can retire there. We will call you when it is time to dine.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡± Sapientia rose.


    ¡°Nay, Sister, let us do as we are bid. The army should be safely settled in by now, with a market close at hand. We must be patient.¡±


    ¡°It could be a trap!¡± she muttered.


    He bent close, to whisper in her ear. ¡°I think we can fight our way free of a palace protected by slippered eunuchs.¡±


    ¡°Bayan never insulted the worth of the Arethousan legions. He fought them once. Have you?¡±


    Stung, Sanglant turned away from her and walked after the eunuch. The others followed obediently, murmuring together.


    Basil showed them into two adjoining rooms which opened onto a porch looking over a sere garden. A fountain burbled merrily out in the sun. The spray made rainbows, quickly wicked away. A bed of rosemary was the only ornament; other plots of earth lay barren.


    Within the suite a small group of attendants loitered and with gestures offered to bathe their hands and feet, to set up a chessboard, to settle them on divans piled with pillows so that they could rest. Silken tapestries graced the walls, depicting scenes of elaborate feasts and girls picking flowers.


    ¡°What do you make of it?¡± Heribert asked.


    ¡°My sister, or these handsome rooms?¡±


    Heribert raised an eyebrow, wickedly, but shook his head. ¡°Which man was bitten by the snake?¡± he asked. ¡°Nay, I refer to the Most Exalted Lady Eudokia.¡±


    ¡°I expect that the walls, and the servants, have ears. If I were the master of this house, I would make sure that at least one among these attendants could speak Wendish.¡±


    He sat down on one of the couches, stretching out amongst the pillows, yawning. All that sun, riding up to the palace, had made him tired, and he did not plot intrigue well when he was tired. It was easier to fight.

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    He dozed fitfully, waking frequently while around him his retinue talked quietly among themselves or napped. Breschius played chess with Lady Bertha. Sapientia snored softly. Flashes of dream brightened and faded as he twisted in and out of sleep. Liath weaving light among standing stones. Severed threads curling and writhing like beheaded snakes, like the serpent winding its way up Eudokia¡¯s wrist. Bells. An arrow flowering into flame. Bayan, dead, and Sapientia walking in chains, a prisoner. Who had done this to her?


    He started awake, troubled and restless, and this time got to his feet. Walking outside, he staggered when he hit the sunlight; in the shady arbor, he had forgotten its strength. Hathui strolled up beside him.


    ¡°By the fountain we are surely safe from listening ears, my lord prince.¡±


    The fountain¡¯s spray beckoned. He sat on the lip of the fountain and let the cooling mist float over him, beads collecting on his neck, sliding under the heavy torque, moistening his lips and hands. Hathui followed, shading her eyes with an arm. The rest of them prudently waited in the shade, watching him¡ªor still sleeping away the heat of the day.


    ¡°Do you think she knows of the Seven Sleepers?¡± Hathui asked once she stood within the corona of the fountain¡¯s noisy spray. ¡°Or is in league with them?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. The church condemned the mathematici a hundred years ago. I do not know if the Arethousan patriarch did the same. Perhaps Brother Breschius knows. I suppose it will be difficult to tease out the truth.¡±


    ¡°Do you think the asp was really poisonous?¡±


    He laughed. ¡°It seemed poisonous enough to me. Just as well I left my daughter back at the fort for safekeeping, since she would insist on handling the serpent herself. The question we must ask is whether it was magic, or herb-craft, that saved the eunuch. We cannot trust the Arethousans, nor should we try to bring them into affairs they are better left out of. If it¡¯s true that my father wars against their agents and vassals in southern Aosta, then they will either seek to hinder us in order to harm him, or they will help us hoping to weaken him.¡±


    ¡°You would rather trust to barbarians and pagans, my lord prince? To these Kerayit that Brother Breschius speaks of?¡±


    ¡°They have less to gain whether we succeed or fail, do they not?¡±


    ¡°Yet how do we find them?¡±


    ¡°How do we find them?¡± he echoed. ¡°Or am I simply a fool to think I can pit myself against Anne?¡±


    ¡°Someone must, my lord prince. Do not forget your father, the king.¡±


    Here in the courtyard, open to the air, he heard noises from the town, a stallion¡¯s defiant trumpeting, the rumble of cartwheels along cobbles, a man shouting.


    He smiled grimly. ¡°Nay, I do not forget him. Am I not his obedient son?¡±


    ¡°Alas, my lord prince, not always.¡±


    He grinned as he looked up at her, delighted by her deadpan expression and the lift of her eyebrows. ¡°It is no wonder that my father trusted you, Eagle.¡±


    ¡°Nor have I ever betrayed that trust. Nor do I mean to do so now.¡±


    ¡°Still, you sought me out.¡±


    ¡°Because I believe that you are the only one who can save King Henry¡ª¡±


    A shout disturbed the drowsy afternoon. Feet clattered on stone in counterpoint to cries and objections. He jumped to his feet and called out to the others just as the door into the suite was thrown open and a soldier thrust inside as if on the points of spears.


    ¡°My lord prince!¡± The man was too short of breath to croak out more than the title. ¡°Prince Sanglant!¡±


    ¡°Here I am.¡± Sanglant strode into the shadow of the whitewashed porch. ¡°What is it, Malbert?¡±


    ¡°Your Grace!¡± The eunuch Basil shoved past Malbert with a furious expression. His Wendish was startlingly fluent.


    ¡°This man invaded the sanctuary of the palace. He injured one of my¡ª¡±


    ¡°I beg you, silence!¡±


    The eunuch faltered, mouth working, face a study in contempt and insulted dignity. But he kept quiet.


    ¡°Malbert?¡±


    The soldier still breathed hard. ¡°My lord prince,¡± he gasped, fighting for air. ¡°Your daughter¡ªis missing.¡±


    3


    ZACHARIAS was too terrified to move as the stallion gathered itself to bolt. The groom edged down the gangplank. Wolfhere shoved at the backs of the sailors who, like the rest of the crowd, backed away fearfully to give the frightened horse room. Only Blessing stood her ground.


    ¡°Brother Lupus!¡± The cleric appeared out of the crowd and grasped Wolfhere by the shoulder. ¡°I thought I might find you tracking Prince Sanglant as well. Come. We must hasten.¡±

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    ¡°Now is not the time!¡± Wolfhere pulled free of the cleric, not difficult since he stood half a head taller and had the build of a man who has spent his life in the saddle, not in court.


    ¡°My God.¡± The other man looked beyond him as the sailors shrank away, leaving a gap between which one could see the tableau, stallion poised, girl motionless. ¡°Is that the child, grown so large? I had thought her no more than three. Or is this another bastard child belonging to the prince?¡±


    The stallion danced sideways, tossing its head. The groom reached the base of the plank.


    ¡°No time to waste,¡± murmured the cleric.


    Something about the way he tilted up his chin and squinted his eyes skyward triggered a cascade of memories. Something about the way he lifted his left hand, as if giving a benediction or a command, spilled recognition into plain sight.


    Zacharias had seen him before. He was one of those who had remained in the valley after Kansi-a-lari defeated the sorcerers. He was one of the Seven Sleepers.


    As was Wolfhere.


    Light flashed around the cleric¡¯s head. The sky darkened as a cloud scudded in to cover the sun, and that same wisp of light caressed Zacharias¡¯ neck before flitting on to twist across the sprawl of bodies. It tangled within the mane of the restive stallion curling around its ears. Was he hallucinating? The stallion snorted and backed so hard into the groom that the poor man tumbled off the wharf and fell with a shriek and a splash into the filthy water.


    Blessing took another step forward. The stallion reared, trumpeting.


    Zacharias could not shift his feet. Wolfhere thrust past the men blocking his way and sprinted to her, bearing her bodily into the safety of the crowd as Blessing shouted in protest and kicked him. The cleric turned.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± the man asked in his prim voice, his lips set in a terse line. ¡°Too late for questions, since you have already seen me.¡± A breath of wind teased his ear. A flutter of breeze wrapped around his face and choked off the air. Light crackled before his eyes. Faded.


    He fell.


    Woke, sick to his stomach and with the ground heaving beneath him. He rolled backward, bumped up against a lumpy sack, and opened his eyes. It was dark except for a dull glow beyond his feet, too diffuse to make out. He could not tell where he was, but the splintered wood planks stank of old vomit and dried piss and the floor kept tilting gently up and down, up and down.


    He heard footsteps, the scrape of an object dragged over the ground, and hurriedly shut his eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯ll search him, then.¡± That was the cleric speaking in his thickly accented Wendish. Zacharias willed his breathing to slow, his body to relax, so the cleric would think him asleep. Hands patted his body, an intimate but efficient touch. ¡°God have mercy. Does the man never wash?¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t like his disfigurement to be seen, so I suppose that accounts for him not bathing. I told you it was rash to grab him, Marcus. Couldn¡¯t you have left well enough alone? Now we¡¯ll have to kill him.¡±


    Even after the years he had survived as a slave, the years he had learned to absorb whatever humiliation was meted out to him, it was hard not to suck in his breath, not to whimper in fear.


    That was Wolfhere¡¯s voice.


    Hadn¡¯t he guessed all along that Wolfhere could not be trusted?


    ¡°I take no chances,¡± said the other man, not to be distracted from his search. ¡°He saw me with you and might carry tales back to the prince.¡± Quickly enough those hands found the little pocket sewn into Zacharias¡¯ robes; those hands extracted the folded parchment and retreated. By some miracle, Zacharias kept his breathing steady, did not open his eyes.


    Do not let them know. Wait it out. Patience is its own reward.


    ¡°Do you recognize this?¡± asked Marcus.


    ¡°The scratchings of a mathematicus. You know I am not skilled in calculation.¡±


    ¡°Nor in intrigue. This bears the mark of Liathano¡¯s idle musings. How did the eunuch come to possess it?¡±


    ¡°I do not know. He is a secretive man, much taken by an interest in arcane matters. He believes he has seen some vision, a glimpse into the secret nature of the cosmos. I do not claim to understand it. But he will ever have at me, wanting to be taught the hidden knowledge of the universe.¡±


    ¡°Is that so? Hmm.¡±


    Wolfhere¡¯s laugh was sharp. ¡°Do you think to recruit him? He is a coward. Not to be trusted. He says so himself. I have witnessed his cowardice with my own eyes.¡±


    ¡°I was thinking more of throwing him over the side once we are well out at sea. But I wonder what it is that he thought you could teach him. Why he thought you were traveling with Prince Sanglant.¡±

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    A good question, but Zacharias could scarcely concentrate; it was hard enough to hold his bladder so he wouldn¡¯t piss himself from fear. ¡°Throwing him over the side.¡± No wonder the ground rocked beneath him. He was on a ship.


    ¡°One of us must watch those who present the most danger. Hasn¡¯t that always been my task? I am the messenger who rides in the world.¡±


    ¡°Not you alone. I have done my part among the presbyters and clerics in Darre.¡±


    ¡°It is not the same.¡±


    ¡°No, it is not, for they are all cultured men and women. You have fulfilled the part your birth suited you for. Now you are needed to play your part elsewhere, Brother Lupus.¡±


    ¡°I am needed here. Prince Sanglant poses a threat. One of us must watch him.¡±


    ¡°I do not disagree with you, but we no longer have the luxury of letting you range at will. The wheel of the heavens turns, whether we will it or no. You know what part you are meant to play.¡±


    ¡°Is there not another one who can be trained? Surely there is still time.¡±


    ¡°Unlike Eagles, Sleepers do not retire, Brother. They die and are replaced. Sister Zo? no longer stands with us. Alas.¡±


    ¡°She is truly dead?¡±


    ¡°So she is, in the same conflagration in which we lost Liathano. I will miss her, the good woman. But we have found a strong mind to replace hers. He is called Hugh of Austra. Perhaps you know of him.¡±


    ¡°Hugh of Austra! Margrave Judith¡¯s bastard son?¡±


    ¡°The same. With his help, Anne has unlocked the secret of the crowns and how the movement of the stars acts in concert with the stones. Now we are close to understanding the weaving by which our ancestors rid themselves of the Lost Ones.¡±


    ¡°The seven circles¡ª¡±


    ¡°We are far beyond that. Seven circles, each of seven stones. We were deceived by erroneous notions. Sister Anne believed that the crown at Verna was the key, but it is not. Meriam now believes that the crowns were laid out to surround the land of the Aoi, that in this way the ancient sorcerers bound that land within the circle of the spell. Therefore, there must be at least one crown south of the middle sea, one east of it, one west, and so on. We have discovered unexpected allies in Alba among the tree sorcerers and their queen. With their help, we know where the westernmost circle lies. Brother Severus will journey there after he has identified the second circle, which we believe lies in southern Salia. I have myself in the course of my long search for you discovered a crown here in the east, in the wilderness between Ungria and Handelburg, at a place called Queen¡¯s Grave. Do you know of it?¡±


    ¡°Bayan and Sapientia fought the Quman at a spot called Queen¡¯s Grave about three years ago. There was a tumulus there erected in ancient days, so I heard¡ª¡±


    ¡°The same. I ventured into the burial chamber, but it had been disturbed by grave robbers. I also saw the leavings from the battle, bones of horses and men picked clean, countless shards of arrows. There is a crown on top of the hill. The local folk were easily persuaded that it was in their interest to hoist the fallen stones upright with rope and dirt ramps, under my supervision. Yet you were not there when the battle was fought, were you, Wolfhere? How is it that we lost track of you? I see that you wear an amulet to protect yourself from aetherical sight. Are you hiding from us?¡±


    ¡°Nay. I was trapped by the cunning of one of my own comrades, an Eagle. My old nemesis, who hates me sorely. She retired to the service of Waltharia, the eldest child of Helmut Villam. When we passed by that way, she convinced Prince Sanglant that if he sought to act against sorcerers he must protect himself by means of such amulets. I couldn¡¯t refuse to wear one without making him distrust me.¡±


    ¡°You should have left him months ago. It serves no purpose.¡±


    ¡°Do you think Prince Sanglant poses no threat to Sister Clothilde¡¯s hopes and plans?¡±


    ¡°I think even if he can succeed in gaining allies, and these griffin feathers you speak of, that it will be too late, and too little, against us.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps. But how will we know how great a threat he poses if none of us are witness to what he is doing?¡±


    ¡°Any person can spy on Prince Sanglant.¡±


    ¡°Not any person can gain his trust.¡±


    ¡°That may be. I do not know how much of a dog¡¯s instinct he has for enemies. But it matters not, Brother.¡±


    ¡°If you think it does not matter, then you are a fool.¡±


    ¡°You forget yourself! You were raised as Anne¡¯s servant, not as our peer!¡±


    The silence stank of anger and old resentment. Zacharias might have cheered to see Wolfhere spoken to in such a way, but he had himself been born to freeholders who had risked farming in the marchlands in order to be beholden to no lord, only to the regnant.

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    ¡°I crave your pardon, my lord,¡± said Wolfhere at last in a tight voice.


    ¡°So you must. I expect you not to forget your place again. Now. As soon as my servant returns with slaves, we will cast off. There¡¯s little enough tide in these waters.¡±


    ¡°Where do we go?¡± Was Wolfhere¡¯s tone ironic? Or angry? Did the needle of rank still jab him? Was he humbled by Marcus¡¯ disdain? He had such a hold over his emotions, and the muffling effect of the dark hold muted his voice just enough, that Zacharias could not guess how he felt. ¡°Do we return to Darre?¡±


    ¡°Nay. We are to journey south to assist Sister Meriam in her search in the lands south of the middle sea. We hear stories of a crown set near the ruins of Kartiako. Meriam believes that another crown must lie south of the holy city of Sa?s. It will be a pilgrimage into a new land.¡±


    ¡°A dangerous one. Jinna idolaters rule those lands.¡±


    ¡°It is difficult to know who truly rules the desert. But first I must deliver my cargo, and the child, to Darre.¡±


    ¡°The child.¡± The words, spoken so softly, barely reached Zacharias¡¯ ears although he lay not a body¡¯s length from the two men. ¡°I am against it. It is dangerous to act so boldly.¡±


    ¡°As the time approaches, we must not fear to take risks. We have hidden for too long.¡±


    ¡°If we kidnap the child, Prince Sanglant will not rest until he recovers her.¡±


    ¡°Then he cannot hunt griffin feathers and sorcerous allies in the east, can he? He will have to choose. One, or the other.¡±


    All at once, Zacharias realized that he lay not against a sack but against a body, limp and small. It was Blessing, unconscious and, presumably, tied up as he was. With some effort, he wiggled his arms until his hands touched her body. His searching hands brushed her fingers.


    She responded. Her small hands, tied back as his were, clenched hard, tightening over his thumb. She squeezed again, a signal, and he squeezed back, then traced the pattern of the rope binding her wrists, seeking the knot. She made no sound, nor did she move except for that brief, fierce, silent communication.


    The rope was wet and swollen, impossible to unknot especially at the angle he was forced to work on it. He despaired. He would be thrown to the fish, and she carried off to Darre as a hostage. Prince Sanglant had fought so hard to protect her, but it appeared that, after all, the sorcerers would win.


    A ghost of a breeze tickled his nose, making him sniffle and snort.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± asked Marcus, standing.


    Footsteps sounded on the deck above them and a voice called down through the hatch in clear but understandable Aostan. ¡°Your man has returned, my lord cleric. He¡¯s brought a dozen likely looking slaves, half of them Quman by the looks of them and the rest foreign creatures from the east. It isn¡¯t often we get a coffle of only male slaves. Most buyers prefer women. Shall we quarter them below, or on deck?¡±


    No breeze could penetrate belowdecks, but a breeze played around him nonetheless. As Marcus moved away to the ladder, Blessing whispered.


    ¡°Yes. Free me.¡±


    Of course he would try, but he could not work miracles! God had forsaken him, or he had forsaken God¡­.


    She was not talking to him. She was talking to the spirit of air that played around his head. A cool touch swirled around his fingers. The strands of rope that bound her hands softened and parted, unraveling like so much rhetted flax. She flexed her wrists, and the rope fell away, leaving her free.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Her voice had no more force than the stirring of a breeze against the skin. ¡°Him, too.¡±


    His bonds loosened and he slipped swollen hands forward to his chest. A sensation as of a thousand pricking needles infested his palms and fingers as the blood and humors rushed back.


    Free.


    But still trapped.


    Chains rattled above.


    ¡°Anna says you¡¯re a sinner and an unbeliever,¡± murmured Blessing under cover of the thump and scrape of chains on the ladder as slaves descended into the hold. ¡°Are you?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what I believe, Your Highness,¡± he whispered. ¡°But I think we had better consider how to escape rather than whether I¡¯m apostate.¡±


    ¡°But what about your soul? Won¡¯t you be cast into the Abyss? Doesn¡¯t that scare you?¡±


    ¡°Nay, Your Highness. I have seen a vision of the cosmos. I am not afraid.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you? Everyone says you¡¯re a coward.¡± She said it without malice.


    He twisted to see. The hold lay low and long, its far end shrouded in gloom. The cleric stood with his back to his prisoners, directing his own servant as that man prodded the slaves forward into the hold. Poor suffering souls. Zacharias wondered briefly what horrible fate awaited them at the hands of their new master.

 Page 56

    Wolfhere stood in profile, but he turned his head and noticed Zacharias¡¯ movement. Lamp glow and shadow mixed on his face, making his expression impossible to read. He did not move.


    ¡°Be ready,¡± whispered Blessing.


    A shout rang out from the coffled slaves. Chains clattered to the floor as iron manacles fell open. Blessing leaped to her feet.


    ¡°Follow me!¡± she shouted, jumping for the ladder. ¡°You are free!¡±


    Zacharias found himself on his feet before he realized he meant to obey. The slaves hesitated, dumbfounded or in a stupor. How long had they been captives, heeding the call of the whip, the binding of shackles?


    Marcus spun around as Blessing reached the ladder. He leaped forward to grab the girl around the legs. Zacharias charged past the motionless Wolfhere and slammed into the small cleric. All three¡ªcleric, frater, and child¡ªfell sprawling on the floor. One of the slaves bolted, striking down Marcus¡¯ servant, and in his wake the others erupted into motion. Trying to untangle himself from Marcus, who lay on top of him, Zacharias saw only a blur of bodies before a figure paused beside him, legs wreathed in the tattoos marking those Quman who had chosen the shaman¡¯s path.


    ¡°The child,¡± said the man in a recognizable Quman dialect. ¡°The child with magic saves us.¡±


    The sounds of fighting carried down from above decks. Marcus swore, kicking, as the slave tugged Blessing free. She shrieked with triumph and rushed up the ladder as effortlessly as a spider. Zacharias fought to his knees, lunged for the ladder as the last of the slaves made their escape.


    ¡°Stop him!¡± barked Marcus. ¡°Wolfhere! For God¡¯s sake, go after her!¡±


    The servant raised his staff as Zacharias grabbed the rungs.


    A blow smashed into the back of his head.


    Then, nothing.


    VI


    A PROPOSAL


    1


    ¡°MY daughter is out of control! How can it be that she escaped your care and was almost kidnapped?¡±


    Anna knelt with her back to Prince Sanglant, trembling, waiting for the switch to fall on her shoulders. He was in a rage like none she had ever seen. Matto had got twenty strokes, and Thiemo had demanded that he receive the same number even though as a noble lord he did not have to be humbled in such a way. She would have lost respect for him if he hadn¡¯t shared the punishment. Both she and Thiemo knew who was truly to blame.


    Now it was her turn.


    ¡°It was my fault, my lord prince,¡± she said through her tears. ¡°I did not keep her at my side. She asked leave to go dice with the soldiers, but I didn¡¯t go with her. That was when she ran away. She must have crept out through the drainage ditch.¡±


    She had been crying all day, first in anger because of the terrible fight that morning between Matto and Thiemo, then with fear when she had discovered Blessing missing, and later out of relief when the girl had returned late in the day with an unexpected retinue in tow. Now, at last, she wept silently, in terror. Better to crumble to dust than endure the prince¡¯s fury.


    ¡°And to add to the injury, this insult! Have you corrupted my daughter with these whispers about the phoenix?¡±


    At least the whole troop wasn¡¯t looking on, only Captain Fulk, Sergeant Cobbo, Brother Breschius, and the Eagle, her face drawn and serious. In the distance she heard Blessing shrieking with thwarted anger. Sanglant had ordered the girl shut up in one of the little cells. Maybe he was ready to whip his daughter, too. Maybe he was going there next, once he had finished with her.


    The heat made the earthen walls and the dusty ground bake. The sun¡¯s glare on her face made her squint. Sweat trickled down her spine.


    ¡°Is it true?¡± he roared.


    The switch whistled past her back. The tip stung a shoulder blade as it whipped past, barely touching her. She burst into tears, shaking hysterically.


    ¡°I crave your pardon, my lord prince. But the words I spoke are only the truth.¡± Flinging herself forward onto the ground, she pressed her face into the dirt.


    He cursed so furiously that she imagined him transforming from man into rabid dog, back into a beast like the ragged, stinking daimone she had once thought him when she had seen him years ago as a captive in the cathedral of Gent.


    ¡°My lord prince,¡± said Brother Breschius in the mildest of voices, ¡°she is only a girl, barely a woman. What purpose does it serve to terrorize her in this way?¡±


    She sobbed helplessly as the prince slapped the switch into the ground, once, twice, thrice, to emphasize his words. Dirt sprayed up with each bite, spitting into her face.


    ¡°My daughter is a willful. Spoiled. Impossible. Brat! Now it transpires that she is soaked in heresy as well. And has the nerve to tell her own father that I am damned!¡±

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    ¡°It cannot have helped to find her surrounded by a brace of slaves who worship her as the magician who freed them,¡± said Breschius. ¡°It must be a frightening sight, my lord prince, to see your daughter growing into her heritage.¡±


    Sometimes silence was worse than shouting.


    All she saw were his boots, six steps, a sharp turn, and six steps back, turn again. Only a very, very angry man paced like that, each step clipped and short. Anger flooded out of him until she thought she would drown. Sobs shook her entire body no matter how much she tried to hold them in.


    Fully a woman now, in the old tradition. Oh, God, why had she done it?


    Now Matto and Thiemo hated each other, and she had selfishly and stupidly and dishonorably neglected her duty to Blessing. What did people do who were turned out in the midst of a foreign country with no kinfolk to aid them? Didn¡¯t she deserve to be sold as a slave or murdered by beggars for her shoes?


    ¡°What of your brother, Eagle?¡± the prince demanded harshly, still pacing.


    ¡°I beg your pardon, my lord prince. My own sorrow clouds my mind. Did Zacharias choose to stay with the traitors rather than follow her to freedom? I pray it is not so. Yet if he wanted to follow but could not, then he may now be a prisoner. Or dead.¡±


    ¡°I should not have let Wolfhere and Brother Zacharias go into town, my lord prince,¡± said Captain Fulk. ¡°I should have known that Princess Blessing would try to follow them. I should not have let Wolfhere go unattended¡­.¡±


    ¡°Nay.¡± The boots stopped a hand¡¯s breadth from Anna¡¯s nose. Her tears had dampened the pale dirt, turning it dark. ¡°I am to blame. I should never have trusted Wolfhere. I knew what he was. My father is not a poor judge of character, but I let my anger blind me. So be it. Get up, Anna.¡±


    No one disobeyed that tone.


    She scrambled up. Dirt streaked her tunic and leggings, smeared her face. Her nose was runny, but she dared not raise a hand to wipe her face clean. She swallowed another sob.


    ¡°I have unfinished business,¡± he said to the others. ¡°Lady Eudokia will not be pleased that I left the palace so abruptly. She¡¯ll consider it an insult.¡±


    ¡°But you left Princess Sapientia and Brother Heribert and most of the rest of the party behind,¡± said Breschius.


    ¡°Yes. Now I must retrieve them and complete the negotiations. Brother Breschius, remain here with Captain Fulk.¡± He paused, glancing toward the cell where Blessing was confined. The girl¡¯s screams and protests had not diminished, although her actual words were muffled by the earthen walls. She was a persistent child. Wiser and less stubborn ones would have given up shrieking by now, silenced by fear of what was to come or even by an idea that it was better to placate than to annoy.


    Not Blessing.


    The slaves she had freed knelt beside the door, forbidden to see her although they refused to move away.


    ¡°Faithful servants,¡± the prince observed sardonically. ¡°Let them remain there until I can deal with them. Very well, Captain. You¡¯re in charge.¡±


    He left with a few soldiers hurrying after him.


    ¡°Go on, child,¡± said Brother Breschius kindly. ¡°You¡¯ve sinned, and been punished. Now go and make it right.¡±


    ¡°How can I make it right? Will the prince turn me out?¡±


    ¡°Not this time. Ask forgiveness from the one you¡¯ve harmed the most, and swear to never again neglect your duty. Princess Blessing wasn¡¯t lost. Think of it as a warning to not allow yourself to be distracted again.¡±


    Did he know? She flushed. Surely only she and Matto and Thiemo knew what had transpired last night. She ducked her head respectfully and ran off to the dark cell near to the one where Blessing was confined. The door was so low that she had to crawl inside, but within it was blessedly cool and dark. She smelled blood and sweat and saw the shape of two prone figures in the dim filtering light. Even those unmoving shapes still had the power to awaken in her the desires that had broken free last night: What a fool she was!


