《In the Ruins (Crown of Stars #6)》


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    PROLOGUE


    FEATHER Cloak was fertile, the only pregnant woman left among her people. Indeed, she was the only woman living who had quickened more than once. Therefore, she presided over the council of tribes because she had power the others did not possess, power that had been draining from the land during their exile. No one could explain this slow leaching, but they knew it presaged the death of both land and people. If anyone could save them, it must be the one in whom power still resided long after it had departed from the rest.


    The Eagle Seat had yielded to her. In truth, it was now the only place she rested easily. Her older child was almost an adult in aspect and learning, but in the days when he had grown within her, he had not waxed so large. It seemed she would harvest a giant¡¯s spawn, although she happened to know that the sire of her budding child was Rain, who was no smaller or larger than any other man. He was a gentle soul of medium build, good-natured, a hard worker with clever hands, a skill for flint-knapping, and a well-omened name, and for all these reasons a much better choice for a father than arrogant warriors like Cat Mask and Lizard Mask who liked to shake their spears and strut before the women.


    As they were doing now.


    ¡°We must gather in one place, farther inland where we¡¯ll be protected, and ready ourselves! Then we can act at once, and in numbers. We can strike before our enemy expects us!¡±


    ¡°Better to station ourselves in smaller groups, you fool! Spread out around the countryside. If one group is taken by surprise, the others will be able to harry the enemy and regroup when it is safe.¡±


    ¡°If the enemy strikes first, if the enemy passes the White Road and sets foot in our country, we are lost!¡± Cat Mask pounded the haft of the speaking staff repeatedly into the dirt to emphasize his point. As if his voice wasn¡¯t loud enough.


    Lizard Mask had half a head of height over Cat Mask. He used it now, puffing up his chest and jutting out his chin, as he curled a hand around the haft above Cat Mask¡¯s hand. ¡°If the enemy invades, how can we know where he will cross? If we¡¯re all in one place, we¡¯ll lose mobility. We¡¯ll lumber along as slowly as your mind works!¡±


    ¡°Feh! Your wish to be safe has made you frightened. We must be bold!¡±


    ¡°We must be cautious but clever, the thorn in their side.¡±


    ¡°The arrow in their heart! One blow to cripple them, not a frenzy of meaningless stings that will only anger them but do no lasting damage.¡±


    The councillors were seated around the cavernous chamber, watching the two young warriors stamping and blowing in the center. The older women seemed amused and indulgent, while the younger women had settled into expressions of disgust or intent interest depending on their liking for belligerent male posturing. The older men stood with crossed arms and resigned expressions as they waited for the storm to die down; they had blustered in like manner in their own day and knew better than to intervene.


    ¡°A swarm of bees may bring down a wolf who angers them and disturbs their hive.¡±


    ¡°A wolf may outrun them and stalk back at night when they sleep to rip their refuge to shreds for other animals to mangle and devour!¡±


    Because men had the floor, it wasn¡¯t the place of women to speak, but Feather Cloak was not surprised when The Impatient One¡ªUapeani-kazonkansi-a-lari, daughter of Eldest Uncle¡ªlaughed.


    ¡°What fine phrases these are!¡± she cried. ¡°Shall we acclaim the one who pierces us with the finest poetry?¡±


    The two men flushed red. Faced with her mockery, they shifted their stances to join against her. In years past, The Impatient One had slept with both of them, and cast both aside, and whatever jealousy they nurtured each toward the other measured less than their resentment of her indifference.


    ¡°You argue over war,¡± she went on, ¡°but force of arms cannot win this battle.¡±


    ¡°We must fight!¡± declared Cat Mask.


    ¡°Whether we choose to mass our forces or disperse them, we must be ready to fight,¡± agreed Lizard Mask.


    She snorted. ¡°They are many and we are few. Beyond that, humankind are only one of the dangers we face. We may yet suffer grievous harm when the day comes¡ªclose now!¡±


    As if to emphasize her point in the same way Cat Mask had rapped his spear against the ground, the land beneath shuddered. The vibration resembled a temblor but was instead the judder of the land as it called out like to like, seeking its home through the waves of aether that surrounded it. It shook right through Feather Cloak¡¯s body. Her womb clenched and relaxed in harmony with that rhythm. She wiped her brow with the back of a hand, knowing her time was close, just as the day they had so long awaited was close.

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    What was torn asunder would come back to its resting place, and the Ashioi, cursed and exiled, would come home.


    Many spoke, all at once, now that The Impatient One had spoken out of turn. Peace. War. Appeasement. Negotiation. Each view had its adherents, but those who clamored for war shouted loudest.


    ¡°I will speak,¡± Feather Cloak said. The rest, even The Impatient One, quieted. ¡°Listen well. If we do not speak with one voice, we will surely perish. We no longer have leisure to argue. A decision must be made, so I will make it. Let it be done in this way: Let the people be gathered inland, where they may hope for the most safety. But let them assemble in thirteen groups, each apart from the others, so that if one falls into danger the others may yet escape. Cat Mask, you will split our warriors into two groups. The larger group will remain with you at a place of your choosing, where you can move and fight swiftly. Lizard Mask, you will order the rest into small groups that can patrol the borderlands to warn the rest of us if any hostile force passes our borders. The council will disperse with the others. I will remain here until the storm passes. White Feather will act as my midwife. For the rest, we must prepare to defend ourselves, but only after the storm can we know how we are situated and how many of us have survived. We will assemble again at that time to choose our course of action. I have spoken. Let none dispute my words.¡±


    She had only once before invoked her right to make a unilateral decision. No wise leader did so often. She sighed, doubly burdened, as the council acquiesced. Most left swiftly to carry out her orders. A few tarried, arguing in soft voices that nevertheless echoed and reechoed in the cavern. Only Eldest Uncle remained silent where he sat, cross-legged, on the second terrace.


    ¡°You have offered no opinion, Uncle,¡± she said.


    ¡°He has no opinion,¡± replied his daughter, turning away from her conversation with her companion White Feather who, like her, was harsh but strong. ¡°He has fallen in love with his grandson¡¯s naked mate, whom all men desire because she burns with the fire of the upper spheres.¡±


    Eldest Uncle sighed.


    ¡°Is this true?¡± asked Feather Cloak. ¡°I admit I was surprised when you brought her before the council. She is dangerous, and in the way of such dangerous things, attractive and bright.¡±


    ¡°She is young, and wanted teaching. If you women can think of nothing but sex, that is not my fault.¡±


    ¡°My father and my son¡ªboth enslaved to her! What do you say, Feather Cloak?¡±


    ¡°I banished her, seeing what she was. Beyond the danger she poses to every earthly creature because of what she is, I saw no harm in her.¡±


    ¡°You are a fool!¡±


    Feather Cloak smiled, clasping her hands over her huge abdomen. ¡°That may be. And maybe you are jealous.¡±


    Eldest Uncle chuckled.


    The Impatient One glared.


    ¡°But I sit in the Eagle Seat. If you dispute my right to take this place, you will have to prove yourself more worthy than I am.¡±


    Like every adult among her people, Feather Cloak could use a bow and had learned to defend herself with knife and staff, but The Impatient One had relished the arts of war in which all adolescents trained. She was physically strong, with powerful limbs and a martial grace that could be used to protect, or to threaten, as she did now, tense and poised, a warrior ready to cast a spear at her enemy.


    ¡°I have walked the spheres! Do not mock my power.¡±


    ¡°I do not mock you, Cousin. But I do not fear you either. Power is not wisdom. It is only power. Cat Mask and his warriors cannot protect us if he makes rash choices. We are weakened by our exile. We do not know what we may yet suffer. I counsel caution and readiness. You yourself spoke against using force of arms.¡±


    ¡°Only because they are many, and we are few. We must strike swiftly with other means. The greatest and cruelest of their warriors can be overcome by sorcery. I have defeated even the wild beasts among them who would have torn me limb from limb.¡±


    ¡°Beware,¡± said Eldest Uncle quietly. ¡°We have seen how much greater is suffering when sorcery is used for harm.¡±


    ¡°You think we should surrender!¡±


    ¡°Do I? We must seek peace.¡±


    ¡°Peace is surrender! Humankind will never offer us peace.¡±


    ¡°How can you know this, Daughter?¡±


    ¡°I know them better than you do! I have lived among them. I bore a child to one of them.¡± She looked defiantly at Feather Cloak. ¡°They are not like us. They will never make peace with us. My son was raised as an outcast among them, and even so they seduced him to their ways.¡±

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    ¡°Better to have raised him in our ways,¡± said Eldest Uncle, ¡°instead of abandoning him there.¡±


    ¡°So you would say! But it was decided to try the course of appeasement by birthing a child who would mix their blood and ours. That plan has failed!¡±


    ¡°Has it?¡±


    ¡°Do you believe otherwise? How can you know? You have not walked on Earth since the old days, and the old days are forgotten by humankind. They recall us only in stories, as an ancient enemy long banished and defeated. Or is it the memory of the Bright One that blinds you, so that you do not wish to war against them?¡±


    ¡°It is ill mannered for a daughter to speak so disrespectfully to her own sire,¡± commented Feather Cloak. ¡°Your words may carry truth, but your behavior gives us cause to doubt you.¡±


    ¡°You are fools!¡± The Impatient One snapped her fingers, and one of the young warriors, loitering by the passageway that led out of the cavern, came to attention. ¡°Still, it is possible¡ªjust possible¡ªif they are not dead but only caught between the worlds¡­.¡± She grinned, leaped up the steps, and vanished into the darkness, the young man at her heels.


    ¡°Who is dead?¡± asked White Feather.


    ¡°We are caught between the worlds,¡± said the elderly woman known as Green Skirt. ¡°What mischief is she up to?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll try to get pregnant again,¡± said White Feather. ¡°She¡¯ll want the Eagle Seat. She¡¯ll wrest it from you, if she can.¡±


    Feather Cloak had weathered many trials in her life. They all had, who lived in exile. She smiled, feeling the familiar tug of weariness at her heart, leavened only by a memory of laughter she had once shared with The Impatient One when they were girls together. ¡°In the old days,¡± she said as the last of her council gathered around her, ¡°we did not acclaim a leader solely on her fertility. It is a shame it has come to this.¡± She patted her belly. Muscles tightened under her hand. The skin rippled as the child within rolled like one of the fabled merfolk underwater.


    ¡°How has the world changed?¡± she asked the others, marking each one with her gaze: Eldest Uncle, Green Skirt, the old warrior Skull Earrings, and White Feather, who would act as midwife. These were the ones she trusted most because they were honest, even and particularly when they did not agree. They were her spring, winter, autumn, and summer. ¡°We do not know what we will find when we return to Earth, for none among us has walked in the other land as it is now. None except The Impatient One.¡±


    ¡°Uapeani-kazonkansi-a-lari walked the spheres,¡± said White Feather. ¡°She risked her life so that she could learn what was necessary to cross over the aether and back onto Earth. We should not dismiss her words so lightly, just because she does not agree with her father.¡±


    Eldest Uncle chuckled.


    Green Skirt had an older woman¡¯s distaste for nonsense. She lifted her chin sharply to show she disagreed. ¡°That she refuses to listen to her elders is precisely what makes her opinion suspect. She is rash.¡±


    Skull Earrings crossed his arms. He had once been a bold, impetuous, impatient warrior like Cat Mask, but age, hunger, and despair had worn him down. He was like ancient gold, burnished to a soft gleam. ¡°First, let us survive what is coming. We do not know what to expect, except what the Bright One told us. That our old enemies the Horse people and their human allies still live, and seek to exile us forevermore. If we survive, then we can send scouts to survey the lay of the land. If we do not survive, if we are cast adrift a second time, then we will certainly die. What can we do?¡±


    ¡°We can do nothing,¡± said Eldest Uncle, ¡°except take shelter and hope for the storm¡¯s winds to spare us.¡±


    ¡°There must be something we can do!¡± cried White Feather. ¡°Are we goats, to be herded at the shepherds¡¯s whim and slaughtered when it is time for meat?¡±


    ¡°Now¡ªright now¡ªwe are helpless,¡± said Eldest Uncle. ¡°There is no shame in accepting this as truth, since it is so. I agree with my nephew.¡± He gestured toward Skull Earrings.


    The other man laughed. ¡°After so many years, it is good we agree at last, Uncle!¡±


    The old man smiled, but Feather Cloak saw that the gesture came only from the head, not his heart. ¡°I will wait beside the clearing where the burning stone appears,¡± he said.


    ¡°That is on the edge of the land,¡± protested Feather Cloak. ¡°The tides may wash over you. You will be at risk.¡±


    ¡°As you are here, Feather Cloak.¡±


    ¡°I cannot leave the Eagle Seat. I like you close at hand. It makes me feel more at peace.¡±

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    He shrugged, knowing she was right, knowing that as leader she had no peace. The weight of the Eagle Seat was as heavy a burden as pregnancy. ¡°Nevertheless, I must wait there, in case¡ª¡±


    White Feather snorted. ¡°In case the Bright One reappears? Perhaps your daughter speaks the truth, Uncle. You have a young man¡¯s mind in an old man¡¯s body.¡±


    ¡°That never changes!¡± he retorted, but he was not offended by her statement. The others laughed. ¡°I am eldest. I will do as I wish in this. I will see what I will see. If the tides overwhelm me, so be it.¡±


    A contraction gripped Feather Cloak¡¯s womb. As if in echo, the earth trembled and shook on and on until she found herself breathing hard, hands clutching the eagle¡¯s wings.


    White Feather knelt beside her. ¡°You are close.¡± She beckoned to Green Skirt, who nodded and hurried to the door to give a stream of directions to one of the warriors waiting there, a young woman wearing a fox mask tipped back onto her hair. The girl ran out to fetch water while White Feather emptied coals out of a hollow stick and coaxed a fire into flame. Skull Earrings fetched the birthing stool.


    All this industry, and the intense grip of further contractions, distracted Feather Cloak. She had the merest impression of Eldest Uncle¡¯s brief farewell and the pair of young warriors who followed him. When she next looked around the chamber, all three were gone.


    As the contractions came hard and with increasing frequency, she began no longer to be able to distinguish the forces shaking her body and those shaking the land. So many burdens; so much exhaustion; so great a trial to be faced. She had to let it go. It was beyond her control. All she could do was endure it. All she could do, between stabs of red-hot pain, was pray to Sharatanga, She-Who-Will-Not-Have-A-Husband.


    ¡°Guide us through this birth and this death. Give us your blessing.¡±


    Was that her voice or White Feather¡¯s? Was it Green Skirt speaking, as the green beads and little white skull masks clicked together each time the old woman moved? Did she herself mumble words, or only grunt and groan and curse as the pains of opening came and went?


    She was vaguely sensible beyond her skin of the greater skin of the cosmos, that which wrapped Earth, opening as a flower opens to receive that which now returned to it: the exiled land. Vast forces moved within the deeps. The sea waters raged on the surface and winds howled, while in the caverns far beneath, rivers of fire shifted to create a new maze of pathways.


    Earth is welcoming us home.


    ¡°Hush,¡± said White Feather. ¡°Hold your breath so you can push.¡±


    ¡°Listen to what Feather Cloak says!¡± objected Green Skirt. ¡°She can see where we cannot.¡±


    The pain of opening transformed her awareness as the child within pressed forward, ready to be born. It was not pain but inevitability that dragged her. Now the exiled land was drawn back to the place it had come from, where it had always belonged. Now the child would be born, because children must be born once they have begun that journey.


    Four attended her: White Feather, Skull Earrings, Green Skirt, and the fox-masked young warrior, a serious girl who glared at everyone as she ran to and fro on whatever errands they gave her.


    She knew this not because she paid attention to them, but because she knew all things. The vital soul that resides in the cosmos and imbues it and all things with life, even those that may seem dead, became visible to her. She saw the vibration of all things down to their smallest particle. She saw the reach of the heavens as they expanded in an infinite curve whose unknowable horizon confounded her. The exiled land was almost drained of this soul. Ruptured from its nurturing womb, it had waned as the tide of the sacred presence had ebbed. Now the vibrant net that entangled Earth swallowed them, and as the child in her belly was thrust out from its shelter, they were dragged in to the ancient nest in whose architecture still resided a memory of their place within it.


    The slippery mass of a child dropped into White Feather¡¯s waiting hands.


    She groaned, or perhaps it was the earth grinding at a register almost too low to be perceived.


    ¡°Another one!¡± cried Green Skirt in shock.


    ¡°Twice blessed! Twice cursed!¡± sang out White Feather, shoving the first infant into the waiting hands of Skull Earrings so she could catch the impatient second, now crowning.


    Feather Cloak pushed as the world was born again, as the White Road flared into existence, a ribbon so bright that it shone, as Earth exploded beyond the borders of the Ashioi land. Firestorms raged and gales seared the land. Yet all this transpired at such a remote distance from the heart of the maelstrom that her awareness of the cosmos, too, faded, and she was after all weary. So weary.

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    ¡°Two girls!¡± said Skull Earrings, cradling the first tenderly in his arms. ¡°The gods have favored us!¡±


    She slid down the long road of exhaustion and fell into sleep.


    North of the land lies devastation so complete that the land steams. Has their return created such a wasteland that smoke and ruin are all she sees?


    No. Beyond the scar lies land touched by fire, by wind, by raging seas, by great shifts in the earth itself, by tumult, but it is not dead.


    She sees now what caused the land just beyond the White Road to be engulfed by molten rock. The Bright One walks in the wasteland. She created it with the power that resides within her, the curse she received from her mother¡¯s kin. She is naked and carries nothing except a bow layered with the magical essence of griffin bone. So bright it shines¡­.


    She moaned and came awake, squinting against a light she did not recognize.


    ¡°Ah!¡± She shielded her eyes. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°He-Who-Burns!¡± cried Green Skirt. ¡°That is the sun. See how his light shines!¡± She pointed at the roof of the cavern, where a yellow glare illuminated the spray of plant roots dangling from crumbling ridges of soil.


    Skull Earrings stepped forward with White Feather beside him. ¡°Here are your daughters,¡± he said, displaying the dark babies.


    White Feather nodded. ¡°So small. So perfect!¡±


    Weeping, she kissed them. ¡°They will never know exile. We have come home.¡±


    PART ONE


    THE TIDES OF DESTRUCTION


    I


    A VISION OF THE END


    1


    WHEN the earth began to shake, his jailers abandoned him within the ruins of the old monastery, beside the roofless church and its stone tower. From his prison, in his cage in the back of the cart, he watched in a confused stupor as both horses and oxen bolted, spooked by the unnatural weather.


    Along the shoreline of Osna Sound, the water receded far out past the line of the ebb tide, exposing seabed and a line of sharp rocks below the curve of the Dragonback Ridge. Above, the sky was a sheet of lightning that veiled the stars, but that light in the heavens was an uncanny thing because no thunder answered it. A stillness, more like an indrawn breath, settled over the country, and it hung there, waiting.


    Soon.


    The silence was broken with a roar as the ground jolted. The cart pitched over. The post to which Alain was chained snapped as it struck the ground. With a groan, the stone tower collapsed into a cloud of dust and grit that choked him as he sprawled, like the fish flopping in the exposed seabed, gasping for breath. Scattered by a rising wind, the storm of dirt quickly dissipated, but the ground had not finished shifting.


    The Dragonback Ridge splintered with a deafening crack. Sheets of rock cascaded into the sound. Beneath the booming clatter of rock, the earth moved as the dragon woke. Its tail, lashing as it was freed from the soil, snapped trees. As its flank heaved up where once lay the high ridge, dirt avalanched seaward, obliterating the old shoreline. The creature lifted a claw and set it down, and the ground trembled beneath that tread. It raised its huge head to examine the heavens, then slewed around. Chained and caught, Alain could only stare as the head lowered down and down and paused at length before the cage to stare at him.


    With one bite it could devour cart and man both. He struggled to his knees to face it, although it took all his strength to rise.


    Its scales shone like gold. Its eyes had the luster of pearls. It was not untarnished from its waking: there was a cut in its belly, and from this a tear of bright, hot blood hissed, splashing over him. Its touch burned him to the heart, not with heat but with truth.


    My heart is the Rose. Any heart is the Rose of Healing that knows compassion and lets it bloom.


    It blinked, huffed a cloud of steam, reared its head up, and opened its vast wings. Their span shadowed the monastery grounds. It bunched its haunches, waited a breath, ten breaths, a hundred breaths, as if listening, as if it, too, were waiting.


    A wind howled up out of the southwest, shattering trees as it came, and when it hit, the dragon launched itself. Alain fell, never sure if the gale or the weight of its draft had battered him down. Its shadow passed away. Beyond, the sea raged against the rocks. Above, the stars had gone out. All he could see of the sky was a swirling haze mixed of dust and ash and wind and bits of foliage, and the trailing sparks of a vast spell.


    He heard still a roar of sound, building in volume, and before he understood what it was, a wave out of the sea swept over him. His chains held him under the water as he tumbled in its surf, fighting for the surface. And as he drowned, he saw in a vision the land unfolding before him. He saw as the spell tangled and collapsed in on itself. He saw the land of the Ashioi materialize out of the aether, back to the place it had come from long ago.

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    He saw what happened in the wake of that spell:


    All down the western shoreline of the boot of Aosta, a ridge of volcanoes shakes into life. Lava streams out of the earth. Fields crack open, as the pit yawns beneath. An unstoppable tide of mud and ash slurry buries villages and the folk who live in them. There is no warning, no time to flee.


    The waters of the Middle Sea that are displaced by the returning land speed outward in vast concentric rings. These waves deluge distant coastlines, drowning the shore.


    All along the northern sea rivers run backward and ports are left dry as the land groans and shifts, rising no more than a finger¡¯s span as the weight settling in the south tilts the entire continent.


    Temblors shake the land. The gale that blasted across the earth dissipates in wilderness among the dumb beasts. Deep in the earth, goblins race through ancient labyrinths, seeking their lost halls. Under the sea, the merfolk dive deep to escape the maelstrom. Out in the distant grasslands, the Horse people shelter in hollows in the land. The magic of the Holy One shields them from the worst even as it drains the life out of her.


    All this he sees as he struggles in the waters. He sees, and he understands:


    Those who were most harmed in ancient days ride out the storm with the least damage. It is humankind who suffer most. Perhaps Li¡¯at¡¯dano hoped or planned that in the end the weaving would harm those who were the greatest threat to her people: both the Cursed Ones, and her own human allies.


    Perhaps the WiseMothers suspected that humankind would take the brunt of the backlash. Perhaps they had no choice except to do what they did, knowing that the belt was already twisted and the path already laid clear before their feet. They speak to him through rock and through water, although the salt sea almost drowns their voice.


    It. Is. Done. You. Have. Saved. Us.


    He gasps for breath but swallows water. The link between them is broken so sharply that it is as if it had never existed.


    Caught in the riptide, he came clear of the water suddenly and flailed and gasped and choked and coughed as the tide hauled him toward the sea. The chain jerked him back to the ground. The cart, trapped in the fallen stones, had saved him, which had all this time imprisoned him. He lay there, too dazed to move.


    At length daylight filtered into the haze of ash and dust that clouded the heavens. After a long time he realized that he was alive and that, impossibly, the world had survived. The great weaving that Adica had made so long ago with her compatriots was at long last finished. The spell had come all the way around and returned to where it began. The Lost Ones had returned from their exile.


    He had seen both beginning and end, only of course the end was now a beginning.


    After all, he was not alone in the ruins, as he had thought. The hounds came and with them his foster father, Henri.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± Alain asked him.


    ¡°Home, Son. We¡¯re going home.¡±


    2


    BECAUSE the ridge had been obliterated by the dragon¡¯s waking, their way proved rough and strenuous as they walked toward home through a jumble of boulders, fallen trees, and tide-wracked debris. In the end Alain¡¯s legs failed him and his strength gave out. He could scarcely breathe. Once they reached a real path, Henri had to carry him, stopping at intervals to rest.


    ¡°You¡¯re nothing but bones and skin,¡± Henri said one of those times. He sat, sweating, on a smooth beech tree, uprooted in last night¡¯s storm. Alain wheezed, curled up on the ground because he hadn¡¯t the strength to sit upright. The hounds nosed him fretfully. ¡°You weigh no more than a child. I¡¯ll never forgive Lord Geoffrey for doing this to you. It¡¯s a sin to treat another human being so cruelly.¡±


    He was too weak to answer. The world seemed dim, but perhaps that was only because of clouds covering the sky.


    Henri sighed. ¡°You do stink, though, Son. Whew!¡± The affection in his voice made Alain¡¯s lips tremble, but he could not manage a smile. For so long he had endured. Now, safe, he thought he might at last die because he had been worn too thin. He wanted to go on, but he had nothing left.


    ¡°Here, now, you beasts, move aside.¡±


    Henri hoisted him effortlessly, shifted him onto his own back so Alain¡¯s head rested on Henri¡¯s shoulder, and kept walking. It seemed likely that they should have passed through Osna village, but apparently Henri kept to those woodland paths that took them around the village and onto the broad southern road. Many trees were fallen. Branches littered the path. It was silent, not even bird call to serenade them, and not a soul out on the roads the morning after. Where the road forked, Henri veered to the right along a narrower side path that wound through oak and silvery birch, maple and beech. Long ago he had ridden down this path with Count Lavastine. The memory seemed as a dream to him now, no more real than his life with Adica. All gone, torn away by death.

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    Yet there was life here still. Some manner of person had husbanded these woods, cutting down trees for firewood and boatbuilding in many spots but fostering quick-growing ash and sparing half the slow-growing oaks in others. Coppice-cut willow, hazel, and hawthorn flourished in various states of regrowth, some freshly cut and others ready for felling again. Sorrow barked. Pigs squealed away into the undergrowth.


    ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± came a cry from ahead.


    ¡°I¡¯ve found him!¡± cried Henri.


    Alain hadn¡¯t the strength to raise his head, so, sidewise, he watched the estate emerge as the path opened onto neatly mown hayfields and a tidy garden, recently harvested. Two corrals ringed sheep and a pair of cows. Geese honked, and chickens scattered. There was even a horse and a pony, riches for a free-holding family without noble forebears. Folk had come out of the workshop and the house to stand and stare, but it was the ones he knew best who ran up the path to meet them. Julien was scarred and lean. Stancy was pregnant; she ran forward with a child grasping her hand. Was that third adult little Agnes, grown so comely and tall?


    ¡°That can¡¯t be Alain,¡± said Julien. ¡°That creature¡¯s nothing more than skin pulled over bones.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s him,¡± said Stancy. ¡°Poor boy.¡± She wiped away tears.


    ¡°Stink! Stink!¡± wailed the child, tugging to break free and run. ¡°He scares me.¡±


    ¡°Hush!¡± Aunt Bel strode up to them, looked at him hard, and frowned. ¡°Stancy, kill a chicken and get a broth cooking. He¡¯ll not be strong enough to eat solid food. Agnes, I¡¯ll want the big basin tub for bathing him. Outside, though. Julien, haul water and tell Bruno to heat it on the workshop fire. We¡¯ll need plenty. He can¡¯t be chilled.¡±


    Like the chickens, they scattered but to more purpose.


    ¡°Dear God,¡± said Aunt Bel. ¡°That¡¯s a strong smell. We¡¯ll have to wash him twice over before we bring him inside. I¡¯ll have the girls make a good bed for him by the hearth. He¡¯ll be abed all winter, if he survives at all. He looks more like a ghost than like our sweet lad.¡±


    ¡°He can hear you.¡±


    ¡°Can you hear me, boy?¡± she demanded. Because it was Aunt Bel asking, he fluttered his eyelids and got out a croak, not much more than a sigh. ¡°It¡¯s a wonder he¡¯s still alive, abused like that.¡± She made a clucking noise, quite disgusted. ¡°It¡¯s a good thing you went after him, Henri.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t let him die, Bel. I failed him once already.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true you let your pride get the better of you. You were jealous.¡±


    The movement of Henri¡¯s shoulders, beneath Alain¡¯s chest, betrayed a reaction.


    ¡°Nay, there¡¯s nothing more to be said,¡± retorted Bel. ¡°Let it be, little brother. What¡¯s in the past is gone with the tide. Let him be. I¡¯ll nurse him myself. If he lives, then we can see.¡±


    A drop of moisture fell on Alain¡¯s dangling hand. At first, he thought it might be rain from those brooding clouds, but as they trudged down into the riot of the living, he realized that these were Henri¡¯s tears.


    II


    THE LUCK OF THE KING


    1


    SANGLANT knew dawn came only because he could smell the sun¡¯s rising beyond the haze that concealed all horizons. Ash rained down on his army as they straggled through the scorched forest, dragging their wounded with them. Here and there fires burned in the treetops. Smoke rose, blending with the ash drifting over them. Limbs snapped and crashed to earth to create echoes within echoes as the devastated forest collapsed on itself.


    They assembled in their tattered legions around the ancient fortress where Lady Wendilgard had met her death. Up on the height of half fallen walls, Captain Fulk posted sentries to watch over the wounded. The prince stood on the shattered ramp, once a causeway leading up into the fortress and now a series of broken stair steps littered with stones, weapons, and four dead men not yet dragged away. The last surviving troops who had heard the call to sheathe weapons and retreat emerged battered, bruised, and limping from the trees to take up places in the clearing. They were crammed shoulder to shoulder, weary and frightened, and all of them awaiting his command.


    Perhaps two thousand troops remained to him, out of opposing armies which had each easily boasted twice that number. Of his personal guard, once numbering more than two hundred, some two score remained. Every man among them bore at least one wound, some minor and a few, no doubt, mortal. To his left waited Capi¡¯ra and her centaurs, who had weathered the storm better than most, and a remnant of Quman soldiers. The winged riders had been hit hard in the field by the heavier numbers of Henry¡¯s army, but they had held their ground. It was largely due to their courage and will that he had saved as many of his troops as he had during that initial disastrous retreat when Henry¡¯s forces had overpowered him in the early part of the battle. Of the rest of his noble brethren who had marched with him from Wendar and the marchlands, he had only two surviving commanders: Lord Wichman and Captain Istvan, the Ungrian. Lord Druthmar was lost on the field, although no man living had seen him fall, and he had long since lost track of the rest of his captains and lords, who might still be huddling in the forest or lying among the dead.

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    Henry¡¯s army formed up to his right: Duchess Liutgard and her cavalry out of Fesse, Duke Burchard and his Avarians together with his daughter Wendilgard¡¯s remaining men, and others from Saony and the duchies of Varre. The terrible storm and the blast of burning wind had hit Henry¡¯s army as hard as his own.


    Henry¡¯s army no longer.


    Henry¡¯s corpse lay fixed over Fest¡¯s saddle. Sanglant held the reins.


    ¡°Your Majesty.¡± Hathui bowed before him. ¡°What now?¡±


    ¡°Where is Zuangua?¡± he asked, surveying the scene. ¡°I see no Ashioi among our number.¡±


    ¡°They did not follow us back this way, my lord prince ¡­¡± Lewenhardt corrected himself. ¡°Your Majesty.¡± Like the others, the young archer was filthy, smeared with ash and dirt and blood. Ash pattered down, the sound of its steady rain audible even through the many noises of the army creaking into place, men weeping, men talking, horses in distress, a few dogs barking, and wagon wheels squeaking on the fine layer of ash and grit. ¡°They went off into the trees toward the sea, along the old track they were following before. I don¡¯t know where they¡¯ve gone.¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Sanglant said. ¡°They¡¯ve abandoned us and gone home, for I¡¯m thinking that their homeland must surely have returned from its long exile.¡± It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think of Liath struggling among the living or lost to death. ¡°Hathui, if we build a fire, can you seek Liath through the flames?¡±


    ¡°I can try, Your Majesty.¡±


    He nodded. She took two soldiers and trudged through the pall into the forest, where charcoal would be easy to gather. The trio passed a group of exhausted men stumbling out of the trees. The ash so covered every least thing that it was impossible to tell what lord or lady these soldiers had served before the night¡¯s cataclysm.


    All his, now. Every one of them. With his dying breath, Henry had willed Wendar and Varre to his favorite child, his obedient son, the bastard, the one the king had long wished to succeed him despite all opposition.


    ¡°We cannot see into the future,¡± Helmut Villam had once observed. That was a mercy granted to humankind, who would otherwise drown in a sea of unwanted knowledge filled with reversals, tragedies, unhoped-for rescues, and the endless contradictions of life.


    He remembered the passion in his own voice that day by the river, below the palace of Werlida, when he had spoken so decidedly to his father the king. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be king. Or heir. Or emperor.¡±


    And now, of course, he was. King, and heir to an empire he had never desired.


    ¡°What of your Aostan allies?¡± he asked his cousin Liutgard, nodding also at the old duke, Burchard.


    The duchess shrugged, wiping ash off her lips with the back of one filthy hand. Her hair was streaked with ash, tangled and dirty; impossible to tell how fair it was under all the soot. ¡°They fled west along the coast instead of following us,¡± she said. ¡°Their allegiance was to Adelheid, not to Henry. There are yet stragglers, and a few wandering confused among our troops. For the rest, those who live, I believe they will all fly home.¡±


    With a sigh, Sanglant rubbed his stinging eyes. ¡°Has there been any report of the griffins?¡± he asked those standing nearest to him. Clustered behind Hathui were a dozen Eagles rescued from Henry¡¯s train.


    In truth he needed no answer. If the gale had not killed the griffins outright, then it had surely blasted them far away. It seemed impossible for any creature in the air to have survived the storm.


    Ai, God, he was so weary that he had begun to hear things, a strange rushing roar that nagged at his hearing until even the folk surrounding him heard as well. To the south, shouts of alarm rang out above the snap and crash of branches as though a second wind raked through the forest. Scouts left behind to stand sentry over the road tumbled into the clearing.


    ¡°The ocean! The ocean has risen!¡±


    He gestured to Lewenhardt and Captain Fulk. Together they ran along the road into the trees, and before they had gone far they saw an astonishing sight. Water surged inland through the trees, losing depth quickly until it lapped and sighed around their boots. As they stared, it drained away, most into the ground but in a few stubborn rivulets back toward the sea, dragging twigs and leaves in its undertow. Sanglant knelt and brushed his fingers through a remnant pool as the roar of the receding waters faded. He touched the moisture to his lips, spat out the salty brine.


    ¡°This is seawater.¡±


    ¡°That is not possible,¡± said Captain Fulk. ¡°No tide can rise so high. It¡¯s a league at least¡ªmore!¡ªfrom here to the ocean!¡±

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    ¡°Bring Fest. I¡¯ll need an escort of a hundred men. If there¡¯s any hope of capturing Queen Adelheid, we must seek her now. Bring Duke Burchard, since he knows the town and its defenses. Tell Duchess Liutgard to make an account of what provisions are left us, tend to the wounded, and ready the men for a long march. Bury the dead before they begin to rot.¡±


    ¡°Even the emperor, Your Majesty?¡±


    ¡°No. We must prepare Henry for the journey north. See that his heart is removed from his body, and his flesh boiled until there is nothing left but bones.¡±


    The road through the forest had survived the conflagration, but it was muddy and streaked with debris. The wind gusted erratically and after one man was knocked out cold by a falling branch, they watched for limbs with each flurry. The trees were blackened and burned on the side facing the southeast. Desiccated leaves filtered down with the ever present ash fall. Light rose as the morning progressed, but the day remained hazy and dim and the heavens had a glowering sheen. Every sound was muffled by the constant hiss of ash and the layer of soot and mud blanketing the damp ground. It was cool, yet clammy, and the long walk exhausted them and their horses alike.


    ¡°Is it the end of the world, my lord pr¡ªYour Majesty?¡± Lewenhardt whispered.


    ¡°If it is the end, then why are we not dead? Nay, Lewenhardt, it is as it seems. A terrible cataclysm has overtaken us. We may yet survive if we keep our wits about us, and if we hold together.¡±


    Duke Burchard drew the Circle of Unity at his chest, but said nothing. The old man seemed too stunned to speak. He was not alone in this. For every soldier who exclaimed out loud at the scorched forest and the marks of the recent flood there were four or five who gaped at the devastation as though they had, indeed, lost their wits.


    ¡°I dislike this, Your Majesty,¡± said Fulk. ¡°What if the sea returns?¡±


    ¡°We must see. Besides Queen Adelheid, we must seek out those who survived and hid until daybreak. Liutgard said many of the Aostans marched west along the coast. What of them?¡±


    Pools of salty water filled the ruts in the road, and a gloomy vista awaited them when at last they emerged from the trees and gazed through the swirling ash that obscured the bay of Estriana, half a league away. The plain looked strangely scumbled, strewn with debris. He could not mark the field where the battle had been fought or the line of their retreat because branches and corpses and planks from wagons and all manner of flotsam lay tumbled everywhere. He saw no life at all in the distant town.


    ¡°You are sure?¡± he asked Duke Burchard. ¡°You left Queen Adelheid behind in Estriana?¡±


    The old man¡¯s voice was more like a croak. ¡°So I did, Your Majesty. She held a reserve behind the walls in case of disaster. It was already agreed that she would remain in the tower rather than sortie out. She is a strategist, Your Majesty, not a soldier.¡±


    ¡°So she is,¡± agreed Sanglant, ¡°if she yet lives. I walked right into the ambush she and Henry laid between them.¡±


    Burchard shook his head impatiently. ¡°We saw well enough what trap Henry fell into. The daimone with which Presbyter Hugh ensorcelled him spoke his words and moved his limbs according to the presbyter¡¯s command. Henry did not speak. That plan was the queen¡¯s alone.¡±


    ¡°She is a formidable opponent, then. What do we do with her now?¡±


    Staring across the plain toward the Middle Sea, Burchard wept softly. ¡°Perhaps bury her?¡±


    The pall of dust hid the waters, which seemed, impossibly, at low tide, drawn far back across tidal flats.


    ¡°Ai, God!¡± cried Lewenhardt, who possessed the sharpest gaze among them, able to pierce the haze. ¡°Look!¡±


    The water was rising swiftly. It swelled at the mouth of the bay into a monstrous wave that crested into a wall of foaming white. The wave surged forward across the bay and smashed down onto the town and the shoreline, engulfing it and inundating the land. The water rose up and up, still climbing as it flooded the plain.


    ¡°Run!¡±


    The others turned and fled. Sanglant could not bring himself to move. He could not quite believe, despite the evidence of his eyes, that the sea could rise so fast and run so far. The whiter crest that battered the town dissipated quickly, subsumed in the vast tidal swell that rolled inland across the plain. Fest snorted and shied, and he reined him in, turning in a complete circle before the horse settled, uneasy and in protest but holding fast.


    ¡°My lord prince!¡± cried Captain Fulk, returning in haste to rein up beside him. ¡°We¡¯ll be drowned. You must come!¡±


    The tide lapped to its highest extent a stone¡¯s toss from Fest, not even reaching the outlying trees of the forest, and sucked hissing and burbling back into the sea. All that lay strewn over the plain from the first surge rushed outward with it. Even the stone walls of Estriana toppled into the wave, all but the highest tower, which was protected by a double ring of walls that had taken the brunt of the impact.

 Page 10

    His men, creeping back, wept to witness the sea¡¯s fury. As the wave receded, the ruins of the town emerged from the water. The stone walls were shattered at a dozen places. Seen through those gaps, the buildings looked like piles of sticks.


    ¡°Ai, God!¡± cried Duke Burchard. ¡°Queen Adelheid must surely be dead! No one could have survived such a deluge!¡± He glanced at Sanglant and wiped his brow nervously. ¡°Surely she had a reason for the terrible course she took, Your Majesty. Surely she did not wish to harm the king. She loved him. She is a good woman.¡±


    ¡°Let us hope we do not have to make decisions as cruel as the one she felt herself forced to make,¡± replied Sanglant.


    ¡°I think it most prudent if we retreat,¡± said Fulk. ¡°We have seen that these unnatural tides are not yet faded. Look how the water sucks back out again. What if a larger surge comes?¡±


    ¡°Look,¡± said Lewenhardt. ¡°Something is moving out there!¡±


    Sanglant dismounted.


    ¡°Your Majesty!¡± protested Captain Fulk


    ¡°I¡¯ll walk. The footing looks too tricky for horses.¡±


    ¡°Why go at all? If you¡¯re swept away¡ª¡±


    ¡°I think we have time. The second wave did not approach until we had walked all the way from the old fort. If you have ever sat upon the sea¡¯s shore and watched the waves, Captain, you will have seen they have a rhythm of their own. These great waves need time to approach.¡±


    Fulk had stood firm through many terrible events when others quailed and faltered, and although the prospect of drowning clearly horrified him, he did not fail Sanglant now. ¡°Very well. I¡¯ll come with you, Your Majesty.¡±


    Sanglant grinned and strode forward. The ground was not hopelessly muddy because the tide had come up and receded too swiftly to soak in, but damp ash made the ground slick and debris from the forest caught about their ankles and snagged in their leggings. It was not silent but uncannily still, with no sign of life but their own soft footsteps. The hissing fall of ash serenaded them. Maybe it would never stop raining down. Perhaps the heavens themselves had burned and now shed the soot of their destruction over the earth. The throttling gurgle of the sea faded in the distance as the tide receded back and back beyond the tidal flats, although it was difficult to see anything clearly through the haze. Now and again they caught the scent of rot.


    They walked out onto the plain, glancing back at intervals to see the forest, farther away each time, and the troop clustered at the fringe of the trees, obscured by falling ash.


    ¡°Are you sure Lewenhardt saw anything, Your Majesty?¡± Fulk asked at last. ¡°It could have been the wind. It¡¯s hard to see anything with all this cloud and ash.¡±


    ¡°Hush.¡± Sanglant held up a hand, and Fulk fell silent, not moving, chin lifted as he, too, strove to hear. But few men had the unnaturally keen hearing that Sanglant possessed, and Fulk could not hear the faint sounds of splashing. ¡°It sounds like a fish flopping half out of water. There!¡±


    A ditch had captured something living that now thrashed in a remnant of seawater. They came cautiously to the edge and stared down into a pit filled with a murky blend of mud, water, and scraps of vegetation. A corpse was fixed between the axles of a shattered wagon, face mercifully hidden by one wheel, legs gray where they stuck out of the scummy surface.


    ¡°Ai, God!¡± cried Fulk, stepping back in horror.


    The tide had trapped a monster from the deeps. Sensing them, it heaved its body fully back into the water with a splash, but it had nowhere to hide. They could distinguish its huge tail sluicing back and forth. At last it reared up out of the mud defiantly, whipping its head side to side and spraying mud and flecks of grass and leaves everywhere. Its hair hissed and snapped at them, each strand like an eyeless eel seeking a meal out of the air. It had a man¡¯s torso, lean and powerful, shimmering with scales. It had a face, of a kind: flat eyes, slits where a nose should otherwise grow, a lipless mouth, and scaly hands webbed between its clawed fingers.


    ¡°It¡¯s a man-fish,¡± whispered Fulk. ¡°That kind we saw on the river!¡±


    It was trapped and therefore doomed, washed in and stranded by the tide, but a fearsome beast nevertheless and therefore not worthy of mercy. Yet Sanglant frowned as Fulk drew his sword. The creature stared boldly at them. Sharp teeth gleamed as it opened its mouth. And spoke.