    ¡°Anna?¡± Matto groaned and shifted.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± she whispered, touching his ankle. ¡°Has anyone put a salve on your back?¡±


    ¡°Sergeant Cobbo did,¡± said Matto, ¡°and swore at me the whole time. Oh, God, Anna. Why did you have to do it?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not the only one who suffered,¡± exclaimed Thiemo.


    ¡°You sorry excuse for a man. You only took those lashes because you were afraid that Anna would comfort me if I was hurt and you weren¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve no right to speak to me in that way!¡±

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    ¡°That¡¯s right! I¡¯m only a poor common boy, your randy lordship. Nor should I covet what you¡¯ve already taken for your own, isn¡¯t that right?¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± Anna kicked Thiemo in the leg before he could respond. It was hard to feel affectionate toward him; smelling the whipping he and Matto had taken; remembering how close that switch had come to her own back.


    ¡°Serves you right,¡± hissed Matto, rearing up. ¡°Serves you right, you stinking goat¡ª¡±


    Unthinkingly she set a hand on his back to press him down, and he howled with pain. She jerked back her hand; it came away wet with blood.


    ¡°Shut up!¡± She wanted to cry, but her chest was too tight. ¡°Haven¡¯t we done enough harm?¡±


    2


    THE doors to the governor¡¯s palace were closed and Sanglant and his small retinue were, once again, forced to wait outside while the eunuch who acted as gatekeeper vanished into the interior. At this time of day, however, the shadows slanting away from the palace¡¯s bulk gave them some respite from the heat. He had only a dozen men with him; the rest he had left with his sister within the palace courtyard a few hours before.


    As he waited, he fretted. He had thought himself so clever, leaving Blessing with the main body of troops in the fort while he negotiated with Lady Eudokia. That way Blessing would stay out of trouble and could not be used as a hostage if the worst happened and the governor plotted intrigue.


    But Blessing was getting older every day, far too quickly. Thinking of what had happened made him so angry that he had to twist his fear and fury into a knot and thrust it out of sight. He could not let such feelings cripple him.


    Ai, for the love of God, how had Blessing got so wild? What had he done wrong?


    He heard the tread of many feet a moment before the heavy doors were thrust open from inside and a troop of Arethousan soldiers marched out. In their midst strode a general, or lord, recognizable by his soldier¡¯s posture and his shrewd, arrogant gaze as he looked over Sanglant and offered him a swift grin that marked Sanglant as his accomplice, or his dupe. The man had broad shoulders, powerful arms, and only one eye, the other lost, no doubt, in battle. He was a fighting man.


    Sanglant nodded, recognizing a kindred spirit whether that man were ally or enemy, and they assessed each other a moment more before the general was hailed by one of his officers and turned his attention away. The troop crossed the broad plaza to the stables, where saddled horses were being led out.


    Basil appeared in the entryway, recognizable by his jade-green robes although his round, dark, smooth Arethousan face looked much like that of the other eunuchs: ageless and sexless.


    ¡°My lord prince,¡± he said. ¡°You are welcome to dine.¡±


    They entered through the long hall and Sanglant was brought to a broad forecourt where a servant washed his hands and face in warm water poured out of a silver ewer. The soldiers remained behind as the prince was shown into an arbor whose vines were all artifice, gold leaves and stems twining around a wood trellis. Cloth wings slit at intervals offered shade but allowed the breeze to waft through. No breath of wind had stirred the air outside; he heard the wheeze and groan from the fans as the slaves stood out in the sun, hidden from view behind the cloth as they worked the bellows to keep those beneath the arbor comfortable.


    The Most Exalted Lady Eudokia had already seated herself to dine at a long, narrow table with a cloth covering the area just before her while the rest of the long table lay bare. Princess Sapientia reclined in the place of honor to Eudokia¡¯s right, and a boy of some ten years of age, a dark-haired youth with little beauty and a slack expression, fidgeted on a couch placed to the lady¡¯s left, at the end of the table. Two servants attended him, spooning food into his mouth and wiping his chin and lips when he dribbled. A dozen courtiers ate in frightful silence as servants brought around platters all of which reeked of garlic, onion, leeks, oil, and fish sauce. Lady Bertha had been given a place fifteen places down from the head of the table; the rest of the party he had left behind with his sister was absent, all but Heribert, who stood behind the princess with a composed expression and one hand clenched.


    Sapientia looked up and smiled as Sanglant entered. Lady Eudokia gestured to Basil, who indicated that he should take the only seat left vacant: on the couch beside the youth. The child wore princely regalia but in all other ways seemed inconsequential, and Sapientia¡¯s smirk confirmed that Lady Eudokia was, in her petty, Arethousan way, taking revenge on him for their earlier verbal sparring and his precipitous departure.


    ¡°I pray you, Prince Sanglant,¡± said Lady Eudokia through Basil, who remained beside her as her interpreter, ¡°drink to my health if you will.¡± He drank a liquor that tasted of fish, bravely managing not to gag, and she went on. ¡°Her Royal Highness my dear cousin Princess Sapientia has entertained me with a recounting of the many barbaric customs of your father¡¯s people. Is it true that a prince must prove himself a man by breeding a bastard upon a woman, any creature no matter how lowborn or unattractive, and only thereafter can he be recognized as heir to the regnant? Are you the whelp produced out of such a union?¡±

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    Sapientia¡¯s cheeks were red with satisfaction.


    ¡°I am,¡± he said.


    ¡°A half-breed, spawn of the Cursed Ones, is that so as well?¡±


    ¡°It is!¡± exclaimed Sapientia.


    ¡°They are all gone, eradicated millennia ago,¡± objected Eudokia. ¡°It can¡¯t be true.¡±


    ¡°It is true,¡± said Sanglant evenly. He would not give Sapientia the satisfaction of seeing that her dart had struck home.


    ¡°You might be Jinna born and bred, or your dam might have been a whore transported westward from beyond the eastern deserts to suit the pleasure of a prince.¡±


    Sapientia giggled, then covered her lapse with a sip of wine. The servants brought around a platter of some kind of meat swimming in a foul brine that stank of rancid oil. The courtiers gobbled it down. Sanglant could not bring himself to eat more than a bite.


    ¡°A bastard, yet like a eunuch you wear no beard. Is it true you have fathered a bastard of your own who travels with you?¡±


    ¡°My daughter is no bastard.¡± He set down his knife for fear he would otherwise fling it at her¡ªor at Sapientia, who glared at him, caught between glee and embarrassment. ¡°I am married, and she is legitimately born to myself and my wife.¡±


    ¡°Do they let bastards marry among the barbarians? We do not allow such a thing here. It would taint the blood of the noble lineages, but no doubt the Wendish themselves are a bastard race so it is no surprise they should allow their blood to become polluted. Yet, if you wish, I will foster the child with me. Bastards¡¯ get are notorious for the trouble they get wrapped up in. I can raise her as befits a noble servant and make sure she is not led astray by the Dariyan heresy.¡±


    ¡°I think not,¡± said Sanglant.


    ¡°What else do you mean to do with her?¡± demanded Sapientia. She drained her cup of wine, as if for courage. ¡°There¡¯s nothing for her in Wendar, Brother. She¡¯s got no land and no prospects, no matter what you say. And she¡¯s a brat. I say, be rid of her, and we¡¯d all be happier. Don¡¯t think that I don¡¯t suspect that you hope to use her to usurp my position, as I¡¯ve told my dear cousin Eudokia while you¡¯ve been gone chasing after her. Oh. Dear. Did you find her again?¡±


    All that saved Sanglant from a furious retort was the sight of Heribert, quite pale, brushing a finger along his closed lips as a warning. Instead, he downed a cup of the noxious-tasting liquor and let the burn sear away the edge of his anger. ¡°She is safe. She will remain so. So have I sworn. So, I pray, will you remember.¡±


    ¡°I will remember,¡± she muttered, flushed, her cheeks sheeny with sweat.


    Lady Eudokia smiled unctuously, clearly amused by their unseemly sparring. ¡°It is ever the way with brothers and sisters to quarrel.¡± She reached over to pat the youth¡¯s flaccid cheek with a pudgy hand. ¡°Alas that I quarreled with my own brother in the past, but now he is dead in battle and his sweet child come to bide with me.¡±


    The boy smiled uncertainly at her, glanced at Sanglant with fear, and spoke, in a whisper, words Sanglant could not understand. At once, servants brought him a tray of sweets and he picked daintily at them as Sapientia brooded and Sanglant fought the urge to jump up and walk anywhere as long as it got him away from that which plagued him, which at this moment was just about everything. He found refuge in a strategic retreat.


    ¡°I had hoped to discuss with you what arrangements we may make for our journey east.¡±


    ¡°I am sure you do. But before we do so, I pray you, tell me which synods does the holy church of Wendar recognize? Or perhaps it is too young to recognize any, for truly we have heard no word of it here where we live. As you know, Arethousa is the ancient home of the Witnesser, St. Thecla. We were first to accept the Proclamation of the blessed Daisan.¡±


    ¡°Do you think, Sapientia,¡± he said hours later as afternoon waned when at last they could break free of the long feast and return on horseback to the fort, ¡°that by belittling me and my daughter in front of our enemy you have made Wendish-folk look like lions or like fools?¡±


    ¡°Who is to say she is our enemy?¡±


    ¡°Can she be otherwise? Did she say anything except words meant to sneer and laugh and gloat? You were just as angry as I at her insults, when we first came into her audience chamber this morning!¡±


    ¡°Maybe I changed my mind while you were gone.¡± Sapientia¡¯s cheeks were still red. She lifted her chin, but her smile trembled as if it might collapse at any instant. ¡°You have stolen what is mine and you might as well be holding me prisoner just like Bulkezu for all that you listen to me, although you pretend to the others that we command jointly. Don¡¯t think I am too stupid to know what you intend by your daughter! You want her to rule in my place, and if not her, what is to stop you from supporting Queen Adelheid and her infant daughter? You were jealous of Bayan, and now you¡¯re jealous of me. I won¡¯t rest until I have back what is mine by right of birth.¡±

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    ¡°I have taken nothing from you! I have never betrayed you.¡±


    Her gaze had an uncanny glamour, and for once he was chastened by her anger. ¡°What do you take me for? A lion? Or a fool?¡±


    3


    ¡°YOU sorry fool.¡±


    Out of nowhere, cold water drenched Zacharias¡¯ head and shoulders. Sucking and gasping, he inhaled salt water, nasty and stinging. He gagged but had nothing in his stomach and finally fell back, clutching his belly and moaning.


    The dead didn¡¯t suffer like this. Footsteps padded over the planks.


    ¡°God Above, but it stinks down here,¡± said the cultured voice of Brother Marcus. ¡°So. He¡¯s still alive.¡±


    ¡°Were you hoping he would die?¡±


    That voice certainly did belong to Wolfhere, but Zacharias could not recall where he was or why Wolfhere would be talking about him while the floor rocked so nauseatingly up and down.


    ¡°It would make my life easier, would it not? We¡¯ll throw him overboard once we¡¯re far enough away from land that there¡¯s no hope he can swim to shore.¡±


    ¡°If he can swim.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take no chances.¡±


    ¡°Will you throw him over yourself or have your servant do the deed?¡±


    ¡°I will do what I must. You know the cause we serve.¡± The words were spoken so coolly that Zacharias shuddered into full consciousness, his mind awake and his nausea dulled by fear. Bulkezu had at least killed for the joy of being cruel. This man would take no pleasure out of killing, but neither would he shrink from it, if he thought it necessary.


    ¡°Monster,¡± Zacharias croaked, spitting out the dregs of sea-water and bile. He struggled up to sit. His chest hurt. The back of his head throbbed so badly that he might as well have had a cap of iron tightening inexorably around his skull.


    ¡°Brother Zacharias.¡± A hand settled firmly on his shoulder. ¡°Do not move, I pray you. You¡¯ve taken a bad blow to the head.¡±


    ¡°I can swim. I escaped Bulkezu by swimming. It¡¯ll do you no good to throw me overboard.¡±


    ¡°Who is Bulkezu?¡± asked Marcus.


    ¡°A Quman prince,¡± answered Wolfhere. ¡°Perhaps you have forgotten¡ªor never knew¡ªthe devastation the Quman army wrought upon Wendar. King Henry never returned from Aosta to drive them out. It was left to Prince Sanglant to do so.¡±


    ¡°Are you the bastard¡¯s champion? I¡¯m surprised at you, Brother Lupus. What matters it to us what transpires on Earth? A worse cataclysm will come regardless to all of humankind, unless we do our part.¡±


    Blinking, Zacharias raised his hands to block the light of a lamp, squinting as he studied the other man. ¡°Are you a mathematicus?¡± he asked, groping at his chest for the scrap of paper he had held close all these long months.


    It was gone.


    Panic brought tears.


    ¡°Is it this you seek?¡± Marcus displayed the parchment that bore the diagrams and numbers that betrayed the hand of a mathematicus, a sorcerer who studied the workings of the heavens. ¡°Where did you come by it?¡±


    ¡°In a valley in the Alfar Mountains. After I escaped from the Quman, I traveled for a time with the Aoi woman who calls herself Prince Sanglant¡¯s mother, but she abandoned me after the conflagration.¡± His physical hurts bothered him far less than the sight of that precious scrap in the hands of another man. He wanted to grab it greedily to himself, but something about the other man¡¯s shadowed expression made him prudent, even hopeful. If he could only say the right thing, he might save himself. ¡°I found that parchment in a little cabin up on the slope of the valley. I knew then that I sought the one who had written these things. You see, when I wandered with Kansi-a-lari, she took me to a place she called the Palace of Coils. There I saw¡ª¡±


    He faltered because Marcus leaned forward, mouth slightly parted. ¡°The Palace of Coils? What manner of place was it?¡±


    ¡°It lay out in the sea, on the coast of Salia. We had to walk there at low tide. Yet some manner of ancient magic lay over that island. We ascended by means of a path. I thought only a single night passed as we climbed, but instead many months did. The year lay coiled around the palace, and it was the year we were ascending, not the island. I cannot explain it¡ª¡±


    ¡°You do well enough. Did you see the Aoi woman work her sorcery?¡±


    ¡°I did. I saw her defeat Bulkezu. I saw her breathe visions into fire. I saw her save her son with enchanted arrows. Oh, God.¡± A coughing fit took him and he spat up bile.


    ¡°Get him wine,¡± said Marcus. ¡°I will hear what he has to say. Why did you not tell me that he traveled with Prince Sanglant¡¯s mother? He can¡¯t know what he saw, but careful examination may reveal much to an educated ear.¡±

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    ¡°Better just to kill him and have done with it!¡± insisted Wolfhere.


    ¡°Nay!¡± Zacharias choked out the word. ¡°She led me through the spirit world. I saw¡ª¡± His throat burned. ¡°I saw a vision of the cosmos!¡±


    Spasms shook his entire body and made the bruise at the base of his neck come alive with a grinding, horrible pain. He folded forward, almost passing out.


    After an unknown while, he struggled out of the haze to find himself bent double over his arms. Wolfhere had returned with a wine sack. Gratefully he guzzled it, spat up half of it all over his fetid robe before he remembered to nurse along his roiling stomach. He must go slowly. He had to use his wits.


    ¡°What is this vision of the cosmos that you saw?¡± asked Marcus when Zacharias set down the wineskin.


    ¡°If I tell you everything I know, then you¡¯ll have no reason to keep me alive. It¡¯s true I followed Prince Sanglant, my lord, but I only followed him because I hoped he would lead me to his wife, the one called Liathano. It¡¯s her I seek.¡±


    Marcus had an exceedingly clever face and expressive eyebrows, lifted now with surprise. ¡°Why do you seek her?¡±


    ¡°I seek any person who can teach me. I wish to understand the mysteries of the heavens.¡±


    ¡°As do we all.¡±


    ¡°I will do anything for the person who will teach me, my lord.¡±


    ¡°Anything? Will you murder my dear friend Brother Lupus, if I tell you to?¡± He gestured toward Wolfhere, crouched within the pale aura given off by the lamp, his seamed and aged face quiet as he watched the two men negotiate.


    A breath of air teased Zacharias¡¯ matted hair, curling around his ear. Was this the whisper of a daimone? Was Marcus a maleficus, who controlled forbidden magic and unholy creatures? He shuddered, his resolve curdled by a flood of misgivings. Yet he couldn¡¯t stop now. He was a prisoner. He was as good as dead. ¡°I am no murderer, my lord. I haven¡¯t the stomach for it. But I am clever, and I have an excellent memory.¡±


    ¡°Do you?¡±


    ¡°I do, my lord. That is why I was allowed to take the oath of a frater although I cannot read or write. I know the Holy Verses, all of them, and many other things besides¡ª¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true enough,¡± commented Wolfhere. ¡°He has a prodigious memory.¡±


    ¡°Is he clever?¡±


    The old man sighed sharply. Why did he look so distressed? ¡°Clever enough. He survived seven years as a slave among the Quman, so he says. Escaped on his own, so he says. Sought and found Prince Sanglant with no help from any other, so he says. He talks often enough of this vision of the cosmos that he was vouchsafed in the Palace of Coils. He entertains the soldiers with the tale. He says he saw a dragon.¡±


    ¡°I only tell them the truth!¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± said Marcus speculatively. ¡°A dragon. Perhaps you¡¯re too valuable to throw overboard to drown, Zacharias. Perhaps you can serve the Holy Mother in another fashion. Perhaps I will teach you what I know after all. That will serve as well as killing you will, in the end.¡±


    Zacharias dared not weep. ¡°You will find me a good student, my lord. I will not fail you.¡±


    ¡°We shall see.¡± Marcus fanned his hand before his face. ¡°You must clean up. I cannot bear your stench. Brother Lupus?¡±


    Wolfhere¡¯s lips were pressed as tight as those of a man determined not to swallow the bitter brew now on his tongue. ¡°Do you intend to go ahead with this?¡±


    ¡°We are few, and our enemies are many.¡± Marcus had a cherub¡¯s grin that made Zacharias nervous. The cleric¡¯s riotous black curls gave his round, rather bland face an angelic appearance, almost innocent.


    Almost.


    ¡°If this man can and will serve us, then why should I cast him away? We can all serve God in one manner or another. This is the lesson I learned from the one who leads us.¡±


    ¡°So you did,¡± said Wolfhere sardonically. ¡°Very well. Are you satisfied, Zacharias? Will you do as Brother Marcus says?¡±


    Such a thrill of hope coursed through Zacharias that he forgot his nausea, and his pain. ¡°You will teach me?¡±


    ¡°I will teach you everything that I can,¡± agreed Marcus with an ironic smile, ¡°as long as you will serve me as a student must serve his master. Do as I say. Be obedient. Do not question.¡±


    ¡°I can do that!¡±


    Did Wolfhere whisper, again, ¡°You sorry fool!¡±? It was only the creak of the ship rolling in the waves. It was only memory, mocking him.


    ¡°Let it be done,¡± said Marcus, who had heard nothing untoward. ¡°I will teach you the secrets of the heavens, Brother Zacharias. I admit you into our holy fellowship.¡±

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    ¡°Then I am yours,¡± cried Zacharias, beginning to weep. After so long, he had found what he sought. ¡°I am yours.¡±


    4


    ¡°BRING the slaves.¡±


    Sanglant indicated the thirteen men who knelt in front of the cell where Blessing was confined. Sergeant Cobbo herded them over. These were not foolish men, although they were barbarians and infidels. They recognized him for what he was, even if they seemed to have offered their allegiance to his young daughter. They knelt before him, a ragged but defiant looking crew, half naked, sweating profusely in the heat, but unbowed by his appraisal.


    Six were Quman, stripped down to loincloths. Despite the dirt streaking their bodies, they had made an effort to keep their hair neat, tying it back into loose braids with strips of cloth. They had pleasant, almost docile expressions. They looked like the kind of young soldiers who are happiest singing a song around the fire, good-natured, easy to please, and unlikely to fight among themselves. The seventh of their number bore tattoos all over his torso, twisted animals amid scenes of battle and carnage, griffins eating deer, lions rending hapless men, and a belled rider mounted on an eight-legged horse riding over corpses.


    Of the other six, four might have been any manner of heathen ¡ªSalavii, Polenie, Starviki, or otherwise¡ªwith matted dark hair, wiry arms, and thick shoulders, and stolid expressions that did not conceal a rebellious spark in their gaze although their ankles and wrists bore the oozing scars of shackles.


    ¡°Are any of these men Daisanites?¡± asked Sanglant.


    Breschius knew an amazing store of languages, and he spoke several now, getting responses from all four of the men.


    ¡°They are all heathens, my lord prince. Sold into slavery by raiders. This Salavii man says it was Wendish bandits who took him prisoner and sold him to an Arethousan merchant. He wishes to return to his home. The other three say they will gladly enter the service of your daughter if they will be allowed a servant¡¯s portion, a meal every day, and her promise as their lord never to abandon them.¡±


    ¡°Let the Salavii go, then. I want no slaves in my army.¡±


    Breschius spoke in a guttural tongue. The Salavii man rose nervously looking as though he expected a whip to descend.


    ¡°It is a long road to Salavii lands,¡± remarked Captain Fulk. ¡°If he can make it home safely, then he¡¯s both strong and clever.¡±


    ¡°Give him bread, ale, and a tunic,¡± said Sanglant. ¡°I¡¯ll not have it said I turned him out naked.¡±


    Even as Breschius began to speak, the man bolted for the gate, ready for a spear thrust to take him in the back. Fulk whistled, a piercing signal, and the guards leaped back so the man could sprint out of the fort unobstructed. The remaining three heathens shifted fearfully, but Breschius calmed them with a few words.


    ¡°He had no reason to trust us,¡± said Sanglant, ¡°but I doubt me he¡¯ll get far.¡± He turned his attention to the last two slaves. They were much darker and wore torn robes and ragged pointy felt caps over cropped hair. Sanglant frowned as he studied them. These two kept their heads bowed, their gazes lowered, although they also looked to be young, strong men.


    ¡°These two are Jinna, are they not?¡± he asked Breschius. ¡°Are they believers?¡±


    ¡°Do you see the brand on their cheeks?¡±


    ¡°Is that their slave mark?¡±


    ¡°Nay, my lord prince. Or rather, I should say, yes, but not in the way you think. Every young Jinna man marks himself in this way when he becomes an adult. It is the way he enslaves himself to the god¡¯s worship. No Jinna man may marry if he has not branded himself a slave to their fire god.¡±


    ¡°Yet it¡¯s men who made them slaves on Earth, not their god. Tell them they may go free if they wish.¡±


    ¡°I do not speak their language, my lord prince.¡± He spoke to them anyway, giving up when they made no response. ¡°They must not be merchants, my lord, or they would know at least one of the languages commonly used by traders.¡±


    ¡°Then we must hope that gesture will suffice. What of these Quman? But you do not speak Quman as well as did Brother Zacharias, do you, Breschius?¡±


    Anger flowed back quickly, although he had thought he had banished it. He clenched his left fist and glanced toward Blessing¡¯s cell. In the interval while he was gone she had fallen quiet. Maybe she had just screamed herself hoarse.


    ¡°Very poorly, my lord prince. I never preached among the Quman. I beg your pardon¡ª¡±


    Before Sanglant could respond, the old tattooed Quman man lifted both hands, palms facing the heavens. ¡°Great lord,¡± he said in passable Wendish, ¡°hear me, who goes by the name Gyasi. Many seasons ago, when I am young, the spirits speak into my ear at that day when the moon is dark and hungry. They tell¡ªtold¡ªme that in the time to come, a child will save me from the iron rope. Her I must serve. So it happens, this day, that their prophecy comes to pass. I act as the spirits tell me. I do not disobey my ancestors. I will be as a slave to your daughter. These sons of my tribe will also follow her.¡±

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    ¡°Where did you learn to speak Wendish?¡± asked Sanglant.


    ¡°In our tribe, we keep slaves from the western people. I can speak the language of all the slaves of my tribe. This way, they obey the begh and his mother. There is less trouble.¡±


    ¡°On their left shoulder they bear scars,¡± said Breschius. ¡°The wolf¡¯s muzzle, the mark of the Kirshat clan.¡±


    ¡°How did you come to be a slave?¡± asked Sanglant. ¡°You wear the markings of a shaman. How can such a powerful man become a slave?¡±


    ¡°I refused to heed the call of the Pechanek begh when he calls for war against the western lands. I tell¡ªtold¡ªthe war council that Kirshat clan should not follow that Pechanek whore, Bulkezu. But they send their sons to him because they fear him. As punishment for bad advice, they sell¡ªsold¡ªme and my sisters¡¯ sons into slavery. Three have died. These six, the strong ones, survive.¡±


    ¡°Bulkezu!¡± Sanglant laughed. ¡°Bulkezu will trouble you no more. I hold him as my prisoner, here in this camp.¡±


    The old shaman nodded, unmoved by this revelation. ¡°The spirits told me of Bulkezu¡¯s fate.¡± He turned to his nephews, speaking in the Quman language. Two spat on the ground. A third laughed; the last two grinned. There was something uncomfortable about the merry gleam in their expressions, the crinkling of eyes, and the gleeful baring of teeth as they contemplated the downfall of their enemy.


    ¡°You are a great lord, in truth,¡± added Gyasi, ¡°to humble Bulkezu. But you wear no griffin wings. How can you defeat the man who killed two griffins? Bulkezu is still greater than you.¡±


    ¡°We shall see. I march east to hunt griffins.¡±


    The shaman¡¯s eyes widened. He tapped his forehead twice on a clenched hand, touched both shoulders, and patted his chest over his breastbone, across a tattoo depicting a bareheaded man copulating with a crested griffin. ¡°That is a fearsome path, great lord. You may die.¡±


    Sanglant smiled, although he had long since ceased to find his mother¡¯s curse amusing. ¡°No creature male nor female may kill me. I do not fear the griffins. Can you guide me across the grasslands to the nesting grounds of the griffins?¡±


    ¡°Nay, great lord. Mine is the power of the wolf, to stalk the ibex and the deer. I am not a griffin fighter. The secrets of the nesting grounds have been lost to our people. No warrior in three generations among the Kirshat tribe has worn griffin wings. We are a weak clan now. Our mothers die young. Our beghs have forgotten how to listen to the wisdom of old women. That is why the war council did not refuse when Bulkezu demanded soldiers for his army.¡±


    A shout rose from the guard on watch, followed by the call of the horn, three Mats, signifying that an enemy approached. Soldiers hurried out of the shade where they had been resting, lifting shields, hoisting bows or spears, and headed for the vulnerable gate. The slaves looked up, but did not rise. Sanglant jogged over to the guard tower that flanked the gate. Up on the walls facing northeast, men gestured and pointed. Fulk and Hathui followed him while Sergeant Cobbo herded the remaining slaves back to the cell where Blessing broke her silence and began to cry out again.


    ¡°Let me out! Let me out! Anna! I want you! Daddy!¡±


    Sanglant clambered up on the wall to the crumbling guard tower with Fulk and Hathui beside him. The pair of guards on duty¡ªSibold and Fremen¡ªmuttered to each other as they watched. They had marked the riders because of dust, although the troop was still too far away to make out numbers and identifying marks.


    Below, in the gate, a dozen men were pulling back the bridge of planks thrown over the pit. Shadow concealed the depths of that steep-sided ditch where Bulkezu was imprisoned. Was Bulkezu moving along the base of the pit, alert to the new development? Already Sanglant heard the unmistakable flutter and whir of wings, faint but distinctive. He shaded his eyes as he squinted westward at the riders approaching the fort through rolling grasslands that stretched out north and west to the horizon.


    ¡°Quman,¡± he said to Fulk.


    Fulk shouted down into the courtyard. ¡°Get Lewenhardt up here!¡± He shaded his eyes, peering at the cloud of dust. ¡°Are you sure, my lord prince? I can¡¯t see well enough.¡±


    ¡°I hear wings.¡±


    ¡°Sibold,¡± ordered Fulk, ¡°sound the horn again. I want every man along the wall and a barrier thrown up at the gate to reinforce the ditch. Quman.¡±


    Sibold swore merrily before blowing three sharp bats on the horn. Half the men had assembled and the rest came running, buckling on helmets or fastening leather brigandines around their torsos. Above the clatter and shouting Sanglant heard his daughter¡¯s muffled shrieks from the cell where he had ordered her shut in.

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    ¡°My lord prince!¡± Lewenhardt scrambled up the ladder to the watchtower platform and leaned out as far as he dared over the railing. He wore a ridiculous floppy-brimmed hat that shaded his eyes better than a hand could.


    Sanglant set fists on the wall, rubbing the coarse bricks until all thought of Blessing was rubbed out of his mind and he could concentrate on the distant sound that he alone, so far, could hear. He blocked out all other distractions, the sound of planks being dragged across dirt, boots scraping on steps and ladders as men climbed into position along the walls, the sobs of Blessing, a bell ringing in the town¡­ as he listened for the sough of wind through grass, the beat of the sun on earth, the rumble of distant hooves, and the whistle of wings. He listened to their pitch and intensity.


    ¡°Griffin wings.¡± He braced himself to get a better look.


    Was that a thin shriek caught on the wind, a man crying out in fear and pain? It happened too fast, cut short. He could not be sure.


    The wings sang, not in a great chorus and yet more than a few individual voices.


    ¡°Not much more than fifty,¡± he said. ¡°Certainly less than one hundred.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a fair lot of dust they¡¯re kicking up,¡± commented Fulk. ¡°Can they be so few?¡±


    ¡°More than one hundred,¡± said Lewenhardt. ¡°Perhaps as many as two hundred. They don¡¯t all have wings.¡±


    ¡°How can they not have wings?¡± demanded Fulk.


    ¡°Where is Brother Breschius?¡± asked Sanglant.


    ¡°Fremen,¡± said Fulk, ¡°fetch the good brother.¡±


    Sanglant looked back toward town, visible from here as a jumble of walls and roofs broken by the high tower of the governor¡¯s palace and the pale dome marking the Jinna temple. The steady slope of the ground toward the sea caused the land to melt into a shimmering dark flat, the expanse of peaceful waters. Ships were cutting loose from the quay, oars beating as they moved away from the port to escape a possible attack on the town. The ship Wolfhere had escaped on was already out of sight; according to Robert of Salia, who had found Blessing and her new retinue and escorted them back to the camp, that ship had left the harbor before Sanglant had even got the message that Blessing had vanished.


    Ai, God, what was he to do with his unnatural daughter?


    How had he been so stupid as to trust Wolfhere?


    ¡°I see their wings!¡± cried Sibold triumphantly.


    ¡°God Above!¡± swore Lewenhardt as other men along the wall got a better look at the riders. The restless glimmer of wings flashed in the light drawn out across grass, sun caught in white and gray feathers.


    ¡°What do you see?¡± He brushed his fingers along his sword hilt.


    ¡°I see griffin wings, my lord prince. One pair. And towers, fitted with gold.¡±


    Men hammered away down, knocking beams and wagons into place on either side of the pit.


    ¡°A hard barrier to cross,¡± observed Sanglant as he looked down, ¡°but not impossible. Here comes the frater. Perhaps he knows the secret of these towers.¡±


    Fremen came running back with the middle-aged frater in tow. Breschius had some trouble with the ladder because he only had the one hand, but he used his elbow to hook the rungs and hold himself while he shifted his remaining hand and moved up his feet. By the time he got to the top, the approaching riders were slowing down as they neared the fort. The soldiers setting the barricade in place on the outer side of the pit ran across the last two planks, which were then drawn back into the fort. The town had sealed its gates. The great bell ceased tolling.


    ¡°We¡¯re on our own,¡± said Fulk, a little amused. ¡°We¡¯ve no friends among the townsfolk. Did the governor not like you, my lord prince?¡±


    ¡°The governor does not trust us, Captain. Why should she welcome an army of our size into her territory? If she fights us, she may win, but she and her troops and her town will suffer. If she loses, then she loses all. I suppose she hopes we¡¯ll take the brunt of the attack and allow her to finish off the rest.¡±


    ¡°But we outnumber them.¡±


    ¡°The governor? Or those Quman?¡±


    Fulk laughed. ¡°They are wise to fear you, my lord prince.¡±


    ¡°Are they?¡± Or was he simply a fool, chasing madness? The moment he first saw the port town and the broad grasslands spreading north from the sea, he knew he had ridden into a world unlike anything he had ever experienced. With Zacharias gone and possibly dead, he was more than ever dependent on Bulkezu¡¯s knowledge. Bulkezu would have many opportunities to betray him or lead him and his army astray. Bulkezu was smart enough to kill them, if he chose to sacrifice himself with them. Yet in such a vast expanse, how could Sanglant track down griffins and sorcerers without the help of someone who knew the land?

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    ¡°Women!¡± said Lewenhardt, laughing. ¡°There are Quman warriors with that troop, but there are women as well. Those towers are their crowns. They¡¯re hats, of a kind.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know the Quman had women,¡± said Sibold, hefting his spear. ¡°I thought they bred with wolf bitches and she-cats.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true that Quman women wear crowns like these towers,¡± said Breschius. ¡°I¡¯ve seen none of them close at hand, myself.¡±


    ¡°Not more than two hundred riders,¡± said Fulk. ¡°Look at their standard. They bear the mark of the Pechanek tribe.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± Sanglant nodded. ¡°That makes sense. They¡¯ve come for Bulkezu.¡±


    ¡°Do you think so, my lord prince? How would they know we were here, and that we had him?¡±


    ¡°Their shamans have power,¡± said Breschius, ¡°although nothing compared to the power of the Kerayit sorcerer women.¡±


    ¡°Quman magic killed Bayan,¡± said Sanglant. ¡°My lord!¡± said Fulk. ¡°If they are after you¡ª!¡±


    ¡°Nay, do not fear for me, Captain. Their magic cannot harm me.¡± He touched the amulet that hung at his chest, but the stone made him think of Wolfhere and that made him angry all over again. He must not think about the Eagle¡¯s betrayal, and his own gullibility. He must concentrate on what lay before him.


    The riders came to a stop at about the limit of the range of a ballista, close enough to get a good estimate of their numbers and appearance but not so close that the men in the fort could pick out details and faces. No more than sixty wore wings, but the griffin-winged rider shone beyond the rest, glittering and perilous. About thirty of the riders wore conical hats trimmed with gold plates. One of these hats was so tall, at least as long as Sanglant¡¯s arm, that he could not imagine how a person could ride and keep it on her head.


    A youthful figure wearing neither wings nor one of the towering hats broke forward from the group, balancing a limp burden across the withers of the horse.


    ¡°Lewenhardt, what is it the rider bears before him?¡±


    ¡°It is a corpse, my lord prince.¡±


    When the rider reached the halfway point between the Quman and the fort, he tipped the burden off the horse and onto the ground.


    Lewenhardt winced. ¡°I think that corpse may be the slave who ran from us, my lord prince.¡±


    ¡°And into their grasp, may God have mercy on his soul. Captain, fetch the shaman, the one who calls himself Gyasi.¡±


    ¡°Can you trust him, my lord prince?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve no one else who can interpret for us. He can prove his worth, or the lack of it.¡±


    Fulk clambered down the ladder.


    The rider approached to within arrow shot of the walls before reining in his horse.


    ¡°That boy¡¯s not more than twelve or fourteen years of age, I should think,¡± said Lewenhardt.


    ¡°Showing off,¡± asked Sanglant, ¡°or expendable?¡±


    ¡°I know little enough about the customs of the Quman, my lord prince,¡± said Breschius, ¡°but no boy among them can call himself a man and wear wings on his back until he has killed a man. Thus, the heads they carry.¡±


    Sibold shuddered all over. ¡°A nasty piece of work, those shrunken heads.¡± He had a sly gaze, a little impertinent, but part of his particular value as a soldier was his reckless streak. ¡°They say that Lady Bertha didn¡¯t bury her mother¡¯s head when she took it off Bulkezu but carries it with her as a talisman. Is that true, my lord prince?¡±


    ¡°You can ask her yourself, Sibold.¡±


    The soldier laughed. ¡°I pray you will not command me to, my lord. She frightens me. She¡¯s cold, that one. I think she may be half mad.¡±


    ¡°Sibold.¡±


    He ducked his head, but the grin still flashed. ¡°Begging your pardon, my lord prince.¡±


    ¡°Here is the shaman, my lord prince.¡± Breschius moved aside to make room on the platform as Fulk returned with Gyasi.


    ¡°What does this mean?¡± Sanglant indicated the single horseman and the mass of riders beyond.


    ¡°He are a messenger, great lord.¡± He lifted his hands to frame his mouth and let loose a trilling yell.


    The rider started noticeably but recovered quickly and urged his mount forward again, halting just beyond the shadow of the wall. He called out in the Quman tongue.


    ¡°Great lord, this young worm names himself as the messenger of the mother of Bulkezu, who have come seeking the man who keeps as a prisoner her son.¡±


    ¡°Go on.¡±


    ¡°The mother of Bulkezu wish to know what you want to trade for her son.¡±

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    ¡°What I wish to trade?¡± Sanglant leaned against the wall. The heat of the sun washed his face, the swell of wind tugged at his hair. ¡°Which of those is the mother of Bulkezu? Do you know?¡±


    ¡°They are the mother of Bulkezu,¡± agreed Gyasi, nodding toward the troop of women and their winged escort.


    Sanglant glanced at Breschius, but the frater shrugged. It was hard to tell how well Gyasi understood Wendish. ¡°I cannot trade Bulkezu. I have defeated him in battle and kept him alive in exchange for a chance to win his freedom. I need him to guide my army safely through the grasslands and lead us to the lands where we may hunt griffins and meet sorcerers.¡±


    ¡°Is this what you truly wish, great lord? It is a troublesome road. Many troubles will kiss you.¡±


    ¡°This is what I truly wish. I cannot give up Bulkezu. Yet what bargain might I strike with his tribe, so that they will not hinder me?¡±


    Gyasi hummed to himself in a singsong manner, a man pondering deep thoughts. ¡°People are tricky. One man may promise life to his brother and after this stab him in the back.¡±


    ¡°There are those who are still angry that you allowed Bulkezu to survive the battle whole and healthy my lord prince,¡± said Breschius. ¡°I do not forget that he was the one responsible for Prince Bayan¡¯s death. Neither does Princess Sapientia.¡±


    ¡°Yet you ride with me, Brother Breschius.¡±


    ¡°As does Princess Sapientia. Yet I do not think she had much choice in the matter, although she is the heir.¡±


    ¡°Is she? King Henry has other children. He has a child by Queen Adelheid, do not forget, whom he may favor. Why do you remain with me, Brother Breschius? Whom do you serve?¡±


    ¡°I serve the truth, my lord prince, and God.¡±


    ¡°And me?¡±


    Breschius¡¯ smile brought light to his face. He was a man too humble to be in love with his own cleverness but too wise to denigrate himself. ¡°Whatever risk you may pose, my lord prince, I believe we are in more danger from those who seek to wield sorcery without constraint than from your ambition.¡±


    ¡°I pray you, my lord prince,¡± said Hathui, who had remained silent until now. ¡°I would object to Bulkezu returning to his tribe. He has never paid what he owes me for the damage he did to my person.¡±


    Sanglant turned back to the Quman shaman. ¡°Tell the boy all I have said and say also that there is one among my servants who has a personal grievance against Bulkezu, who stole her honor and harmed her body. She seeks recompense. For these reasons, we will not release him. Yet we do not seek war with his people. Once I have my griffins and have met my sorcerers, Bulkezu can go free. Until then, perhaps they will consider a truce.¡±


    Gyasi relayed the offer, and the messenger gave a shout of acknowledgment before returning to the troop. They watched him pull up beside the rank of women. After some time, the boy returned with two riders beside him, one of whom wore a tall, conical hat sheathed in gold plates, dazzling in the sun, and draped with bright orange-and-ivory beads strung together like falling curtains of color. Her tunic was bright blue, cut away at knee length and slit for riding, and beneath it she wore striped trousers of blue and green with beads sewn around the knee and the ankle. Beneath the weight of her garments he could barely make out her face, dark, unsmiling, with broad cheekbones and pale lips. The other rider was also a woman, but she wore only a soft felt hat, drab and unornamented, against the sun, and a plain leather tunic with loose trousers underneath. Her hair had the golden brown sheen of a westerner or a hill-woman; surely she was no Quman, most likely a slave if the thick bronze bracelets on either wrist indicated her status.


    The boy delivered his message and, once he had done speaking, tossed a cloth bundle onto the ground. Wings of cloth spread to reveal a dozen gold necklaces.


    ¡°What does he say?¡± demanded Sanglant.


    ¡°The gold, to pay for honor stolen.¡±


    Hathui¡¯s eyes widened as she leaned over the brick rampart, staring at the bounty of gold lying below. ¡°I accept!¡± she said breathlessly. ¡°God Above! I can dower my nephews and nieces with such riches!¡±


    ¡°And the two women?¡± Sanglant asked.


    Gyasi scratched the tattoo of the eight-legged horse and its rider decorating his scrawny chest. The rider wore a conical hat like those of the mothers, but its features showed no markedly female cast. He hummed and mumbled to himself, bobbing his head and hopping on one foot like a nervous crow. At last, he spoke. ¡°The mother will see Bulkezu before she negotiate further. That way she can see if he are truly living, and not dead.¡±

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    Sanglant grinned, feeling the familiar rush of exhilaration as he considered not whether but how far to leap. He called to the men at the gate. ¡°I¡¯m coming down. Throw a plank over the ditch. Keep your arrows and spears ready.¡±


    ¡°My lord!¡± Their astonished cries were answer enough, but they obeyed, as they always did. Otherwise they would not have followed him so far and on such a dangerous road.


    He scrambled down the ladder, leaving most of his attendants above to keep watch, and jogged over to the barrier. Clambering over the wagons, he set foot on a broad plank just now thrust out over the ditch by one of the soldiers. From below, Bulkezu¡¯s mocking laughter rose to greet him. The prisoner¡¯s figure stood half lost in the shadow, face upturned to study him, features ghostly and indistinct.


    ¡°Is the prince come to fight me? Will the dog leap into the pit to battle the griffin? Or does it fear me still?¡±


    Sanglant heard the approaching hooves, and his blood sang with the pitch of approaching battle as he strode over the plank. The wood rocked beneath him, but he did not lose his balance. He did not fear a fall.


    ¡°Throw down the worm, so that I might make a meal of it. Or does the dog-prince take his pleasures with the crawling things?¡± He jumped lightly onto solid ground as the riders rounded the corner of the fort and stopped, as he stopped. They faced each other. The woman was too young, surely, to be Bulkezu¡¯s mother; her nose was too flat, more stub than nose, for her to be handsome, but she had brilliant black eyes, as wicked as those of a hawk, and a ferocious frown so marked that his grin faded and he paused, wondering if he had miscalculated their intentions.


    The slave woman beside her looked Sanglant over quite frankly, as though appraising his worth and his possibilities for stud, while her mistress, ignoring Sanglant, rode to the lip of the ditch and looked down. The slave really had quite an attractive shape under that leather tunic, full, round breasts, red lips, an amorous gaze¡ª


    It was too quiet. No one was talking.


    Looking down into the pit, he was so startled he almost lost his balance and fell.


    Bulkezu had bolted away from the shadow of his kinswoman. Up against the far end of the pit, he cowered like a rabbit run into a corner. The fearsome begh who had united the Quman hordes, slaughtered untold hapless Wendish-folk, and defeated Prince Bayan in battle was utterly terrified.


    Sanglant¡¯s soldiers cried out, jeering at the man they had all come to hate. They pressed up along the walls, against the wall of wagons, every one of them, crowding next to each other to see him shamed.


    ¡°Silence!¡± cried Sanglant.


    They gave him silence.


    The woman lifted her gaze to look at Sanglant. A hawk might look so, measuring its prey. He kept his gaze steady on hers, neither retreating nor advancing, and after a moment she reined her mount away. By now, Gyasi had reached the wall of wagons, standing up on the bed of one to survey the scene with alarm.


    ¡°Great lord! Have a care!¡±


    The gold-crowned woman reached her attendants and spoke to the lad. When she had finished, the boy spoke.


    ¡°What does he say?¡± asked Sanglant when the lad stopped.


    ¡°She ask if you are the stallion to be held in kind until Bulkezu is returned to them.¡±


    ¡°She wants a hostage to ensure our good faith.¡±


    ¡°It is common among the tribes to exchange a valued daughter or son for another, to keep the peace. She makes a powerful offer, great lord. If you give her yourself in surety, then her tribesmen will grant you escort across the plains. This we call the gift for the knives.¡±


    ¡°The gift for the knives?¡±


    ¡°So no man will stab you in the back.¡±


    ¡°Will other Quman tribes respect that, should we come across them?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps, great lord. They scatter to the winds after the fall of Bulkezu. Maybe there are wolves who will nip at your heels, but no army will fight you when you have so many soldiers to yourself. No tribe will be so bold to fight the man who defeated the dreaded Bulkezu. He is the man who killed two griffins. No other begh in the generations of our tribes have done so.¡±


    ¡°An escort and a pledge of safe conduct¡ªin exchange for a hostage? One valuable enough to me, and to them, that they will expect me not to abandon my hostage into their hands? One of worthy rank? One too valuable to lose?¡±


    ¡°Until you depart this land and return Bulkezu.¡±


    Brother Breschius appeared beside Gyasi, looking wan and troubled. ¡°You know what savages the Quman are, my lord prince. How can you seal a treaty with them, knowing they are Wendar¡¯s great enemy?¡±

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    ¡°Who is not, these days? I do not trust the Arethousans, nor have I any reason to believe they have guides who can lead us where we need to go. Nay. Lady Eudokia cannot help us, nor can we trust her.¡±


    ¡°Do you know the customs of the steppe peoples, my lord prince?¡± Breschius pressed his case fervently. ¡°If the lady wishes you to attend her tribe as a hostage, it is not only your presence she wants. You are a great lord strong enough to defeat her son. Among these people, the old mothers breed men like horses. They¡¯ll want your seed for her bloodline and her tribe.¡±


    ¡°God help me,¡± said Sanglant. ¡°A stallion brought in to breed the mares.¡± Lady Ilona had warned him, in her own way. But he hadn¡¯t believed her. He hadn¡¯t thought he¡¯d be making bargains so soon.


    The sun bled gold across the grass as its rim touched the western hills. Soon it would be dark. The soldiers waited in a remarkably uneasy silence. Even Blessing had, at long last, stopped shrieking.


    ¡°Yet I am not the only valuable hostage in this troop,¡± he said with a thrill of triumph coursing through his heart. He laughed. Sometimes it was possible to kill two birds with one stone.


    ¡°Gyasi, tell the mother of Bulkezu that I have a proposal. Tell her, I pray you, that I have a noble princess who would be most suitable to travel with the mothers of Bulkezu as surety for his safe return.¡±


    VII


    A BEE¡¯S STING


    1


    THE longships ghosted out of the fog wreathing the Temes River to beach along the strand below the walled city of Hefenfelthe. Two river gates pierced the massive wall, but they remained chained and sealed, as impregnable, so it was rumored, as the land gates and the infamous sewer canal. Behind the wall, the towering hall and citadel built by the Alban queens rose like the prow of a mighty ship. Stronghand knew its reputation. Because of the power of the queens and their tree sorcerers, Hefenfelthe had never been taken in war, although many armies had broken their strength on those walls in the hope of gaining the riches guarded within.


    Tenth Son lifted the battle standard. The first wave of Eika swarmed from the lead ship, followed by their brothers up and down the strand. The shroud of fog concealed them, but Stronghand could sense each one, whether running on two feet or on four. Even the dogs ran silently. They knew what reward awaited those who survived the day.


    The red glare of a torch flared by the easternmost river gate. Gate chains rumbled and, as the vanguard raced up to the wall, the gate swung open. Three men scuttled out through the gate, arms waving as they signaled the army to pour into the city.


    One moment only Stronghand had to study them: three rich merchants clothed in silk and linen, weighted down by necklaces of gold and rings studded with gems. When brought before him at the emporium of Sliesby, they had proved eager to betray their queen in exchange for coin and the promise of new markets to conquer. But no man can serve two masters. Tenth Son himself, running in the lead, cut the first one down, and the others followed, hacked down by swift strokes. They didn¡¯t have a chance to cry out. His army rushed heedlessly past the bodies, although some of the dogs stopped to feed on the corpses and had to be driven forward through the open gate.


    He waited on the stem of his ship as the sun rose, still obscured by a mist steaming off the waters. The chain of the western gate growled, and a second portal opened into the city. Torches sparked into life along the walls of the citadel as the Alban soldiers and their queen came awake to danger. A shrill horn, a clanging bell, and a piercing scream sounded from inside, but it was too late. Smoke twisted from buildings close by the outer wall, melding with mist. Fire rose from the houses within, lifting on those flames the cries, curses, and anguished wails of the beleaguered inhabitants, a terrible, beautiful clamor. The sun cleared the low-lying bank of river fog and poured its light across the mighty walls of Hefenfelthe, proof against weapons but not against treachery.


    Those who resisted were killed; for the rest, chance ruled. Some were spared because they remained hidden, others because they fled. As many died begging for mercy as fell fighting. Hefenfelthe had shut its gates against the RockChildren and would therefore serve as an example to all the Alban towns, villages, and farms that it was better to surrender to Stronghand¡¯s authority than to struggle against it.


    By the second night of the battle, the narrow streets of Hefenfelthe were deserted and the fires quenched, since he did not want to burn the whole city. With his troops ranged around the citadel walls, Stronghand watched as the Alban queen appeared high above, on her tower. Torches and lamps hung around her made her gleam. She wore bright armor; a wolf¡¯s helm masked her features. A golden banner marked with the image of a white stag streamed beside her in the wind called up by her sorcerers. She raised a horn to her lips. As the note sang in the air, flights of burning arrows streaked out from the citadel battlements to strike the roofs of buildings far out in every direction.

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    She intended to burn down the city around them, but she would not succeed.


    ¡°Let the men hew down buildings on all sides of the fire in a ring around the citadel,¡± he said to Tenth Son, who stood sooty and bloodstained beside him. ¡°That way the fire can only burn back in toward their refuge.¡±


    He led the assault on the fire with his own ax, and in the end they cut a wide trail in a ring around the city and wet down the roofs on the far side of that gap. By dawn the towering wall of the citadel caught fire along its eastern front, and smoke choked its defenders, blown back against them by the very wind the tree sorcerers had called up to harry the fire against their foes. He cried out the order for the final assault himself, although he let others lead the charge, the young ones, the foolish, those who sought to prove their worth, attract his notice, or gain a larger share of treasure.


    Battering rams were carried forward. Their thick wooden heads, carved to resemble the horned sheep who lived in the mountains, clove in the citadel gates. As his warriors pressed forward, the smoke gave them an unassailable advantage. The Alban soldiers drowned in it, but fire and smoke were no particular threat to RockChildren born in the long ago times when the blood of dragons had fused human flesh to wakening stone.


    He followed the vanguard in through the broken gate and marched with his picked guard, his litter brothers, and the warriors of Rikin Fjord along the trail left by the assault. Bodies lay everywhere, but the dense smoke choked the smell of blood. Battle raged around the entrance to the long hall as the RockChildren tried to force an entry. Arrows drove into shields in a furious hail. Spear points thanked against wood. Shutters cracked and stove in under a press of ax blows, but in each newly shattered opening spears bristled as Alban soldiers placed their bodies in the gap, shouting for reinforcements, crying out curses. Arrow shot and hot oil poured down the sides of the tower. The blank sides of that huge stone edifice ¡ªthe largest he had ever seen¡ªoffered no purchase. The first course of stone, rising four times his height, had no windows at all, and in the three higher levels the windows were only slits. The only way into the tower was through the hall.


    ¡°Throw in torches,¡± he said to Tenth Son. ¡°Burn them out.¡±


    Yet although the citadel walls burned as soon as fire touched them, the heavy-beamed hall had a roof of slate. Fire guttered out on these shingles. A few thrown torches slipped in through broken shutters but were quickly stamped out by the defenders. Already, dark clouds gathered, called by the tree sorcerers to put out the fires. Lightning ripped through the sky, and thunder boomed. The first patter of rain washed over his upturned face.


    Warriors threw up a line of shields to protect the men with the ram from arrow shot. He took a turn himself. The pounding of the ram against reinforced doors shuddered down his arms. The noise of its impact crashed above the clash of arms. Rain came down in sheets over them, turning to sleet and then to a battering hail. But what might have confounded a human foe did nothing to his kind. His standard protected them against magic, and their tough hides protected them against almost everything else. Iron might cut them. A hot enough fire would kill them, in the end, and they could drown. But the RockChildren were not weak like humankind. The strength of stone was part of their flesh, and their greatest weakness had always been their tendency to rely on strength alone instead of on the intelligence and cunning that were their inheritance from that part of themselves that derived from their human ancestors.


    The door into the great hall buckled and groaned and on the next strike shattered, planks splintering as they gave way. With a shout, warriors leaped into the gap. Many fell back, wounded or dead, but more pressed onward, and the weight of numbers and the haze of smoke everywhere gave them the advantage. Once the fight swelled forward to fill the smoky great hall, it was only a matter of time.


    He pushed through with his guard around him. The hall had been built to abut the tower, one end built right up against the lower course of the western face. Stairs led up to a loft, a broad balcony where Alban soldiers now made their stand, holding the single door that led into the queen¡¯s tower. The fight was long and bloody, but once his troops controlled the stairs they could hang back and, with their shields to protect them, pick off the defenders one by one.


    He could be patient. He had time.


    Night came, and the struggle went on with torches ablaze to light their way. Smoke wound in hazy streamers along the beams, curling like aery snakes, half formed and lazy. Sometimes all he heard was the breathing of the soldiers as they rested, waiting for a shield to drop, waiting for an opening when one man leaned too far away from another. Now and again came a whispered comment from among the Albans, a shift in their ranks as a fresh man squeezed forward to take his place from one who was injured or flagging. He admired their loyalty, their prowess, and their toughness, these ones who stayed to the bitter end. It was, in truth, a shame that such fighters would all have to die.

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    Midway through the night, Tenth Son reported that the rest of the citadel had fallen and the fires had been quenched. Except for the tower, the RockChildren ruled Hefenfelthe now. Once they captured and killed the queen and her tree sorcerers, the rest of Alba would capitulate.


    Foolish to believe it would be so easy.


    Just before dawn, thunder rumbled so low and heavy that it shuddered through his feet. As the sound faded, he sensed a strange weakening in the Alban soldiers, shields drooping, a spate of unseen movement within the tower. Pressing the advantage, his troops stormed the door and overwhelmed the score of men who had held that gap all night. Stronghand followed the vanguard as they mounted the ladder steps. The tower had fully four stories, each one a broad chamber fitted with the rich furniture and tapestries proper to a royal house. No one remained to resist them, and the rooms were empty, abandoned¡ªuntil they came to the battlements, the high tower height where he had watched his enemy launch her final, desperate attack.