    ¡°Prinss Ssanglant. Cap¡¯tin Fulk.¡±


    Fulk jumped backward. ¡°How can this beast know our names!¡±


    ¡°Prinss Ssanglant,¡± it repeated. The eels that were its hair hissed and writhed as though they, too, voiced a message, one he could not understand.

 Page 11

    ¡°Can you speak Wendish? What are you? What are you called?¡±


    ¡°Gnat,¡± it seemed to say, yet it kept talking in a language he did not understand, although he had heard it before.


    ¡°That¡¯s Jinna.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s too garbled, Your Majesty. I can¡¯t tell.¡±


    ¡°Can you speak Wendish?¡± he said slowly, because he knew no words of Jinna. He tried out the other languages he could stumble along in. ¡°Can you speak Ungrian? Can you speak the tongue known to the Quman? Can you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Liat¡¯ano,¡± it said, lifting a hand in pantomime to shade its flat eyes as would a man staring into the bright sun.


    ¡°Liathano! Do you speak of my wife, Liath?¡±


    The creature hissed, as in agreement.


    ¡°What does this mean, my lord prince?¡± whispered Fulk. ¡°How can such a monster know our names?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. How could such a creature have learned to speak Jinna?¡±


    ¡°Jinna!¡± The creature spoke again at length, but they could only shake their heads. Impatience burned at him like fire as he wondered what this creature knew and what it could tell him. Did Liath live, or was she dead? How did it recognize them?


    ¡°Are there any in our party who can speak the language of the Jinna?¡± asked Fulk.


    ¡°Only Liath,¡± he said bitterly. ¡°That¡¯s why she took those two Jinna servants with her. She was the only one who could understand them.¡±


    ¡°What do we do?¡±


    ¡°Drag it back to the sea. If it can speak, then it is no mute beast but a thinking creature like us.¡±


    ¡°What if it is our enemy? You see its teeth and claws. I heard the stories the ship-master told us¡ªthat it eats human flesh.¡±


    ¡°It is at our mercy.¡± He shook his head. ¡°It gives me hope that my wife still lives. For that reason alone I can¡¯t kill it, or leave it to die, as it surely will, stranded here.¡±


    It was, indeed, no mute beast. He gestured toward the sea. He spoke his own name, and Liath¡¯s, and Fulk¡¯s, and gestured toward the sea again, as the creature stared at them. When they clambered down the crumbling bank and grabbed its arms, it did not fight them. It was heavy, and strange, and difficult to drag although its glistening tail slid easily over most obstacles. In the end, out of breath and sloppy with mud and ash, they got it to what had once been the shoreline. The sea had sucked well out into the bay, but they dared not walk there among slick rocks knowing that the next wave would come soon.


    ¡°Go with the Lord and Lady¡¯s grace,¡± said Sanglant. ¡°There is nothing more we can do for you.¡±


    ¡°Liat¡¯ano,¡± it said again, and pointed toward the sky and then toward the ground.


    ¡°Does she live?¡± Sanglant asked, knowing that the pain in his heart would never cease, not until he knew what fate had befallen her and their daughter. He had lost so much, as they all had, but he feared there was worse yet to come.


    Lying there awkwardly on the ground, it glanced toward the sea, then copied with eerie precision his earlier gesture. It waved toward the forest, suggesting haste, and said a curt word, repeated twice, something like Go. Go. It had the cadence of a warning. Surely it could sense the tides of the sea better than he could. Fulk shifted from one foot to the next, glancing from the creature to the sea and back again.


    ¡°Ai, God!¡± swore Sanglant. ¡°Come, Fulk.¡±


    They left, jogging across the plain. In places the tide had swept the ground clear. Elsewhere, ditches, small ridges, or other obstacles had caught debris in a wide swathe, corpses and branches and here and there a weapon or wagon wheel tangled together and stinking as the hours passed. Nothing moved on that plain. There was still no sign of life among the broken walls of the town. No birds flew, and now and again lightning brightened the clouds, followed by a distant rumbling of thunder.


    They heard the water rising before they reached the soldiers waiting for them at the edge of the forest, nervous as they listened and watched the glimmer of the sea. He turned as the rest of the troop hurried away along the road into the cover of the blasted trees. The water rose this time not in any distinguishable wave but as a great swell. He could not see the mer-creature. The light wasn¡¯t strong enough, and the shoreline was, in any case, too far away and the ground too uneven. Like the rest of them, it would survive the tide of destruction, or it would perish.


    A dozen men waited at the verge, unwilling to depart without their prince. Without their king.


    ¡°She must still be alive,¡± he said.


    ¡°Yes, Your Majesty,¡± said Fulk.

 Page 12

    Lewenhardt offered him reins. Sanglant mounted Fest and together the remnants of his once proud company rode into the trees.


    2


    ¡°I looked through fire for those whose faces I know, Your Majesty, but I saw nothing.¡±


    Sanglant glanced toward his council members waiting on the ramp that led up into the ruined fortress. The army had settled down under the afternoon haze to lick its wounds, recover its strength, and assess its numbers and provisions. ¡°The Seven Sleepers may have protected themselves from Eagle¡¯s Sight. We must act as if they still live. They remain a threat.¡±


    Hathui shrugged. ¡°I saw flames and shadow. Flashes of things. An overturned wagon. Falling rocks. A horse killed by a falling branch. None of it made any sense, nor could I hold any one vision within the fire. And of Liath, I saw nothing.¡±


    ¡°Ai, God!¡± He paced, kicking up ash, and spun to face her. ¡°Seek her at nightfall, each night, and hope she seeks in turn.¡±


    ¡°Nightfall is difficult to gauge with this cloud cover and ash fall, Your Majesty. We might each seek the other every evening and never touch. The Eagle¡¯s Sight is a powerful gift, but a man butchering a deer has more accuracy and delicacy.¡±


    He laughed, more in pain than amusement. ¡°The crowns have the same failing, do they not? Thus we are spared the weight of a power too great to combat by natural means. I no longer wonder¡ª¡± He swept an arm wide to indicate the heavens and the shattered forest. ¡°¡ªwhy the church condemned sorcery. See what sorcery has wrought.¡±


    ¡°Liath is a mathematicus, Your Majesty. Do you mean to put her aside because she knows the art of sorcery?¡±


    He grinned. ¡°I began as captain of the King¡¯s Dragons. I have always been a soldier. If a weapon is put in my hands, I use it. And anyway ¡­¡±


    And anyway I love her.


    He could not speak those words aloud. He was regnant now, but his position was by no means secure. He could show no weakness; he could possess no weakness, and if he did, if he loved unwisely, then he must conceal the nature of his desire or it would be used against him. In that way the Pechanek Quman had tried to dishonor him by tempting him with a woman¡¯s flesh. He had come close to falling.


    ¡°Seek her at nightfall, Hathui. Keep trying.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Your Majesty.¡±


    He strode over to those who waited, climbed the ramp until he stood above them, and situated himself so all those gathered below or huddled within the ruined walls could hear. He raised a hand for silence, and they quieted, but it was never still. The hiss of falling ash, the crack of breaking branches in the forest, not as many now but sharp and startling each time the sound came, and the moans of the wounded ran beneath his words.


    ¡°Cousin,¡± he said. ¡°What accounting have you reached?¡±


    Liutgard was an excellent administrator and a wise enough soldier that she let her captains fight her battles for her. When she was younger, her husband had carried her sword as a talisman in place of her, but since his death some years earlier she had shown a disturbing tendency to take to the field herself.


    She beckoned her chief steward forward. That woman tallied their remaining forces and lines of command, about two thousand men and perhaps half that many horses remaining although strays were continually being roped in. They had salvaged provisions for about three weeks, if strictly rationed, but were low on fresh water and feed for the horses. There were not enough wagons to carry all the wounded though crude sledges could be built and the wounded placed upon those and dragged by healthy men.


    ¡°What now, Your Majesty?¡± Liutgard asked when her steward had finished.


    ¡°Yes, what now?¡± they asked, all the assembled nobles and captains, those who had survived.


    He was at first silent, but at length he spoke. ¡°If fire and ash and water have wreaked such havoc here, how badly has the rest of the land suffered?¡±


    Lord Wichman laughed coarsely and shouted, ¡°Surely we have survived the worst!¡±


    ¡°Hush! You fool!¡± said Liutgard to her cousin. ¡°Do not tempt God! There may be worse yet to come. What do you mean to do, Your Majesty?¡±


    The curse of foresight had spared him, as it spared all born of humankind. It was amazing that he had once said to his father: ¡°I don¡¯t want to be king with princes all biting at my heels and waiting for me to go down so they can rip out my throat. I want a grant of land, Liath as my wife, and peace.¡± Such luxury was no longer in his grasp. If he did not lead, then this army would fall to pieces and much worse would indeed come to pass.


    ¡°We must move out, and swiftly. This land is too devastated to support an army.¡±

 Page 13

    ¡°What of Queen Adelheid, Your Majesty?¡± demanded Burchard.


    Sanglant laughed bitterly. ¡°You and I both saw the ruins of Estriana. I think there are no survivors.¡±


    ¡°Should we send scouts into the town?¡±


    ¡°How can we tell when another wave may overtake any of our scouts who go down to search? If we wait for the sea to subside completely, we will suffer losses ourselves from thirst and starvation. Nay, I pray you, Burchard, we have no choice. Queen Adelheid is living, or she is dead. If she is dead, there is no help for her. If she lives, those who have survived with her will lead her to safety. Our situation is too desperate.¡±


    Burchard bowed his head, but he did not protest. Liutgard nodded to show she approved.


    ¡°The Brinne Pass,¡± he continued. ¡°It¡¯s too late in the year to attempt the higher passes, but there¡¯s a chance at least that we can cross into the marchlands and thence west to Wendar.¡±


    ¡°At last!¡± cried Liutgard. ¡°Home!¡±


    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± objected Burchard. ¡°What about Darre? What about Henry¡¯s empire?¡±


    ¡°Without Wendar there is no empire. Imagine, if you will, how far the tide of this destruction may have spread. Look at it! We do not know how distantly the deadly winds have struck or what damage they leave in their wake. The people of Wendar have already suffered greatly. If there is no succor for them, they will turn to others who will offer them surety and order. We must secure what is ours first, our birthright. When that is safe, then we shall see if my father has an empire left to defend.¡±


    They knelt to display their obedience, all except Liutgard and Burchard.


    ¡°What of Henry¡¯s remains?¡± Liutgard asked.


    ¡°His bones and heart must go to Quedlinhame.¡±


    She sighed. He recalled her as so young and bright and spirited when they had grown up together in the king¡¯s schola. Now she looked as aged as he felt, scarred by Henry¡¯s ill-fated expedition into Aosta and by the events of the last two days. But she was too strong of spirit to dwell on what could not be changed. She beckoned to her steward and they spoke together before the duchess turned back to her cousin. ¡°My steward has been overseeing the boiling, Your Majesty. She¡¯ll find a suitable chest, and a box for the heart.¡±


    ¡°So be it. We¡¯ll camp here to tend our wounded and repair what we can in preparation for the journey to come. Drink sparingly. Fulk, send out scouts to search for water, and others to see if there is aught to be recovered from within the forest: wagons or armor, provisions, strays. Wounded. Anything. Bury the dead that you find, but we can leave them no monument and we can carry none of the dead home with us, none but my father. As soon as the king¡¯s remains are fit to move, we will leave.¡±


    As the rest dispersed to their night¡¯s bivouac, Hathui came up beside him. ¡°What of Liath, Your Majesty? If she reached Dalmiaka, as she hoped, then she is south and east of us. We¡¯re leaving her behind.¡±


    ¡°We cannot act unless we know she lives and exactly where she is.¡±


    ¡°An expedition could be sent. I would go¡ª¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t strength or provisions enough to split my forces.¡±


    ¡°A small group only, Your Majesty. Ten or twelve at most surely¡ª¡±


    ¡°To ride where?¡±


    ¡°We can guess where she might be. A scouting expedition only. I could find a dozen who would be brave enough¡ª¡±


    He gritted his teeth and she stammered to a halt, seeing his expression. ¡°Do not pain me with these objections, Eagle. Liath is powerful enough to rescue herself.¡±


    ¡°If she is injured?¡±


    ¡°Then I am too far away to help her. For God¡¯s sake, Hathui, do not forget my daughter! I have not! I do not know if Blessing lives, or is dead. If the Horse people kept their oath to us, or have killed her or enslaved her. I may never know. But we must march north. We must march now. I will not split up my army. No.¡±


    She met his gaze. She was a bold woman, and for that he respected her. ¡°It is a terrible choice, Your Majesty.¡±


    ¡°It is the choice that has to be made. We are two thousand here with at least a thousand horses, without enough water, feed, and food, in hostile country swept by untold damage, and with winter coming and mountains to be crossed. Our situation is dire. If we lose Wendar, we have lost everything. Liath will find us if she lives.¡±


    ¡°I will pray, Your Majesty.¡±


    ¡°So will we all.¡±


    III


    AWAITING THE FLOOD


    1


    SHE waited alone in a vast new world. For a long time she stood at the top of a ragged ridgeline, the earth smoking, hot in many places, and stared as the sun¡¯s rising illuminated the changed landscape. Devastation surrounded her. The extent of the destruction was staggering. What remained of the old land had been stripped to rock by the force of the explosion, or vaporized by the heat, or scalded clean by the blast of a gale. West and northwest as the wind blew, a cloud of ash obscured the horizon. East and northeast the ash fall wasn¡¯t as severe, but the ground had altered strangely, forming eerie ranks of hills one after the next, each with the same height and curve. In hollows, pools of muck stank like sulfur. Nothing moved. Nothing lived. Nothing that had once lived here existed even to decay. Right above her the sky had an odd look to it, which she recognized after long consideration as the natural blue sky.

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    Only to the south, most changed, had life escaped harm. Some magic, perhaps the embrace of the aether itself, had protected the Ashioi land from the backblast of the spell. Although it had suffered from drought during its exile, it appeared rich with its living bounty in contrast to the destruction around her. To the east, the sun struggled to break free of the ashy haze but could not; it glowered, an ominous red, as it climbed.


    What to do?


    The magnitude of the destruction so overwhelmed her that she could not even weep. It was as if half of her had been blasted clean away by the cataclysm, leaving her with no tears but rather a few practical questions that really had to be answered.


    Clothes. Water. Food. Her lost companions. Sanglant and Blessing.


    The rest could wait.


    Behind her the land looked impassable. Certainly she¡¯d not find food or drink for many a league inland. There was no telling how far the storm had blown. She doubted she¡¯d last long once night fell and the temperature dropped. It was late in the year. There had already been snow, now burned off for as far as she could see.


    She shifted her grip on her bow and walked south toward the hills of the ancient land now returned. Ashioi country. She heard a faint horn call. From farther away, through the intense silence, a human cry shuddered, but it might have been a trick of the air. She saw nothing and no one. The heat of the ground chapped her feet, and as the morning passed her soles dried and cracked until they bled, leaving drops of blood as a trail in her wake. It was so hot, but heat had never troubled her. Thirst hit harder, and her feet hurt, and her skin stung from the ash. The spell had exhausted her. But if she stopped and could not get going again, then thirst, hunger, and weakness would defeat her, and no person born of humankind alone could negotiate this steaming landscape to rescue her, not until it cooled. And they would only attempt a rescue if they knew she was here, which they did not.


    Sanglant was too far away to help her, if he even lived.


    In time, the sun nosed up over the haze and reached zenith within that mote of clear sky directly above. The sun was so bright. Even the ground blinded her as she stumbled onto a ribbon of chalky white. She halted. She stood on a narrow road, bleeding onto its gritty surface. Behind there was nothing to see except empty wilderness and smoking pits. Ahead, the ground rose precipitously. Grass clung to the hill in patches. Here and there clefts and holes split the hillside like so many narrow cave mouths. At the height of the rise a ruined watchtower rose at the limit of a stand of pine trees.


    She had been here before.


    She had enough energy for a chuckle, then trudged upward, weary beyond measure. Unbelievably, he was there, waiting for her with a skin of water. He stepped out from behind the tumbled wall with a look of such surprise that she knew he had not, precisely, expected to see her.


    ¡°Liath!¡±


    ¡°Eldest Uncle! Ai, God! I¡¯ve need of that water, if you¡¯ve any to share.¡±


    ¡°Plenty to share, as you will see.¡± He smiled. ¡°The young should know better than to parade in front of the old with that which can never be regained.¡±


    ¡°I beg your pardon!¡± She guzzled water, but forced herself to stop before she drank the entire thing. She poured water on her hand and wiped her brow. Her fingers came away black with grime. She looked down at herself. ¡°I¡¯m cloaked in ash,¡± she said, and it was true, but she was nevertheless naked even if smeary with soot. He was amused.


    ¡°Come with me.¡± He gestured toward the trees.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡±


    ¡°To the river, where you can wash yourself. I¡¯ll see if I can weave a garment out of reeds.¡±


    The water gave her strength, but a second, more intangible force did so as well. She recalled clearly the last time she had walked through this grove of pine trees, just before she had ascended the mage¡¯s ladder into the heavens. Then, the air had been dry and the ground parched. Now she smelled water in the air. She felt it in the greening leaves and the rash of shoots lacing green trails along the ground. Its softness cooled her skin.


    Yet, when they walked out from the shadow of the pines, the meadow that had once grown lush with cornflowers and peonies, lavender and dog roses, lay withered. On the path, drying petals crackled under their feet.


    ¡°Come.¡± Eldest Uncle hastened forward, ignoring the dying clearing.


    ¡°This was once so bright. What happened to all the flowers?¡±


    ¡°The aether used to water this land, drawing moisture up from deep roots. Now that link is gone, and these flowers die. But the land will live. See there!¡±


    See there! She hurried after him along what they had once called the flower trail, to the river. Where once a trickle had moistened the rocks, a current now flowed in full spate. Laughing, she splashed into the shallows and threw herself full length into the cold water. The shock stung. Her skin hurt, everywhere, but the water was like the kiss of God. She ducked her head under, and again, and a third time, and scrubbed her hair and scalp until the worst of the filth was gone, and afterward floated until her teeth chattered and her hands were blue. At last she fetched her bow and waded to the far shore. Eldest Uncle waited for her on a carpet of grass. Fresh shoots flourished along the river as far as she could see. The land that had once lain yellow and brown had turned with the onslaught of a false spring, although she knew that winter was yet to come.

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    ¡°Ai, God!¡± She sat down beside him. Grass tickled her rump. Water dripped. ¡°That felt good! I¡¯m so tired.¡±


    She yawned, cradling her head on her bent knees, arms wrapped tight around her legs. The world slipped so easily away. She slid into a doze.


    Started awake, hearing voices.


    Eldest Uncle stood farther up the path, under the shade of trees, speaking with two masked warriors, one male and one female. She grabbed her bow, and recalled belatedly that she no longer had any arrows. That she needed no weapons. She was a weapon.


    Memory struck, because she was vulnerable. She was only half awake, unable to fend off the visions. The soldiers burned like torches. They screamed and screamed as their flesh melted off them ¡­


    ¡°Liath!¡±


    I burned them. She was shaking.


    Eldest Uncle knelt beside her. He did not touch her.


    ¡°Who are they?¡± she demanded, indicating the two young warriors with her glance. One wore a falcon mask and the other that of a buzzard, smooth and rufous and alert. She was shaking too hard to move. She felt sick to her stomach. ¡°Must get up¡­. if Cat Mask ¡­¡±


    ¡°These are not Cat Mask¡¯s warriors. They will not harm you.¡±


    Trust him, or do not trust him. ¡°Why would you betray me?¡± she asked softly.


    His smile had a bitter tinge, but he was not offended. ¡°Why, indeed?¡±


    She slumped forward, too weary to fight, and fell at once into a dreamless sleep.


    2


    SHE dreamed.


    She walks through grass so tall she cannot see beyond it. The whisper of another creature¡¯s passage touches her ears, and she halts.


    Grass bends, golden tops bowing and vanishing. Something big approaches.


    She turns as the Horse shaman pushes through and pulls up short, seeing her. ¡°Liathano! I have been looking for you!¡±


    Other voices flood over them, and the grass and the centaur ripple like water stirred by a gusting wind.


    ¡°This one, again! If Cat Mask finds her, he¡¯ll kill her while she sleeps.¡±


    ¡°Then we must be sure that Cat Mask does not find her. Will you tell him?¡±


    ¡°I will not!¡±


    ¡°You spoke against her before, White Feather.¡±


    ¡°So I did. But now we are fallen safely back to Earth. It may be she had a hand in our homecoming, as she promised us. If that is the case, she does not deserve death. Although I think it best if one possessing such power does not bide long in our land.¡±


    Liath groaned and shook herself awake, startled to find a short mantle draped over her body. It covered her from shoulder to mid-thigh, and was woven out of a coarse brown thread. She sat up carefully, wrapping the cape around herself. She was sore everywhere. Her skin was rashy, and here and there marked with the imprint of a rock. Her neck ached, and she had a headache. Eldest Uncle offered her a pouch of water to drink. Sipping slowly, she surveyed her surroundings. There was noticeably more green than there had been when she¡¯d fallen asleep. The trees seemed fuller, the ground moister. Even the distant meadow, seen across the flowing river, boasted a score of budding flowers, fresh growth that had sprouted while she slept. The light had changed; it was as dim as the gloom that presages a thunderstorm.


    White Feather regarded her pensively, perhaps with distrust. Farther away, Falcon Mask and Buzzard Mask crouched on their haunches, watching her and then the river.