    There the Alban queen waited for them. He had not expected her to be so young, pale-haired, with the blue eyes common to humans bred in northern climates. Her skin was creamy smooth, untouched by sun, and her expression proud and fixed. She wore robes woven of a shimmering silver cloth, chased with gold thread, and a seven-tined circlet of silver at her brow. An old man bearing a staff of living wood crowned with seven sapling-green branches knelt beside her. With his head bowed, he appeared ready for death. Could it be possible she had only one sorcerer to aid her? Or was she herself a sorcerer? Five children huddled against her skirts, silent except for the youngest, who struggled not to sob and so made a gulping sound instead, erratic and irritating.


    Beyond the battlements, the city of Hefenfelthe lay in uncanny silence as the sun cleared the river mist and day came. Crows circled above the buildings and smoking ruins.


    Seeing him, the queen picked up the smallest child and stood waiting, eager, face flushed and eyes bright. At that moment, he realized she had no magic to protect herself. Even the old man, tree sorcerer though he clearly was, was too weak to protect her.


    She expected her enemies to kill her and her companions.


    He had been tricked.


    He of all people, having witnessed the victory, and loss, at Gent, should have remembered human cunning.


    ¡°Where are they?¡± he demanded, but she did not know the Wendish tongue. Shouts rose to him from below as Tenth Son appeared on the ladder stairs.


    ¡°There¡¯s a tunnel out of the lowest level.¡±


    ¡°The queen and her sorcerers escaped.¡± Fury clawed him. They had outwitted him! How had he not seen this coming?


    ¡°They collapsed the tunnel behind them. I have slaves digging it out. I¡¯ve ordered patrols out beyond the walls.¡±


    But it was already too late. He knew it, as did Tenth Son. As did the girl and her aged companion and the five little ones, left behind to face his wrath.


    Sacrifices.


    The Alban queens ruled in the old way, offering blood to their gods in exchange for power. The circle god of Alain¡¯s people did not reign unchallenged here. Even the gods warred among humankind, seeking preeminence.


    Let it be done, then. If these seven had been left behind, then they could not even be worth enough to his enemies to hold for ransom or as a bargaining chip. Lifting his sword, he stepped forward


    his feet hit the ground so hard that all breath is sucked from his lungs. He staggers, gasping for air so that he can call out to her, but Adica is lost to him, torn away into the whirlwind. He grabs for her, but his hands close on dirt. Grass tickles his face. He smells rain and hears a muted roar, like that of a lion, but it is only the wind caught in trees or perhaps the rush of unseen wings, fading.


    Gone.


    The hounds lick his face, whining and whimpering, nosing at him, trying to get him to stand. He lifts his head.


    Huge shapes surround him. He has fallen into the center of a pristine circle of raised stones. Beyond the circle, four mounds mark the perimeter, grown high with grass and a scattering of flowers. His heart quickens with hope.


    But this is not the place he knew and came to love. An encircling forest cuts off any view he might have of lands beyond the clearing. The tumulus, the graves of the queens, the winding river, and the village are all gone. What peace he found will be denied him. Adica¡¯s love, given to him freely, has been ripped away.


    She is dead.


    He knew it from the first when he was dragged unknowing into her country, but maybe he never believed. Maybe he thought he really had died. After all, he ought to have died. He had been so close to death after the battle with the Lions on that ancient tumulus that a part of him had chosen to believe he wasn¡¯t living anymore but rather had passed over to the other side, the field of paradise that borders the Chamber of Light, where his soul could rest at last in peace.

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    Ai, God. Peace mocks him, for what he has seen and experienced this night is surely more horrible than the worst of his fears.


    How could the Hallowed Ones have done it? Did they know what they wrought? Was it worth such destruction to spare a few?


    The hound Sorrow shoves his head under Alain¡¯s stomach and pushes. Rage tugs at his hand. Struggling, he gets to his feet, but he no longer knows where he is or what lies in store for him. The hounds herd him toward the forest¡¯s edge where a track snakes away into the trees. Face whipped by branches, he presses along the trail. Eventually, it broadens into a path padded by a carpet of pine needles. He just walks. He must not think. He must not remember. If he only walks, then maybe he can forget that he is still alive.


    But maybe it is never possible just to walk, just to exist. Fate acts, and the heart and mind respond. The path breaks out of the forest onto a ridgeline. A log lies along the ground like a bench, and he pauses here to catch his breath. The hounds lick his hands as he stares at the vista opening before him.


    A river valley spreads out below, a handful of villages strung along its length like clusters of grapes. Closer lie the plaster-and-timber buildings of a monastery and its estate. The bleat of a horn carries to him on the stiff wind that blows into his face, making tears start up from his eyes. An entourage emerges from woodland, following the ribbon of a road. He counts about a dozen people: four mounted and six walking alongside two wagons pulled by oxen. Bright pennants flutter in the breeze.


    He has to speak, he has to warn them.


    Running, he pounds down the path. He has to stop and rest at intervals, but grief and panic drive him on. Always he gets up again, heart still racing, breath labored, and hurries down the path until it levels off and emerges out of forest onto a trim estate, fields laid down in rows, orchard plots marked off by pruned hedges, the buildings sitting back behind a row of cypress. Bees buzz around his head and one lights on his ear, as if tasting for nectar. Geese honk overhead, flying south.


    A trio of men in the robes of lay brothers work one of the fields, preparing the ground for winter wheat. One leads an ox while another steadies the plow, but it is the third who sees Alain stumbling out of the woodland. He runs forward with hoe in hand, held there as if he has forgotten it or, perhaps, as if he may use it as a weapon.


    Lifting a hand in the sign of peace, the lay brother halts a safe distance from Alain and calls out a greeting. ¡°Greetings, Brother. You look to be in distress. How may we help you?¡± His comrades have stopped their work, and one of them has already hurried away toward the orchard, where other figures can be seen at work among the trees.


    Alain feels the delicate tread of the bee along his lobe and the tickle of its antenna on his skin. Its wings flutter, purring against his ear, but it does not fly.


    ¡°Can you speak, Brother?¡± asks the man gently as, behind him, several robed figures emerge from the orchard and hasten toward them. ¡°Do not fear. No harm will come to you here.¡±


    The bee stings. The hot poison strikes deep into him, coursing straight into the heart of memory. Weeping, he drops to his knees as images flood over him, obliterating him:


    In an instant, magic ripped the world asunder.


    Earthquakes rippled across the land, but what was seen on the surface was as nothing compared to the devastation left in their wake underground. Caverns collapsed into rubble. Tunnels slammed shut like bellows snapped tight. The magnificent cities of the goblinkin, hidden from human sight and therefore unknown and disregarded, vanished in cave-ins so massive that the land above was irrevocably altered. The sea¡¯s water poured away into cracks riven in the earth, down and down and down, meeting molten fire and spilling steam hissing and spitting into every crevice until the backwash disgorged steam and sizzling water back into the sea.


    Rivers ran backward. The seaports of the southern tribes were swallowed beneath the rising waters, or left high and dry when the sea was sucked away, so that they abruptly lay separated from the sea by long stretches of sand that once marked the shallows. Deltas ran dry. Mountains smoked with fire, and liquid red rock slid down-slope, burning everything that stood in its way.


    In the north, a dragon plunged to earth and ossified in that eye blink into a stone ridge.


    The land where the Cursed Ones made their home was ripped right up by the roots, like a tree wrenched out of its soil by the hand of a giant. Where that hand flung it, he could not see.


    Only Adica, dead.


    Wings of flame enveloped him, blinding him.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to leave her, but I couldn¡¯t see.¡± He has been speaking all along, a spate of words as engulfing as the flood-tide. ¡°The Light blinded me.¡±

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    ¡°Hush, friend.¡±


    Voices speak all around him, a chorus close by and yet utterly distant, because his grief has not moved them to stand beside him in their hearts. ¡°Those are big dogs,¡± mutters one.


    ¡°Monsters,¡± agrees another. ¡°Think you they¡¯ll bite?¡±


    ¡°Here comes Brother Infirmarian.¡±


    A portly man presses forward through the throng and bravely, if cautiously, approaches. Rage and Sorrow sit.


    ¡°Come, lad,¡± he says, kneeling beside Alain. ¡°You¡¯re safe here. What is your name? Where have you come from?¡±


    ¡°Ai, God. So many dead. No more death, please God. No more killing.¡±


    ¡°What have you seen, Son?¡±, asks the monk kindly.


    So much suffering. It all spills out in a rush of words, unbidden. Once started, he has to go to the end, just as the spell wove itself to completion, unstoppable once it had been threaded into the loom.


    The caves in which Horn¡¯s people have sheltered flood with steaming water, trapping the dead and the dying in the blind dark. A storm of earth and debris buries Shu-Sha¡¯s palace. Halfway up the Screaming Rocks, Shevros falls beneath a massive avalanche. Waves obliterate a string of peaceful villages along the shores of Falling-down¡¯s island. Children scream helplessly for their parents as they flail in the surging water.


    The blood and viscera of stricken dragons rains down on the humans desperately and uselessly taking shelter against seven stones, burning flesh into rock. A sandstorm buries the oasis where the desert people have camped, trees flattened under the blast of the wind. The lion women race ahead of the storm wave but, in the end, they too are buried beneath a mountain of sand. Gales scatter the tents of the Horse people, winds so strong that what is not flattened outright is flung heavenward and tossed back to earth like so much chaff. All the trees for leagues around Queen¡¯s Grave erupt into flame, and White Deer villagers fall, dying, where arrows and war had spared them. Ai, God, where are Maklos and Agalleos? Hani and Dorren?


    Where is Kel?


    They are all dead.


    Is this the means by which the sorcerers hoped to bring peace? Did they really know what they were doing? Can it be possible they understood what would happen?


    ¡°Adica can¡¯t have known. She¡¯d never have agreed to lend herself to so much destruction if she¡¯d known.¡±


    He has to believe it is true.


    But he will always wonder if she knew and, knowing, acted with the others anyway, knowing the cost. Did they really hate the Cursed Ones so much?


    ¡°It was all for nothing. They¡¯re still here. I¡¯ve seen them.¡±


    Ghost shapes, more shadow than substance, walk the interstices between Earth and the Other Side, caught forever betwixt and between. Those Cursed Ones who did not stand in their homeland when it was torn out of the earth were pulled outward with it; they exist not entirely on Earth and yet not severed from it, as all that comes of earth is bound to earth.


    Yet isn¡¯t it true that no full-blooded Cursed One walks the same soil as humankind now? Didn¡¯t the human sorcerers get what they wanted? Isn¡¯t Earth free of the Cursed Ones?


    ¡°We can never know peace,¡± he cries, turning to the men who have flocked around him. He has to make them understand. ¡°What is bound to earth will return to earth. The suffering isn¡¯t over. The cataclysm will happen again when that which was torn asunder returns to its original place.¡±


    ¡°Thank the Lady, Father,¡± says the infirmarian as the gathered brothers let a new figure through. ¡°You¡¯ve come.¡±


    The abbot is a young man, vigorous and handsome, son of a noble house. He has a sarcastic eye and a gleam of humor in his expression, but he sobers quickly as he examines Alain and the placid but menacing hounds. The portly infirmarian keeps a light touch on Alain¡¯s wrist, nothing harsh, ready to grab him if he bolts.


    ¡°It¡¯s a wanderer, Father Ortulfus,¡± says the infirmarian. His fingers flutter along Alain¡¯s skin. Like the bee, he seems to be probing, but he hasn¡¯t stung yet.


    ¡°Another one?¡± The abbot has wildly blue eyes and pale hair, northern coloring. Adica¡¯s people were darker, stockier, black-haired. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen so many wanderers on the roads as this summer. Is he a heretic?¡±


    ¡°Not so we¡¯ve noticed, Father,¡± says one of the monks nervously ¡°He¡¯s babbling about the end times. He¡¯s right out of his mind.¡±


    ¡°Hush, Adso,¡± scolds the infirmarian before he addresses the abbot. The calm words slip from his mouth smoothly. ¡°He¡¯s not violent, just troubled.¡± He turns to regard Alain with compassion. ¡°Here, now, son. You¡¯ll not be running away, will you? Don¡¯t think you¡¯ll come to any harm among us. We¡¯ve a bed you can sleep in, and porridge, and work to keep your hands busy. That will ease your mind out of these fancies. You¡¯ll find healing here.¡±

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    The hot poison strikes deep. These words hurt far worse than any bee¡¯s sting.


    No one will believe him.


    And Adica is dead. No one will mourn her with him, because they cannot. They do not even know, nor can they believe, that she exists. He has come home as a stranger, having lost everything that mattered. Having, in the end, not even kept his promise to die with her.


    What point is there in living?


    Stronghand¡¯s foot hit, jolting him into awareness. One step he had taken, only one. The sky lightened, and the river¡¯s silver band glinted as sunlight drove the mist off the waters, dazzling his eyes. A torrent of images washed over him. All of the colors of Alain¡¯s being had overflowed in that vision to drown him.


    Joy ran like a deluge. Yet joy had spoken in a terrible voice.


    So many dead. No more death, please God. No more killing.


    ¡°No more killing.¡± Hearing his own voice, he shook himself free of the trance. The girl turned to throw the youngest child over the battlements.


    He leaped forward and wrenched the child out of her grasp, knocking the kneeling sorcerer aside. The girl scrambled onto the battlements herself, making ready to jump.


    ¡°Stop her!¡±


    Quickly all seven of the Albans were taken into custody. The child he held squirmed and began to sob outright in fear.


    ¡°Hush!¡±


    It ceased its weeping.


    ¡°No more killing.¡± His voice seemed unrecognizable to him, yet it sounded no different than it ever had. Was it wisdom that made him speak? For better or worse, he was scarred by the strength of the contact between him and Alain, bound by a weaving that even the WiseMothers did not comprehend.


    Where had Alain gone? He had vanished from Stronghand¡¯s dreams and apparently from Earth itself for over three years. What was the meaning of this vision of destruction on such a scale that it dwarfed even the slow deliberations of the WiseMothers?


    In those years when Alain had been gone, the span of months between the battle at Kjalmarsfjord and this day¡¯s rejoining, he had thought and planned and acted the same as ever, but something had been missing. It was as if the world had gone gray and only now did he see its colors. For truly the world was a beautiful place, worn down by suffering, painted by light, never at rest.


    He could never be free of that connection. He did not want to be. Before Alain had freed him from the cage at Lavas Holding, he had been, like his brothers, a slave to the single-minded lust for killing, war, and plunder that imprisoned his kind. He had been no better than the rest of them and, because of his smaller stature, at a disadvantage.


    Was it Alain¡¯s dreaming influence that had altered some essential thread that wound through his being?


    Around him, his troops murmured restlessly, still filled with battle lust. They had taken Hefenfelthe, but they had no clear victory.


    ¡°Why kill these hostages?¡± he asked, turning to look at them, one by one. These would carry the message to his army, each brother to another, spreading the word of Stronghand¡¯s wisdom. ¡°The queen of Alba and her sorcerers gain power by sacrificing the blood of their subjects. They left these ones behind as sacrifices, knowing we would kill them in anger once we had seen we were thwarted of our prey. So if we kill them, we do their will and strengthen their magic. Therefore we will not kill them. They will become our prisoners. The power of the queen and her sorcerers will become a slave to our power.¡±


    The girl wept when she understood that she would not serve her queen as she had been commanded.


    One of his Rikin brothers emerged from the tower, carrying his standard. Stronghand sheathed his sword and, with the child still held in his left arm, walked to the battlements and hoisted his standard high, so his army, below, could see him. A roar lifted from their ranks, echoing through the conquered city. The magic that lived in the staff hummed against his palm. The breeze made the charms that hung from the standard sing, bone flutes whistling, beads and chains chiming softly, melding with the clack and scrape of wood, leather, and bones. Once again, the magic woven by the priests of his people had protected him against the magic wielded by his enemies.


    Out in the fields beyond the walls the last refugees, those who had crept out of their homes while the battle raged around the citadel, fled into the shelter of distant trees. The fields and forest of Alba stretched away in all directions, cut by the broad river and a nearby tributary. It was a rich land.


    But it was not his land yet.


    ¡°We seek the queen and her sorcerers.¡±


    ¡°Where can we find them?¡± asked Tenth Son.


    Stronghand glanced at the weeping girl with her silver circlet and its seven tines. Six sacrifices waited with her, seven souls in all. It could be no accident that Alain appeared to him after so long in the embrace of a stone circle so like the circle made by the WiseMothers. on the fjall above Rikin Fjord.

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    ¡°They will retreat to a place of power. Alert the forward parties and the scouts. All prisoners will be questioned about forts or marshes where a small force can defend itself. But we should also seek a standing circle of stones, perhaps one with seven stones. I believe that is where we will find the queen.¡±


    VIII


    RATS AND LIONS


    1


    SUNLIGHT washed the plank floor of the attic room, illuminating three months¡¯ worth of dust that layered the floor and empty pallets as well as the trail of Hanna¡¯s footsteps cutting a straight line from the trapdoor to the window. It was so hot up here that she could scarcely breathe. She stumbled against one of the shutters, unhooked and laid it on the floor, and kicked it aside before leaning out to gulp in fresh air.


    In late spring the king had ridden south with Queen Adelheid to fight the Jinna pirates infesting the southeastern provinces. Hanna had arrived in midsummer after a grueling trip over the mountains, but the palace stewards had not allowed her to ride after Henry¡¯s army. She could not expect, they told her, that her cloak and Eagle¡¯s badge would grant her safe passage in those parts of the country not yet loyal to the king.


    She had to wait.


    She wiped sweat from her forehead and ducked back into shadow, but decided that the blast of the sun in the open air was preferable to the smothering heat of the attic sleeping quarters. Adjusting her brimmed hat to ward off the worst of the direct glare, she leaned out again. A stew of smells rose from the surrounding buildings: manure, piss, slops, roasting pig, and a hint of incense almost lost beneath the perfume of human living. From this angle and height, she looked out over rooftops toward the delicate spire marking the royal chapel and beyond that the outer walls and the gulf of air shimmering above the lower city with its massive stone edifices. The river cut a thread of molten iron through streets hazy with heat, dust, and cook fires.


    Unbelievably vast, Darre seemed a warren of alleys and avenues, with so many houses that no person could possibly count them. Beyond the outermost walls lay fields and vineyards and, farther out, distant hills and a dark ribbon marking the route to the sea. Wisps of cloud pushed over those sere heights, promising relief against the heat later in the day. Was that smoke drifting up from the tallest peak? Had someone lit a fire at its height? She couldn¡¯t tell, and it seemed a strange thing to do in any case.


    Hanna had explored as many corners, sinks, and privies, as many balconies, shady arbors, and storage pits as she was allowed into in the regnant¡¯s palace. She had even toured the prison down in the city, and the tower where other Aostan regnants had confined their enemies, although Adelheid kept no hostages now. All the tower rooms lay empty, stripped of furniture, heavy with dust.


    She had asked about Margrave Villam.


    Dead of a tragic fall when he was drunk.


    She had asked about Duchess Liutgard of Fesse and Duke Burchard of Avaria.


    Ridden south with the king.


    She had asked about Sister Rosvita, the king¡¯s counselor.


    Neither dead nor gone.


    How could a person be neither dead nor gone? How could the stewards of the palace and the legions of servants not hoard rumors of her fate? Rosvita had been here when King Henry arrived; now she was not. Hanna had discovered no transition between arrival and departure. She found again and again that her thoughts turned to Hathui¡¯s accusations. Either Hathui was lying, or the Aostan stewards were.


    She leaned out farther, dizzy from the height, but even from this angle she could only see one corner of the skopos¡¯ palace. She had hoped to find answers there, but the guards would not let her inside.


    With a sigh, she ducked back into the shadow, fighting to get in a lungful of the overheated air.


    A footfall sounded on the ladder. She spun, drawing her knife. A broom¡¯s handle poked through the open trap, followed by the rest of the broom, thrust up and falling sideways to clatter onto the floor. A woman emerged awkwardly, grasped the broom, and rose, then gasped, seeing Hanna.


    ¡°Oh, Lord in Heaven!¡± she exclaimed. ¡°You surprised me!¡± She wore a serviceable tunic covered with a dusty tabard and a plain linen scarf concealing her hair. Not as young as Hanna, she wasn¡¯t yet old. ¡°Begging your pardon. I didn¡¯t expect to find anyone else up here.¡±


    ¡°Neither did I.¡±


    The servant gave a companionable chuckle, a little forced. ¡°Well, now, I suppose that means that neither of us have eyes in the backs of our heads, to see around corners and through walls.¡±


    Hanna stayed by the window but sheathed the knife as the woman walked away from her to the other end of the long attic room. There, she stooped to allow for the pitched roof and began sweeping. Dust rose in clouds around her, and she paused to tie up her tabard over her mouth and nose.

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    ¡°Always the worst when it¡¯s the first cleaning,¡± she said cheerfully as Hanna watched with surprise.


    ¡°It seems awfully hot to be thinking of cleaning out these sleeping rooms.¡± The heat all summer had been like a battering ram. She had never got used to it.


    ¡°True enough. But the weather can turn cold suddenly now that the season is turning from summer to autumn, if you call this autumn. We have to start thinking of inhabiting these rooms again. Last year you can¡¯t believe how hot it was, hotter than this, and with unseasonable rains, too, and a terrible hailstorm.¡±


    ¡°I hear the king was taken sorely ill, last year.¡±


    The servant looked up at her, expression hidden except for her eyes. Her gaze had a queer, searching intensity. But as the silence stretched out uncomfortably, she returned to sweeping.


    ¡°Last summer, yes, he was taken ill with the shivering fever. He was laid in bed for two months, and the armies fought all summer and autumn without him. They had no victories, nor any defeats. So they say.¡± Again that searching glance scrutinized Hanna. ¡°That¡¯s if they say what¡¯s true, but how are we simple servants to know what¡¯s truth and what¡¯s not?¡±


    ¡°Eagles know.¡±


    ¡°Where are all the Eagles? Gone with the king, all but that poor redheaded fellow who got so sick.¡±


    ¡°Rufus?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± she continued amiably, her voice muffled by the cloth. ¡°He came south last year at the command of Biscop Constance in Autun, didn¡¯t he?¡±


    ¡°So he told me.¡± Carrying a message very like the ones sent by Theophanu, but the king had not heeded him.


    ¡°Yes, poor lad. He was so sick even the palace healers thought he would die from the shivering. That¡¯s why he had to be left behind this past spring when the king rode south.¡±


    ¡°Yet all the other Eagles rode south with the king, didn¡¯t they? Why haven¡¯t any of them brought reports back to Darre? Why is it always the queen¡¯s Aostan messengers we see?¡±


    ¡°How can I know the king¡¯s mind? I can only thank the Lord and Lady that his army has won victories over both the infidels and the heretics. And over a few Aostan nobles who would prefer no regnant placed above their heads. So we¡¯re told.¡±


    Her account tallied with the news Rufus had given Hanna. ¡°I¡¯ve heard talk that the king and queen will be crowned with imperial crowns before the end of the year.¡±


    ¡°That talk has been going on as long as I¡¯ve been here, these two and a half years. Maybe it will finally happen.¡±


    With the steady scritch of the broom against wood like an accompaniment to her thoughts, Hanna finally realized what was strangest about this industrious woman. ¡°You¡¯re Wendish.¡±


    ¡°So I am. I¡¯m called Aurea, from the estate of Landelbach in Fesse. You¡¯re that new Eagle what rode in a few months back.¡±


    ¡°Yes. My name is Hanna Birta¡¯s-daughter, from the North Mark. I come from a place called Heart¡¯s Rest.¡± A low rumble shook through the floor and the entire building swayed.


    Hanna shrieked. ¡°What is that?¡±


    The rumbling faded, the building stilled, and Aurea kept sweeping. ¡°Haven¡¯t you felt one yet? An earthquake? We feel them every few months.¡±


    ¡°Nay, no earthquakes. Nor weather anywhere near as hot as what I¡¯ve suffered through here.¡± She was still trembling.


    ¡°True enough. It¡¯s hot here for weeks on end, too, not just for a short spell as it would be up north where I come from. It isn¡¯t natural.¡±


    Hanna exhaled, still trying to steady her nerves. ¡°An old friend of mine would say that Aosta lies nearer to the sun. That¡¯s why it¡¯s hotter here.¡±


    ¡°Is it? That seems a strange story to me. Nearer to the sun!¡± Aurea hummed under her breath. ¡°But no stranger than many a tale I¡¯ve heard here in Darre. Sister Heriburg says that in the east there¡¯s snakes who suckle milk right from the cow. In the south no plants can grow because the sun shines so hot, and the folk who live there have great, huge ears that they use like tents during the day to protect them from the sun. Even here, there¡¯s stories about godly clerics who abide in the skopos¡¯ dungeons like rats, hidden from the sight of most people, but I don¡¯t suppose those are any more true than that tale my old grandmam told me about a dragon turned into stone in the north country. It lies there still, they say, by the sea, but nothing can bring it back to life.¡±


    She kept her gaze on the warped floorboards where dust collected in cracks. Hanna thought she would choke in air now polluted with a swirling cloud of dust, but she dared not move. She had to think. How strange to speak of clerics hidden away in dungeons.

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    Maybe it was only a figure of speech, an old tale spun by the palace servants to pass the time.


    But maybe it wasn¡¯t.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard stories of men who can turn themselves into wolves,¡± she said at last, cautiously, ¡°but never any of clerics who can turn themselves into rats. I¡¯ve heard that story about the dragon, too, though, the one turned into stone. When there¡¯s a great storm come in off the Northern Sea, you can hear the dragons keening. That¡¯s what my old grandmother always said.¡±


    ¡°Lots of stories of dragons,¡± agreed the servant woman without looking up from her sweeping, ¡°but I¡¯ve never heard tell of a single person who¡¯d ever seen such a beast. Rats, now. Rats I¡¯ve seen aplenty.¡±


    ¡°There must be an army of rats in a great palace like this one.¡±


    ¡°And the biggest ones of all down in the dungeons. I don¡¯t doubt they¡¯re caught down there somehow, between stone walls. There¡¯s only the one staircase, guarded by the Holy Mother¡¯s faithful guards, and they¡¯re sharp-eyed, those fellows. Everyone says so. As likely to skewer a rat on the point of their knife if it comes scurrying up the stairs. A woman here I know said it happens every year, and then they roast those rats they¡¯ve caught and throw their burned carcasses to the dogs.¡±


    She looked up then, her gaze like a sharp rap on the head.


    ¡°It would take a lot of rats to fill a dog¡¯s belly,¡± answered Hanna, floundering.


    ¡°Not if they¡¯ve grown as big as a dog themselves, or bigger even, human-sized or some say as big as a horse. A horse!¡± She bent back to her task with a curt chuckle. ¡°I¡¯m not believing such foolish tales. No rat can grow to be the size of a horse, and where would it hide, then? But I suppose they could become mighty big, nibbling on scraps and prisoners¡¯ fingers and toes.¡±


    That sharp look made Hanna cautious. Was there a veiled purpose to Aurea¡¯s talking, or was she just nattering to pass the time?


    ¡°I remember stories that my grandmother told me.¡± Hanna moved along the attic until she came to the open trapdoor. She squinted down the length of the ladder but saw no lurking shadow, no listening accomplice. ¡°I do love to trade old stories, about dragons and rats and wolves. I have a few stories of my own to tell.¡±


    ¡°So it might well be, you being an Eagle and all,¡± agreed the woman, sweeping past Hanna toward the window. Tidy piles of dirt and dust marked her path like droppings. ¡°Eagles see all kinds of things the rest of us can¡¯t, don¡¯t you? Travel to strange and distant lands with urgent messages on behalf of the king. You¡¯re welcome to join those of us servants from Wendar when we attend Vespers in St. Asella¡¯s chapel, by the west gate of the city. There¡¯s a cleric from Wendar called Brother Fortunatus who gives the sermon in Wendish there. Only on Hefensday, mind. That¡¯s when we¡¯re allowed to go.¡±


    Since there were a dozen chapels within the regnant¡¯s palace alone and a rumored five hundred or more within the walls of the lower city, Hanna could not guess which one the woman meant. Most of them she only recognized by the image of the saint that marked the portico. Yet she could not help herself. Clerics hidden like rats in the dungeon. Eyes that could see through walls, and traveling Eagles.


    Perhaps she was making a conspiracy where none existed, but it wouldn¡¯t hurt to follow this path a bit farther.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know of St. Asella. If I go down to the west gate, is there some way to know which chapel is dedicated to her?¡±


    The woman stilled her broom. Though her gaze was as innocent as a lamb¡¯s, the soft words carried a barb. ¡°St. Asella was walled up alive.¡±


    2


    IN the deepening twilight, tall trees seemed a grim backdrop to swollen grave mounds and a stone circle. As their little group neared the gap in the wall of trees that promised to be a trail, Ivar looked back over the clearing. He had never seen a stone circle in such perfect repair, each stone upright and all the lintels intact. It looked as if it had been built, or repaired, in recent months. Only the great stone at the center lay flat. His companions paused as dusk settled over them and a breeze sighed through the forest. The grave mounds seemed to exert a spell, luring them back. Ivar simply could not move, as though dead hands gripped his feet and held him tight. A twig snapped, breaking their silence.


    ¡°Do you think we¡¯re really near Hersford Monastery?¡± asked Ermanrich, voice squeaking.


    ¡°As long as we¡¯re well away from that Quman army, then I don¡¯t care where we are.¡± Ivar knew he sounded braver than he felt as daylight faded. A wolf howled in the distance, answered by a second, and everyone grabbed for their weapons. ¡°Where¡¯s Baldwin?¡±

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    ¡°He was right behind you,¡± said Ermanrich.


    ¡°He didn¡¯t wait.¡± The younger Lion, Dedi, pointed toward the trees. ¡°He went to look at the path.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you stop him?¡± demanded Ivar.


    Ermanrich gave him a look. ¡°When has Baldwin ever listened to any of us?¡±


    ¡°Nay, Ivar, don¡¯t be angry at Dedi.¡± Sigfrid laid a gentle, but restraining, hand on Ivar¡¯s arm. ¡°Ermanrich¡¯s only speaking the truth, which you know as well as we do.¡±


    ¡°Damned fool. Why couldn¡¯t he wait?¡± But Baldwin never listened, he just pretended to.


    ¡°He probably ran off because he thought he saw Margrave Judith come looking for him,¡± joked Ermanrich nervously.


    ¡°Why should a margrave like Judith come looking for the likes of him?¡± asked Dedi with a snort of disbelief.


    ¡°Hush!¡± said Hathumod abruptly. ¡°Listen!¡±


    The sound of thrashing came from the trees. Baldwin burst out of the forest, arms flailing.


    ¡°A lion!¡± He hadn¡¯t run more than ten steps into the clearing when he tripped and fell.


    They hurried over to calm him down, but as they swarmed around him, he jumped to his feet with a look of terror on his beautiful face. ¡°I found an old hovel over at a rock outcropping, not far from here, but when I stuck my head inside, I heard a cough behind me. I turned around and there was a lion up on the rocks!¡±


    ¡°A Lion?¡± demanded Gerulf. ¡°From which cohort?¡±


    ¡°Nay, a lion. A beast. Quite tawny and as hungry looking as you please. A second one came to stand beside the first.¡±


    Gerulf snorted. ¡°I¡¯ll thank you not to pull my leg, Son. There aren¡¯t any lions in the north except them as you might find in the regnant¡¯s menagerie. Lions live in the southern lands.¡±


    ¡°I know what I saw.¡±


    ¡°If it was a hungry lion, then why didn¡¯t it eat you up?¡± asked Dedi with a laugh. ¡°Or was it too busy admiring your pretty face?¡±


    Ivar jumped between Baldwin and Dedi just as Baldwin drew his arm back for a punch. ¡°Baldwin can¡¯t help the way he looks. No need to tease him for it. It¡¯s getting dark anyway. I don¡¯t care to spend a night here inside this stone circle with those barrows as our guardians. Do any of you?¡±


    No one did, not even Sigfrid, whose powerful faith made him hardest to frighten.


    ¡°Anything might happen here among the stones and graves,¡± said Ermanrich. ¡°I¡¯d rather face the lions.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll let you go first,¡± said Hathumod dryly to her cousin, ¡°for then they¡¯ll have a good meal and won¡¯t need to eat any of the rest of us.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s the path.¡± Gerulf pointed toward the gap.


    ¡°I¡¯d hate to take any path with darkness coming on and wolves howling nearby,¡± said Ivar.


    ¡°Not to mention the lions,¡± said Dedi.


    ¡°You¡¯ll see,¡± muttered Baldwin.


    ¡°How big is this hovel?¡± Gerulf nodded toward Ivar to show he agreed that they shouldn¡¯t try to go far lest they lose themselves in the night.


    ¡°One man could sit inside it, but not comfortably,¡± said Baldwin. ¡°But right below where I saw the lions the outcropping cuts in and makes a bit of an overhang.¡±


    ¡°That might serve as shelter,¡± said Gerulf, ¡°enough for one night. We can follow the path in the morning.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t believe me!¡± Baldwin looked from face to face. ¡°None of you believe me! Ivar?¡±


    Drops of rain brushed Ivar¡¯s face. A gust of wind, heralding stronger rain to come, rattled through the trees. ¡°It might have been wolves,¡± he said reluctantly. Seeing Baldwin¡¯s indignant expression, he quickly went on. ¡°Or lions. I¡¯d hate to fight them out in the open. We¡¯ve weapons enough to fight off ravening beasts as long as we have a good stout wall at our back.¡±


    ¡°There you are, Son!¡± replied Gerulf cheerfully. ¡°If we can get a fire going, then a good overhang will serve us better whether wolves or lions or even a guivre itself comes a-courting. Better anyway than standing out here and getting soaking wet. You¡¯d have made a good Lion, lad.¡±


    ¡°I would have been no Lion,¡± said Ivar, stung by this statement. ¡°I¡¯d have been a Dragon, if my father who is count up in the North Mark would have let me ride with them instead of putting me into the church.¡±


    ¡°I pray you, my lord,¡± said Gerulf hastily. ¡°I meant no offense.¡±

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    The momentary embarrassment, the realization that although their group had escaped the Quman as comrades they were, in fact, quite unequal in station, held them motionless until rain drove them into action. They slogged through what remained of the grassy clearing, sheltering their heads against the rain as best they could, keeping the torches dry. Luckily, the track ran straight and true through the trees. They took not more than one hundred steps on a downhill slope before they stumbled out onto a rocky outcropping. Cliffs rose above and below, staggered like the shoulders of a hulking beast. Rain washed over them with a fresh gust of wind, and they stumbled into such shelter as the overhang afforded. In the last of the fading light, Ivar saw a tiny hovel built of sticks standing off to one side, out in the rain, but truly, as Baldwin had reported, it hadn¡¯t enough space even for one man to lie down in.


    ¡°Come, there¡¯s plenty of sticks here to build a fire that¡¯ll last the entire night, and they¡¯re not too wet yet,¡± said Gerulf, then added: ¡°If you will, my lords and lady.¡±


    They gathered up fuel as quickly as they could and lit a fire just as it really got too dark to see. After some discussion, they settled on watches: Gerulf and Hathumod to begin, followed by Dedi and Ermanrich, and Ivar and Sigfrid last. Baldwin had already bundled himself up in his cloak and lain down to sleep in the deepest, driest crack of the overhang. They set out torches within easy reach, in case they needed them as weapons against marauding beasts, and settled down for the night.


    Ivar lay down next to Baldwin. He dozed off at once and was startled awake much later by the sound of Hathumod¡¯s voice, as soft as the brush of rabbit fur across his skin but rather more persistent.


    ¡°Nay, friend Gerulf, it isn¡¯t a heresy at all, although the church may have said so.¡±


    ¡°I beg your pardon, Lady Hathumod, but why should the church mothers lie? Why would the holy women who have worn the robes and seal of the skopos each in her turn be party to such a deception?¡±


    ¡°Some simply were ignorant. They were taught as we were and knew no better. But truly, I do not know why the ancient mothers who wrote in the early days concealed the truth. They were the heretics, and the Enemy spoke through them. But now the truth is unveiled and shines brightly for all to see. I have witnessed miracles¡ª¡±


    Ivar had heard similar words from the lips of Lady Tallia, whose tortured body and zealous gaze had thrown all of them onto the path of heresy back in Quedlinhame. As he drifted back into sleep, he marveled that Hathumod, despite her undistinguished voice and unremarkable bearing, could sound so persuasive.


    A foot nudged him, and when he shifted to turn his back to the summons, it nudged him again.


    ¡°Nay, nay,¡± he muttered, thinking himself back at Quedlinhame, ¡°it can¡¯t be time for Vigils already, is it?¡±


    ¡°So it might be,¡± whispered Ermanrich cheerfully, ¡°although with the clouds overhead I can¡¯t see the stars to tell what hour it is. It¡¯s your turn for watch.¡±


    Ivar groaned. He hurt everywhere. Even his fingers throbbed, but when he rose, crouching, and closed his hand over his spear, the grip felt funny. Memory jolted him awake. He¡¯d lost two fingers in the battle. Maybe the Quman were already on their trail, ready to cut off his head. He straightened and promptly banged his head on the rock above.


    ¡°Hush,¡± hissed Ermanrich. ¡°No need to go swearing like that. We¡¯ve seen nothing on our watch and nothing was seen on the first watch either. I think Baldwin¡¯s lions must have been scared off by his handsome face.¡±


    ¡°God Above.¡± Ivar stepped out past Ermanrich. A rush of cold night air swept his cheeks. He¡¯d been breathing in smoke from the fire all night, and his lungs ached with soot. Outside, the rain had stopped, but he still couldn¡¯t see any stars. ¡°I¡¯d forgotten how much I hated rising for prayers in the middle of the night.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s your purity of faith? Don¡¯t you remember the miracles?¡±


    ¡°They never took place at Vigils.¡±


    Sigfrid stood next to the fire, rocking back and forth with eyes closed as he murmured prayers. Ivar fed a stick to the fire and rubbed his hands near the flames to warm them. Ermanrich and Dedi settled down on the ground to sleep.


    Ivar didn¡¯t like to interrupt Sigfrid at his prayers, so he stood quietly at watch. Neither did he want to pray. He had learned all those prayers in the church of his childhood and youth, the church of his mothers and grandmothers. But after witnessing the miracle of the phoenix and the miracle of Lady Tallia¡¯s bloody wounds, he knew the church had lied to him. Perhaps Sigfrid and Hathumod could still pray, changing the words so they echoed the truth that had been hidden for so long. But prayer seemed to Ivar like an illusionary feast, pretty to look at and delectable to smell but tasting like ashes when you went to gobble it down.

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    Perhaps he had suffered so many betrayals and setbacks because he had himself believed what was false. Yet others believed what they had been taught, and they hadn¡¯t suffered as he had. Nay, truly, his trials must have been a test of his resolve. Maybe he had been granted leave to witness the miracles because he had resisted Liath¡¯s blandishments. She had tempted him, but he had escaped her. Even if he did still dream of her, here on a rainy night lost in a distant country, wondering what was to become of them all.


    If it hadn¡¯t been for Liath, maybe his father would have let him join the Dragons. But of course, then he would have been killed at Gent by the Eika along with the rest of the Dragons; all but that damned Prince Sanglant, who everyone knew had been enchanted by his inhuman mother so that he couldn¡¯t ever be killed.


    Looked at that way, maybe Liath had saved him from death. Or maybe it wasn¡¯t Liath at all. Maybe God had saved him, so that he and his friends could work Her will. God had saved them from the Quman, hadn¡¯t She? God had transported them by a miracle from the eastern borderlands to the very heart of Wendar. God had turned summer to autumn, and healed their wounds, and by these signs had revealed their task: It was up to them to tell the truth of the blessed Daisan¡¯s death to every soul they encountered. God had given the truth into their hands and saved them from sure death in order to see what they would make of these gifts.


    The shape ghosted past at the limit of the fire¡¯s light.


    Startled, he dropped his spear. As he bent to pick it up, he noticed a second shape, then a third.


    ¡°Hsst, Sigfrid! Wolves!¡±


    As if their name, spoken out loud, summoned them, the wolves moved closer. Lean and sleek, they eyed the sleeping party hungrily. The leader yawned, displaying sharp teeth. As he gathered breath into his lungs to shout the alarm, Ivar counted two, then four, then eight of the beasts, poised to leap, ready to kill.


    They scattered, vanishing into the night.


    The shout caught in his throat, choking him, as a lion paced into the circle of the fire¡¯s light and lifted its glossy golden head to gaze at him. It had huge shoulders and powerful flanks, and when it yawned, its teeth sparked in the firelight like the points of daggers.


    A choking stutter came from his throat. For a space during which he might have gulped in one breath or taken a thousand, he stared at it, and it at him, as calm in its power as God¡¯s judgment.


    Then he remembered that he had to wake the others before they were ripped into pieces and made into a feast.


    Something touched him, and he jumped, but he still couldn¡¯t find his voice, and anyway, it was only Sigfrid.


    ¡°Nay, Ivar,¡± he said in his gentle voice. ¡°They¡¯re protecting us.¡± His small hand weighed like a boulder on Ivar¡¯s forearm.


    He didn¡¯t dare move, because the lion hadn¡¯t attacked yet. As he watched, too stunned to do anything, a second lion paced majestically into the fire¡¯s light. This one had a coat so light that it seemed silver. It, too, stopped and stared with a gaze so intelligent that at once he knew it could see right down into his soul. It knew all his secrets, every least bitter and petty thought he had ever entertained, every ill he had wished on another, every greedy urge he had fulfilled. It knew the depths of his unseemly passion for Liath and how he had allowed lust to smother his decent affection for Hanna, who had never turned away from him, even when he had treated her badly. It recognized how far he had fallen into debauchery among Prince Ekkehard and his cronies. But it also saw his efforts to preach the truth of the sacrifice and redemption of the blessed Daisan to the city folk in Gent and to the village folk in the marchlands. It saw how he had aided his friends on the battlefield and helped the wounded Lions to safety. It witnessed, through him, the glorious flight of the phoenix, and for these things it forgave him his sins.


    ¡°W¡ªwhy should they protect us?¡± he stammered when he found his voice.


    ¡°Lions are God¡¯s creatures,¡± said Sigfrid. ¡°They¡¯re waiting here.¡±


    ¡°Waiting for what?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Rain spattered down and ceased. The lions paced back and forth, obliterating the tracks of the wolves. Their steady movement, weaving in and out but never coming close, made him so sleepy that he swayed on his feet, started awake, then drifted off again.


    And found that it was dawn. Light stained the east, and from this outcropping he saw forest falling away into a deep cleft rank with trees and rising again into wooded hills. To the south he saw the edge of a tidy clearing that suggested a settlement, perhaps the fields of Hersford Monastery.

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    Sigfrid had found a spring in the rocks and drank deeply as the others woke, stretched, and came to slake their thirst. Ivar walked forward, but the ground betrayed no trace of what he had seen in the night. He saw no prints of wolf and certainly nothing like the massive paw prints that lions of such a size ought to have left behind them as evidence of their passage.


    Gerulf came up to him. ¡°I see you¡¯ve noticed it as well. That looks to me like the monastic estate. We¡¯d best strike out at once, so we don¡¯t have to spend another night in the forest.¡±


    ¡°Alas, Lord Baldwin,¡± Dedi was saying back by the spring as Baldwin staggered up, still half asleep but no less handsome for looking quite rumpled, ¡°it was quiet enough this night, although your stout friend Ermanrich quite bent my ear the whole time we were on watch with so many astounding tales that I don¡¯t know what to think.¡± He paused, as a thief might pause to listen before grabbing the jewels out of their resting place in a nest of silk. ¡°I fear your lions chose not to pay us a call, eh?¡±


    There was a scuffle, broken up by Hathumod with a sharp whack to each of their behinds with a stick.


    Gerulf grabbed Dedi and hauled him aside. ¡°You¡¯ll be polite, Nephew! This man¡¯s a lord.¡±


    Dedi muttered a comment under his breath.


    ¡°I did too see lions!¡± retorted Baldwin. ¡°No one ever believes me.¡± Ivar examined the ground again but the only prints he saw were his own boots. ¡°It¡¯s said that the Enemy brings strange visions at night,¡± he said.


    ¡°So may God, my lord,¡± replied Gerulf, ¡°but it¡¯s hard for mortal man to tell the difference between the one and the other. Saw you anything on your watch?¡±


    Ivar didn¡¯t have the courage to speak of what he¡¯d seen, nor did Sigfrid mention it.


    IX


    A GRAVE CRIME


    1


    IN the city of Darre, one saw the years laid bare on every street. Near the river, laundresses hung out clothing to dry on fallen columns from a temple once dedicated to the goddess of love. Competing hospices for pilgrims filled three-storied apartment houses near the monumental baths built in the time of the Emperor Tianathano. Cattle and goats grazed in the vast arena where horses had raced. The vast brick marketplace erected during the reign of the Empress Thaissania, she of the Mask, had been abandoned in favor of an ever-changing collection of makeshift stalls set up within the shelter of colonnaded temples that fronted the main avenues, which had themselves been built to honor gods whose names Hanna did not recognize, although Liath might have.


    The four-tiered aqueducts built by ancient Dariyan engineers still brought water into the city from the hills; under their arches beggars sheltered from the sun. Itinerant cobblers repaired shoes on the marble steps of palaces, now empty, and whores sported where emperors had enjoyed other kinds of feasts. But with half the buildings in the city deserted, no one lived in hovels; every woman there might bide with a spacious and only slightly damaged roof above her head, even if she starved. The Dariyans had built their city so that it would last until the end of time. Maybe it would.


    It seemed impossible that so many people could live all together in one place. Hanna could not fathom what the city must have looked like in the days, hundreds of years past, when every building had its purpose and the half-breed citizens of the old empire, proud and resolute, crowded the streets.


    ¡°I beg pardon.¡± She paused beside a merchant¡¯s stall in the shadow of a colonnade near the baths; this enterprising fellow sold copper medallions which displayed the images of saints. ¡°I have lost my way. Which road leads to the west gate?¡±


    She had learned enough Aostan in the months she had been here to serve her in situations such as this; understanding the natives when they replied was trickier. This man was used to dealing with foreigners. He looked her over, gaze lingering on her pale braids, then studied her companion, Rufus, whose hair was as startlingly red as hers was pale blonde. He spat on the ground and with a gap-toothed grimace pointed to the right where the avenue forked.


    ¡°Not much for words, was he?¡± commented Rufus as they trudged on, keeping to the late afternoon shade.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think he liked us.¡± The glaring heat made an oven of the city. She was sweating so much that she had given up wiping it away. Her tunic stuck to her back, and a line of sticky sweat had formed where her hat pressed against her forehead.


    ¡°None of them do. They think we¡¯re barbarians. They think we¡¯re stealing their grain and their chickens.¡±


    They paused to gawk at the huge bulk of the amphitheater, known colloquially as the Ring, looming to the left as they followed the avenue east. The river lay behind them, and when Hanna turned, the broad brim of her hat shading her eyes, she could look up at the hill on which lay the two palaces, side by side, skopos and regnant, elaborate new constructions grown up on top of whatever ancient temple had once graced that hill. ¡°The upper city,¡± the folk who lived there called it, in distinction from the rest of Darre.

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    ¡°I don¡¯t think there¡¯re this many buildings in all of Wendar and Varre.¡±


    ¡°Maybe so.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you came with me,¡± she added. ¡°I¡¯d hate to walk down here without a companion. I hear there are at least ten murders every night.¡±


    ¡°So they say, and half of them northerners killed out of spite. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s true.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t leave the safety of the palace after dusk if I were alone, that¡¯s certain. Safety in numbers, I suppose.¡±


    They came to the sprawling market for foodstuffs, situated close to the walls so it would be easier for vegetables and fruits from the fields to be carted in each day. Chickens squawked in cages next to thrushes and pigeons. Greengrocers presided over offerings of apples and figs, quince, lovage, onions, and the familiar mounds of turnips. Lush bundles of red peonies and white lilies were offered for sale next to bowls of mustard seeds and stacks of dried plums. One entire section encompassed an herb and spice market; the heady scents made Hanna¡¯s head swim as they passed.


    Yet few people seemed to be buying. The longest line lay ahead outside the old law courts where, by the mercy of the skopos, grain and olive oil were handed out to the poor each Hefensday. Women in patched clothing waited restlessly in line, peering ahead to see if they would make it to the gate before the allotment for this week had run out. Even the children stood with tired patience, too hungry to run and play, dazzled by the sun beating down on their heads. A trio of boys, their clothes ragged and their upper lips stained with snot, shouted nasty oaths at the two Eagles.


    ¡°Wendish dogs!¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re eating all our food! Pigs!¡±


    ¡°Their mother was a sow!¡±


    Hanna picked up their pace. Many more folk waited sullenly in pockets of shade or leaned against the marble facings of the grand old buildings, half-fallen into disrepair. Guardsmen lined the length of the colonnade, keeping an eye on a score of young toughs loitering on the steps of an old temple on the other side of the avenue. Murmured oaths could be guessed at, nothing more; some played at dice. A few spat in the direction of the street, but it was hard to tell whether they meant to insult Hanna and Rufus, or the city guards.


    ¡°Seems a few want for nothing,¡± said Rufus, ¡°and the rest are in want.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard it said the war is draining the regnant¡¯s coffers. The palace servants told me it¡¯s worse now than it¡¯s ever been. They hate us because it¡¯s our king leading the war.¡±


    ¡°Won¡¯t it be best for Aosta once all the foreigners are driven out, and the nobles all bend their knee to one regnant?¡±


    ¡°I hope so,¡± she said fiercely, for wasn¡¯t that why she had turned her back on Hathui and ridden this far? Because she had faith in King Henry?


    A man stumbled out into the street and collided with Hanna. His hands groped her chest as he murmured, ¡°Wendish whore!¡± His breath stank.


    She shoved him off with a grunt as Rufus, startled, turned around to see four young toughs headed their way with ugly grins on their faces. The city guards watched passively.


    Hanna grabbed Rufus¡¯ arm and tugged him onward. ¡°There are the gates!¡±


    It was said that no gate in Darre did not have four churches built nearby upon the ruins of the old imperial temples. There were six within sight of the western gate, all but one simple structures of brick that could scarcely hold more than fifty worshipers. The sixth was a domed temple, cleared of pagan statues and rededicated to St. Mark the Warrior; his sword of righteousness, which grants strength to the believer, was painted in bright colors above the portico. But which was the church they sought?


    ¡°They¡¯re getting closer!¡± gasped Rufus.


    A pair of fraters hurried up the steps of St. Mark¡¯s. Closer by, a trio of clerics in the modest robes of novices walked past; the shortest of the young women glanced her way.


    ¡°I beg you, my lady¡ª¡±


    The novices seemed neither to hear nor understand her.


    ¡°Oh, shit,¡± swore Rufus. ¡°They¡¯ve got knives.¡±


    ¡°Run for it.¡±


    ¡°Eagle!¡±


    Carried on a litter by four men, a presbyter appeared out of the crowd. The four toughs veered off. Hanna knelt; Rufus dropped to both knees. The stone burned hot into her knee through the cloth of her leggings.


    ¡°Your Excellency,¡± she murmured breathlessly, heart still pounding with fear. ¡°We are honored at your notice.¡±


    She recognized Brother Petrus. Bland and powerful, he had received her when she had first arrived in Darre and listened patiently and with aristocratic reserve to her message. She had not seen him since that day, when he had assured her that the matter would be brought to the king¡¯s attention just as soon as Henry returned from the south, but that it was too dangerous for her to ride south herself.

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    ¡°Do you come often into the lower city?¡± he asked in the tone of a man who is surprised to see a heathen worshiping at the Hearth of God in Unity.


    ¡°Nay, Your Excellency. I am not accustomed to its size. There are so many streets and alleys, and so many people.¡±


    ¡°True enough.¡± He looked toward the law courts, where the crowd gathered to receive grain and food was growing ever more restless as the day came toward its end. Many still stood empty-handed. ¡°So many people, and not all of them with God¡¯s best interests at heart. It is best to be careful. Even some of your own Wendish folk agitate in the shadows, weaving intrigue among the innocent and the gullible.¡±


    ¡°I am sorry to hear that my countryfolk are so wicked, Your Excellency.¡±


    ¡°As would any person be who trusts in God. There is one woman in particular, a servant who calls herself Aurea, who is no better than a goad on the flail wielded by the Enemy. Beware of those who bear false tales out of turn in the hope of stirring up trouble.¡±


    Because her head was bent in respectful obeisance, the brim of the hat concealed her expression. Strange that he should mention Aurea, to whom she had spoken up in the attic only two days before.


    ¡°Have you spoken to this woman, Daughter?¡±


    ¡°I have. I am always happy to find those within the palace who speak my own tongue, Your Excellency, those who are my countryfolk.¡±


    ¡°Did she speak aught of conspiracies and treachery?¡±


    Only of clerics hidden like rats in the dungeon. Eyes that could see through walls, and traveling Eagles. But perhaps Hanna was making a conspiracy where none existed. Perhaps the woman had hoped for nothing more with her tales than an appreciative audience. Brother Petrus could not know that Hanna had spoken to Hathui over a year ago in the southern forests of Wendar. He did not know what she knew.


    Faced with her silence, he went on. ¡°I hope you will come to me, Daughter, if there is anything you wish me to hear. You need only to ask for me at the skopos¡¯ palace. You Wendish Eagles are said to see all kinds of things that the rest of us cannot. I know you are held to be loyal without measure to your king.¡±


    He spoke a word in Aostan, and his servants carried him on.


    She glanced around as she rose to make sure no suspicious souls approached them, but the young toughs had vanished into the crowd. His words chilled her. Hadn¡¯t Aurea spoken almost exactly those same words: ¡°an Eagle might see all kinds of things?¡± Was it a slip of the tongue or simply a chance similarity of phrase? Did he mean it as a warning?