    ¡°How long did I sleep? Will it soon be nightfall?¡±


    ¡°Nightfall, indeed,¡± agreed Eldest Uncle. ¡°Nightfall of a new day. You slept through yesterday afternoon, an entire night, and most of this day.¡±


    She whistled, feeling as if she¡¯d been punched in the stomach. ¡°I¡¯m still tired! Hungry and thirsty, too.¡±


    ¡°Hunger is a pain we all share,¡± said White Feather tartly. ¡°But before I left the council hall, I heard a half dozen reports that the old fields are already sending up shoots. If we can survive the winter with what stores remain to us, we may hope for a plentiful harvest. Still. I would not see you fall into Cat Mask¡¯s hands because of weakness.¡±


    She offered Liath a square of dried berries and grains, and although it was tough to chew, it was edible and filling. Liath took her time as she ate, knowing how little food the Ashioi had. At least there was no shortage of water. The vegetation seemed to be growing unnaturally quickly, fertilized by the fading influence of the aether, as though all this potential had lain dormant for years, awaiting the flood. She nibbled. She knew she ought to save half for later, but she was so hungry she finished it all.


    Like White Feather, Eldest Uncle looked away while she ate, to give her privacy or to restrain his own feelings of hunger.

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    ¡°What now?¡± she asked him, getting his attention. ¡°Am I in danger from Cat Mask? Will he come hunting me?¡±


    ¡°Only if he discovers you are here,¡± said White Feather in her blunt way. ¡°He fears an invasion of humankind.¡±


    Liath laughed bitterly. ¡°Have you walked the land beyond the white path, north of here? Nothing lives there, nor can any living creature cross it.¡±


    ¡°You crossed it.¡±


    ¡°I created it.¡±


    White Feather touched the obsidian knife tucked into a sheath at her hip. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I am born half of fire. The one you call Feather Cloak glimpsed the heart within me. That is why they called me ¡®Bright One.¡±¡¯ She wiped sweat from her brow. Although cloudy, it was hot. Even the breeze made her uncomfortable.


    Eldest Uncle looked more at ease than she had ever seen him. He looked younger, an old man restored to vitality by his return to the world where he had been born. It was as if the waters flooded him as well, as if he were greening like the plants.


    ¡°Look!¡± cried Falcon Mask. She leaped to her feet. Far above, a pair of buzzards soared. She pushed her mask up to get a better look; she was crying, silently, with joy.


    ¡°A good omen,¡± agreed Eldest Uncle. ¡°You are not the only one who can cross. Others will come.¡±


    ¡°Our enemies,¡± said White Feather. ¡°How is that a good omen?¡±


    ¡°Feather Cloak has birthed twin girls. What more powerful omen could there be?¡±


    The older woman snorted. She had a stern face, no longer young. The white feather fastened to her topknot bobbed in the warm wind. ¡°You are weak, Bright One. I make this promise to you in exchange for the promise you made to us, that you would see us safely home. Rest here to regain your strength and I will divert Cat Mask¡¯s attention from this place. After that, you must depart, or I will set Cat Mask and his warriors on you myself.¡±


    ¡°Do not do that, I pray you,¡± murmured Liath. ¡°You do not understand¡­.¡± She was shaking again as memory gripped her hard. It was too much. She still heard their screams, the way the sound choked off when the fire burned away their voices. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed the memory to shut itself away behind a closed door.


    ¡°Whsst!¡± called Falcon Mask. ¡°Gone now, into the trees. Yet there! Do you hear?¡±


    From nearby came a raspy cry. At the unexpected sound, Liath opened her eyes.


    ¡°What is it?¡± demanded Buzzard Mask, pushing his mask up. He was as young as Falcon Mask. They might have been twins with their bronze faces, broad noses, and dark eyes.


    ¡°It¡¯s a tern,¡± said Liath, recognizing the call. ¡°It must have been blown inland. How far away is the sea?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve forgotten,¡± said Eldest Uncle.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen the sea,¡± said White Feather as the young warriors nodded to show that they, too, had never seen it. ¡°I¡¯ve only heard stories. How far the shore lies I do not know. I walked most of yesterday and all this morning to reach you, Uncle. Feather Cloak asks that you return. The warriors have moved out to explore the borderlands. There will be a council soon.¡±


    ¡°What of my daughter?¡± asked Eldest Uncle.


    White Feather shrugged. ¡°She is stubborn.¡±


    ¡°Ha! Tell me a truth I do not yet know.¡±


    ¡°Feather Cloak thinks Kansi-a-lari has left the land. She cannot hear her footsteps on the earth. If she crossed the White Road, she would be invisible to us.¡±


    ¡°How could she cross such devastation? It is a steaming wasteland.¡±


    ¡°North of here,¡± said Liath. ¡°But what about the coasts? It might be possible to cross along the coast.¡±


    What had become of Gnat and Mosquito? No way to know, not unless she reached the sea, and even then she might never find them.


    She barely had strength to rise and relieve herself in the privacy of the woods, barely managed afterward to stagger up the path with the mantle clutched around her torso and find her way to the remembered clearing that she had walked in so short, and so long, a time ago. Once, the burning stone had appeared here. The pallet of leaves and grass she had gathered days¡ªnay, months or years¡ªago was scarcely disturbed. She collapsed onto it, under the shelter of a holm oak, and plunged into sleep.


    Sanglant, riding on an unfamiliar horse. He is filthy and his expression is grim.


    Fire burned in her heart, and in its flames she glimpsed Hathui and Hanna, looking for her, seeking, calling ¡­ but she was too exhausted to rouse.


    Blessing shouts at a young man whose face seems familiar although Liath cannot name him, and he turns to face

 Page 17

    a landscape of burning sand. A lion with the torso and face of a woman rears above her, raking with its claws as the girl screams, only it is not herself she sees but a young woman as dark of complexion as she is. A silver-haired man leaps into the fray, thrusting a burning torch between sphinx and bleeding girl. As he spins, panting, he sees her and cries out


    ¡°Liathano! Where are you?¡± The centaur shaman walks on the shore of a shallow river that snakes away through grassland


    but the bright currents drag her away. She drowns, yet at the same time the aether feeds her as it feeds all that is elemental.


    She stirred at intervals, sometimes finding food and drink waiting for her although she barely recalled eating and drinking; the threads of aether nourish her; it is all the food she needs. Other times she woke hoping to see the stars, but the haze never lifted and it was ungodly warm.


    Thoughts emerged with unexpected clarity.


    I should have looked for him at nightfall with Eagle¡¯s Sight.


    Land displaces water of equal volume.


    Did all the Seven Sleepers die, or did some survive?


    If the thread that bound the Ashioi land to Earth is severed, then is the aetherical realm closed to us? Is the mage¡¯s ladder gone? Is my mother¡¯s home lost to me now? Where does the aether come from that is woven around the Earth? Is it constantly replenished or will it fade? Is there less of aether in the world now that the gateway is closed?


    At nightfall, with Eagle¡¯s Sight, Hathui seeks in the fire, but sees only fragments, glimpses of fractured sight shot through with flames and shadow.


    Sleep claimed her, and her thoughts, and what coiled in her heart and mind dissolved into dreams so finely spun that each filament frayed away into nothing, all a hazy white drift of ash spreading in all directions over pale dunes that had neither beginning nor end, only desolation.


    ¡°Will she die? She¡¯s been like this since I left. That was five days ago!¡±


    ¡°I think she will not die. She¡¯s not wasting away. The substance that knits together the universe feeds her. It is invisible to us because it exists beyond our five senses. Remember that she walked the spheres and crossed through the burning stone, and what else after that I do not know, but we can imagine it was no easy task. Now she is paying the price.¡±


    ¡°What if Cat Mask comes? He has gathered his warriors. He¡¯s made his peace with Lizard Mask, and they are making their plans, wondering when humankind will attack us.¡±


    ¡°Cat Mask does not scare me, White Feather. Return to Feather Cloak. I will come when I can.¡±


    ¡°Feather Cloak cannot delay the council any longer. If you do not walk back with me now, I will have to tell her you are not coming. The council will speak without your voice.¡±


    ¡°I will not leave her until she is strong enough to fend for herself.¡±


    ¡°Does no one look for her, Uncle? Has she no family?¡±


    ¡°She has her husband, but how can we know whether he lives or is dead? I have stood many mornings at the edge of the desolation to the north, beyond the White Road.¡±


    ¡°A wasteland worthy of He-Who-Burns! It is a terrible sight.¡±


    ¡°I do not know how far the destruction extends. I do not know who and what has survived or if they can even reach here, or will attempt it.¡±


    ¡°Then perhaps we will have less fighting to do! It would serve humankind very well if their sorcery hurt themselves worst of all in the end.¡±


    ¡°I am thinking we have all suffered, and will continue so. This weather makes me uneasy. We should see the sun.¡±


    ¡°Should we? Does the sun often shine? It was always like this before.¡±


    ¡°Because it was ¡®like this¡¯ when we journeyed in the aether, the land died. So will it now without rain and sun. These are not natural clouds. I remember what it was like when I was a young man. It was not like this. We saw both rain and sun.¡±


    ¡°All this I will tell Feather Cloak. But if you will not accompany me, Eldest Uncle, then you must not complain if Cat Mask¡¯s views are accepted by the others simply because he talks the loudest and puffs up his manly chest.¡±


    A chuckle. ¡°I trust you, White Feather, not to be dazzled by his words. Or his chest. Is there still no sign of my daughter?¡±


    ¡°A small sign. Scouting groups have walked the coastline and brought news of many strange things washed up on the shore. On the western coast about a day¡¯s walk from here, this green wing feather was found among the rocks. Do you recognize it?¡±


    ¡°Ah! Ah! Yes. It is the color of her eyes. This is surely the one I gave to her when she gained her woman¡¯s power. I cannot believe she would have discarded it so carelessly.¡±

 Page 18

    ¡°Uh,¡± said Liath, trying to rouse, but they did not hear her and she was so tired. How could anyone be so tired, all vitality drained from them?


    ¡°There were markings in the sand, too, but we could not interpret them. Something like this¡­.¡± A fine scritching eased her back into a dreamy haze. So soothing. So tired.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I would have to see it for myself. It looks like the track of a boat pulled up on shore.¡±


    ¡°What is a boat? Oh, yes. A wagon that carries you over water. Where might she find a boat?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps it washed up on shore¡­.¡±


    Water, like fire and air, is a veil through which distant sights can be glimpsed by those who do not fear to see. She dreamed.


    Sanglant and a ragged army toil through a blasted countryside. He pauses beside a half dozen men in stained and ragged clothing who are digging a grave. They wear the badge of Fesse, its proud red eagle sigil visible despite the dirt.


    ¡°One of Liutgard¡¯s men?¡± he asks as they bend knees and kneel on the parched ground.


    ¡°Our sergeant, Your Majesty,¡± says one. ¡°His wound went rotten, all black and with a nasty smell.¡±


    His aspect is so grave, as if the cataclysm blasted him as well, right down to his soul.


    ¡°Will we see our homes again, Your Majesty?¡±


    ¡°This poor man will not. But the army will reach Wendar, although I fear our dead men and horses mark our trail for any who seek to follow us.¡±


    ¡°It will be good to shake Aosta¡¯s dust from our feet! We came south over the high passes west of here, Your Majesty. How will we go home?¡±


    ¡°See!¡± He points toward a place she cannot see, not even in her dreams. ¡°There are the mountains. We¡¯re close enough that you can see them even through the haze. That notch, there, marks the valley that will lead us up to the Brinne Pass. Once we have crossed, we will be in the marchlands.¡±


    ¡°Your Majesty!¡± A man¡¯s urgent cry causes every soldier to stand nervously, awaiting a call to action against some as yet unseen foe. ¡°See there!¡± A young man appears on a restive mare, a bow slung over his back and his hand extended as he indicates the cloudy heavens to the northeast. ¡°The griffins!¡±


    Shouts break out everywhere, some frightened and some triumphant, welcoming their return. A yelping call rings down from the sky as if in reply. Horses scream, and Sanglant reins in his gelding with a press of his knees. His lips part as he stares upward at a sight she cannot see, and yet she can feel the gleam of their presence, woven through with magic down to the bone. They fly overhead and on, continuing southeast.


    ¡°Where are they going, Your Majesty?¡± asks the young archer as all heads turn, following the course of that flight.


    Sanglant shakes his head, eyes narrowed, and for an instant his shoulders slump, as though he has been defeated. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Will they return?¡±


    ¡°I do not possess foreknowledge, Lewenhardt.¡± Hearing his own words, thinking them, he smiles sharply and urges his mount forward on the path. ¡°Best be grateful they survived the blast. Best to wonder why they fly toward the heart of the cataclysm.¡±


    She spins upward on the wind and finds herself aloft, flying with griffin wings. Her sight is as sharp as an eagle¡¯s.


    Was she not an Eagle once? She learned the gift of sight and it inhabits her even in her dreams as she floats between dreaming and waking on the last fading swell of the aether as the aftershocks of the cataclysm rumble away into nothing. The breath of the heavens long spilled its respiration into the lower world through the thread that bound the exiled land to its root. Soon that road will be pinched closed.


    Will the magic of Earth fade, no longer fertilized by that rich vitality? Aether is an element like the other four, woven through the very fabric of the cosmos. Surely some breath of aether remains on Earth.


    Yet knowledge of the future is closed to her, because she is grounded here. It isn¡¯t even shadows seen beyond a translucent shroud; it is an impenetrable curtain. Only the elementals who breathe and respire in the pure aether can see forward and backward in time. Only God can know past, present, and future as if it is all one.


    Did her mother know what fate awaited her? Did she go willingly into that darkness, or did she fight it?


    Did she love my father anyway?


    I¡¯ll never know.


    The landscape skims past below, a blighted roll of dusty hills and tumbled forests. Now and again a village passes beneath her sight, roofs torn off, fences down, dead animals floating in briny pools. With each league as they move southeast the land¡¯s scars grow more noticeable. Trees are burned on one side, those that still stand. The ground is parched and bare. They have turned south and she smells the sea. Waves lap lazily against a battered shoreline. They pass over a ruined town whose stone walls have fallen into heaps. A cockroach scuttles along the stones. No. It is a person, small and fragile but somehow still alive. Then the town falls behind.

 Page 19

    So close to the sea nothing moves except the wind through what remains of vegetation. Out in the water she sees the smooth back of a mer-creature split the surface and slide beneath.


    Is it Gnat, or Mosquito?


    The griffin shrieks, and banks to the right in a wide circle. Below, marching along parallel to the shoreline, walk human figures. So many! Two thousand at least, or four or ten, impossible to count so many. It is a refugee host strung out in double or triple file and marching into the worst of the devastation. There are many children and old people among them. It seems there are more groups coming up from behind, all moving in the same direction.


    She wants to cry out. She wants to warn them: ¡°Turn back! This way lies ruin!¡± But she has no voice.


    And then she truly sees them.


    By face and feature they are Ashioi. Where have they come from? There were not so many children among the exiles as she sees in this company. The larger help the smaller. The warriors march in the van and at the rear to guard the helpless, who are also the most precious. They are well dressed in tunics and knee-length cloaks, their warriors in fine armor and brightly painted masks.


    The Ashioi she lived among, however briefly, were so poor that none had more than a rag or worn skin to cover themselves with, not even the warriors. That¡¯s why she sleeps beneath a covering woven of reeds. Eldest Uncle doesn¡¯t even have a spare tunic to gift her so that she might not sleep, or wake, naked. All the animals died in exile, and toward the end even the fields of flax withered.


    These are not the same people. Yet who else can they be?


    Ahead, the ground raises up to mark the blast zone. To the northeast the earth steams, but along the shoreline the way remains barely passable because the sea has cooled the fire out of the depths. The earth lies quiet. The Old Ones have withdrawn their power. All that is left is the wasteland. On the strand a boat lies beached. A single figure rushes, shouting, to greet the refugees.


    Her sight tunnels. She fixes on her prey, and recognizes her: Sanglant¡¯s mother, who is also Eldest Uncle¡¯s only daughter. Kansi-a-lari runs forward, then stops short, staring at the man who leads the rest. Her mouth drops open. She exclaims aloud, and he laughs, mocking her.


    ¡°So you are the one!¡± he says. ¡°I met your son. But I did not believe him. Greetings, Daughter.¡±


    ¡°Daughter?¡± Her fierce expression clouds and her brows pinch together with confusion as she stares at the prince, who is certainly younger than she is. ¡°Why do you call me¡ª¡±


    ¡°Look! Look up there!¡± Behind him, a warrior wearing a fox mask lifts her bow, draws it deep, and looses an arrow.


    ¡°Hai!¡± cried Liath, jerking upright, torn right out of sleep and startling Eldest Uncle, who sat, as usual, bending and plaiting supple willow into a large basket.


    ¡°Ai, God!¡± she said a moment later in frustration, pulling the mantle around her as Eldest Uncle chuckled. ¡°Is there nothing I can clothe myself with?¡±


    ¡°Indeed, Daughter, the women have concerned themselves mightily to please your modesty. See here.¡±


    Out of a second basket he lifted a folded square of cloth as though it were more precious than gold. ¡°In the vaults beneath the council chamber the last treasure has been removed, oil and grain stored against the final drought, bronze tools, cloth, and the scrolls sacred to He-Who-Burns.¡±


    The cloth was undyed although a trifle yellowed with age, and finely woven out of a thread whose softness she did not recognize. When she unfolded it, she discovered a sleeveless tunic that reached to her knees. She quickly slipped it on. It was shapeless, two rectangular blocks of cloth sewn together along the sides and shoulders, but functional enough to give her the confidence to test her legs. She tied the mantle on over it, then walked to the river to drink her fill. Berries ripened in dribs and drabs along the banks, and she ate until her fingers were stained purple although the berries tasted tart.


    ¡°I¡¯m so hungry! Ugh! I¡¯ll give myself a stomachache with this.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re feeling better,¡± said Eldest Uncle, who had followed her. She saw no sign of Falcon Mask and Buzzard Mask.


    ¡°Stronger, too. I dreamed ¡­¡±


    A horn¡¯s call sounded to the north.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t a dream! Come quickly!¡±


    While she slept, they had fixed a rope bridge over the rushing stream, three thick ropes strung taut between trees, with one for the feet and two above to hold on to. She got the hang of it quickly, balancing as she crossed with her bow slung over her back and Eldest Uncle behind her. The flower trail had bloomed in sickly patches of color, covered by a skin of ashy gray dust that coated leaves and stones. She shaded her eyes, then lowered her hand.

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    ¡°There¡¯s no sun,¡± said Eldest Uncle. ¡°I remember sun from my youth, but we¡¯ve seen the sun no more than two or three times while you slept and then only for a brief span.¡±


    ¡°How long did I sleep?¡± They walked into the shade of the pine forest. Fallen needles squished under her feet. Before, everything had been so brittle. Now it seemed spongy.


    ¡°Ten nights. Eleven, perhaps. I lost count. The days are hazy, and the council argues.¡±


    ¡°Look.¡± She pointed to the watchtower. Falcon Mask perched on the uppermost wall, peering west.


    Buzzard Mask saw them and came running. ¡°Who are they?¡±


    ¡°Who are who?¡± Eldest Uncle replied.


    Buzzard Mask had a youth¡¯s voice, not quite sure that it had broken. ¡°There¡¯s an army coming along the White Road! They¡¯re not dressed like us, but many wear warrior masks.¡±


    Liath ran to the watchtower and clambered up beside Falcon Mask. The young woman looked at her, surprised, then grinned and sidled to one side to make room. Young and bold, she did not fear heights, but for Liath it was dizzy-making to crouch up here with sheer wall and steep hillside plunging away below. Yet that giddy feeling was no worse than the sight of the desolation she had wrought, off to the north, the wasteland that was the aftermath of the eruption that had killed Anne and her people, most of them guilty of no greater crime than loyalty. What manner of man would refuse the summons of the skopos, after all? Yet Anne had not cared for their virtues, or their sins; they were pawns, nothing more, and pawns are sacrificed.


    On the road, the lead group came into view beyond a straggle of trees, then was lost again behind foliage. Eldest Uncle spoke a word and crumpled to his knees. He would have fallen if Buzzard Mask hadn¡¯t leaped to his side to support him.


    ¡°What is it, Uncle? What ails you?¡±


    ¡°I am struck,¡± he said to the youth. ¡°I am hit.¡±


    ¡°Get their attention,¡± said Liath to Falcon Mask.


    ¡°There are so many! And more behind them! I¡¯ve never seen so many people!¡± The young woman wavered. She was unsure, reluctant. ¡°Is it safe?¡±


    ¡°They are your own people.¡± She scrambled back down and knelt beside Eldest Uncle, who seemed too weak to rise. ¡°Is it your heart?¡± she demanded, terrified that he would die right then.


    ¡°It is my heart.¡± He wept silent tears as the procession reappeared on the White Road below them. It was strange to watch with the steep hillside and ragged forest on one side of the chalky ribbon of road and on the other the scarred, barren earth stretching north as far as she could see. These refugees were caught between two worlds, it seemed, as they had been for centuries.


    She walked down the slope to meet them. Her hair was all tangles, and sweat and grit slimed her body.


    I should have stopped to bathe.


    Stepping onto the White Road, she faced their approach. The line of marchers wound away beyond a curve in the path, hidden behind trees and a distant ridgeline. They were the same people she had seen in her dream. The man leading them wore a crested helmet unlike the animal masks worn by the other warriors. He had a proud, handsome face, terribly familiar in a way she did not understand. As they neared and saw she did not mean to move, he raised a hand and halted and the others slowed to a halt behind him. He looked Liath up and down while a fox-masked woman beside him glared, but it was Sanglant¡¯s mother, in the front, who spoke first.


    ¡°Liathano! Where is my father?¡±


    Liath gestured.


    ¡°This one?¡± asked the handsome man. ¡°This is your son¡¯s mate whom you spoke of?¡±


    His gaze followed her gesture, and he looked toward the old man being helped down the steep slope by young Buzzard Mask. A cool wind out of the north rustled leaves. Out in the wasteland, dust funneled heavenward until, all at once, the wind¡¯s hand dropped it and a thousand million particles pattered to bare rock.