    ¡°I don¡¯t like it,¡± remarked Rufus, ¡°when those high and mighty church folk know who I am. Where I come from, the old folks used to say that it¡¯s better to be a pig foraging in the woods with hunger in your gut and no one to know your name than a fat-bellied rooster strutting in the farmyard and all eyes on you when feasting time comes around.¡±


    ¡°He saved us from a fight.¡±


    ¡°True enough. Never turn your back on small blessings.¡±


    Nearby, the three clerics had paused while one among their number shook a stone out of her shoe. ¡°Come, now, Sister Heriburg,¡± said one of her companions tartly in clear Wendish. ¡°We shan¡¯t get a place to sit in St. Asella¡¯s chapel if you do not hurry. You know how crowded it gets when Brother Fortunatus gives his sermon.¡±


    ¡°I beg pardon, Sisters. We are Wendish Eagles, servants of the king, come to worship at St. Asella¡¯s. May we accompany you there?¡±


    ¡°Any true servant of King Henry is welcome to keep company with those of us who are loyal clerics in his schola,¡± said the tall one in the same tart voice she had just used to scold her companion.


    ¡°I thank you, my lady,¡± replied Hanna politely. ¡°We will keep company with you gladly. I am called Hanna, and this is Rufus.¡±


    These were highborn girls, unaccustomed to chatting idly with commoners; the quiet one looked alarmed at the introduction of names, and the other two hesitated before hurrying on with Hanna and Rufus at their heels.


    ¡°You are clerics in King Henry¡¯s schola, my lady?¡± Hanna prompted, an imp of mischief directing her tongue. She wanted to see how they would respond. ¡°Did you march here with the king?¡±


    ¡°We have lived in Darre for over two years now,¡± said the tall one as they passed the portico of St. Mark¡¯s and turned left down a side street. A tower marked an old church built on a more ancient foundation. Inside, a half dozen slits in the walls illuminated the interior. Two clerics lit sconces in the wall as these patches of sunlight faded.


    There were benches set in the nave, most filled with sundry folk speaking Wendish. Their companions moved to the front to sit with their clerical brethren. Hanna squeezed in beside Rufus toward the back, resting her floppy hat on her knees.

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    She saw no sign of Aurea. Had she misunderstood the woman? The whitewashed walls of the small church whispered no answers; it did not even have painted windows, only slits to let in air, although the thick stone kept the interior cool. She was no longer sweating. Two clerics ascended to ward the choir along the nave, lighting vesper lamps set on tripods at the end of each row of benches. At the front, a deacon entered the rounded choir from the sanctuary and approached the altar, where she raised her hands in the blessing as she began to sing the liturgy.


    ¡°Blessed is the Country of the Mother and Father of Life, and of the Holy Word revealed within the Circle of Unity, now and ever and unto ages of ages.¡±


    ¡°Amen,¡± Hanna murmured, the service sliding smoothly into her thoughts and her lips moving in the responses without a need for her to think.


    ¡°In peace let us pray to our Lord and Lady.¡±


    ¡°Lord have mercy. Lady have mercy.¡± Yet how did Ivar pray, if he were even still alive? How did heretics pray? Her gaze was caught by the flame burning beside her, a flickering golden glow, restless but strong, that hissed as if whispering secrets. Were those tiny wings in the heart of the flame? Were those shadows moving within the curtain of flame that danced before her? Beyond the veil of fire, she saw onto another place.


    Six men and a woman make their way along a deserted track through broken woodland as afternoon creeps toward evening. Briefly the sun shines, but then a shower passes over their party, driven northward by a strong southerly wind. The wind blows back the hood of one of the men. She recognizes his red hair first before anything, and after that the lineaments of his face.


    It is Ivar. Joy chokes her. Is it possible he still lives? Heat burns her face as she leans closer, trying to get his attention.


    ¡°Hanna? You¡¯ll burn yourself!¡±


    She broke free of the vision to find herself in the church, blinking dry eyes, tears wicked away by the flame. The lamp hissed and flickered, but it was an ordinary flame, just like all the others that lit the nave.


    ¡°For healthful seasons, for the abundance of the fruits of the earth in a time of want, and for peace in this country, let us pray.¡±


    ¡°Hanna?¡± Rufus had hold of her arm in a painfully tight grasp. ¡°Are you feeling faint? I thought you would fall into the lamp.¡±


    ¡°Nay.¡± Her tongue felt swollen, and she was dizzy, both heartsick and elated. ¡°Eagle¡¯s Sight.¡±


    He flushed, easy to see with that complexion, and dipped his head shamefacedly. ¡°I know what they say, and what some of the others claim, but I¡¯ve never seen any vision in fire or water.¡± He hesitated, realized he still clutched her arm, and let go as though she were poison. His expression had a dark stain on it, and his lips were twisted down. ¡°What about you?¡±


    She shook her head too quickly. ¡°Just shadows in the flames. Like now. Just shadows.¡±


    ¡°Blessed are the humble and patient, for the grace of God shall descend upon them at the end of days. Blessed are the pure in heart, for their glory will shine forever.¡±


    ¡°Amen,¡± she and Rufus said in unison with the rest of the congregation.


    Believing Ivar might yet be alive was almost worse than resigning herself to his death.


    A cleric came forward to deliver the Hefensday lesson. The man looked vaguely familiar, but probably that was only because of his beardless face and the cut of his hair, trimmed and shaven in the manner of a male cleric who has put aside the duties of a man of the world, husbanding and warring and sowing, for the cares of the Hearth. He waited a moment for folk to shift on the hard benches, for silence to open a space for listening. The stone walls muted all sound; she could not hear a single thing from outside, as though they were no longer in Darre but translated to holy space, sundered from the world.


    ¡°I pray you, sisters and brothers, take heed of the lesson that God utters on this day, the feast day dedicated to St. Dominica.¡±


    The words of the liturgy were familiar to her; she knew what the prayers meant even when she did not recognize every single word. But the startling change¡ªthat he was speaking in Wendish¡ªstruck her so hard after so many months in Aosta hearing a foreign language day in and day out, that it took her a moment to follow what he was saying.


    ¡°So it happened that one day after the rains the beloved child walked out among the hills. As she walked along the stream¡¯s edge below the overhanging cliff, the rocks came loose and fell down upon her, burying her.


    ¡°Her powerful companions howled and cried out in vain! The lion roared and the bull bellowed and the great eagle screamed, but they could not find the child beneath the vast expanse of rubble.

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    ¡°The humble wren, least of birds, flew to the top of the pile of rocks and sang, ¡®Hush!¡¯ When all at last quieted, they heard the small voice of the child, crying. She was still alive underneath the rock.


    ¡°How the lion roared and the bull bellowed and the great eagle screamed! But despite their powerful voices, and their biting claws, and all the strength of their limbs, they could not shift the rock.


    ¡°The blind mole peeked out from the earth and said, ¡®I can dig a hole to the trapped child, and through this hole she can crawl to safety.¡¯


    ¡°¡®But how long will it take?¡¯ objected the wise owl. ¡®Surely the child will die before a creature as small and weak as you can dig a tunnel large enough for her to creep through!¡¯


    ¡°The lion roared, and the bull bellowed, and the great eagle screamed, but all their powerful voices joined together could not feed the child trapped beneath the rock.


    ¡°The small brown field mouse called her sisters and brothers, her cousins, and all her kin. They slipped between cracks in the rock and carried in bits of bread and acorn cups of water to the trapped child, and in this way kept her alive for seven days while the patient mole dug a hole deep through the earth broad enough for the child to escape.


    ¡°And the lion and the bull and the great eagle remained silent, when they saw that it was the work of their humble brethren that saved the child.¡±


    Hanna rested her head on clasped hands. Strange that he should seem to be speaking intimately a message meant for her ears. Looking up, she noticed the three young clerics seated on the foremost bench. As though her gaze were a greeting, the tall one glanced back. Hadn¡¯t this young woman called one of her companions ¡°Sister Heriburg,¡± the same name mentioned in passing by the servant woman, Aurea?


    ¡°They know her,¡± she murmured.


    ¡°I beg pardon?¡± whispered Rufus.


    ¡°Nay, nothing,¡± she demurred, but in her gut she knew. They wanted her to see them and to hear this lesson about the work of the humble and the small. The knowledge coursed up through the soles of her feet, making her unsteady. It almost seemed the lamp beside her was swaying.


    Ivar¡¯s sister Rosvita was alive, buried in the dungeon because she had witnessed what the powerful wanted kept secret. Hathui had told the truth.


    A rumble hummed up from the ground, a grinding roar like a distant avalanche. The lamp swung on its chains as the feet of the tripod skipped along stone. A woman sobbed out loud. Under Hanna¡¯s rump, the bench rocked as though shoved.


    Rufus swore. ¡°Damn! Not another one!¡±


    Voices rose in agitation and fear. People bolted for the door, and by the time Hanna realized that the rumbling and rocking had stopped, the church had half cleared out. Yet from outside, through the open doors, she still heard a hue and cry. By the Hearth, the cleric who had been preaching stepped aside to talk to the three young clerics; they looked drawn and anxious as they listened to the growing clamor: A distant horn sounded the call to arms.


    A woman hurried back in through the doors, followed by a dozen companions.


    ¡°Shut the doors!¡± she cried in Wendish. ¡°There¡¯s a riot! They say they¡¯re going to kill every Wendishman they can find!¡± Folk rushed to the doors, shutting them and stacking benches as a barrier. ¡°Ai, Lady! It was the breadline! All those folk went wild.¡±


    The door shuddered as a weight hit it from the outside, causing the left door to creak, shift, and crack open.


    ¡°Help us!¡± shrieked one of the men up front. With several companions he slammed the opening door shut.


    Hanna ran forward with Rufus and set her shoulder to the doors. Blows vibrated through her body as she leaned hard against the wood. Through the wood she heard the screaming of men and women, their words incomprehensible because of rage and the heady wildness of a mob inflamed by hunger and fear. Incomprehensible because it was a foreign tongue, not her own. An ax blow shook the door, followed by a second.


    ¡°We¡¯ll never hold out! They¡¯ll kill us all!¡±


    A babble of voices rose within the heart of the church as the assembled worshipers wept, moaned, and wailed.


    ¡°I pray you!¡± cried the cleric who had spoken the lesson. ¡°Do not despair. Do not panic. God will protect us.¡±


    ¡°They only have one ax,¡± shouted Hanna between blows, ¡°or else they¡¯d be chopping more quickly. Is there another way out of the church? Or another way in that we should be guarding?¡±


    ¡°Oh, God,¡± wailed an unseen soul in the sobbing crowd. ¡°The deacon¡¯s sanctuary has a door to the alley!¡±

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    Too late. An unholy shriek cut through the wailing. The deacon who had led the service staggered out from the low archway that led back to the sanctuary. When she fell forward onto her knees, they all saw the knife stuck in her back.


    ¡°Use the benches!¡± shouted Hanna as the door shook. The mob had evidently given up pushing from outside and was now waiting for the ax wielder to destroy the door. ¡°Pick them up and use them as shields. Throw them. Two can lift one.¡±


    Her muscles throbbed already, bruised under the assault. The door shuddered again. Splinters, like dust, spit from the wood. How soon would the ax cut through? It was only a matter of time. Yet if they left the door to face the new assault, they would be hit from two sides.


    No one moved. Two ragged men burst from the archway. The leader stumbled over the deacon and went down hard, cursing as his companion tripped over him.


    ¡°Rufus!¡± Hanna leaped away from the door with Rufus right behind her and ran toward the altar. ¡°Grab a bench!¡± she shouted to the paralyzed clerics, who stared as the two toughs got up and hoisted broken chair legs like clubs. She grabbed an end of a bench as Rufus hoisted the other end.


    ¡°Out of the way.¡± The male cleric shoved the three young women aside.


    ¡°Heave!¡±


    Hanna and Rufus launched the bench as the two toughs ran forward. It slammed into them, knocking them backward to the floor. She heard a bone snap. One screamed. The other, falling hard, cracked the back of his head on the stone and went limp.


    She grabbed the chair leg out of his hand. Rufus tugged the bloody knife out of the deacon¡¯s back. The tall cleric had gone over to the deacon¡¯s side and with commendable composure had got hold of her ankles to drag her aside, leaving a trail of blood.


    ¡°More will come in that way,¡± said Hanna. ¡°I¡¯m surprised they haven¡¯t already.¡± She turned to the cleric who had given the lesson. ¡°Can the sanctuary door be fixed closed?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I¡¯ll show you.¡±


    ¡°Is there nothing you can use for a weapon?¡±


    ¡°I cannot fight in such a manner,¡± he said quietly, but he picked up the holy lamp that lit the Hearth and jerked the altar cloth off the Hearth with such a tug that the precious silver vessels fell clattering to the floor, holy wine and pure water splashing onto the stone and running along cracks to mingle with the deacon¡¯s blood. ¡°This will shield me somewhat. Sister Heriburg,¡± he added, handing the lamp to the stoutest of the young clerics, ¡°you must see that these criminals do not escape or harm anyone else.¡±


    ¡°How can I?¡±


    ¡°You must.¡± To Hanna and Rufus: ¡°This way.¡±


    Hanna had never stood in any choir, never ventured beyond the Hearth into any sanctuary where deacons and clerics meditated in silence and communed with God. In such places deacons slept, and the church housed its store of precious vestments and vessels for the service. She caught a closer glimpse of the two faded tapestries hanging on the choir walls, then ducked under the arch with the cleric and Rufus behind her, the club upraised to ward off blows. Two steps took them down into a low, square room, drably furnished with a simple cot, a chair, a table, and a chest. Two burning lamps hung peaceably from iron tripods. The table lay upended, torn pages of a prayer book strewn along the floor in among broken fragments of a smashed chair. The chest lay open, and a young man with dirty hair and dirtier clothing pawed through it so eagerly that he did not see Hanna and the others come up behind him. It was impossible to tell from this angle if he had a knife. Alarmingly, there was no one else in sight, although the door that led outside, cut under an even lower arch, stood ajar.


    All this she took in before the youth looked up. With a startled grimace, lips pulled back like a dog baring its teeth, he groped at his belt.


    ¡°The door,¡± cried Hanna, jumping forward. She brought the chair leg down on his head as a knife flashed in his hand. He dropped like a stone. The knife fell between a pair of holy books he¡¯d discarded on the floor in his haste to find treasure.


    Distantly, through the open door, she heard a second horn call followed by shouts of triumph and fear.


    With a thud, the side door slammed into place, muffling the sounds from outside. Grunting with effort, Rufus dropped a bar into place. Through the archway that led back into the church, Hanna heard an odd scuffling sound. The steady drone of weeping and wailing drowned out the noise of the crowd pounding at the front doors.


    ¡°Why isn¡¯t there such a bar for the church doors?¡± she asked as the three of them stared first at each other and then at the youth lying unconscious on the floor.

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    ¡°The door leading to God¡¯s Hearth must always remain open,¡± said the cleric, ¡°and there is always a cleric or deacon awake to tend the lamps by the Hearth. But thieves may sneak in through the side door; seeking silver and silk while God¡¯s servant rests here in solitude. What do we do with this one?¡±


    This one had warts on his nose and hands and pustulant sores along his lower lip. His stink made her cough. His wrists were as thin as sticks. Hunger had worn shadows under his eyes. Drool snaked down from his slack mouth into his fledgling beard.


    ¡°Is there rope?¡± Rufus was grinning a little, sweating and excited. ¡°We¡¯ve got to tie him up.¡±


    The youth moaned. They heard a shout and the slap of footsteps, and one of the young novices burst into the room.


    ¡°The king has returned! He¡¯s at the gates. The mob is running away. We¡¯re saved, Brother Fortunatus!¡±


    They were all too tense to relax even at such hopeful news, and Brother Fortunatus gave Hanna such a look as an escaped slave might give to his companion just before the chains are clapped back on them.


    ¡°For now, Sister Gerwita.¡± He nodded at the moaning youth. ¡°Drag him outside and let him go. I would not hand any poor soul over to the justice of the city guard.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡± Rufus began.


    ¡°Nay,¡± said Fortunatus. ¡°He still had his knife on him, so he¡¯s not likely the one who assaulted Deacon Anselva. His only crime is poverty, and he stole nothing, after all. The other two must face justice for what they did to the deacon.¡±


    Cheers broke out from the church, echoing through the archway. Hanna grabbed the youth¡¯s ankles and dragged him out the door after Fortunatus unbarred and opened it.


    Although twilight hadn¡¯t yet faded into full darkness, the walls leaned so closely together in the alley that she had to pick her way by feel, stepping more than once into piles of noxious refuse. The stink was overwhelming. She shoved the boy up against the wall of the church. He stirred, retching. She stumbled back to the open door. Looking up the alley, she saw the thoroughfare beyond¡ªtorches and lamps lighting a magnificent procession. A roar of noise echoed among the buildings, the ring of hooves on paved streets, shouting and cheering and an undercurrent of jeering in soft counterpoint amid the clamor. Smoke stung her nostrils. The peal of the fire bell summoned the city guard.


    When she slipped back inside, bending to get under the lintel without banging her head, Rufus barred the door behind her as she checked the soles of her sandals in the lamplight to make sure she wasn¡¯t tracking in anything awful.


    They took both of the lamps as they returned to the choir. The front doors had been thrown open. Most of the worshipers had flocked outside, but a dozen waited by the doors, too cautious to venture out. The walls looked different; holding high her lamp, Hanna realized they were bare. The two tapestries lay on the floor, rolled up tight around the two criminals¡¯ bodies; it was odd to see them squirming so. The tall cleric and the one called Gerwita huddled by the Hearth, whispering to Brother Fortunatus, who still held the altar cloth. The third knelt beside the wounded deacon, holding a lion-shaped lamp in one hand. With a pad of cloth torn from her own robe she applied pressure to the wound on the deacon¡¯s back. Blood stained the prone woman¡¯s white garment.


    Hanna bent down beside her. ¡°Sister Heriburg, will the deacon live?¡±


    She had a bland, amiable face but a glance that hit like the sight of black storm clouds in winter. ¡°I pray she will. It is in God¡¯s hands now.¡±


    Rufus had gone to the doors to examine the damage done by the ax. Here in the silence of the choir they were alone except for the muffled groans and panicked curses coming from the men bundled up in the tapestries. They had only two lights. Another five or six burned along the nave, but most of the remaining lamps had been taken forward to the doors by worshipers, making a veil of light that shrouded the night scene beyond.


    ¡°Are you loyal to Henry, Eagle?¡± asked Brother Fortunatus, coming up behind her.


    ¡°Yes. That is why I came.¡±


    ¡°From Princess Theophanu.¡±


    Although she had not met this man in the months she had loitered in the regnal palace, she knew that her arrival had surely been gossiped about from the lowest halls to the highest. ¡°I rode here at the behest of Princess Theophanu to bring a message to her father, the king.¡±


    ¡°Was there no Eagle who came to Theophanu in the time you were with her?¡±


    She rose stiffly. Her legs ached from the effort she¡¯d spent bracing; her bruised shoulder throbbed. Even her fingers hurt from gripping the chair leg so tightly before she¡¯d hit the thief. The two women now flanked Brother Fortunatus: the tall one, still nameless, and timid Gerwita. They hardly looked like a foul cabal of conspirators. Wasn¡¯t it possible that Henry had enemies who might seek to entrap the ones most loyal to him? If Hathui had told the truth, those who now controlled Henry would seek to eliminate anyone, even a common, powerless Eagle, who might act against them.

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    Anything might be possible.


    From outside, the roar of acclamation rose to a high pitch as some notable¡ªperhaps Henry and Adelheid themselves¡ªapproached down the thoroughfare.


    ¡°No Eagle came to Theophanu while I was with Her Highness, but I met one of my comrades north of the mountains who had come from Aosta. She rode one way, and I another. Where she is now I do not know.¡± The memory of Hathui¡¯s expression, at the end of their conversation so many months ago, made her throat tighten. Yet for all the bitterness that curdled in her when she thought of Sanglant and Bulkezu, she could not wish Hathui ill. ¡°I pray she is well.¡±


    The cheering swelled at the porch of the church.


    ¡°Beware¡ª¡± Fortunatus broke off as Rufus called to her and the people gathered at the doors cried out in thanksgiving as they knelt with heads bowed. A tall, elegant figure moved forward through the glow of lamplight like an angel advancing out of the darkness to lead the benighted to salvation.


    Only this was not an angel.


    She knew him even before she saw him clearly. No person who had seen him could ever forget him and especially not when he was burnished, as now, by the light of a dozen lamps and the heartfelt acclaim of people who had been rescued from certain death by his timely arrival. A fire burned in her heart, and she took a few steps forward before she remembered what he had done to Liath. She scarcely heard the whispers and footfalls behind her as Hugh entered the church.


    Presbyter Hugh, they called him here. Everyone talked about him, but it was easy to ignore talk. Talk did not have golden hair, a handsome face, and a graceful form.


    ¡°Is this where it happened?¡± he asked with outraged concern. He caught sight of Rufus. ¡°An Eagle! I thank God you survived. Lady have mercy! Look how they tried to chop their way in through the door.¡±


    It was impossible not to be moved by that beautiful voice, both resonant and soothing. Impossible not to be lulled, until the moment when he looked up, directly at her.


    She stood frozen halfway down the nave, forgetting how she had walked so far, drawn as though by a tether line being reeled in.


    He saw her.


    He knew her.


    ¡°He always knows.¡± Liath had cried, long ago in Heart¡¯s Rest. And he had known that day. He had returned to stop Hanna from speaking with her friend. He wanted no comfort given to the one he had made his slave.


    Just like Bulkezu.


    Such a shudder of misgiving passed through Hanna¡¯s body that the lamp trembled in her hand. He smiled gently, and she remembered the way he had looked at her that day in Heart¡¯s Rest in the gloom of the chapel: as if he were measuring her to decide if she posed a threat to him.


    He had dismissed her then. She was only a common girl. He might recognize her face, because of her link to Liath, but she doubted he remembered anything else about her.


    It was better when they didn¡¯t know your name.


    ¡°We heard news of an Eagle come from Princess Theophanu,¡± he said, walking forward. She remembered to kneel; she found another bruise that way, on her right knee, that she¡¯d gotten without knowing. He paused beside her without looking at her, because he was examining the choir with a mild expression of surprise. ¡°Are you the last one here?¡±


    Rufus stood behind him, looking puzzled as he, too, stared at the choir and the writhing tapestries. She turned her head. The four clerics were gone.


    ¡°The other clerics¡ª¡± Rufus began.


    ¡°¡ªfled with the rest, in fear of their lives,¡± she interrupted. ¡°We are all that is left. Your Excellency, if I may rise, there is an injured deacon and the two criminals who assaulted her. She is gravely injured.¡±


    Hugh knelt beside the deacon, lifting the bloodstained pad of cloth from the wound. He frowned and set fingers carefully along the curve of her throat, and shook his head. ¡°She is dead. May God have mercy on her soul.¡± After murmuring a blessing, he looked up. ¡°Do you know her name?¡±


    ¡°I do not, Your Excellency,¡± she lied. ¡°My comrade and I came here to St. Asella¡¯s today because we were told we might hear the lesson delivered in Wendish, which our souls craved to hear after so many months in a foreign land.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± He dabbed a smear of blood off his forefinger onto the deacon¡¯s robe and rose. ¡°Eagle.¡± He indicated Rufus. ¡°Certain of the king¡¯s soldiers wait outside. See that these criminals are taken away to the regnant¡¯s dungeon. I will send clerics from the queen¡¯s schola to take away this poor deacon¡¯s body and prepare it for burial.¡±


    At the Hearth he studied the holy lamp set on the bare stone floor, the scattered vessels, and the altar cloth spilled carelessly over them. ¡°A grave crime,¡± he said as he picked up the altar cloth and the vessels and set all to rights, smoothing the gold-trimmed cloth down over the Hearth and placing holy lamp and precious vessels in the precise arrangement on its surface, reflecting the glory of the Chamber of Light, which awaits all faithful souls.

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    ¡°It is a grave crime to assault and conspire against those who serve God and the regnant.¡± His gaze marked her, who was waiting only for his permission to go. He had beautiful eyes, a fine, dazzling light blue, but in their depths she saw a splinter of ice. ¡°Isn¡¯t it, Hanna?¡±


    ¡°Your Excellency.¡± It was all she could say.


    ¡°You will accompany me. Their majesties King Henry and Queen Adelheid will wish to hear your report. And so will I.¡±


    2


    Hersford Monastery had the slightly run-down look of an estate that has been neglected by an incompetent steward, but as Ivar and his companions approached the main gate, they saw scaffolding around the church tower and men laboring on its ladders and platforms, whitewashing the walls. Beyond the low double palisade that fenced off the monastic buildings from the surrounding estate, a group of lay brothers bound new thatch on the roof of the monks¡¯ dormitory. Outside these walls men sawed and hammered, constructing benches and tables, while a trio of laborers built a kiln with bricks.


    The gatekeeper had big hands, a big nose, and a relentlessly cheerful disposition once he realized he had visitors of noble lineage. ¡°Come in, come in, friends. We¡¯ll be glad to hear tidings from the east.¡± He called to a scrawny boy climbing in an apple tree. ¡°Tell the guest-master I¡¯m bringing visitors up.¡±


    The child raced ahead. They followed more slowly, since the gatekeeper had a pronounced limp. His infirmity had not weakened his tongue. ¡°The old abbot died last year, may he rest peacefully in God¡¯s hands. Father Ortulfus has come new to us this spring, and though I do not like to speak ill of the dead, I will say that he has been setting things right, for I fear the monastery got run down. Father Ortulfus has even sent to Darre to see if a craftsman can be found to repair the unicorn fountain, which I¡¯m sure you have heard of.¡±


    ¡°I fear we have not¡ª¡± began Ivar, but the gatekeeper chattered on as he directed them to a side gate that opened into an enclosure surrounded by a high fence and populated by a tidy herb garden, a gravel courtyard, and three square log blockhouses, each one freshly plastered.


    ¡°Nay? You¡¯ll see it soon enough. Here my lady must retire, for women aren¡¯t allowed within the monastery walls. Father Ortulfus has brought his cousin to preside over the guesthouse and with her a few servingwomen to ensure the comfort of any ladies who may come by in traveling parties or with the king¡¯s progress. Alas, under Father Bardo¡¯s abbacy I fear that women were let walk as they wished in the monastery itself, but that shan¡¯t be happening now.¡±


    A pretty young woman with a fair complexion and an almost insipidly sweet smile emerged from one of the cottages. ¡°What have you brought us, Brother Felicitus?¡± She couldn¡¯t have been more than fourteen. ¡°We haven¡¯t had a visitor in ages, although I fear, my lady, that you look in need of a bath.¡±


    She clapped her hands. Three equally young women rushed out in her wake, followed at a more stately pace by an elderly matron who had the visage of a guard dog, ready to strike first and growl later.


    ¡°I am Lady Beatrix,¡± continued the first girl. ¡°Cousin of Father Ortulfus. He¡¯s my guardian now that my parents are dead, and he¡¯s brought me here until¡ªOh!¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± echoed her young companions.


    They had seen Baldwin.


    ¡°Best you be getting on, Brother Felicitus,¡± said the matron threateningly, setting herself between her charges and temptation.


    Hathumod stepped forward with a martial gleam in her eye. ¡°I thank you for your welcome, Lady Beatrix. I am Hathumod. My grandmother was a count in the marchlands. I was first a novice at Quedlinhame¡ª¡±


    ¡°How come you here, then, my lady?¡± interrupted Lady Beatrix, although she hadn¡¯t taken her gaze off Baldwin, who stared soulfully at a table set under an awning and laden with wine, bread, and cheese. ¡°Who are your companions?¡±


    ¡°I pray you, friends.¡± Brother Felicitus cleared his throat for emphasis. ¡°Let us retire to a more appropriate place.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m so hungry,¡± said Baldwin plaintively. ¡°We haven¡¯t eaten for two days.¡±


    Lady Beatrix dashed to the table and brought Baldwin an entire loaf of white bread, still smelling of the oven.


    ¡°I thank you,¡± he said, turning the full force of his limpid gaze on her innocent face. Ivar thought she might swoon, or perhaps he was the one who was dizzy because the bread smelled so good and he was really so desperately hungry.


    ¡°Come, come.¡± Brother Felicitus herded his charges toward the gate. ¡°Let us not linger here, but if you will come with me I will see that you are fed.¡±

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    As they retreated, Hathumod begin to speak. ¡°How I came here is a long tale. If you have the patience for it, it will change you utterly.¡±


    ¡°No tale can be too long if it is also exciting,¡± retorted Beatrix, ¡°for we bide ungodly quiet here. We get so few visitors¡ª¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s very young,¡± said Brother Felicitus as he closed the gate, cutting them off from the women¡¯s enclosure. The men followed him through a gate in the log fence marking out monastic ground from the unhallowed buildings set up between the inner and outer fence. ¡°But her parents are dead, her elder brother rode east with Princess Sapientia, and her elder sister died at the battle to recover Gent. Duchess Liutgard is her distant kinswoman, but the duchess has been called south by the king on his great expedition to Aosta, so it fell to her cousin Ortulfus to give her guidance.¡± Having established his abbot¡¯s noble credentials, he felt free to eye Baldwin distrustfully, as if he feared Baldwin intended to lure poor young Lady Beatrix into a life of debauchery. Baldwin was too busy tearing up the loaf into four equal portions to notice.


    ¡°I feel sure Father Ortulfus is a Godly man,¡± said Ivar.


    ¡°So he is. Here is the laborers¡¯ dormitory.¡± Felicitus indicated a long hall with a porch set outside the inner wall. ¡°Those who are servants of the abbot, or of the king¡ª¡± He nodded at the two Lions. ¡°¡ªreside here. Our circatore, Brother Lallo, will take care of you. Here he comes.¡±


    Brother Lallo was brawny and immaculately groomed. For a circatore¡ªthe monk set in charge over the manual laborers¡ªhis hands were remarkably clean.


    ¡°Can they work?¡± he demanded, looking Gerulf and Dedi over and not appearing to like what he saw. They were all unkempt. ¡°I¡¯ve a full house these days, for it¡¯s troubled times as you know, Brother Felicitus. I wish you would have consulted me first.¡±


    ¡°And risked sending them down the road to Oerbeck where they¡¯ll get no more than a thin broth for their supper? We are still the king¡¯s monastery, Brother, and God¡¯s house, and have an obligation to travelers.¡±


    ¡°And vagabonds, evidently!¡± replied Brother Lallo sourly. ¡°At least they don¡¯t have dogs with them! Come this way, then. You¡¯re stout-looking fellows, I¡¯ll give you that.¡±


    ¡°We are Lions in the king¡¯s service,¡± said Gerulf, with real annoyance.


    Lallo blinked. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you with the king?¡±


    Dedi seemed about to speak, but Gerulf signed him to silence. ¡°That is truly a long tale, and a cursed strange one, for I¡¯ve seen such things as few would believe¡ª¡± He broke off, rubbing his throat. ¡°Ach, well. My throat¡¯s too dry to talk much.¡±


    ¡°Come, come, then,¡± said Lallo eagerly. ¡°We can find you mead. There¡¯ll be porridge and apples for supper. A long tale would be welcome here.¡±


    As Gerulf and Dedi walked off to the laborers¡¯ dormitory, Baldwin gave Ivar, Ermanrich, and Sigfrid their share of the bread. Ivar wolfed his down before they reached the inner gate, but all it did was make him hungrier.


    At the inner gate Brother Felicitus handed them over to the rotund guest-master, who saw them washed and fitted with clean robes appropriate to their status and brought them to the abbot¡¯s table just in time for the evening¡¯s feast.


    Father Ortulfus was young, vigorous, and handsome. He had a sarcastic eye but a gleam of humor in his expression as he rose to welcome his guests. The dozen monks seated at the abbot¡¯s table gaped at Baldwin, who had cleaned up nicely. ¡°My spies brought news of your arrival. There are places for you on these humble benches.¡±


    Since all the furniture in the abbot¡¯s dining room was elaborately carved and painted, as befit the son of a noble house, Ivar merely smiled. ¡°You are most gracious, Father Ortulfus. We have traveled a most strange road. I am Ivar¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªson of Count Harl of the North Mark and his late wife, Lady Herlinda,¡± finished Ortulfus. ¡°Before I became abbot, I had the honor of being a member of Biscop Constance¡¯s schola. I will not soon forget the trial of Hugh of Austra before an assembled council in Autun. Nor, I suppose, will you, Brother Ivar.¡±


    Ivar knew his fair complexion branded him, since his blushes could never be hidden. His cheeks burned. ¡°Nay, I suppose I will not.¡±


    Baldwin had already found a seat next to a slender monk of aristocratic bearing whose expression was, alas, not at all pure as he offered to share his platter, on which lay a steaming and handsomely spiced whole chicken. Ermanrich and Sigfrid held back at the door, waiting for Ivar¡¯s reaction.

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    ¡°God knows Father Hugh was arrogant,¡± said Ortulfus as his retinue of monastic officials and highly placed brother monks watched avidly. ¡°I suppose it comes of being the son of a margrave.¡± He glanced at Baldwin before smiling mordantly at Ivar. ¡°I admit, Brother Ivar, that I wasn¡¯t sorry to see you stand against Father Hugh, even if it was only because that sorcerer they spoke of had enchanted you as well.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps she did,¡± retorted Ivar, stung and flattered at the same time, ¡°or perhaps Hugh was lying. I could tell you¡ª¡±


    ¡°And I trust you will,¡± interrupted the abbot smoothly, ¡°but I beg you to take drink and food first, for you look famished. When Biscop Constance raised me to the abbacy of Hersford Monastery, she strictly enjoined me to see that travelers were always well cared for. Will you not share a platter with me, Brother Ivar?¡±


    No one could refuse such an honor. In this way, the four visitors were separated from each other and each given to one of the abbot¡¯s officials to entertain. Wine flowed freely. The abbot did not stint when it came time to eat. The savory chicken was all Ivar could have hoped for, and it was succeeded by a clear broth to cleanse the palate, after which the meat course arrived, a side of roasted beef so heavy it took two servants to carry the platter. Three types of pudding followed the meat, each one richer than what came before, and there were also apples, pears, plums, cherries, and the sticky honey cakes common to feast days.


    As the meal wore on, Ivar realized that this astounding repast was, indeed, in honor of a saint¡¯s day. A young monk with a face so undistinguished that one hesitated to look twice at him sang most sweetly various hymns in praise of St. Ingrith, she who was patron of weavers and benefactor to every person who has faced down and wrestled with an unexpected setback.


    The battle against the Quman had been fought in late Aogoste. The feast day of St. Ingrith was celebrated in late Setentre, almost a full month after the equinox. Impossibly, in the two days since they had escaped the Quman, over one month had passed here at Hersford Monastery. Impossibly, they had traveled from the eastern borderlands all the way to the heart of Wendar by walking into¡ªand out of¡ªa barrow.


    ¡°You said you had a strange tale to tell us,¡± said Father Ortulfus. ¡°I confess myself prey to the sin of curiosity, for I¡¯m thinking that your handsome companion is the infamous young bridegroom of Margrave Judith, the same lad who vanished the night after Hugh of Austra¡¯s trial.¡±


    Although he hadn¡¯t appeared to be paying attention to anything but his food, Baldwin leaped to his feet, ready to bolt. ¡°I won¡¯t go back to her!¡±


    Ortulfus laughed in surprise. ¡°Truly, you will not. Can it be you don¡¯t know that she was killed in a battle against the Quman three years ago?¡±


    The sickly sweet scent of plum wine made Ivar queasy. The infirmarian burped. The singer faltered and fell silent, and every man there turned to watch the abbot and his guest.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand what you¡¯re saying,¡± said Ivar, pushing away his cup of plum wine. ¡°We saw Margrave Judith lead her troops into battle against the Quman not one month ago, under the command of Princess Sapientia and Prince Bayan.¡±


    The monks at table set down spoons and knives as they glanced nervously, or meaningfully, toward Father Ortulfus. Ivar studied them. Each man wore robes and a sigil to identify his place within the monastic order. The abbot wore an ivory Circle of Unity incised with perfectly articulated scenes in miniature from the life of the blessed Daisan. Beside him sat the rotund guest-master with his cloak pinned by a brooch in the shape of a wine barrel, signifying hospitality. The abbot¡¯s trusted second-in-command, the prior; wore a dozen keys of all shapes and sizes on a gold chain around his neck. The infirmarian had his caduceus, the cellarer his silver spoon, the chief scribe his pen, the novice master a stylus, and the sacrist a little golden vessel representing the oil used to light the holy altar. Even the servants, tending the braziers set in each corner to warm the room, wore brooches of bronze wire twisted into brooms, although with their burly shoulders and military bearing they looked as if they had only recently come from fighting in the wars.


    ¡°My friend,¡± said Father Ortulfus, measuring his words, ¡°Prince Bayan has been dead these two years, killed at the battle of the Veser River. It¡¯s a long road from the marchlands here to Hersford, one that can scarcely have been traversed in a month even by such stout fellows as you.¡± He moved his wine cup a hand¡¯s width to the right.


    A servingman entered, bent to whisper in the sacrist¡¯s ear, and stood back to wait. With a nod of apology, the sacrist rose.

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    ¡°I pray you, Father, we¡¯ve run out of oil for the Hearth lamp.¡±


    ¡°Go on.¡±


    The sacrist left, closing the door behind him.


    Father Ortulfus went on. ¡°After the trial at Autun, the court supposed that you had escaped Margrave Judith¡¯s clutches with the aid of Prince Ekkehard, whose preference for Lord Baldwin had become, shall we say, well known. When we heard that Prince Ekkehard had married the new margrave, Gerberga, those of us who remembered the trial assumed that the marriage was in some measure payment for his earlier theft of Judith¡¯s young husband. So you must imagine that your appearance here, at this late date, raises more questions than it answers.¡±


    ¡°Do sit down,¡± said Baldwin¡¯s companion with an unctuous smile. ¡°Won¡¯t you have more honey cake?¡±


    Baldwin stubbornly remained standing.


    ¡°You need not fear that any of us are loyal to the kinfolk of Margrave Judith,¡± added Father Ortulfus. ¡°We are all first and foremost servants of our most gracious and magnificent biscop and duke, Constance.¡±


    Both Ermanrich and Sigfrid looked at Ivar.


    Ivar rose slowly. ¡°Baldwin, I pray you. Sit down.¡± With a pretty frown, Baldwin sat. ¡°Is this some trick, Father Ortulfus? We have traveled far and by strange paths, and we have witnessed miracles, not least of which was that God delivered us from the Quman. We have been given by God the obligation to bring the truth to those of you who still linger in darkness, for it has come to us to know that the church has taught a falsehood these many years. For God so loved the world that She gave to us Her only Son, that He should take upon himself the measure of our sins.¡±


    Ermanrich took up the litany. ¡°He came before the Empress Thaissania, she of the Mask, and He would not bow down before her, for He knew that only God is worthy of worship. The empress had him flayed, as they did do to criminals in those days, and His heart was cut out and thrown into the courtyard, where it was torn into a hundred pieces by the dogs. Aren¡¯t we, ourselves, those dogs?¡±


    ¡°I knew it!¡± thundered the prior. ¡°Such babblings as we¡¯ve heard from vagabonds this past year could not have sprung fully grown out of nowhere. Here¡¯s the plague¡¯s root!¡±


    ¡°A novice poisoned by heresy.¡± The abbot had elegant fury to spare. His disdain and disgust were a well-honed weapon. ¡°So you were accused when you came forward at the trial of Hugh of Austra, Brother Ivar. Do you and your companions deny that the Mother and Father of Life brought forth the universe through the Word? Do you still profess this vile heresy of the Redemption?¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t heresy! The king¡¯s own sister, who is abbess at Quedlinhame, ordered Sigfrid¡¯s tongue cut off as punishment because he kept speaking the truth. Yet he speaks with a purer voice than you or I, because of the miracle, when the phoenix rose out of the fire. Why would God have restored his voice if he spoke only falsehoods?¡±


    ¡°It was the sign of the blessed Daisan.¡± Sigfrid¡¯s expression shone as he remembered that awesome moment when the phoenix¡¯s wings had unfurled and it had risen in glory into the dawn, leaving a trail of flowers in its wake. ¡°For the blessed Daisan also rose from death to become Life for us all.¡±


    ¡°You are still polluted,¡± said Father Ortulfus. ¡°If you will walk with God, then walk in silence and free your heart from the Enemy¡¯s grasp. Let there be no more of these tales, which spread like a plague upon the Earth!¡±


    Too late Ivar recognized the servants for what they were: retired soldiers. Even the abbot had the bearing of a man who had fought in a battle or two as part of the biscop¡¯s military host. They were many, and Ivar and his friends were few.


    ¡°But there was a phoenix,¡± objected Baldwin. ¡°I hate it when people don¡¯t believe me.¡±


    ¡°Where did this miracle take place?¡± demanded the prior.


    ¡°In the borderlands, some days east of Gent,¡± said Ivar.


    ¡°A conveniently long distance from here,¡± said the abbot.


    ¡°Have you any other witnesses?¡±


    ¡°The villagers saw it,¡± said Ermanrich.


    ¡°The villagers are not here, my friend. What of the Lions who accompany you? Or Lady Hathumod?¡±


    ¡°Prince Ekkehard saw it, as did all of his companions,¡± said Baldwin.


    ¡°Prince Ekkehard abides far to the east as well, and is now married to Margrave Gerberga¡ª¡±


    ¡°He does not!¡± retorted Baldwin, who was never more indignant than when he was utterly sure of his ground. ¡°He¡¯s abbot of St. Perpetua¡¯s in Gent. He can¡¯t be married. And he was just at the battle with us. I saw him cut down!¡±

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    ¡°It¡¯s said Prince Ekkehard survived many things, including battles, captivity, and his own treasonous actions. I think your account must be confused, Brother Baldwin.¡±


    ¡°It is not!¡±


    ¡°Baldwin.¡± Ivar had a bad feeling that he was missing something very important. ¡°Father Ortulfus, you must forgive us if we seemed confused. It seems to me that only a few nights have passed since I saw both Margrave Judith and Prince Bayan alive. It seems an ill omen when I hear you speak as if they¡¯re dead.¡±


    ¡°Ivar!¡± Sigfrid¡¯s whisper was like the murmuring of ghosts on the wind. Sigfrid had thought of something that the rest had not.


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°The year,¡± said Sigfrid diffidently.


    ¡°The year?¡±


    ¡°What year is it?¡±


    ¡°Any fool knows that it¡¯s¡ªum¡ªwhat year is it, Sigfrid?¡± The prior made to speak, but Father Ortulfus silenced him simply by lifting a hand. ¡°Go on, Brother Sigfrid,¡± said the abbot more kindly than before, although his sudden gentleness made Ivar unaccountably nervous. ¡°What year is it?¡±


    ¡°The year of our Lord and Lady, seven hundred and thirty,¡± answered Sigfrid quietly, but he had a sad little frown on his delicate face.


    The door set into the wall behind the abbot¡¯s seat opened. ¡°My lord abbot,¡± said a brother, leaning his head in. ¡°The brothers have assembled and are waiting for you.¡±


    It was time for prayer.


    ¡°It was a miracle,¡± said Sigfrid stubbornly. Despite his small size and unprepossessing appearance, he had both the intelligence and strength of faith to speak with an authority that made others listen. ¡°Ask if you will at Quedlinhame, for they will remember clearly enough when they cut out my tongue: How, then, can I speak now, if not by a miracle?¡±


    ¡°A difficult question to answer,¡± agreed Ortulfus, rising from his chair. His officials stood as well, leaving only Baldwin, Sigfrid, and Ermanrich on their benches. ¡°Be sure I will write to Mother Scholastica for her account. But it will take many weeks or even months to get a reply, and I must decide what to do with you in the meantime. In truth, like any pestilence, heresy spreads quickly unless it is burned out.¡±


    The monks blocked the doors, and while the chief of scribes hadn¡¯t the ready stance of a fighter, the others looked able to hold their own in a scrap.


    They were trapped.


    ¡°You are three years too late,¡± added Father Ortulfus. ¡°This is the autumn of the year seven hundred and thirty-three since the Proclamation of the Holy Word by the blessed Daisan.¡±


    Three years.


    Sigfrid swayed, and Ermanrich made a squeak, nothing more, as his eyes widened in shock and his mouth dropped open with an of surprise and disbelief. No one knew better than Ivar how well Sigfrid attended to his studies. Sigfrid hadn¡¯t been wrong.


    ¡°What three years?¡± demanded Baldwin.


    Ivar felt the grasp of that ancient queen who had appeared to him in the barrow, clutching him by the throat, squeezing the life from him, her hands cold as the grave. Magic had caught them in its grip, and now they were paying the price. They had escaped the Quman, but not at the cost of two nights. Not even at the cost of a month.


    ¡°Three years,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Maybe we were asleep,¡± said Ermanrich, who for once had no joke to make, ¡°like that Lord Berthold we saw under the barrow.¡± Monks murmured in surprise and alarm, and a startled servant, hearing that name, scurried out the door.


    ¡°It¡¯s a lie!¡± cried the prior, a bluff, soldierly looking man. ¡°They¡¯re liars as well as heretics! I was here the day Margrave Villam¡¯s son disappeared up in the stone crown among the barrows. He hasn¡¯t been seen since, and those tunnels were searched for any trace of the young lord.¡±


    ¡°We did see them!¡± protested Baldwin. ¡°I don¡¯t know why none of you believe anything we say!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll have silence,¡± said Father Ortulfus, his voice like the crack of a whip.


    Cold air eddied in through the open door, disturbing the warm currents off the braziers. A misting rain darkened the flagstone pathways in the courtyard, seen beyond the brother waiting patiently in the doorway. In the center of the courtyard stood an elaborate fountain depicting four stone unicorns rearing back on their hind legs. A hedge of cypress hid the colonnade on the opposite side of the courtyard, but several stout monks loitered there. The abbot had left no escape route unguarded.


    ¡°My lord abbot,¡± said the servant again. ¡°The brothers are waiting for you to lead Vespers.¡±

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    ¡°Come, then,¡± said Father Ortulfus grimly. ¡°Let us pray all of us together, for surely in this hour of trouble and confusion we have need of God¡¯s guidance.¡±


    X


    THE DEPTHS OF HIS GAZE


    1


    ¡°THE Eagle, Your Majesty, recently come from Princess Theophanu at Osterburg.¡±


    All morning every person in the palace had done nothing but talk about the triumphal procession of Henry and Adelheid into the city yesterday evening. With each hour the story grew in the telling: how the king had single-handedly quelled the riots, how the queen¡¯s mercy had saved children from death, how malcontents had thrown down their staves at the sight of Presbyter Hugh. God had smiled on the righteous in their campaigns in Aosta. They had won a great victory over the Jinna bandits outside the town of Otiorno. Although the Arethousan usurpers in southern Aosta still clung to power, the authority of Henry and Adelheid in northern and middle Aosta could now be called decisive.


    Yet despite these epic feats, the scene confronting Hanna seemed strikingly domestic in its intimate charm. King Henry sat at a table in a private chamber, staring at the chessboard across which he and Duchess Liutgard of Fesse battled, ivory against black. Hanna knelt, grateful for the cushion of carpet beneath her knee. Because the king did not look up from his game immediately, she had time to study the room and its occupants.


    The king looked little older than when she had seen him last. Had it really been three years since she had left his court at Autun bound for the east with a company of Lions? Much of that time seemed like a blur to her, passed in captivity or in illness. She had been on the road a long time.


    About half of the royal garden was visible through an open window. A dark-haired child played in that garden, followed by a veritable swarm of attendants. Even at this distance Hanna heard her shrieks of delight as her nursemaids tried to catch her while she ran excitedly along the twisting pathways of a floral labyrinth, stumbling on unsteady feet but always climbing gamely up with a new burst of energy.


    Mathilda, child of Henry and Adelheid, was the anointed heir to the kingdoms of Wendar and Varre and to the kingdom of Aosta. She was not much more than two years of age, but every one spoke of her as the child who would be empress in the years to come. No one spoke of Henry¡¯s children by Sophia at all, except muttered comments about the untrustworthiness of Arethousans bearing gifts. And soon Mathilda would not be sole child of Henry and Adelheid.


    Adelheid reclined on a couch, and by the shape of the queen¡¯s belly Hanna judged her about midway through a second pregnancy. While a singer accompanied herself on a lute, the queen chatted in a desultory way with white-haired Duke Burchard and half a dozen noble courtiers. Adelheid had such a graceful way of using her hands to punctuate her speech, like birds or ribbons, that Hanna did not realize she was staring at the queen until she heard her own name spoken.


    ¡°Hanna! The king will hear your report now.¡±


    Henry moved his castle to threaten Liutgard¡¯s biscop before turning.


    ¡°What did you say, Father Hugh?¡± With narrowed eyes, he examined Hanna, resting his chin on a cupped hand. Rings glinted on his fingers, set with gemstones, a banded cabochon of onyx, polished sapphire, and a waxy red carnelian. No spark of recognition lit his face, but perhaps he had already seen and noted her as she came in.


    ¡°Your Majesty.¡± Was there any hint, in his expression, in his carriage, in his tone, that Hathui¡¯s accusation had been true? She saw nothing damning. He seemed entirely himself, the regnant robed in dignity and luck. ¡°Your daughter, Her Most Royal Highness Princess Theophanu, sent me with an urgent message.¡± She bent her head, letting the words unfold that she had memorized over a year ago and kept fresh each day, awaiting this moment. ¡°To my lord father, His Glorious Majesty Henry, king of Wendar and Varre, I, his loyal daughter Theophanu, send heartfelt prayers for his health, his well-being, and his wisdom. I pray you, my lord king, let my pleading words awaken compassion in your heart for the troubled state of your kingdom.¡±


    The litany of afflictions rolled easily off Hanna¡¯s tongue. Internal strife in Wendar and Varre. The Salian civil war spilled over into Varingia and Wayland. Famine and plague, flooding and hailstorms. A plague of heresy and the destruction wrought by the Quman invasion, under the command of Bulkezu, who had gone so far as to take Prince Ekkehard prisoner and with flattering words and rich presents turn him against his own countryfolk. The town of Echstatt burned and the palace at Augensburg still a ruin, where crows feasted on the corpses of Bulkezu¡¯s hapless prisoners. A rot spreading among the rye, poisoning the grain and any who ate it. A two-headed calf born alive. Tallia pregnant by Conrad, and the duke celebrating Penitire in Mainni as if he were a king. Biscop Constance¡¯s silence from Autun. The death of Duchess Rotrudis followed by plotting and quarreling among her unworthy heirs. Prince Bayan dead in battle against the invaders, and Princess Sapientia ridden east with Sanglant, who had taken over her army and made it his own. The traitor, Prince Ekkehard, promised to Margrave Gerberga.

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    Hugh made a stifled exclamation.


    ¡°Margrave Gerberga?¡± Henry sounded surprised, or perhaps puzzled.


    ¡°Judith was killed in battle three years ago against the Quman, who rode under the command of the same Bulkezu whom Prince Bayan and Prince Sanglant defeated at the Veser.¡± No need to regale them with the story of how Judith¡¯s head had survived as an ornament hanging from Bulkezu¡¯s belt. ¡°Her daughter Gerberga inherited Olsatia and Austra.¡±


    ¡°The margrave has taken a grave step by marrying Ekkehard, Your Majesty,¡± said Liutgard, speaking now that Hanna had already been interrupted. ¡°No person vowed to the church may be forced into marriage vows. Wasn¡¯t Ekkehard promised to the monastery?¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± said Hugh. Did he mourn the death of his mother? Or did he already know she was dead? ¡°Ekkehard was invested as abbot of St. Perpetua¡¯s in Gent. It was your own wish that he be offered to the church, Your Majesty. Do not forget the incident with Lord Baldwin. You did not give permission for Prince Ekkehard to be released from his vows and ride to war, much less be allowed to marry.¡±


    ¡°This is rebellion.¡± Henry caught hold of a captured black dragon and squeezed it until his knuckles turned white. ¡°My own sons and daughter have turned against me.¡±


    ¡°Princess Sapientia may only be Sanglant¡¯s pawn,¡± said Hugh.


    ¡°It seems likely,¡± said Liutgard, glancing toward Duke Burchard who, with the rest of the folk in the chamber, had drawn closer to listen. ¡°Sanglant has the stronger personality, if indeed it is true this is rebellion and not some other business. If the Quman invaded, then perhaps he has pursued the remnants of their army east to make sure they do not threaten Wendar again.¡±


    ¡°My God,¡± murmured Burchard. Contemplating the ruin the Quman had made of Avaria, he looked as frail as a withered stick blown about in storm winds. ¡°I should have been there to defend my people. Did the Quman meet no resistance at all? Were there none left to fight them?¡±


    Hanna dared look at him directly, hearing shame in his voice. And oughtn¡¯t he be ashamed? He had not met his obligations to protect his own people. ¡°No one, my lord duke, except the common folk who died defending the land and their families. I don¡¯t know how many of the noble lords rode south with you to Aosta. Those who remained in Avaria paid off the Quman so they would go away. Lord Hedo¡¯s son abandoned his post to join the quarrel in Saony. I don¡¯t know what happened to him.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± murmured Hugh.


    She flinched, expecting a blow. It did not come. Her knee hurt where it pressed into the carpet, not so thick after all; not thick enough to protect her from the obstinacy of the marble floor.


    ¡°There is more to my message.¡±


    Henry rose, cutting her off. ¡°I have heard enough.¡± Even Liutgard looked surprised. No one ever cut off an Eagle¡¯s message.


    Ever.


    ¡°Adelheid.¡± The king held out his hand, making ready to leave, and as he turned, Hanna looked up full into his face.


    She saw his eyes clearly.


    She had never forgotten the complex brown of his eyes, veined with yellow and an incandescent leaf-green. He had beautiful eyes, worthy of a regnant, deep, powerful, and compelling.


    His eyes had changed.


    She could still see the brown or at least the memory of that pigmentation. But the deep color had faded, washed into a watery, pale blue substance that writhed in the depths of his gaze like a wild thing imprisoned and straining against the bonds that held it within its cage.


    With a shudder she swayed and caught herself on a hand. The emerald ring he had given her shone on her middle finger: an oiled, milky-green stone set in a gold band studded with garnets. She had sworn to bear witness for the king who had gifted her with that ring. But she was no longer sure the man standing here was the same man to whom she had given her loyalty, and for whom she had suffered and survived as a prisoner all those months.


    ¡°Your Majesty.¡±


    Henry brushed past her. His companions and attendants followed him to the covered terrace that looked out over garden and maze.


    ¡°Papa! Papa!¡± Princess Mathilda shrieked in the distance, galloping to greet him.


    A handful of worried looking men and women, all Wendish, remained behind.


    ¡°I would hear the rest of your message, Eagle,¡± said Duke Burchard, leaning on a cane as he stepped forward.