    ¡°Lost to me,¡± he breathed. His spear clattered to the ground unheeded beside him, and he leaped forward like a hart and dashed up the hill, not many steps, after all. They were so close; they saw each other clearly. Liath ran after him, but when he stopped two paces from Eldest Uncle she stopped, too.


    She stared, seeing it for the first time and understanding why the young man looked familiar. The daimones of the upper air can see forward and backward in time because time has no hold on them; they live above the middle world where time¡¯s yoke subjugates all living creatures. She had a moment¡¯s dislocation. For a moment, she saw as did her kinfolk: youth and age, what had been and what would become.

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    Eldest Uncle and the young warrior were the same man, but one was old and one was young.


    Eldest Uncle covered his eyes and trembled. The other shook his head like a madman.


    ¡°Brother!¡±


    ¡°How can this be?¡±


    It was only a whisper. Two whispers. She did not know which one spoke. Buzzard Mask released his hold on the old man, and the young one took a step toward the old one and as of one thought they embraced, holding tight, two creatures who in their hearts are one.


    ¡°Do you understand it yet?¡± asked Sanglant¡¯s mother. As she came up beside Liath, she indicated the men with a lift of her chin. She laughed, but not kindly, sensing Liath¡¯s bewilderment.


    ¡°Why do you dislike me so much?¡± Liath asked her.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I just do.¡±


    ¡°How can you dislike someone you don¡¯t know?¡±


    ¡°I had to listen to my son talk on and on about you in the days we were together¡ªyou, and battle. Those are the only two things he¡¯s ever thought deeply about, if a man can be said to think deeply where his cock is concerned.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t like your own son?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not what I wanted.¡±


    Liath smiled sharply, wishing she could intimidate others with clever words and the stiffening of her shoulders, as Sanglant could. ¡°He¡¯s what he is, no more and no less than that. If you don¡¯t like it, you missed your chance to make him something else, didn¡¯t you? He is Henry¡¯s son, not yours.¡±


    ¡°Born of humankind,¡± said Kansi with a sneer.


    ¡°Look!¡± cried Falcon Mask from the wall. She had braced herself with one hand on the highest course of stone as she rose, balancing precariously with drops before and behind. She pointed at the heavens.


    The two men released each other, stepping back from the embrace to stare as one at the cloudy sky. How strange it was to see a man both old and young, the same man, as if time had split him into two parts and in its circular discursion finally caught up with itself. There was a wink of light against the clouds as quickly gone.


    ¡°We saw two griffins,¡± said the young man. ¡°But our arrows scared them off.¡±


    Hope leaped in Liath¡¯s heart, but she said nothing.


    Eldest Uncle rested a hand on the other one¡¯s shoulder, taking strength there, and gazed at the procession waiting on the White Road. ¡°Who are these? Where have you all come from?¡±


    ¡°We were caught between the worlds in ancient days. Now you have returned, and we are released from the shadows.¡±


    ¡°There are more of you?¡±


    ¡°I was with one group, but we met up with many others. There are more, still, coming this way.¡±


    ¡°All those sent to the frontier before the end,¡± said Eldest Uncle.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± asked Sanglant¡¯s mother and Buzzard Mask at the same time.


    ¡°I must sit down,¡± he said apologetically, but it was the young one who helped him up to the tower most solicitously, who sat beside him, staring intently at his face as though to memorize every wrinkle and crease.


    ¡°I never thought to see you again,¡± said the young one. ¡°I thought you were lost to me.¡±


    ¡°I, too. I despaired, but then I lived.¡± They had an easy way of touching, a hand placed carelessly on the other¡¯s knee or shoulder. It was as though there was a misunderstanding between them and they had forgotten that normally there is an infinitesimal space between one body and the next, that which separates each solitary soul from another.


    ¡°You are old.¡±


    ¡°I am eldest.¡±


    ¡°Not bad looking, for an old man! Not like that warty, flabby old priest of a Serpent Skirt.¡±


    They laughed together, almost giggling, suddenly younger than their years, boys again. Brothers. Twins.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you see what this means?¡± demanded Sanglant¡¯s mother with fists on hips, looking disgusted as she watched them slap each other¡¯s arms. ¡°More will come from the north! Cat Mask¡¯s army will grow. We need not fear our enemies any longer, not with such a force.¡±


    ¡°Cat Mask¡¯s army?¡± asked the young one, turning away from his brother. ¡°Who is Cat Mask? What has he to do with me?¡±


    ¡°Hsst! She-Who-Creates has much to answer for! Will you strut and preen like the rest of the young men and fight for command like so many pissing dogs?¡±


    His eyes narrowed. ¡°You are my daughter by blood. My niece. Do not speak so to your elders, young one!¡±


    ¡°You are younger than I am! I have a grown son! I can speak any way I please!¡±

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    ¡°Evidently your daughter more than mine, Zuangua,¡± said Eldest Uncle with a wheezy laugh. ¡°Quick to temper, slow to wisdom. Both impatient. So I named her, remembering you.¡±


    Instead of answering, Zuangua rose and stared north, a gaze that swept the horizon. Now Liath saw the resemblance to his twin brother, to his niece, and to Sanglant. The lineaments of his face had the same curve and structure. She felt the warmth of a mild, woken desire, seeing him as an attractive man. Until he looked straight at her. His expression shifted, the tightening of lips, the merest wrinkling of the nose, but she felt his scorn, she knew that he recognized her interest and rejected it. Rejected her.


    His sneer scalded. She wasn¡¯t used to indifference from men. She hadn¡¯t desired or sought their interest, truly, but she had become used to it. Even King Henry, the most powerful man she had ever met, had succumbed.


    So I am repaid for my vanity, she thought, and was cheered enough to smile coldly back at him.


    He turned away to address his brother. ¡°We will return, all of us who were caught beyond the White Road when the spell was woven. We who were once shadows are made flesh again. We want revenge for what we suffered. We will return day by day, more coming each day until we are like the floodwaters rising. Once we are all come home, we will make an army and destroy humankind. Our old enemy.¡±


    ¡°We are stronger than I thought!¡± murmured his niece. ¡°Already more have joined the march than survived in exile!¡±


    ¡°It is not the right path,¡± said Eldest Uncle.


    ¡°So you have always claimed, but see what they did to us.¡± Zuangua gestured toward the barren wilderness. ¡°This is what humankind made¡ªa wasteland. You are old. Our people are diminished. Kansi said so herself, and if these rags are the best you have to wear, then I see it is true. The humans are many, but they are weak and the cataclysm has hurt them.¡± He touched the stained cloth that bound his shoulder. ¡°Their king gave this wound to me, but I killed him. He is dead and your grandson risen in his place.¡±


    Risen in his place.


    Liath took a step back. The others did not notice, too intent on Zuangua¡¯s speech.


    ¡°He seeks an alliance. We did act in concert when his need was great, but now we must consider him a danger. We cannot trust humankind.¡±


    ¡°We trusted them in the old days.¡±


    ¡°A few. The others always fought us, and will do so again. They will never trust us.¡±


    ¡°They won¡¯t,¡± said Kansi. ¡°They hate us. They fear us.¡±


    ¡°Do you speak such words even of your son?¡± Eldest Uncle asked.


    ¡°His heart lies with his father. I do not know him.¡±


    ¡°None of us know him. Better to learn what we can, scout the ground, before we act precipitously.¡±


    ¡°Better to act before we are dead!¡± retorted Zuangua. ¡°So your daughter has advised me.¡±


    ¡°So.¡± Eldest Uncle sighed and shut his eyes a moment. ¡°The first arrow has pierced deepest. You will believe her, despite what anyone else has to say.¡±


    Liath had backed up four steps by now, one slow sweep at a time so as not to attract attention.


    ¡°Look!¡± cried Falcon Mask from up on the wall. ¡°Is that an eagle?¡±


    On the White Road, a hundred warriors raised their bows and each nocked an arrow.


    ¡°Let her go.¡± Eldest Uncle caught Liath¡¯s gaze and lifted his chin in a gesture uncannily like that of his daughter. The message was unspoken: Now!


    She bolted. Kansi leaped after her and got hold of the mantle¡¯s hem, but as Liath strained and Kansi tugged, Eldest Uncle shut his eyes and muttered words beneath his breath. The binding cord fell away and the mantle slipped off her shoulders into the Impatient One¡¯s clutching grip. Kansi stumbled as the tension was released. Liath ran.


    ¡°She is most dangerous of all¡ª¡± cried Kansi.


    Other voices called after her.


    ¡°That scrawny, filthy creature is a danger to us?¡±


    ¡°Not only a sorcerer, but ¡­ walked the spheres¡ª¡±


    ¡°Let her go, Zuangua! I ask this of you, by the bond we shared in our mother¡¯s womb.¡±


    She stumbled over the White Road and tripped and banged her shin as she slipped over bare ground covered with ash and loose stone. The ground seemed to undulate of its own accord under her feet. Sharp edges sliced through her soles. Where her blood spattered on rock, it hissed, and the surface skin of rock gave way, cracking and steaming, as she leaped for a flat boulder whose surface remained solid. She smelled the sting of sorcery, a spell trying to slow and trap her: Ashioi magic, that manipulated the heart of things.

 Page 23

    Liath sought her wings of flame, but the Earth bound her. She was trapped by the flesh she had inherited from her father.


    ¡°Hai! Hai!¡± shouted Zuangua far behind. ¡°At will, archers! Do not let her escape!¡±


    She had to turn back to face the attack. A score of arrows went up in flame, in a sheet that caught the next volley. But they would shoot again, and again. Arrows had felled her before. She had only one defense against arrow fire and she could not use it, not even to save her own life. Not again.


    She would rather die than see another person melt from the inside out.


    ¡°I¡¯ll trap her!¡± cried Kansi. ¡°The rock will eat her!¡±


    A third volley vaulted into the air toward her and erupted into sparks and a shower of dark ash as she called fire into the shafts. The rock beneath her splintered with a resounding snap. The ground cracked open, and she fell.


    The gust of wings and a sultry heat swept over her, and the golden griffin swooped down and took her shoulders in its claws. With a jerk they lurched up, then down so she scraped her knees on rock, then up again, into the air. But not out of range.


    More warriors had pressed forward on the road, spreading out at Zuangua¡¯s order to get a better shot. The griffin could not gain height easily. Liath was too heavy. But the beasts, too, were tacticians.


    Shouts and screams erupted down the line of waiting Ashioi as the silver male skimmed low over the line of march from behind. That disruption was all it took for them to get out of range and the silver to bank high and head inland.


    Held in the griffin¡¯s claws, knowing her weight was a burden, Liath dared not twist in the hope of seeing Eldest Uncle one last time. Her throat was dry and her heart ached. She feared that she would never see him again. What right had his brother and daughter to judge Sanglant out of their own anger at their ancient enemies and thus separate the old man from his only grandchild? Every right, they would say. But it made her angry that Eldest Uncle might never know his grandson or kiss the brow of his great grandchild, if Blessing still lived.


    Nay, she knew it in her heart. She had seen true visions. Blessing had survived the cataclysm, just as Sanglant had.


    ¡°We will find her,¡± she swore.


    The pain of the griffin¡¯s grip tightening on her shoulders forced tears to her eyes, hot from pain, from anger, and from grief as they flew low over the wasteland and she saw it in all its hideous glory. A blasted wilderness of ash and stone and a skin of still smoking molten rock, cooling and hardening as the days passed. The channel deep into the earth was closed; the Old Ones had seen to that. But the devastation spread for leagues in all directions, and when at last she saw trees again, places where they hadn¡¯t been incinerated, they were blown down all in the same direction. Many trunks still stood, scorched on one side. As they rested and flew and rested and flew, the worst of the destruction eased and she saw vegetation growing again but never sun and rarely rain. Now and again lightning flared to the north. Once, she saw a ragged man herding a trio of sheep along a dusty path; amazingly, he did not look up when the griffin called, as if he had at last decided it was better not to know.


    It¡¯s never better not to know.


    The pain in her shoulders was bad, but enduring that pain brought her closer to her goal. What if she never knew what had happened to the others? If the griffins could not find Sanglant? If they never got Blessing back? Months, or at least weeks, had passed since she and Sorgatani and Lady Bertha and their retinue had stumbled into Anne¡¯s ambush. She might never know whether her faithful companions had survived the storm. Hanna might be dead, and poor Ivar lost forever in the wilderness that is distance, time, and the events that drag us forward on an unwanted path. She had so few that she counted as some manner of kin or companion that she wept to think of losing any, and yet surely she had lost them years ago, the day she crossed through the burning stone and ascended the mage¡¯s ladder. Sanglant was right: she had abandoned them.


    I had no choice.


    It was getting dark. She was as ready for a rest from the vista of desolation as the griffin was ready for a respite from the burden of bearing her. The landing in a broad clearing was a tumble, and she skinned one knee but didn¡¯t break anything. A stream¡¯s water, mercifully clear, slaked her thirst, but there was nothing to eat among the withered plants. God, she was so hungry! She was so cold, and her shoulders ached so badly. A claw had torn her skin above her right breast. Blood leaked through the tunic, and it hurt to move her arms to gather grass to press the wound dry.


    For a while, as it got dark, she sat with eyes closed and tried to breathe away the pain. The female crouched protectively over her, letting her curl into the shelter of that soft throat and away from the cutting wing feathers, for she had not even a mantle to cover herself with. She dozed, although she had meant to gather sticks for a fire. The griffin huffed and wheezed all night, and Liath slept erratically, waking at intervals to glance at the heavens, but she never saw stars. It was very cold, but the griffin, like her, had fire woven into its being, and that kept her alive, just as the pigs had once kept her alive.

 Page 24

    She smiled sleepily, remembering the pigs: Hib, Nib, Jib, Bib, Gib, Rib, Tib, and the sow, Trotter. Silly names. It seemed so long ago. She conjured Hugh in her mind, but he did not frighten her. All that fear and pain was part of her now, woven into her bones and heart in the same manner as her mother¡¯s substance. It did not make her less than she was. The streaming waters cut a channel in the earth that humankind named a river, and each winter and flooding spring that channel might shift and alter, but the river remained itself.


    She dreamed.


    The aether had once been like a river, pouring from the heavens into Earth along that deep channel linking Earth to Ashioi country adrift in the heavens. But now that channel lies breached, buried, and broken, and the aether flows instead as a thousand rivulets, spreading everywhere, penetrating all things but as the barest trickle.


    She walks along a stream of silver that flows through the grasslands, but there is no one waiting for her, only the remains of the Horse people¡¯s battered camp and a few hastily dug graves.


    Morning came with no sunrise, a lightening so diffuse that it wasn¡¯t clear it came from the east at all. It was quiet, not a breath of wind. A branch snapped, the sound so loud she scrambled to her feet just as the silver male called a challenge. A half dozen men appeared at the other side of the clearing, carrying staves and spears. They had the disreputable and desperate appearance of bandits. They stared at her for a long time, measuring what she offered and what danger she posed. She held her bow tight, but she had no arrows. Her quiver had burned away like all the rest, even her good friend, Lucian¡¯s sword.


    At last, one stepped forward from the rest and placed his weapon on the ground. He spoke in a dialect of Dariyan, the local speech. She could follow the gist of it. ¡°Are you angel or demon? Whence are you come?¡±


    ¡°I am as you see me,¡± she answered boldly. ¡°No more, and no less.¡±


    ¡°Has God sent you? Can you help us?¡±


    ¡°What manner of help do you need?¡± They were desperate, certainly, but as she studied their callused hands and seamed, anxious faces, she realized they were farmers.


    ¡°We have lost our village,¡± said the spokesman. ¡°Our houses torn down by the wind. A lord with soldiers came by then, three days past. He took what stores we held by us. Now we have nothing to eat. We could not fight. They had weapons.¡±


    The spears were only sharpened sticks, and the staves were branches scavenged out of the forest. One had a shovel. Another carried a scythe.


    ¡°Be strong,¡± she called, knowing how foolish the words sounded, but she had nothing to give them.


    ¡°Whuff!¡± coughed the female, rising, and the men scattered into the trees.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± Better the pain in her shoulders than the knife of helplessness held to her throat. Whose army had stolen their grain? She hoped it was not Sanglant¡¯s.


    It took the griffin two tries to get enough lift to get up over the trees, and if the clearing hadn¡¯t been so broad they wouldn¡¯t have accomplished it at all. They made less distance this day but still far more than she could have walked. As the afternoon waned, more a change in the composition of the light than anything, they came to earth on a wide hillside better suited for the griffin¡¯s size. The silver male had fallen behind and at length appeared with a deer in his claws.


    She had nothing to cut with and so waited until she could pick up the scraps left by their ripping and tearing. She gathered twigs and fallen branches and stones and dug a fire pit with her hands as well as she could. To call fire into dry kindling took only a moment¡¯s concentration: seek fire deep within the parched sticks and¡ªthere!¡ªflames licked up from the inner pile, neatly stacked in squares to give the fire air to feed on. The scraps of meat cooked quickly skewered on a stick, and she ate with juice dribbling down her chin.


    The griffins settled away from the fire, too nervous to doze. She licked her fingers and studied the darkening sky. The cloud cover made it difficult to gauge sunset.


    Sanglant. Blessing. Hanna. Sorgatani. Hathui. Ivar. Heribert. Li¡¯at¡¯dano. Even Hugh. She sought them in the fire with her Eagle¡¯s Sight, but all she saw was a crackling blur of flames and shadow.


    IV


    TALES TO SCARE CHILDREN


    1


    ¡°REFUGEES,¡± said Fulk as he reined in beside Sanglant where the regnant rode in the vanguard of the army.


    They had begun the climb into the foothills through dreary weather with scarcely a drop of rain and not a single glimpse of the sun. They had lost a hundred horses in the last ten days and still had the crossing over the mountains ahead of them with winter coming on. It had, at least, been unusually warm, but in the past two days the bite of winter had strengthened.

 Page 25

    Fulk indicated a trail that led off the road into a hollow where some twoscore desperate travelers had taken shelter under wagons and canvas lean-tos against evening¡¯s approaching dark.


    ¡°I know this place,¡± said Sanglant. ¡°This is where we found those men with their throats cut, after the galla attacked us.¡±


    ¡°Indeed, Your Majesty. I see no sign of the massacre now. It¡¯s a good camping spot. Do we stop here for the night? These folk may ask for food and water and we haven¡¯t any to spare.¡±


    ¡°The Aostan lords are shortsighted,¡± remarked Sanglant. ¡°Every village we passed has already been looted. If there is no one to till the fields because the farmers have all died of starvation, if there is no seed grain, they will not be able to feed their war bands. So be it. We¡¯ll camp here.¡±


    Sanglant urged Fest forward and with Fulk, Hathui, and a dozen of his personal guard at his back he rode into the hollow. He feared no violence. They could not kill him, and in any case it was obvious that these ragged fugitives posed no danger to an armed man. They hadn¡¯t even posted a sentry, only thrown themselves to the ground in exhaustion.


    Hearing horses and the noise of men¡¯s voices, the refugees staggered up, huddling in groups of two and three.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± he asked.


    When they heard him speak, half fell to their knees and the rest wept.


    ¡°Is it possible?¡± asked one middle-aged man, creeping forward on his knees with arms outstretched in the manner of a supplicant. ¡°You speak Wendish.¡±


    ¡°We are Wendish,¡± he began, but a woman in cleric¡¯s robes hissed sharply and tugged on the first man¡¯s sleeve.


    ¡°It is Prince Sanglant, Vindicadus. Look! There is the banner of Fesse!¡±


    ¡°Who are you?¡± he asked again, not dismounting.


    The one called Vindicadus rose as others urged him forward. It was a strange group, only adults in their prime and youths. There was one suckling infant in arms, no young children, and no elderly. Under the dirt they were sturdily and even well clothed, and several by their robes he identified as clerics.


    ¡°We are Wendish folk, my lord. We are those from King Henry¡¯s progress who were left behind in Darre because we belong to the households of clerics and presbyters.¡±


    ¡°Why are you here now?¡±


    In their silence, their hesitation, their indrawn breaths, he heard an answer. Some looked away. Some sobbed. A pair of servants clung to the sides of a hand-cart on which a man lay curled, hands in fists, eyes shut. He was dressed in the torn and stained robes of a presbyter. There was blood in his hair, long dried to a stiff coppery coating.


    ¡°They attacked us, my lord,¡± said the one called Vindicadus at last. ¡°Because we were Wendish. They said we had angered God by our presumption. They said we had caused the storm of God¡¯s punishment. We are all that remains of those of Wendish birth and breeding who served in the palaces in Darre. Our companions were slaughtered that day, or died on the way. I pray you, my lord, do not abandon us.¡±


    ¡°Who attacked you?¡±


    ¡°Everyone, my lord.¡± He wept. ¡°The Aostans. The people of Darre. The city took terrible damage in the winds and the tremors that followed. Fissures belch gas out of the earth. Toward the coast, fire and rock blasted up from the Abyss and destroyed everything it touched. At least three mountains spew fire all along the western coast. It is the end of the world, my lord. What else can it be?¡±


    ¡°True words,¡± murmured Hathui.