    ¡°I beg your pardon, my lord duke.¡± Hugh moved smoothly up beside her. He had not left her alone since they had departed St. Asella¡¯s the night before; she had even slept on a pallet in his bedchamber, beside his other servants. ¡°I am commanded to take down the Eagle¡¯s message in writing to deliver to King Henry when he has more leisure to contemplate Princess Theophanu¡¯s words. If you wish to interview this Eagle, you will have to wait until I have finished with her. I pray you will forgive me this inconvenience. Your distress is evident.¡±

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    Duke Burchard¡¯s lips tightened. He glanced at Duchess Liutgard. These signs were too fragile to stand up to scrutiny, and perhaps they were only the trembling quirks of an aging man.


    ¡°I know you are the king¡¯s obedient servant, Your Honor,¡± Burchard said at last. ¡°I pray that after you have taken the Eagle¡¯s statement you will allow one of your servants to escort her to my suite, so I may interview her. It appears she has firsthand knowledge of the Quman invasion.¡±


    ¡°So it does,¡± replied Hugh with a lift to his voice that made Hanna rise to her feet, as in a sparring contest. She was still waiting for the blow. He gestured to her to follow the servant who hovered always at Hugh¡¯s heels, carrying a satchel.


    She glanced back as they left the chamber in time to see Burchard, looking after her, beckon to Liutgard. The two heads, one hoary and aged and the other young and bright, leaned together as the duke of Avaria and the duchess of Fesse bent close in intimate conversation. The door closed, cutting them off, and Hanna felt rushed along as Hugh led his retinue at a brisk pace under shaded porticos and out across the blistering hot courtyard that separated the regnal palace from the one where the skopos dwelled.


    Too late, Hanna realized the direction they were heading. Shading her eyes did little to soften the sun¡¯s glare or the nagging fear that crawled in her belly. Her knee still hurt. They crossed under the shadow of a vast arch and passed more sedately along corridors inhabited only by the occasional scuff of a cleric¡¯s sandals on swept stone. Open windows offered glimpses onto bright gardens, golden and sere after summer¡¯s dryness, where the spray of fountains made rainbows in the air. She felt the breath of that moistened air as they passed, swiftly fading, the merest touch.


    Where was Hugh taking her?


    The golden halo of his hair was no less brilliant than the sun¡¯s light. His carriage was graceful, his attitude humble without false modesty, and each glimpse of his face reminded her of whispered tales of innocent children half asleep at their prayers catching sight of angels.


    This was no dream.


    Elderly presbyters bowed their heads respectfully as Hugh passed, and he paused to greet them with such unassuming sincerity that it was impossible to fault him for pride or self-aggrandizement. It was hard to imagine him in his humble frater¡¯s robes disdainfully leading services in the rustic church at Heart¡¯s Rest for a congregation of half-pagan and thoroughly common northern folk whom he obviously despised. Even Count Harl had seemed crude beside Hugh¡¯s elegance, and Hugh had not deigned to hide his scorn for Harl and Ivar and their rough northern kin. Yet to see Hugh here was to see a man so different in all ways that she felt dizzy, as though she were seeing double.


    This man did not seem the same arrogant frater who had abused Liath, been outmaneuvered by Wolfhere, and who had left Heart¡¯s Rest in a fury. The one she had admired so foolishly because of the beauty of his form and the cleanness of his hands.


    Perhaps he¡¯d had a change of heart. Perhaps God had healed him. Perhaps his beauty now masked nothing more than a heartfelt and pure desire to serve God and the king.


    Did the outer form match the inner heart? Or was Hathui right?


    If she had not seen a difference in the king¡¯s eyes, then her memory had played her false. If she had, then an aery daimone infested him, hidden within his mortal form and glimpsed only through the window made by his eyes.


    Because she had never been in the skopos¡¯ palace before, because it was such a warren of rooms and branching corridors, she was lost by the time they halted in front of a set of double doors. Gilded with gold leaf hammered over a relief carved into the wood itself, the doors displayed scenes from the Ekstasis of the blessed Daisan, who prayed and fasted for seven days as his soul ascended through the seven spheres to the threshold of the Chamber of Light.


    Guards outfitted in the gold tabards representing the glory of the skopos, God¡¯s representative on Earth, opened the doors to admit them into a hall striped with light from a succession of tall windows. At the far end of the hall stood a dais and a single chair and behind it a mural depicting the Translatus of the blessed Daisan, when he was taken bodily up into the Chamber of Light by the Lord and Lady, who are God in Unity; the Earth lay beneath his feet. The mural filled the entire wall, broken only at the far right by a curtain dyed the deep blue of lapis lazuli and worked into the design of the painting as the depths of the sea.


    Otherwise, the hall was empty.


    Hugh spoke to one of the guards, and the man hurried off down the corridor. Then Hugh walked into the hall, his footsteps echoing through the space as he crossed from shadow to light to shadow to light, Hanna and his servant behind him. The second guard remained at the open door.

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    They stopped at the foot of the steps, and there they waited, in silence.


    In silence, Hanna studied the floor, strips of marble and porphyry set into expanding and contracting spirals. The ceiling arched high above, dimly perceived, each span glittering with intricate mosaics. Even the single chair had its fascination, the dark wood grain inlaid with ivory rosettes and geometric patterns made of gems mounted in gold. She had never seen so many amethysts in her life.


    The servant coughed, clearing his throat. Hugh had closed his eyes, as though praying. But she didn¡¯t like to look at him. Looking at him reminded her of Bulkezu.


    ¡°Is there any man handsomer than you?¡± she had asked Bulkezu.


    ¡°One. I saw him in a dream.¡±


    This could be a dream, except that from outside, through the windows, she heard the sound of a gardener raking dirt.


    Better to be a pig starving in the forest than a fat rooster strutting in the farmyard when feasting time comes. She had once envied Liath for attracting Hugh¡¯s attentions. She knew better now.


    Bells tinkled as a cleric stepped through the curtain and held it aside for a woman to pass. The lady wore a white robe overlaid with an embroidered silk stole falling over both shoulders, its fringed ends sweeping the floor. A gold torque shone at the woman¡¯s throat, and on her head, almost concealing her pale hair, she wore a golden cap. A huge black hound padded at her heels, growling softly as it lifted its head.


    Hanna sank to her knees. She had never thought she would stand before the skopos, the most powerful person on Earth, closest to God Themselves. She bowed her head and clasped her hands so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her bruised knee was already hurting, but she dared not look up into the face of the Holy Mother.


    ¡°Brother Hugh.¡± The skopos¡¯ voice was neither soft nor loud. It did not ring sharply, yet neither did it carry a tone of merciful compassion. ¡°You may approach.¡±


    Hugh ascended the steps and knelt before her to kiss her ring. When he stepped back, she sat. The hound lay over her feet and rested its head on massive paws, but it gazed at Hanna as at an enemy, ready for her to bolt or to attack, so that it might have the pleasure of rending her limb from limb and gnawing on her bones.


    Hadn¡¯t she seen this hound before, or one very like it?


    ¡°Who is this Eagle?¡± asked the skopos.


    ¡°She is called Hanna, Holy Mother. She comes from the North Mark of Wendar. In earlier years she called herself a friend to Liathano. She has recently ridden south bearing a message from Princess Theophanu, nothing we have not heard before except that she herself spoke with Prince Sanglant many months ago. He is now ridden east with a portion of the army that defeated the Quman.¡±


    ¡°To what end does he ride east, Eagle?¡±


    Dared she speak the truth?


    ¡°I am only an Eagle, Holy Mother,¡± she said, surprised she had enough breath to form audible words. I am only a pig, hiding in the forest. ¡°For many months I was held captive by Prince Bulkezu of the Pechanek tribe, the leader of the Quman army. When Prince Sanglant and Prince Bayan defeated Bulkezu at the Veser River, they freed me. Prince Sanglant sent me west to bring news of his victory to his father.¡±


    There was so much else she could say, but in the end, it came down to this: Did she hate Sanglant for sparing Bulkezu more than she feared the power of those who might have ensorcelled the king? Even if Hugh had done what Hathui accused him of, did that mean that the Holy Mother was involved? She didn¡¯t know whom could she trust or who was most dangerous.


    ¡°Your Excellence,¡± began Hugh, ¡°this Eagle brought news about Prince Sanglant and the folk who travel with him. I think it worthwhile to question her closely about¡ª¡±


    A movement by the skopos, glimpsed by Hanna but not really seen, stopped him.


    ¡°Are you one of those who bears the Eagle¡¯s Sight?¡±


    The question surprised her. ¡°Yes, Holy Mother.¡±


    ¡°Who taught you?¡±


    ¡°An Eagle called Wolfhere, Holy Mother.¡±


    ¡°Wolfhere.¡± A complex hint of emotion colored her voice.


    ¡°When did you last see Wolfhere?¡±


    ¡°He rides with Prince Sanglant, Holy Mother.¡±


    ¡°So he did.¡±


    That delicate place between her shoulder blades prickled, as though an archer stood at the far doors with bow raised and an arrow sighted at her back.


    Did, which meant not any longer. Whose side was Wolfhere on?


    The earth lurched sideways beneath her. The hound barked once before settling beneath the throne. A grinding noise shuddered through the palace and faded as quickly as it had come, draining away to silence. The sound of raking stopped, leaving nothing but faint echoes, more a memory of the sound than the sound itself.

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    Hugh coughed. ¡°They¡¯re coming more frequently.¡±


    ¡°God are angry that we have not acted more swiftly and decisively to drive out the Arethousan interlopers. Sister Abelia, bring the brazier. Fan the coals into flame.¡± The cleric nodded and went out behind the curtain.


    ¡°It won¡¯t work,¡± said Hugh curtly.


    ¡°Do you think not, Brother Hugh?¡±


    ¡°If I could not, then how can she?¡±


    ¡°It may be so, but we must leave no avenue untrod. It will take months, even years, to locate and rebuild the lost crowns. My envoys have heard stories of an intact crown by the sea in Dalmiaka, but the Arethousan despots who rule there refuse to let them travel to that place. On every side we are thwarted. We are too few, and our enemies too many. Sister Venia is missing and St. Ekatarina¡¯s Convent closed up and apparently abandoned. We must have seven when the time comes, aided by tempestari so we can be assured of clear skies. I need my daughter.¡±


    ¡°Is it wise to speak so freely, Holy Mother?¡±


    ¡°To you, Brother Hugh? You have joined our Order willingly, and with a clear purpose. Is there some reason I should not trust you?¡±


    ¡°I meant before this Eagle, Holy Mother.¡±


    ¡°The Eagle? She is only a servant.¡±


    ¡°Even servants have tongues, Holy Mother.¡±


    Hanna kept her head down, but she felt the touch of that devastating gaze. So might a fly feel before being swatted. So might a fly, holding still, be passed over as being of too little account to bother with when there were more annoying pests to exterminate.


    ¡°If my daughter trusted her, that bond may yet link them.¡±


    The cleric returned and set a brazier on the step in front of Hanna, then stepped back to work a small bellows so coals shimmered and flames licked along their length.


    ¡°Watch carefully and learn, Sister Abelia,¡± said the skopos before turning her gaze on Hanna. ¡°Use your Eagle¡¯s Sight to seek the one you know as Liathano.¡±


    One did not say ¡°No¡± to the skopos.


    She leaned forward, hearing the hound¡¯s menacing growl at her movement and the command of the skopos, calling the dog to heel. It was hard to concentrate, knowing how nearby that fierce creature bided. It hadn¡¯t seemed so menacing when Lord Alain had commanded it. Without meaning to, she recognized it. She had last seen this hound, and Lord Alain, when she had watched King Henry pluck the county of Lavas out of Alain¡¯s hands and give it over to Lord Geoffrey and his young daughter.


    A Lavas hound.


    No person who had ever seen the Lavas hounds could mistake them for any other dog. How had the skopos acquired this one? Hanna had last seen Alain on the field of battle with the Lions. Hadn¡¯t he died there?


    Her gaze fell forward through the veil of fire.


    The only way he can bear his sorrow is to keep silence and let work soothe his soul into a stupor. There is plenty of work for a pair of able hands on a well-run estate in the autumn: pressing apples for cider, rhetting flax, splitting and sawing, cutting straw to repair roofs. He binds wood with trimmings from flax and soaks the bundles in beeswax and resin for the torches needed to light the winter months. His hands know how to do the work. Just as well, because his head seems stuffed with wool, hazy, clouded, distant.


    ¡°Did you live by the sea?¡± asks Brother Lallo, stopping beside him where he sits on the porch of the Laborers¡¯ dormitory. The hounds lie docilely at his feet. ¡°You have a knack for plaiting and net-making.¡±


    Vaguely surprised¡ªwhat was he thinking about just then?¡ªhe notices that he is Weaving willow rods into a kiddle that the fishermen will place in the river to catch fish. ¡°I beg your pardon, Brother?¡±


    ¡°The Enemy is pleased with feet that wander off the path of good works! Keep your thoughts here with us. I asked you, did you live by the sea?¡±


    To remember the sea makes him recall Adica and that long voyage, towed by the merfolk, when they had stared into the watery depths and seen the vast whorl of a city unfold beneath, strange and wonderful. All dead now.


    Pain drowns him. Grief makes him mute. It is a kind of madness.


    Maybe it was all a dream.


    Lallo tugged at his own ear with a frown. ¡°You¡¯re a hard nut to crack. Enough of this. It¡¯s time for prayer, Brothers.¡± He shepherds his charges to church for Vespers.


    Alain sets down the half-woven kiddle and follows with the others. Dusk has a way of sliding over the monastery, catching him in twilight unawares. Maybe he has been walking in twilight for a long time and never noticed it. Sorrow and Rage pad alongside. Despite their fearsome aspect, they behave as meekly as lambs. No man here fears them, and the monks willingly give him scraps with which to feed them. Each hound eats as much as one man, and they provide no labor for the benefit of the monastery, so he works doubly hard¡ªwhen he doesn¡¯t forget himself and fall into that dreaming stupor. He wants to earn the hounds¡¯ portion as well as his own.

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    The hounds sit obediently outside the church. He goes in with the others.


    As they file through the transept and thence into the dark nave, he notices the Brother Sacrist hurrying into the church with more oil for the lamps burning at the five altars. The lamps flicker, wicks running dry, but as he takes his place with the other laborers at the back of the nave, as he murmurs reflexive words of prayer, the sacrist makes a startled exclamation and halts halfway down the aisle. A side door opens. The elegant abbot enters in company with the prior as well as certain nobly-cut figures unknown to him. Have these visitors been here before? Were they here yesterday? One is a remarkably beautiful young man, unnaturally handsome and strangely familiar, who smiles and nods whenever Father Ortulfus speaks without making any reply himself. His redheaded companion answers the abbot¡¯s queries.


    The lamps at the main altar and the seven stations dedicated to the disciplas burn strongly. Brother Sacrist hesitates in confusion but when Father Ortulfus lifts his voice in the opening chant, he slips into his place at the front with the other monastic officials, setting the unused pot of oil at his feet.


    Father Ortulfus has a reedy voice, not full but true. ¡°Blessed is the Country of the Mother and Father of Life, and of the Holy Word revealed within the Circle of Unity, now and ever and unto ages of ages.¡±


    The liturgy slides by as smoothly as water pours down a rock. The abbot marks the stations of the service by moving from lamp to lamp in a complicated pattern that, were he attached to thread, might weave truth into the stone. Praying, Father Ortulfus seems agitated, distracted by a gnawing annoyance that causes his mouth to slip down into a fierce frown when he forgets himself. When he returns to the altar to deliver his homily, his indignation takes flower as he scolds the congregation with quotations from the Holy Verses.


    ¡°¡®I have heard such things often before, you who make trouble, all of you, with every breath.¡¯ It is the Enemy who makes you so stubborn in argument, who makes your speech trouble the hearts of the simple man and the credulous woman. ¡®Can it be that God have thrown us into the clutches of malefactors, have left us at the mercy of those who are given over unto wickedness?¡¯ If you will walk with God, then walk in silence and free your heart from the Enemy¡¯s grasp. Let there be no more of these tales, which spread like a plague upon the Earth!¡±


    The stone columns absorb this castigation in aloof silence. Carved flowers crown each column, and on this flowery support rest ceiling vaults ornamented with vines. High up on the wall above the central altar stand the stucco figures of martyrs, each displaying a crown of sainthood. Their grave faces do not move; they cannot, of course, they are only representations, and yet their steady gaze pierces to his heart.


    Dead. Dead. Dead


    All dead


    Mice live in the nave. He has coaxed a few out of their hiding places when, late at night before Nocturnes, he can¡¯t sleep and wanders like a shade from one place to another within the compound, rootless and lost. They shelter in his hands, so small and helpless and warm, giving him trifling comfort. Is that their scratching now?


    He has had keen hearing ever since the day he bound himself to the Eika prince now known as Stronghand. He hears not the clatter of mice on wood but a human gasp and the scrabbling of fingers on another¡¯s arm, seeking attention. Looking to the right, he catches sight of two men wearing the mended but clean tabards of Lions.


    They stare at him in shocked amazement, mouths open, prayer forgotten. They are no longer listening to the abbot¡¯s homily¡ªany more than he is¡ªas it thunders to a close and as the prayer for forgiveness swells up among the gathered monks, novices, laborers, and visitors.


    They stare at him as though they recognize him.


    The high halls reel around him. The vaulted ceiling shudders, and vines writhe. Distantly, he hears Rage whimper.


    Isn¡¯t that the young Lion called Dedi, who won a tunic off poor, foolish Folquin one night, gambling at dice? The older man called himself the boy¡¯s uncle, and probably he was. Yet they died in the east long ago. Is this church a gathering place for dead souls caught in purgatory, like him?


    Why isn¡¯t Adica here with him?


    He doubles over as men all around him drop to their knees in prayer, but he can no longer see or hear as he fights hot tears. Grief cuts into his belly. Claws are shredding his heart in two.


    All he can do is sag forward beside the other laborers and hang on as the fit drowns him.


    ¡°Who is that young man she sees?¡±


    The words dragged Hanna back as questions crowded her mind. How is it that he still lives? What grieves him?


    Nay, she must concentrate. It seemed so long ago that she had last seen Liath, in disgrace at the palace at Werlida when she had married Sanglant against the wish of King Henry. She had ridden off secretly one night, never to return, but Hanna still saw her clearly, tall, a little too slender as if she never quite had enough to eat, her hair caught back in a braid, her eyes a fiery blue, as brilliant as the stars. In Heart¡¯s Rest no one had ever believed Liath and her father to be anything except nobly born, brought down in the world by fortune¡¯s wheel. But Liath had never treated Hanna differently by reason of birth. Liath had seen her as another soul, equal in the sight of God.

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    Ai, God. Where was Liath now?


    Fire flared brightly among the coals before dying back as abruptly as if an icy wind smothered them.


    She sank back onto her heels, sweating and trembling. Tears streaked her face. Was she crying for Liath, for Alain, or for herself? She wiped her nose.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± said Hugh. ¡°As I told you, Liath no longer walks on Earth.¡±


    ¡°Who is that young man she saw?¡± the skopos asked again. ¡°He looks familiar¡­. Nay, I do not know him.¡±


    ¡°He was attended by hounds who might have been litter-mates to the one who guards me. Is this one not a descendant of Taillefer¡¯s famous hounds? Why do I see its kinfolk at the side of a common boy? Eagle, what man was that you saw in the flames?¡±


    How could she lie to a sorcerer so powerful that she could see into the vision formed by Hanna¡¯s own Eagle¡¯s Sight? ¡°His name is Alain, Holy Mother. He was heir to Count Lavastine until¡ª¡±


    ¡°Lavastine!¡±


    Hanna winced at the sharp tone, but that slight movement alerted the hound, which scrabbled out from under the throne to loom over her. The growl that rumbled in its throat was so low as to be almost inaudible. She shrank back. With only a word¡¯s command, it would rip her face off.


    ¡°Lavastine.¡± The word was whispered with the calculation of a general about to embark on a holy campaign. ¡°Sister Abelia, you will leave tomorrow to seek out Brother Severus. I want the one called Alain found and brought to me.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Holy Mother.¡±


    The skopos rose and left the room with her attendant. The hound click-clacked after her; its nails needed filing. Hanna wondered, wildly, idly, who dared groom it.


    ¡°Do you know where Liath is, Hanna?¡± asked Hugh once the curtain had fallen into place behind the skopos and her attendant. ¡°Have you seen her in the flames?¡±


    ¡°I have not, Your Excellency.¡±


    ¡°Do you know what happened to her, Hanna?¡±


    ¡°I have heard the tale Prince Sanglant tells¡ªthat fiery daimones stole her.¡±


    ¡°Do you believe it?¡±


    She fixed her gaze on the mural. The temblor had shaken open a crack that split the plaster base right through the blessed Daisan¡¯s left foot. ¡°For what reason would Prince Sanglant lie, Your Excellency?¡±


    ¡°Indeed, for what reason?¡±


    A glance told her everything she needed to know: he was not Bulkezu, who savored the battle of wills. He was not even looking at her; he had dismissed her already. The monster Bulkezu had seen her as a person of some account, almost as a peer, because she was the luck of a Kerayit shaman. Because she dared stand up to him. To Hugh she was only a servant. He recalled her name because of her bond with Liath. She did not matter to him at all; only Liath did, then and now.


    Which gave her a measure of freedom she had never had with Bulkezu.


    ¡°Prince Sanglant is no poet, Your Excellency. It is poets who make up tales to confuse and beguile their listeners. I do not think he could have concocted a false trail to lead his enemies astray. That is not his way.¡±


    He gave a slight noise in assent. ¡°No, he is not an educated man. There is a child as well. Does she live still?¡±


    ¡°When I last saw the prince, she did.¡±


    ¡°Does she look like her mother?¡±


    Strange that a cold draft should twist through the hall, chilling her neck. ¡°In some manner, Your Excellency. She resembles both her mother and father. She is very young still.¡±


    ¡°Very young still,¡± he agreed, as if to himself, as if he had forgotten Hanna was there, ¡°and soft, as youth is soft and malleable. It is too bad Brother Marcus failed. Still, there may yet be a way¡­.¡±


    She braced herself, expecting more questions.


    None came.


    He had forgotten her already. She shifted her weight to her heels to take some of the pressure off her knees. Outside, the raking started up again. As Hugh¡¯s silence dragged on, she began to count the strokes.


    She had reached four and ninety when Hugh spoke.


    ¡°Yes. That is the way to do it.¡± He walked toward the doors, paused, turned back. ¡°Come, Hanna. You must make your report and a cleric will write it down.¡±


    ¡°Your Excellency.¡± She stood. ¡°It is an Eagle¡¯s duty to report to the regnant directly.¡±


    He waited in a stripe of sunlight. ¡°Your loyalty is commendable. But it will not be possible for you to give your report to the king today. He will be far too busy to see you.¡±


    ¡°Then I will wait. It is by the regnant¡¯s own command that we Eagles report to him alone, when we come to his court. I dare not go against the king¡¯s express command, Your Excellency. Pray do not ask me to go back on the oath I swore to King Henry.¡±

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    The quirk of anger twitched on his lips, and he clenched his right hand, the one he had most often struck Liath with. But this was not the reckless, arrogant young frater who had suffered the indignity of ministering to the half-pagan common folk of the North Mark with barely concealed contempt. This man had a presbyter¡¯s rank, the respect of his peers, the love of the common-born Aostans, and an unknown wealth of power made palatable by his modest demeanor and undeniable beauty. He spoke easily with the Holy Mother herself and stood at the right hand of the king and queen who would soon be emperor and empress.


    ¡°Nay, nor should you,¡± he said at last with perfect amiability. ¡°Your oath to the king is what gives an Eagle honor. You were taken prisoner by the Quman alongside Prince Ekkehard, I believe?¡±


    ¡°I was, Your Excellency.¡±


    ¡°Then how are we to know that you did not turn traitor against your countryfolk as well, if this tale of Prince Ekkehard¡¯s treachery is true? How can we be sure that any of these stories you bring to us are truth, and not lies? Do you support the rightful king? Or do you support those who rebel against him?¡±


    God, what a fool she had been to think she could outmaneuver him.


    He smiled sadly. The light pouring over him made him gleam, a living saint. ¡°So it is, Eagle, that the king must consider you a traitor as well. You know how he feels about Wolfhere, whom he banished on less account than this. How can he treat a traitor otherwise? How can he even bear to speak to one of his own Eagles if he believes that Eagle has betrayed him together with his dearest children?¡± Although he had not moved, he seemed to have grown even more imposing, a power which, like the sun, may bring light to those trapped in darkness¡ªor death to those caught out under its punishing brilliance.


    ¡°I will do what I can to see that you are not imprisoned outright for treason, Hanna. I have done that much for you already. The dungeons here are not healthy. The rats grow large. Yet if you do not cooperate with me, then there is nothing I can do, no case I can make before the king. If that happens, I do not know what will happen to you then. Do you understand?¡±


    2


    GASPING, he came to himself as everyone around him rose. The service had ended. The two Lions no longer sat on the benches to his right. Maybe he had only hallucinated them. He was dreaming, confusing past and present.


    Only Adica seemed real¡ªshe, and the bronze armband bound around his upper right arm that he could not pull off.


    ¡°F-friend.¡± Iso had a limp and a stutter. Abandoned by his parents, he had been a laborer at the monastery for half of his life. Although he didn¡¯t act any older than sixteen, he looked aged by pain and grief and an unfilled childhood hunger. ¡°It¡¯s a¡ªuh¡ªit¡¯s a¡ªuh¡ªa hurt one. Come.¡± He had bony fingers that no amount of porridge could fatten up, and with these he tugged at Alain¡¯s sleeve as the laborers waited for the monks to file out before them. The abbot sailed out with a fine stern expression on his face and his guests quite red with consternation behind him, but Iso kept pulling on him and his quiet pleading dragged Alain out of his distraction.


    ¡°I¡¯ll come.¡± He let Iso lead him out of the church and, with the hounds following, to the stables.


    Iso didn¡¯t have many teeth left, which was why he could only take porridge and other soft foods. Sometimes his remaining teeth hurt him; one did tonight. Alain knew it because now and again Iso brushed at the lower side of his right jaw as though to chase away a fly, and a tear moistened his right eye, slipping down to be replaced by another. Iso never complained about pain. Maybe he didn¡¯t have the words to, and anyway it was probably the only existence he knew. Perhaps he had never experienced a day in the course of his entire life without physical pain of some kind nagging him, the twisted agony of his misshapen hip, the withered ruin of his left hand, burned and scarred over long ago, the nasty scars on his back.


    Yet for all the pain Iso lived with, and maybe because of it, he hated to see animals suffer. More than once he had taken a rake from a furious cat when he¡¯d saved a mouse from its clutches, or risked being bitten by a wounded, starving dog at the forest¡¯s edge when he offered it a scrap to eat.


    The beech woods had been so heavily harvested in the vicinity of the estate that the nearby woodland was dominated by seedlings and luxuriant shrubs. The hounds smelled a threat in the undergrowth beyond the stable, and they bristled, curling back their muzzles as they growled. Twigs rattled as a creature shifted position. It sounded big. The twilight gloom amplified the sense of hugeness.


    Alain gripped Iso¡¯s shoulder, holding him back. The smell of iron tickled his nostrils, and a taste like fear coated his mouth. Although he saw only the suggestion of the shape where young beech trees struggled with honeysuckle and sedge for a footing, his skin crawled.