    ¡°Will you help us, my lord? We are unknown to you, but many of us served in King Henry¡¯s schola.¡±


    ¡°You are dressed in frater¡¯s garb. Are you such a one?¡±


    ¡°Nay, my lord. I am a lowly servingman from Austra, once bound to the service of Margrave Judith but later coming into the service of her magnanimous son, Presbyter Hugh.¡±


    Sanglant felt a kick up inside his ribs. Hathui looked at him sharply, as though he had given something away, and maybe he had. She knew Liath¡¯s history as well as he did. ¡°You served Lord Hugh?¡±


    ¡°I did, my lord. Of his schola and retinue, six remain. The others are dead¡ª¡± He choked on the word and for the space of five breaths could not go on. Sanglant waited, hearing the army toiling up the road just beyond the low ridge that separated the hollow from the main path. ¡°They are dead.¡± He was not an old man but he had seen better days; grief made him fragile. ¡°The rest went north months ago with the presbyter.¡±


    ¡°Hugh went north? When was this?¡±


    ¡°Months ago, my lord. In the month of ¡­ aye, let me see. It seems years ago. I don¡¯t recall now. It was late summer. Yes, that¡¯s right.¡±

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    ¡°Wise of him to avoid the disaster,¡± muttered Sanglant.


    ¡°He might be dead, Your Majesty,¡± said Hathui.


    ¡°So we can wish, but I must assume the worst.¡± He glanced at her while the refugees waited. She raised an eyebrow, a gesture so slight that it shouldn¡¯t have hit him so hard. ¡°Not just because of Liath! He is the one who seduced Adelheid to trust him. The one who ensorcelled my father. He is ambitious, and he has reached the end of his rope.¡±


    ¡°Queen Adelheid was not a fool. She was ambitious in her own right. It might be she who seduced Hugh to dream of power beyond what he had otherwise hoped for.¡±


    He snorted. ¡°Do you think so, Hathui?¡±


    ¡°Nay. Only that they found a ready ally, each in the other.¡±


    ¡°Did he bed her?¡±


    ¡°I believe she was faithful to your father. She admired and respected Henry.¡±


    ¡°I am glad to hear it. Although surely, if that is true, it makes her actions harder to understand.¡±


    ¡°They have two children, Your Majesty. What mother does not seek advancement for her beloved children? Presbyter Hugh achieved his high position because of his mother¡¯s devoted affection.¡±


    ¡°True enough. Margrave Judith was no fool except in her love for him.¡±


    One of the clerics limped out of the crowd and whispered into Vindicadus¡¯ ear, then shoved him, pressuring him forward.


    ¡°My lord. I beg you. What news of the king? I know¡ªwe knew¡ªyou rebelled against him.¡±


    ¡°My father is dead.¡±


    They cried out loud at that. He heard their whispers: Murderer. Patricide.


    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± said Fulk in loud voice. ¡°Here comes Duchess Liutgard.¡±


    Her mount picked its way down the slope. Her banner bearer rode to her left and her favored steward to her right. She gasped when she saw the refugees. Her face grew even whiter. Seven of them ran forward and flung themselves into the dirt before her, careful of the hooves of her horse, but she dismounted and tossed the reins to her steward before walking in amongst them and taking their hands, calling them by name.


    ¡°How has this happened? Why are you here?¡± she demanded.


    They spoke all at once, words tumbling each over those of the others. ¡°¡­ blast of wind ¡­ rumblings, then a terrible quake ¡­ fire in the sky ¡­ glowing rock, flowing everywhere.


    ¡°Riots. A storming of the palace. Flight through the ruined streets.


    ¡°All is chaos, my lady,¡± wept the eldest, who was not more than forty. ¡°I am called Elsebet, a cleric in Emperor Henry¡¯s schola. We lost half of our number in the first day, and half again as many in our trek here. We dared not attempt the Julier Pass. This one, Brother Vindicadus, was once in the service of Presbyter Hugh and before him Margrave Judith. He knew of an eastern pass that was little traveled. You see what remains of the king¡¯s schola. We lost so many. Is it true? Is it true the regnant¡ªthe emperor¡ªis dead?¡±


    ¡°Henry is dead,¡± said Liutgard as she looked at Sanglant. ¡°That we are any of us living now is due to my cousin, Sanglant. Henry named him as heir as he was dying. It was¡ª¡± Her voice broke, but she went on. ¡°It was the wish of his heart to see Prince Sanglant become regnant after him. Henry was not himself at the end, not for the last two or three years. He was ensorcelled by his queen and by Presbyter Hugh. It was Sanglant who freed him from their net. Hear me!¡± Her voice rang out above the murmurs. ¡°It is true. I swear it on my mother¡¯s and father¡¯s graves. I swear it by the Hand of the Lord and Lady. Sanglant is regnant now over Wendar and Varre. He is the one we follow. He is leading us home.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll set up camp here for the night,¡± said Sanglant quietly to Fulk. ¡°We must make room for these.¡±


    ¡°We haven¡¯t enough to feed them, Your Majesty.¡±


    ¡°We cannot abandon them. They are our countryfolk. If I cannot save them, then who will?¡±


    Fulk nodded, and left to give the orders.


    They settled down to camp in marching order as dusk crept over them. Every man and woman slept fully clothed and with weapons beside him, although many put off their mail. The horses were rubbed down, watered, and fed; it was their good luck to find an unpolluted stream close by. With Lewenhardt, Surly, and a limping Sibold in attendance, Sanglant walked down through the line of march, pausing to speak to many of the soldiers, and fetched up at last with the rear guard.


    The centaurs, led by Capi¡¯ra, had volunteered for this onerous task, and he supposed the sight of them alone might have deterred many a rash attack from behind.

 Page 27

    ¡°Anything?¡± he asked her after their greeting.


    ¡°The same as every day. We see signs of men following on our tracks, but they fade away. Fewer today. There are fewer folk living here, and if they would not attack us when they have greater numbers, then they will fear to attack us when they are only a handful.¡±


    He nodded. It was almost dark. Night came early now, not just because of the time of year. Even during the day the clouds obscured the sun. His skin ached for light. Everyone felt its lack.


    ¡°It is strange to walk among you,¡± said Capi¡¯ra after a silence. ¡°Your kind are so reckless. I will be glad to return to my homeland.¡± She snorted, a horsey sort of chuckle. ¡°No offense meant to you, Sanglant. We are not easy here. The land looks wrong. It smells funny. The winds aren¡¯t the ones we know.¡±


    ¡°Look!¡± he said, squinting. ¡°I thought I saw a flash.¡±


    ¡°Lightning?¡±


    He beckoned. ¡°Lewenhardt. Come forward. Do you see it?¡±


    The archer rode forward and stared south into the dark sky. He began to shake his head, then stiffened. ¡°Could it be?¡± he whispered, then shouted aloud. ¡°The griffins! It is the griffins, Your Majesty!¡±


    Sanglant rode forward past the rearmost line, head bent back to stare heavenward as the news was called down the line of march so men could control their horses. Dogs barked.


    Lewenhardt came up beside him. ¡°They¡¯re flying low. One has something ¡­ something in its grip ¡­ a deer, perhaps? If they¡¯ve been hunting¡­.?¡±


    ¡°Ai, God,¡± breathed Sanglant.


    Such a bolt of adrenaline slammed through him that he thought he would go blind. He slipped getting off Fest and stumbled running forward downslope as the griffins dipped low and lower still, Domina weighed down by the burden she carried. The precious burden brought all this way to him, the one who had decreed that they must move on and leave her, unsought and unfound, behind.


    I am no better than she was. I did what I thought was necessary.


    Domina stooped that last short drop and when Liath was a man¡¯s height from the ground the griffin released her and she tumbled, hitting hard. He fell to his knees beside her, wondering if she was alive or dead, but he knew she was living and not just because she laughed and cried and embraced him so tightly with her head pressed against his shoulder that when she pulled away he could see the impress of his mail on her cheek.


    He was struck dumb.


    ¡°The Lord and Lady have blessed us,¡± she said, wincing as she used him as a support to clamber to her feet. ¡°The griffins found you.¡±


    He was paralyzed, still on his knees as she gritted her teeth and tested her shoulders, shrugged them up and down, drawing circles with her arms. Blood stained the pale cloth of her sleeveless shift, but any fool could see she wasn¡¯t badly hurt, only tired, thin, dirty, and very sore.


    She stared at him, seeking into his heart. At last, she kissed him on the lips. She tasted salty, and a whiff of something like brimstone trailed off her body. He shut his eyes, savoring her touch, needing only to let all the flavors of triumph and horror and joy mix within him.


    In time he found himself, his words, his strength.


    ¡°With you,¡± he murmured, ¡°anything.¡±


    He rose, holding her close although it was clear she was not going to fall.


    ¡°Is it true you are regnant now?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I am. How could you know?¡±


    ¡°I met Zuangua.¡±


    ¡°Ah. What of your companions, the ones who departed with you through the crown?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I lost them months ago.¡± She shuddered. ¡°It was a terrible thing, Sanglant. Terrible. Anne is dead.¡±


    Said in such a voice, raw with grief. He had no need to question. Anne was dead. Liath had done what needed doing, although the cost had been high. He felt a wild laugh rise, and swallowed his fear and sorrow and anger, because they had not yet come close to knowing the full weight of the storm or how far it had spread its wings.


    ¡°You¡¯ll tell me what I need to know,¡± he said. ¡°Come. I can get you a bit of food at least. You¡¯re too thin, my love.¡±


    ¡°What of those we left behind?¡± she demanded, clinging to him so he couldn¡¯t take a step. ¡°What of Blessing? Heribert? Where is Hanna? What about Ivar? And Sorgatani and Bertha? Are they all lost?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    She let go of him to cover her face with her hands. He waited while she trembled, lost in a battle for which he carried no weapons, but at length as the night darkened and the griffins settled down with coughs, scratching in the dirt, and distantly a voice called for folk to lie back down and get some sleep by God ¡­ at length she sighed and lowered her hands.

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    ¡°There,¡± she said. ¡°There. All done. Where are we going?¡±


    ¡°Home to Wendar.¡± He took her hand as they walked up toward the army, who stared in astonishment. How could they not? He was their regnant now, and Liath would be their queen.


    2


    AT night, high in the Alfar Mountains, Liath stood beside a fire and told the story to several hundred listeners, who would in their turn pass the tale back to the rest of the army. Many more crowded up in the darkness, waiting in utter silence, but because she told the tale as a poet declaims into a shuttered hall, not as a captain shouts, her voice did not reach as far as his might have, pitched to pierce the clamor of battle.


    Still, he could not tell the tale as she could. He left her to it while he sat in his father¡¯s chair, which, because it was the regnant¡¯s chair, was now his. The small chest containing Henry¡¯s ashes, bones, and heart sat on the ground to his left, pressed up against the legs of the chair. He did not like it to rest too far from him, day or night.


    ¡°My knowledge is incomplete,¡± she began¡ªas she would! ¡°But this is what I know which is certain, as well as what I believe must be true based on the stories and experiences I have myself heard and seen. All this was hidden or forgotten for long years, for generations, a time beyond our imagining. It was forgotten or became legend long before the birth of the blessed Daisan, who brought Light to us all. This tale must come to light now. It should be known to as many people as possible, if we are to make sense of what we must do next.¡±


    He marked their audience. Closest sat the most noble of his companions, Duchess Liutgard, trembling Duke Burchard, Lord Wichman who was, for once, paying attention, and the other lords and a few ladies who had marched south with Henry or with him. Beyond them crowded the clerics of the king¡¯s schola, led by Sister Elsebet, and those church folk who rode in the retinue of one or the other noble. He noted that the man known as Vindicadus had found a place close enough to hear, although he had no noble patron who might speak up for him. Behind this rank stood the captains and stewards who ordered the army and farther back yet waited sergeants and soldiers and servants hoping to catch what they could.


    All must hear, so that they would understand.


    He had ordered this assembly. The tides of destruction they had experienced had made them wonder and had made them fear. Any explanation was better than none, no matter how strange it might sound even when it was the truth.


    ¡°Two thousand seven hundred and four years ago, the Horse people allied with seven sorcerers from seven human tribes against a common enemy, known to them as ¡®The Cursed Ones¡¯ or the Ashioi. They wove a spell of power using the music of the spheres. This is the sorcery we call ¡®the mathematica.¡¯ This spell they threaded through seven stone circles, which they called looms and we call crowns. This spell ripped the homeland of the Ashioi out of the Earth and cast it into the aether.¡±


    ¡°What is the aether?¡± someone called.


    ¡°That part of the universe that lies within and beyond the upper spheres. It¡¯s one of the five elements. The others are air, water, fire, and earth. Aether is the most rarified and pure. Unlike the others, it is untainted by darkness. Beyond the upper spheres, so the scholars teach, exists only aether, nothing else.¡± She hesitated and, hearing no further question, continued. ¡°All the Ashioi were flung into the aether with their land, all except those who were not actually in their homeland at the time. These other Ashioi were pulled halfway but not completely out of the world. Their shades haunted the forests and trails of Earth for centuries as elves who shot poison darts at any person unlucky enough to stumble across them.¡±


    ¡°Those are just tales told to scare children,¡± said a voice from the crowd.


    It was Vindicadus, once Hugh¡¯s servant. Sanglant had not expected to hear a challenge so soon.


    Liath smiled, but her look was grim. ¡°I have met shades while traveling through the deep forest. They are not tales. Their elfshot killed my horse. And drove off bandits.¡±


    Among the sergeants there came a flurry of movement. A white-haired man pushed forward into the ranks of the captains. ¡°Let me speak!¡± he cried. ¡°I have served with Prince Sanglant. He himself freed me and my four men from Salavii merchants who had captured us and meant to sell us into the east.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± asked Liath.


    ¡°This is Gotfrid,¡± said Sanglant, before the old soldier could answer. ¡°I recall you from Machteburg. What is it you have to say, Sergeant?¡±


    ¡°Just this.¡± He surveyed the assembly with the hard gaze of a man who has seen enough that he no longer fears the disapproval of others. ¡°I and my men¡ªwe survived the attack of Lost Ones. We saw our comrades fall beneath the sting of their darts. If you doubt the lady, then I pray you, answer me how I could have seen them as well. Two of my men are still with me. They will tell as well, if you ask, what they saw.¡±

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    ¡°What of the other two?¡± Sanglant asked, knowing the answer because he had already heard the tale.


    The man gestured with his hand, a flick, as dismissal. His throat and chin tightened.


    Folk murmured, but it was hard to tell who they believed.


    ¡°Is there anyone else here who wishes to speak about the existence of the Lost Ones?¡± asked Liath.


    No one did. The heckler had vanished back into the crowd. Sanglant could, in a manner of speaking, smell that he still lingered, and he wondered what twisted loyalty held the man to Hugh of Austra. Liath was already going on.


    ¡°As centuries passed, the story of the great spell was lost until it became nothing more than legend. The Ashioi came to be known as the Aoi, the Lost Ones. The knowledge used to weave the spell was lost also, because, I believe, all seven of the sorcerers who wove it were killed in the backlash from the spell.¡±


    A murmur followed this statement, quickly stilled.


    ¡°Perhaps they left no apprentices to carry on their learning, although that would surprise me.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps those who were left behind chose to forget,¡± said Sister Elsebet. ¡°What the church has condemned must be immoral.¡±


    ¡°This was before the time of the blessed Daisan,¡± said Liath. ¡°They would not have been able to follow the rulings of the church.¡±


    ¡°They might have known in their hearts that it was wrong,¡± retorted the cleric.


    Liath nodded amiably. ¡°There are many possible answers. Perhaps their apprentices were too inexperienced, or too secretive, or too horrified to pass on the knowledge. Perhaps they were told not to. We¡¯ll never know, since we have no way of asking.¡±


    ¡°I pray you, Lady Liathano,¡± said Duchess Liutgard with a doubting smile, ¡°how can you tell us this knowledge was lost when you stand here before us branded as a mathematicus yourself? The Holy Mother Anne boasted of her sorcery, and taught these arts openly in the skopal palace these last two or three years.¡±


    Liath nodded, echoing the other woman¡¯s formality. They did not know each other. Liutgard knew of Liath only as the Eagle who had stolen Henry¡¯s favorite child away from the glorious alliance Henry had promised him. Yet it seemed to Sanglant that Liath was deaf to whatever undertones sang through the nobles as they measured her. She was focused, simply and always, on understanding the truth.


    ¡°A good question, my lady. If you will allow me to unfold my argument, then the map will become clear to all, I hope.¡±


    Liutgard nodded. She was, Sanglant thought, not afraid to offer Liath a reasonable chance to explain herself.


    ¡°In time, certain half-Ashioi, half-human descendants of the original Ashioi built a powerful empire in the southern lands bordering the Middle Sea. They called it Dariya, and called themselves Dariyans. As it was sung by the poet,


    ¡®Out of this people came one who ruled


    as emperor over men and elvish kind both.¡¯


    ¡°The Dariyan Empire soon ruled much of the northwestern continent and the lands along both the northern and southern shores of the Middle Sea. We are traveling on a road paved by this empire. Eventually, the Horse people¡ªthe Dariyans and historians call them the ¡®Bwr¡¯ which is derived, I think, from the word¡ª¡±


    She broke off, catching herself, and, as a rider shifts her mount¡¯s direction, got herself back on the main path.


    ¡°The Horse people became aware of the Dariyan Empire. They feared and hated the Dariyans because the Dariyans were descended in part from the hated Ashioi. In the early 200s, the Bwr invaded in a host and burned and pillaged the city of Dariya. It¡¯s likely that in the course of their invasion they contracted a plague that decimated their numbers. They retreated to the eastern steppe that was their ancient homeland to protect themselves against further incursions by humankind, although humankind had once been their chief allies.¡±


    Burchard coughed. ¡°Are these Horse people you speak of not the same ones who ride with us, as our allies? Does this mean they are still our enemy? Or our friends?¡±


    Liutgard¡¯s mouth tightened as she looked past Sanglant to the honor guard attending at his back. Her forces had taken the worst of the centaur assault. She had no reason to love the Horse people.


    Sanglant glanced behind. Captain Fulk and Captain Istvan stood behind his chair, alert to the disposition of his most loyal forces. Capi¡¯ra and her sergeants waited in shadow, seeming at first glance like women mounted on horses, but he could hear their soft whickering commentary although he could not understand what they were saying. Beyond them rested the slumbering griffins with their wing feathers touched by the light of the camp¡¯s bonfire.

 Page 30

    Smoke stung his face as the wind shifted. He fanned a hand to drive it away although in truth it made no difference.


    ¡°The Horse people are our allies, Burchard,¡± he said.


    ¡°Your allies,¡± said Liutgard.


    ¡°Mine,¡± he agreed, ¡°and thus, for the moment, yours, Cousin. I pray you, Liath, go on.¡±


    ¡°I pray you!¡± cried a voice from the back, that damned servingman again. ¡°You speak of the lives and empires of the heathen, yet you have not said one word about the blessed Daisan! Do you even believe in God?¡±


    ¡°Hush!¡± said someone else in the crowd.


    ¡°Let her speak!¡± cried another, the words echoed by a chorus of ¡°let her speak¡± and ¡°yes¡± and ¡°shut your mouth.¡±


    ¡°Else we¡¯ll be standing out here in the damned cold all night and freeze our hands to what they¡¯re scratching,¡± finished a wit.


    ¡°Well,¡± said Liath, raising her voice as the others dropped theirs. She slid easily into the silence. ¡°All here have heard told the life of the blessed Daisan and his chief disciple, Thecla the Witnesser. This we know and believe, that the blessed Daisan revealed to all of humankind the truth of the Circle of Unity, of the Mother and Father of Life, and our belief in the Penitire.¡± Her gaze had a peculiar way of going flat when she quoted from memory, as if she looked inward, not outward. ¡°¡®The blessed Daisan prayed in ecstacy for six days and on the seventh was translated up to the Chamber of Light to join God.¡±¡¯


    Her gaze sought the heckler, and perhaps it found him, because she paused for a moment with a fixed stare, then smiled just a little as a bully might, seeing his prey flinch. The man had by this time moved so that his body was hidden to Sanglant¡¯s line of sight.


    ¡°What matters to the story I tell you tonight is that the belief in the Circle of Unity and the Word of the blessed Daisan spread outward on the architecture of the old Dariyan Empire.¡±


    ¡°More than that!¡± interposed Sister Elsebet indignantly.


    ¡°Ai, God! Spare us these interruptions! I¡¯m still scratching!¡± cried the wit.


    Sanglant sighed.


    Sister Elsebet stepped forward and glared her audience into silence. ¡°None of us can speak as if this war is ended.¡±


    ¡°Which war is that?¡± asked Liath. ¡°I thought I was speaking of a war.¡±


    Elsebet pounded her staff twice on the ground. ¡°I will listen, but I will not remain silent on this matter. I pray you, Your Majesty!¡±


    He was caught, and he knew it as well as the cleric did. ¡°Go on, Sister. What is it you must say?¡±


    ¡°That the woman has knowledge of sorcery and history I can see, and perhaps respect. But the war that afflicts those of us who live within the Circle of Unity is never ending. It is impossible to speak of the blessed Daisan without speaking as well of those who have sought to corrupt his holy teachings.¡±


    ¡°Have we time for this?¡± Sanglant asked Liath.


    A foolish question. She was interested, and entertained. She could go on in this vein for hours. ¡°You speak of heresy, Sister Elsebet, do you not?¡±


    ¡°As must we all! Alas!¡±


    ¡°Then I pray you, educate us.¡±


    Once offered, quickly taken. Sister Elsebet did not strike Sanglant as a fussy, troublesome woman, nor had he in their brief acquaintance been given any reason to believe she was one of Hugh¡¯s adherents.


    ¡°Go on,¡± he said, giving her permission.


    She came forward. Liath did not, in fact, make way or give up her own place standing on a conveniently situated rock that elevated her a bit above the rest, but she did drop her chin and, between one breath and the next, efface herself. The shift was astonishing. Sanglant had never seen her do such a thing before, as if she doused the radiance that made her blaze. Before, she must command the gaze; now, she was only a woman standing on a rock listening as a cleric spoke of the holy truth that sustained them.


    ¡°This is the truth! Heed me! Many heresies have troubled the church since the living body of the blessed Daisan was lifted up into the Chamber of Light. But in these dark days there are two we must guard against most assiduously.


    ¡°The first is known as the Redemptio. This is the belief that the blessed Daisan was martyred by the Empress Thaissania, She of the Mask. That only after his death by flaying and his supposed resurrection did he ascend to the Chamber of Light. This heresy was eventually squelched and forbidden. As it deserved!


    ¡°The second, and greater, heresy concerns the constitution of the blessed Daisan himself. The elders of the church ruled that the blessed Daisan was no different than any other human, claiming only a divine soul made up of pure light trapped in a mortal body admixed with darkness. The adherents of the greater heresy claim otherwise and declared that the blessed Daisan alone among humankind was half divine and half mortal. In the year 499, the Emperor of Arethousa turned his back on the skopos in Darre and abandoned the truth because of his belief in this half divinity. So was the holy word of the blessed Daisan wounded by the Enemy¡¯s sharp arrows.¡±

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    She drew the Circle at her chest and turned to bow to Sanglant.


    ¡°How does this affect the tale?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Heresy must affect us all,¡± retorted Sister Elsebet. ¡°Right belief is what sustains us! It would be a greater tempest even than the one we suffered in Aosta should these heretical beliefs take hold and drown the foundation on which all our lives rest! On what we and the church mothers know to be true! Perhaps this tempest is not merely the playing out of an ancient sorcery but a warning sent to us by God!¡±


    He looked at Liath.


    She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, made herself visible again, the center of attention. Yet this was not the charisma that allows a commander to lead men to their death in battle. This was, purely, control over the unnatural fire that burned within her.


    ¡°It may be, Sister Elsebet,¡± she agreed without any evidence of insincerity. ¡°Yet I know this. The land of the Ashioi returned to Earth because those who wove the sorcery in ancient days did not understand fully the consequence of what they did. The land returned because it could not do otherwise. It was bound as if in a great circle, necessarily returning to the place it started.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± agreed the cleric stoutly. ¡°For this same reason the church mothers have always disapproved of sorcery.¡±


    ¡°Yes, so it was. Sorcery was restricted by the church in two separate rulings. Certain of the magical arts were allowed to be taught under the supervision of the church, but others were condemned, specifically those that related to foreseeing the future and controlling the weather as well as knowledge of the mathematical properties of the stars and planets. In truth, although this was unknown to the church councils that condemned them, these were the very arts used in ancient days to weave the spell that cast the Ashioi into exile.¡±


    Elsebet nodded, as if her point was now proven. She did not step aside. Liath kept talking.


    ¡°¡®Between the Bwr invasion and the troubled church, the creaking edifice of the old empire at last collapsed.¡±¡¯


    ¡°So wrote Taillefer¡¯s chronicler, Albert the Wise.¡±


    ¡°Indeed he did, which is where I got the phrase. The last of those who believed in the Redemptio, in the east beyond Arethousa, vanished when the Jinna Empire conquered those lands in the name of their god.¡±


    ¡°Fire worshipers!¡± muttered the wit.


    ¡°I hear they worship naked,¡± said Wichman suddenly. ¡°I¡¯d like to see those Jinna women dancing around the flames!¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± snapped Sanglant. ¡°I pray you, go on.¡±


    ¡°I pray you,¡± Liath said, surveying the assembly, ¡°I am nearly done.¡±


    ¡°Which is what she said before,¡± added the wit, and there was a smattering of chuckles.


    She smiled and waited for quiet before she went on. ¡°These Jinna conquered the southern shore of the Middle Sea as well. The lands around the old imperial capital fell into chaos for many decades, but at length various princedoms and duchies and counties arose. These folk called themselves Aosta. They called their capital Darre, and it was in Darre¡ªonce the capital of the Dariyan Empire¡ªthat one regnant or another pretended to rule Aosta.¡±


    This slighting comment was appreciated. A few distant soldiers cheered.


    She acknowledge them with a lift of a hand. ¡°Only in the northwestern kingdom of Salia did a ruler consolidate enough power to extend his reach. The Salian king, Taille, renamed himself the Emperor Taillefer and crowned himself with a seven-pointed crown that he called his ¡®crown of stars.¡¯ As part of his imperial policy, Taillefer sent missionaries for the Daisanite Church into the lands east of Salia. Heathen tribes embraced the Circle of Unity. Chieftains sent their own sons and daughters out into the more distant wilderness to convert yet more peoples. So came the Wendish into the Circle.¡±


    ¡°This history of empire any good scholar knows,¡± said Sister Elsebet. ¡°That good woman, Sister Rosvita, was writing her history of the Deeds of the Great Princes. Yet she¡ªshe, too¡ª¡± She faltered. She wept.


    ¡°A woman firm in her scholarship,¡± said Liath. ¡°I believe she would understand that it is necessary to see the tapestry as a whole in order to understand the consequence of the spell. If you will, I will go on.


    ¡°Taillefer¡¯s empire disintegrated after the emperor¡¯s death. At that time, King Arnulf the Elder of Wendar annexed lands formerly allied to Salia by marrying the heirs of Varre to his own children. When these heirs died without issue, he named himself king of Wendar and Varre. In time, the regnancy passed to Arnulf the Younger, and then to his son, Henry, the second of that name. So might we learn from Sister Rosvita, were she here to teach us!

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    ¡°Henry married an Arethousan princess named Sophia. She bore him three children, Sapientia, Theophanu, and Ekkehard. The king struggled against his own older sister, Sabella, but he triumphed over her at Kassel, in the duchy of Fesse.¡±


    She nodded at Liutgard, who lifted a hand and touched her own brow, as if remembering those lost in that battle: brother against sister.


    ¡°Henry¡¯s own cousin Conrad, too, it seemed, chafed at being a duke, but his ambitions are as yet unknown. Some years after the death of Queen Sophia, Henry married Princess Sapientia to Prince Bayan, the younger brother of the Ungrian king, Geza. He hoped, it seemed, that this alliance would protect his eastern marchlands from marauders. Soon after, Henry married an Aostan princess of noble birth, called Adelheid, and traveled south to Aosta with the intention of having himself crowned Emperor and of driving all Jinna and Arethousan interlopers out of lands that ought to belong to the holy church and its imperial champion. And this he did, as you know, because you rode beside him. You triumphed, because he triumphed.¡±


    Those who had survived the expedition were still proud of seeing their king crowned as emperor. Sanglant saw the memory of victory in their expressions, but he also saw their grief.


    ¡°Many disturbances were rising in the lands beyond Wendar. They struck hard. From the east, the Quman barbarians led by their prince Bulkezu plundered the marchlands and Avaria. Some among you will remember his defeat.¡±


    This got cheers as well, and Sanglant heard his name rise out of the crowd. She waited, and went on when she could.


    ¡°In the north, the Eika savages raid along the coast, united under a single chieftain. Reports suggest that civil war plagues the kingdom of Salia. In Arethousa, there is always corruption and intrigue, as the poets and historians tell us. But this was not all. Strange creatures out of legend walked abroad. Across the lands people began to whisper that the end of the world was at hand.¡±


    ¡°So it is!¡± called a voice from the crowd, and many cried out in agreement.


    Liutgard rose unexpectedly, looking angry. ¡°Was this, that we suffered, the end of the world? We are still alive, although many dear to us are dead. Henry is dead¡ªmay he rest at peace in the Chamber of Light. But the world is not ended.¡±


    Liath raised a hand to show that she had heard and understood her objection. ¡°Earth still holds beneath us, although I think we may find much in the land has been altered. I pray you, Duchess Liutgard, hear what I have to say. How is it that the woman who called herself Anne and who ruled over you as skopos knew of the Ashioi? How did she know about the ancient spell which would come to fruition on that night, that one night, when the crown of stars crowned the heavens? At midnight on the cusp of the tenth and eleventh days of Octumbre, in the year 735, as we measure the years after the proclamation of the Holy Word. How is it she knew this?¡±


    It was a sorry satisfaction for Sanglant to recall that he had warned Henry¡¯s court and no one had listened to him.


    ¡°After the death of Emperor Taillefer, his empire fell into disunion because there was no male heir. He left three daughters and a few bastard sons. One of these claimed the throne and was later killed by his rivals.¡± She glanced at Sanglant. He nodded, having heard this story before. Its existence did not threaten his hold on the throne.


    ¡°Two of Taillefer¡¯s daughters were married to princes of the realm and they vanish from our history. But his daughter Tallia was placed in the church as a biscop. There she studied the ancient arts of the mathematici together with her most intimate and faithful servant, a woman named Clothilde. These two and their adepts discovered that the ancient story of the Ashioi was a true story. They discovered that within a few decades¡ªwell, almost a hundred years¡ªthere would be a second cataclysm. They thought they could prevent this cataclysm with a second weaving. They believed that the Ashioi, now in exile, were scheming to return to Earth and conquer humankind. But the truth is that it was the spell which was flawed. The land of the Ashioi was flung outward on such a path that it would inevitably come back to where it had begun. We have all ridden such trails, thinking we are going elsewhere only to end up where we started!¡±


    She hoped for a chuckle but did not get one. Her audience listened intently, but they did not, necessarily, believe what she was saying. Sanglant could see in each posture the extent of their belief: Sister Elsebet with her head bent skeptically; Sergeant Gotfrid scratching his beard as if puzzled; a woman fitted with a steward¡¯s tabard staring raptly with mouth parted as she fingered the knot that tied her scarf beneath her chin.


    ¡°The other Salian clerics at that time believed that Biscop Tallia had gone too far in studying the malefic arts of black sorcery. The Council of Narvone was convened and all sorcery associated with the mathematici as well as malefici was placed under ban. As was Biscop Tallia. Yet she did not cease her efforts. In time she discovered what she had long sought: a child born to Queen Radegundis, the last wife of Taillefer. This infant was raised in the church and became a monk. Soon after his birth, Tallia died, leaving her handmaiden, Clothilde, to continue her work.

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    ¡°Clothilde was patient. Late in life, Taillefer¡¯s son was tempted by a very young woman, a novice. On her he got a child. Afterward, he fled. But the child was taken from its mother and raised by Clothilde.¡±


    ¡°What became of the father and mother?¡± asked Sister Elsebet, listening intently now, as if she had heard some portion of this story before.


    ¡°Taillefer¡¯s son? I think that he remained in the church. But the woman who gave birth to his child? I don¡¯t know. I know only that Anne was the granddaughter of Taillefer, the child of Taillefer and Radegundis¡¯ lost son. She was raised by Sister Clothilde as a mathematicus among a band of mathematici who called themselves the Seven Sleepers. They were asleep, they told themselves, waiting quietly until the time came to act. Anne was to be the agent of that act: to cast the Ashioi once and for all time away from Earth.¡±


    ¡°Would it not have been better had she done so?¡± asked Liutgard. She gestured toward the ragged army gathered around. ¡°Would it not have spared us this?¡±


    Liath shook her head. ¡°No. You saw what tides of destruction the spell wrought. That devastation would have rebounded on Earth tenfold had Anne¡¯s spell succeeded. It would have been far worse. Earth is not meant to be sundered from Earth. The ancient ones¡ªour ancestors¡ªmeant to save themselves. But by their own act they doomed us. I think they were ignorant. They did not know. Yet we are left with the consequences nonetheless.¡±


    PART TWO


    IN THE RUINS


    V


    SALVAGE


    1


    ANNA clawed awake from a terrible dream. She lay with eyes closed, aware of the rise and fall of her breathing, and let the threads of that awful nightmare fade. An endless trek across a wilderness of grass under the hammer of a brutal winter cold. A blizzard turning to flowers. Bulkezu¡¯s hand tightening on her throat. Blessing as limp as a corpse, wasting away, dying. Buried alive deep within an ancient tumulus. Worms crawling over and swallowing her body.


    With each exhalation the images became more tattered until at last they dissolved into nothing, and with a sigh of relief she opened her eyes. It was still night. Clouds hid the stars. She couldn¡¯t see anything, not even her hand in front of her face.


    Even a moonless night was never this dark.


    Her heart thundered. She whimpered, afraid to move or speak lest speaking and moving reveal her nightmares as truth. If she wished hard enough, it would all go away and she would be back in Gent sitting cozy by the fire in Mistress Suzanne¡¯s weaving hall.


    A voice mumbled a curse. Stone snapped on flint. A spark glittered, faded, then a second snap struck and its spark caught a wick. As light bled into their grave, memory returned in a rush.


    Prince Sanglant¡¯s army had marched east in search of griffins and sorcerers. He had found them and much more besides, but Blessing had fallen ill with an aetherical sickness and had to be left behind, close to death. Six attendants stayed with her. In the hope that the spell woven by Princess Liathano through the stone crown would miraculously preserve Blessing in a kind of stasis, they had crawled into the grave mound between the stones. There they had waited until blue fire engulfed them and all sensation ceased.


    Anna groaned and raised up on her elbows, staring around in shock. Brother Heribert had lit the lamp, and he, too, stared slack-jawed at their surroundings. Thiemo, Matto, the Kerayit healer, and the young Quman soldier still slept, each in his place in the ring around Princess Blessing. But the low, cramped chamber in which they had taken their place had vanished ¡­ and so had Blessing.


    ¡°Ai, God! Lord protect us! Lady have mercy!¡± Anna scrambled to her feet.


    ¡°What¡¯s happened?¡± As Heribert rose, he almost lost his footing as a temblor rumbled through the ground. The flame wavered. A web of blue fire shuddered into existence around them, hot and bright.


    ¡°Something¡¯s coming,¡± said Heribert. ¡°Can you feel it, Anna? It¡¯s like a weight descending. We¡¯re not safe here.¡±


    She stared at the high cavern in which they stood. Stalactites glittered under the net of fire. Thiemo snored softly, one hand cupped at his throat. Matto lay with mouth agape and eyes and hands fast shut. It was all true. They had crawled into the ancient burial chamber to protect Blessing and possibly to die, but they hadn¡¯t died and indeed they were no longer where they had started out. The burial chamber had been dirt; this place was stone. In the burial chamber there had barely been room to stand upright in the center, this place could hold a council of twoscore nobles and their horses. In the burial chamber there had been a single entrance, a tunnel that led to the outside. Here, at least four passageways left the chamber at different directions. They might be anywhere.

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    She, too, felt a stiffening in the air, a tension in the earth, like the breath of a huge monster about to lunge out of darkness onto its hapless prey.


    ¡°Come quickly!¡± Blessing¡¯s voice pierced the silence, although there was no sign of her in the chamber. ¡°No! This way! You¡¯re so slow! I said this way!¡±


    ¡°What a brat!¡± said a second voice, laughing.


    ¡°I am not a brat! I¡¯m not!¡±


    ¡°You are!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not!¡±


    Blessing¡¯s companion laughed merrily, and before Anna or Heribert could react two figures trotted into the cavern, the smaller grasping the larger by his wrist. Blessing dropped her grip and clapped her hands to crow in triumph.


    ¡°Look what I found, Brother Heribert! And not just that, but a pile of treasure!¡±


    The earth shook violently. The net of blue fire sparked and dazzled, and began to pulse.


    ¡°Lord have mercy,¡± said Heribert, staring at Blessing, who looked painfully thin but otherwise emphatically alive and vital. Anna didn¡¯t know whether to be giddy with joy or annoyed that Blessing after all hadn¡¯t changed one bit and probably hadn¡¯t a thought to spare for the sacrifice her attendants had made so willingly for her.


    ¡°I¡¯m Berthold,¡± said the youth, a nice-looking boy most likely a little younger than Anna, fifteen or sixteen or so. He wore a handsome pale blue tunic of an excellent weave trimmed with yellow embroidery, a hip-length cape lined with pale fox fur, and soft leather boots bound up with laces. He held calfskin gloves casually in one hand, and at his waist rode a sword in a richly tooled sheath bearing the mark of the silver tree.


    ¡°Lord have mercy,¡± repeated Heribert, shifting his stunned gaze away from Blessing. ¡°You must be Villam¡¯s son.¡±


    ¡°So I am,¡± said the lad, not one bit surprised at being recognized. A noble youth out of a house as important as Villam¡¯s expected to be known. ¡°We crawled in here to explore but must have fallen asleep. The rest of my companions are still asleep. I could only wake up Jonas. He¡¯s trying to get the others awake. I don¡¯t know where this chamber came from!¡± He gestured toward the high ceiling, and the four sleeping men. ¡°It wasn¡¯t here when we explored under the tumuli yesterday. How did you get here?¡±


    The earth shook once again. The pulse of the light had begun to shift in pitch until Anna could actually hear a melodic rise and fall shot through with an unearthly harmony. The temperature was beginning to rise.


    ¡°I want to get out of here,¡± said Blessing. ¡°Something very very bad is about to happen.¡± She turned on Berthold. He stood a head taller than she did, although he wasn¡¯t as tall as her father. ¡°Help me wake them up!¡±


    Berthold¡¯s expression twisted, eyes opening in mock horror, mouth opening to an ¡°o¡± of pretend fear. ¡°Of course, my lady!¡± He spoiled the moment by laughing again. ¡°Who made you regnant?¡±


    She stamped her foot. ¡°My father is Prince Sanglant. I am the great granddaughter of the Emperor Taillefer. You have to do what I tell you to do!¡±


    He snorted with amusement, glanced at Anna to estimate her station and importance, and nodded at Brother Heribert. ¡°Who are you, Brother?¡±


    ¡°I am called Brother Heribert. I am a cleric in Prince Sanglant¡¯s schola.¡±


    ¡°Is it true this brat is Prince Sanglant¡¯s daughter?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a brat!¡±


    ¡°She is indeed, my lord.¡±


    ¡°How can she be the great granddaughter of Emperor Taillefer? Henry¡¯s forebears have no connection to that noble house.¡±


    Heribert hesitated just long enough for Berthold to go on, impatient as his thoughts skipped ahead.


    ¡°Prince Sanglant has a schola? How can he? He¡¯s the captain of the King¡¯s Dragons. I didn¡¯t even know he had a daughter this old, but I suppose it¡¯s no surprise given what everyone says about him and women. Heh! I wonder what Waltharia will have to say about that! She thought she walked that road first!¡±


    ¡°What road?¡± demanded Blessing.


    Heribert flung up a hand as if to say, ¡°stop.¡± ¡°I pray you, Lord Berthold. We must untangle these lineages later. Princess Blessing is right. We¡¯d best flee.¡± He wiped sweat from his brow. ¡°I don¡¯t like being trapped in here.¡±


    ¡°Nor do I,¡± admitted the youth, looking around. ¡°Although it is the most amazing thing! Who could have dug such caverns? You should see the treasure back there! Golden helms and mounds of emeralds and garnets! Jeweled belts. Necklaces. I told them not to pick anything up, but they would cram their sleeves¡ªall but Jonas, he¡¯s the only one who listens to me¡ª¡±

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    A temblor shook the earth so hard that Anna had trouble keeping her feet. The Kerayit healer moaned, fighting sleep but not quite able to wake. Thiemo and Matto didn¡¯t stir at all. The blue fire had become so bright she had to squint. The cavern shone, walls gleaming. The stone sweat as heat swelled. It was like being trapped inside a box that had been thrown onto a fire.


    ¡°No one is listening to me!¡± shrieked Blessing. She pounced on Thiemo and shook him. ¡°Wake up! Wake up!¡±


    Without warning, the Quman soldier leaped to his feet, knife in hand as he assessed his surroundings. Over the last months Heribert had picked up the rudiments of the Quman speech. He spoke now, and the young man nodded abruptly, lowered the knife, and knelt beside Matto, shaking him. The Kerayit healer opened her eyes and, with a grunt, scrambled to her feet. She pointed to the fiery blue net whose brightness by now made the light in the cavern almost unbearable.


    ¡°Sorcery,¡± she said in halting Wendish. ¡°Go now. Go quick.¡±


    ¡°Do you know the way out?¡± asked Heribert.


    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± said Berthold. ¡°It¡¯s all changed. It wasn¡¯t like this at all yesterday when we crawled in here¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know how to go!¡± exclaimed Blessing.


    ¡°Take her,¡± said Heribert to Anna. ¡°We¡¯ll have to carry Thiemo and Matto if we can¡¯t wake them up.¡±


    ¡°Do you really think she knows anything?¡± demanded Berthold, more in disbelief than in anger. He had begun, finally, to appear nervous.


    ¡°I do know! I do!¡±


    ¡°Have you a better plan?¡± asked Heribert in his mildest tone. ¡°I haven¡¯t. One is as good as another. We¡¯d best hurry.¡±


    Thunder shook the cavern, a stalactite shuddered loose from the ceiling, crashed to the floor, and shattered into stinging shards. Anna caught one on her cheek. Blood trickled down her skin.


    ¡°Lord Berthold!¡± A young man no older than Villam¡¯s son staggered out of a passageway. He shaded his eyes, brought up short by the blinding net of light. Another tremor shook them. A second stalactite cracked and fell, and the poor youth leaped aside and shouted out loud as he flung up his arms to protect himself. Dust and debris scattered.


    ¡°Where are the others?¡± demanded Berthold. He, too, was pale now. He, too, looked frightened.


    ¡°I can¡¯t wake them!¡± said poor Jonas, who had been crying. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s wrong!¡±


    ¡°This way!¡± cried Blessing, who had run to a different passageway, one opposite the tunnel that Berthold¡¯s companion had just emerged from. ¡°I said this way! We¡¯ve got to hurry! The storm is coming. It will crush us if we¡¯re in here!¡±


    She shot off a quick command in the Quman language, surprising both Heribert and Anna, who hadn¡¯t known she could speak any language other than Wendish. The Quman soldier got Matto under the arms and began dragging him.


    ¡°Here!¡± Galvanized, Anna ran forward and got hold of Matto¡¯s ankles, heaving him up, but after ten paces his limp weight was too much for her, and she wasn¡¯t weak.


    ¡°Help us, I pray you, Lord Berthold,¡± said Heribert. ¡°Let¡¯s carry these two free and come back for your companions.¡±


    Berthold hesitated, then fixed his mouth in a grim line and ran over to Thiemo. ¡°He looks familiar,¡± he mused, grabbing him under the arms. ¡°Here, Jonas. Help me!¡±


    The Kerayit healer came to Anna¡¯s rescue, taking Matto¡¯s ankles, and Anna after all had to pursue Blessing, who had already vanished up the passageway. The floor was seamless, swept clean of debris, pebbles, dirt. Threads of light pierced the stone itself, woven entirely through the underground labyrinth. With each tremor, with each pulse, tiny cracks fissured the stone. At any moment the entire place might splinter and collapse. This was not the fate she had expected. Panic lent her wings, and she raced on Blessing¡¯s trail and would have plunged to her death had Blessing not screamed out loud just in time for Anna to stumble to a stop beside the girl, at the edge of an abyss.


    The passageway ended in a wide, deep hole. It was as if a giant had stuck a spear far down into the earth and drawn it up again, leaving this empty shaft behind. The net of light that illuminated the labyrinth did not penetrate into its depths. There was no way across, and no obvious way down or up.


    ¡°Look,¡± said Blessing, pointing to the cliff face opposite them. ¡°There¡¯s a ledge there, and a passageway.¡±


    ¡°No way to reach it, Your Highness,¡± said Anna, barely able to speak. She couldn¡¯t catch her breath. ¡°We¡¯ll have to go back and find another route.¡±

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    ¡°Is, too!¡± Blessing ran to the edge where the walls of the passageway met the sheer curve of that huge shaft. She reached, she gripped, and between one breath and the next had clambered out along the wall toward the far side.


    Fear strangled Anna¡¯s voice. She was helpless, terrified, still woozy. She still could not believe that she was awake and in this terrible predicament. Ai, God. If only she could wake up and find herself back in Gent! The earth shook, and although Anna shrieked out loud, Blessing did not fall; she had too good a grip; she was fearless, that girl. Impossible. Already halfway across, clinging like a lizard to the rock face.


    ¡°Anna? Anna! Ai, God!¡± Heribert came up behind her, not far ahead of the rest.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have to follow her.¡± Without waiting for his reply, because if she waited she would lose her courage, she ran to the edge and brushed a hand over the rock wall, finding handholds and narrow brims easily. Someone had carved these here. They couldn¡¯t be natural, placed so cunningly and conveniently. She crept along the wall, knowing better than to look down. As long as she didn¡¯t look down, she could believe that the ground lay one step below. It was easier that way to move across the rock face. It was easier that way not to panic.


    ¡°Princess Blessing, come back!¡± cried Heribert.


    ¡°Won¡¯t!¡± Blessing leaped to the far ledge just as another tremor shook them. A rock fell from above, and Anna shut her eyes and held on, listening, but she never heard it strike bottom. She was by now breathing so hard that she was dizzy, and when she opened her eyes she saw that Blessing had disappeared into the far passageway.


    ¡°Go on, Anna!¡± shouted Heribert. ¡°You¡¯ve got to get her back! We can¡¯t carry the rest across this!¡±


    She heard the others arrive, heard their shocked exclamations and the buzz of discussion, but she could not concentrate on them to pick out words. She had to pick a path across the face, one handhold and toehold at a time, and at last she swung onto the far ledge which by now resembled a grand broad field, it looked so inviting and safe although it wasn¡¯t more than an arm¡¯s span in width. She landed there, panting, sweating, mouth dry, just as a horrible grinding roar shuddered up from the depths. In the passageway behind Heribert and the others, dust roiled, punched outward by a tremendous rockfall back the way they had come.


    ¡°Go, Anna! Go!¡± shouted Heribert before the dust engulfed him.


    Despite the brilliant web of sorcery, she could not see Thiemo and Matto through the haze. She saw the blur of movement, glimpsed a Quman bow case and a Kerayit headdress, heard voices yell and shriek, but nothing more. Nothing more.


    Far away, down that dark passageway lying behind her, Blessing called out impatiently. ¡°Come! Come! Hurry!¡±


    She ducked down, banging her head once on stone before getting the hang of the low ceiling. It was dark as the grave. No net of sorcery wove light to guide her footsteps. Twice she stumbled and bruised herself, and the third time she tumbled to hands and knees and yelped in pain.


    A warm hand fastened on her shoulder. ¡°Hurry! Where are the others?¡±


    ¡°They can¡¯t cross, Your Highness.¡± She coughed. Dust had scoured her lungs. Grit abraded her palms. ¡°They can¡¯t carry Lord Thiemo and Matto across that wall. We¡¯ve got to go back.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t leave them behind!¡± cried Blessing, with a fury that caused her hand to tighten on Anna¡¯s shoulder until it hurt. She should have been weak after her illness, but she wasn¡¯t. ¡°Papa says you never leave your companions behind. We have to rescue them.¡±


    ¡°I think there was a rockfall.¡± She coughed again. It hurt to cough. ¡°We can¡¯t go back the way we came. Ai, God. What if they¡¯re all dead?¡±


    The earth groaned and rumbled beneath them, around them, everywhere. They were trapped in a tomb and it was too late to save themselves. They would die here¡ª


    A body slammed into Anna, tripped over her, and went sprawling, knocking Blessing down.


    ¡°Highness!¡± Anna smelled the Kerayit healer, whose peculiar scent of sour milk and an unidentifiable musk always tickled her nose.


    She sneezed. The others piled up behind them, trapped in the low tunnel. A cloud of dust blasted past them, choking the passage.


    ¡°Move! Move!¡± said Lord Berthold from out of the dust. ¡°The whole place is collapsing.¡±


    Anna scrambled forward, grabbing Blessing¡¯s arm and pulling her along with her. They raced blind, tripping, stumbling, staggering, but the passage ran true, without turns or branches, until at length they stumbled onto stone steps, and climbed up them. Just as Anna realized that she could see through her stinging eyes, they emerged into a shallow cave carved out of a hillside by a massive collapse of dirt, as if half the side of the hill had fallen away. Dust puffed and billowed around them. Beyond, a sickly gray light bled color out of the air.

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    Anna crept to the opening. One by one the others joined her: Princess Blessing, Lord Berthold, his companion Jonas, the Kerayit healer, and last the young Quman soldier supporting Brother Heribert, who fell to his knees, hacking as though he meant to cough his lungs out. All of them wept blood from scrapes and cuts. All were covered with dust and dirt. Lord Berthold cursed and muttered, while Jonas tried to soothe him.


    ¡°They¡¯re dead! Dead! I abandoned them! Ai, God, I¡¯ve no honor left! I ran for my life. Better to have died¡ª¡±


    ¡°Look!¡± shouted Blessing, and at the same moment the Kerayit healer cried, ¡°Down!¡±


    They dropped to their knees, but Anna stared anyway. She couldn¡¯t stop staring. They looked out over a valley nestled between high peaks. Once the valley had boasted a fine rich forest along its slopes, but now the trees were tumbled and snapped, shorn down as though by a giant¡¯s scythe. A vast creature hung suspended in the air, stretched across the hazy sky. It was there only for an instant, a flash of gold scales, before the sound of its wings thundered and it vanished beyond the peaks. Snow and ice crashed from the summit in a distant avalanche. The boom echoed on and on and on.


    A pall of dust shrouded the sky. It was dim, but not dark; twilight, but not day. Now and again lightning stabbed through the cloudy haze, unseen except as a ghostly glimmer, quickly gone. Once the noise of the avalanche faded, they heard no answering thunder. A monstrous orange-red glow rose along one horizon. Maybe it heralded the rising sun, but if so it was no sun she ever wanted to see.


    ¡°Is it day or night?¡± asked Anna.


    No one answered her. Berthold wept with anger and shame, and his companion Jonas tried in vain to comfort him. The Kerayit and Quman cowered, covering their eyes and muttering prayers, each in their own language. Heribert wheezed, struggling to breathe. Even Blessing stood in shocked silence.


    Something very bad had happened, just as Blessing had predicted.


    As they stared, a light rain began to fall, hissing where it struck ground. It wasn¡¯t rain at all but hot ash, so fine that it drizzled like rain only to burn and sizzle where it touched the earth. The ashy rain darkened the sky until that orange-red glow faded and Anna could no longer see the snowy peaks beyond. Dirt spit on her from the roof of the overhang. A huge weight fell right on top of them. The impact shuddered through the hill, and the overhang crumbled in on itself as a second crash sent a shower of fine dirt and clods of earth and rocks spilling over them.


    Anna grabbed Blessing¡¯s wrist and yanked her out into the ash fall. They ran, stumbling through loose dirt, sliding as the ground gave way underneath, coughing as ash burned their lungs. Only when they came to rest on ground that didn¡¯t shiver beneath their feet did they turn. They had sheltered beneath a mound atop which stood a stone crown, and both hill and stones had collapsed. Two of the great menhirs leaned crazily, not yet fallen. The others had crashed down. One had smashed onto the slope just above the overhang, causing it to give way.


    ¡°Must ¡­ get ¡­ out ¡­ of ¡­ the ¡­ rain,¡± gasped Berthold.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Brother Heribert?¡± Blessing wrenched her arm free from Anna¡¯s grasp and floundered up through slippery dirt. ¡°Brother Heribert! Brother Heribert!¡±


    She found an arm sticking out of dark earth. The rest of him was buried.


    Sliding and cursing, they struggled up along the unstable ground and with their hands dug him out and dragged him to firm ground. He was limp. He had already stopped breathing. The earth had choked him. Blessing howled in rage.


    ¡°No! No!¡± She flung herself down beside his body. ¡°You aren¡¯t dead! I don¡¯t allow it!¡±


    A numbness took hold of Anna. She no longer felt she was here, up to her knees in dirt and roots and crawling things and slimy, hot ash, but only watching herself and the others from a distance. Thiemo and Matto were gone. There was no possible way they could have survived the collapse within the tunnels, and even if they had somehow miraculously been spared, they had no way to climb free because the stone crown here was destroyed and thereby their path to the outside world.


    As for the rest of them, they had traveled, all unknowing, a great distance. They could be anywhere. Any when, if what Hathui and the others predicted was true. If time ran both swiftly and slowly within the crowns.


    They stood gasping and weeping in a desolation, no longer able to distinguish sky from mountain because of the shroud of ash. It was growing cold. A wind moaned down from veiled heights. A glimmer of light flashed around them. A breeze curled around Anna¡¯s shoulders before kicking up dirt in a line that led straight to Blessing, who was still sobbing and shouting by Heribert¡¯s body, slamming her fists into his chest over and over while the rest stood too stunned and overwhelmed to move.

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    For an instant Anna thought a pale shimmer of light illuminated the frater¡¯s slack face, pouring over him as water pours over rocks in a stream. Blessing shrieked and scrambled backward. Heribert¡¯s body jerked. His eyes snapped open. He sat up, folding forward and coughing dirt out of his mouth. He wiped dirt from his face and, wondering, shook it from his hands.


    ¡°Where?¡± he said hoarsely. ¡°Where is he gone, the one I have been waiting for? His husk is here, but he is lost.¡±


    They all stared at him.


    ¡°You were dead,¡± said Jonas.


    ¡°Was I?¡± he asked. He got his feet under him, slipped once, and Blessing dashed forward and helped him stand.


    ¡°I said you couldn¡¯t die! I did! I did! You¡¯re not dead. Are you?¡±


    He covered his eyes with a hand. Blessing clung to his other arm, wiping her filthy face on his tattered sleeve.


    ¡°The rest are dead,¡± said Berthold suddenly. ¡°Ai, God.¡±


    ¡°There was nothing you could have done,¡± said Jonas desperately.


    Berthold shook his head. ¡°I know!¡± he said bitterly, gesturing toward the fallen stones and sunken hill. ¡°It was in God¡¯s hands, not ours. We¡¯ll die if we stay here. My lungs hurt. There¡¯s nothing to drink. This ash covers everything. I can¡¯t tell if it¡¯s day or evening or morning. I don¡¯t know where we are, but we must leave this valley and find a place of safety.¡±


    Brother Heribert turned, still awkward as he gained control of his limbs. He stared at Berthold for a while as if sorting through what possible meaning his words might have. Anna was still too numb to speak, but she did notice how very blue his eyes were, startlingly so in contrast to his pale, dirty face. She¡¯d never noticed his eyes before.


    ¡°I know how to leave this valley,¡± he said, his voice still hoarse, not really like Heribert¡¯s voice at all. ¡°Follow me.¡±


    2


    IVAR had never experienced rain like the downpour that drowned them now. If he turned his head up, he wouldn¡¯t be able to breathe. He and Erkanwulf huddled under the spreading boughs of an oak tree in the great forest called the Bretwald as the storm churned the path first to mud and then into a stream of boiling, frothing water. They had nowhere to shelter, no one to beg for help, and plenty of trouble keeping their mounts from bolting.


    ¡°Look there!¡± cried Erkanwulf, shaking as he pointed.


    Out in the forest lights bobbed, weaving among trees obscured by the pounding rain and the curtain of night. The young soldier took a step forward, meaning to call out to them, but Ivar grabbed his cloak and yanked him back against the tree.


    ¡°Hush, you idiot! No natural fire can stay lit in this downpour! Don¡¯t you remember who attacked us before?¡±


    ¡°Ai, God! The Lost Ones! We¡¯re doomed.¡±


    ¡°Hush!¡±


    It was too late. The lights turned their way.


    ¡°Come on!¡± Ivar splashed out onto the path, jerked up hard when his horse refused to budge. He grabbed the reins with both hands and yanked and tugged and swore, but in an argument of weight, the horse won, and it refused to leave the shelter of the tree.


    ¡°What do we do?¡± gasped Erkanwulf.


    ¡°Abandon the horses.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°Is it better to be dead?¡±


    The lights wove a new pattern, circling in toward their prey, and he heard a shout, a very human shout, and then the most horrifying and peculiar and inhuman sound that had ever assailed him.


    ¡°What is that?¡± Erkanwulf whispered.


    A beast¡¯s vast cry rolled over them. The sound made Ivar¡¯s heart freeze, and Erkanwulf¡¯s mount reared up, then slipped and staggered sideways, dragging Erkanwulf with it away down the slope.


    The gale hit so hard and unexpectedly that Ivar actually was blown off his feet, and only his mount¡¯s stubborn footing saved him from washing away down the foaming canal of water that the path had suddenly become. Wind cracked through the forest, splintering trees everywhere. Trunks crashed to the ground, giants falling to earth. The noise was a hammer, its echo ringing on and on as he cowered on his knees under the oak tree. All he could do was pray. Boughs shaken loose tumbled everywhere. Leaves whipped him in the face.


    A crack splintered through the howl of the wind. A huge branch split off the oak tree and plummeted to earth, striking Erkanwulf¡¯s horse on the head. The beast went down as if flattened. Erkanwulf slipped in the mud as the reins jerked taut, and somehow got caught under the horse¡¯s shoulder as the ground gave way.


    Ivar crept over to Erkanwulf, but because of the slickness of the mud and the angle of the ground and the thick tangle of branches and leaves, he couldn¡¯t budge the horse. The poor animal was dead, killed instantly.

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    The gale roared past and faded, although the treetops still shook and danced. It was no beast after all, merely an unnatural blast of wind. The rain eased a little.


    ¡°Ah!¡± Erkanwulf managed something like a grin; his face was a smudge against the darkness. ¡°It hurts!¡±


    ¡°Damn. Damn.¡± It seemed everyone he traveled with ended up in worse trouble after knowing him!


    ¡°I should have known better,¡± continued Erkanwulf through gritted teeth. ¡°I had a cousin who was killed by a falling branch in a windstorm. Ah! Eh! Leave it be a moment!¡±


    Ivar got to his feet and wiped moisture from his brow, trying to clear his sight. His hair was soaked. His leggings sagged and slid as the strips of cloth loosened, and his boots made a stropping sucking sound with each step as he came around the tree and peered into the darkness.


    The lights were strung out not twenty paces from him. He shrieked because he was so surprised, and pressed the ring Baldwin had gifted him to his lips, praying.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± called a voice out of the night. It spoke Wendish.


    ¡°I¡¯m just a messenger. No one who means any harm. My companion is hurt. I think his horse is dead. I can¡¯t shift it off him. I pray you. Help us. Or leave us alone.¡±


    The lights circled in like wary dogs and resolved into lanterns cunningly protected from the rain by caps of bronze and walls of a bubbly glass that made the flame within dance in weird distortions. Hooded figures carried the lanterns. There were four of them, whether men or shades he could not tell because they wore cloaks drawn tightly around their bodies. Most strangely, they were all barefoot.


    ¡°Have you any weapons?¡± their leader asked. ¡°Throw them down, if you please. We don¡¯t mean to hurt you. We¡¯re not bandits, not like those we¡¯re hunting.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t fight one against four!¡±


    ¡°If you won¡¯t throw down your weapons, we¡¯ll leave you here in peace, but we won¡¯t help your companion.¡± There was a pause as the one who spoke raised his lantern higher to get a look at Erkanwulf and the two horses, one down, one holding still with head up and eyes rolling white. Erkanwulf had either fainted or was playing at it. ¡°Good mounts. Pity about that one, but if it¡¯s dead or broke a leg, it¡¯ll make a good stew.¡±


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Ivar didn¡¯t dare surrender his precious weapons to bandits.


    ¡°We¡¯re King Henry¡¯s men. We got a charter some years back to keep this road through the Bretwald free and clear. He made us free of service to any lord or lady. We¡¯ve kept our word to him. That¡¯s why we were hunting bandits. There was a problem a month back. Honest folk got attacked. It¡¯s not a good time to travel.¡±


    ¡°Aye, Martin,¡± interjected one of his companions. ¡°And no better to be standing out here in this rain and storm, you lackwit! What if that wind comes howling back and kills the rest of us like it killed that horse? This rain and storm are bad enough, but that gale was something out of the Abyss! I¡¯m not waiting out here any longer! If there¡¯s just two of them, they¡¯re scarcely that mob of bandits what set on those merchant wagons, can they be?¡±


    It was a woman who spoke, and a woman who set down her lantern with a grunt of disgust and walked over to the fallen horse¡¯s head and knelt beside it, pulling back one eye. ¡°It¡¯s dead. Here, you!¡± She gestured impatiently to Ivar. ¡°Come help me get your friend loose.¡±


    She was strong. Together, they shifted the shoulders of the horse enough for Erkanwulf to scoot free. When her hood fell back, Ivar saw she was young, with old scars on her face suffered in a battle or a burning.


    ¡°Ahow!¡± yelped Erkanwulf, but although bruised and in a great deal of pain he stood on his right leg and gingerly moved all the joints in his left one by one¡ªhip, knee, ankle¡ªeven though his ankle hurt so badly he couldn¡¯t stand on it. The curve of the ground had kept the horse¡¯s full weight off him, and the dense cover of leaf litter and debris had offered enough cushion that he evidently hadn¡¯t broken anything.


    The horse, however, was quite dead.


    ¡°If we leave it out here,¡± said the one called Martin, ¡°the wolves will eat it before we can get back to butcher it. There¡¯s a fair bit of riches in that horse!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my horse!¡± said Erkanwulf. ¡°Given me by Princess Theophanu¡¯s steward!¡±


    Martin had the confident bearing of a young man accustomed to working all day at things he was good at. ¡°A princess¡¯ steward, eh? Is she one of King Henry¡¯s children? I can¡¯t recall them all. We¡¯ll put you up until your leg is better, and make a decent trade to you for what we take of it. We could use horsehair. No one in the village owns a horse. The froth meat¡¯ll go bad if it isn¡¯t used at once. And the wolves¡¯ll take it all if we don¡¯t get moving. We¡¯ll have to cut it up and hang it after.¡±

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    Although he, too, was no older than Ivar, he acted as the leader, gesturing toward his other two companions. ¡°Bruno, you take the injured one, put him on the horse, and lead them back to the village. Tell Nan we¡¯re coming, and then come back yourself with sacks or netting, whatever you can find. The cart. I¡¯m sure Ulf and Balt will help you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like to be separated from my comrade,¡± said Ivar.


    Martin shrugged. There wasn¡¯t threat in the gesture, just reality. The light on his face showed good health and clear eyes, and he had a way of examining Ivar that made Ivar want to grin, although he wasn¡¯t sure why. ¡°We¡¯ll need your help here. Two to hold the lanterns and keep their eyes open for wolves, and two to cut. Uta and I will do the cutting, unless you¡¯ve skill in that direction.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m better with a sword.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how it looks to me,¡± agreed Martin. ¡°It¡¯s why we approached you so cautiously. You¡¯re noble born, I¡¯d wager, but I don¡¯t think this fellow is.¡±


    ¡°Oof!¡± swore Erkanwulf, accidentally putting weight onto his left foot. ¡°Ai! That hurts.¡±


    Ivar¡¯s mount had to be led aside and calmed, and when he was ready, Erkanwulf got a heave up into the saddle.


    Bruno shied away from leading the horse. ¡°It¡¯s so big! What if it steps on me?¡±


    ¡°I can ride this fellow well enough,¡± said Erkanwulf to Ivar, although it was clear that pain was biting deep. ¡°He and I get along just fine, you know. Let¡¯s go, I pray you.¡±


    Bruno led them away, a single lantern swinging to and fro in rain and darkness.


    ¡°You¡¯re not feared of bandits attacking them?¡± Ivar asked as they faded into the stormy night.


    ¡°Not in that direction. It¡¯s past here to the east where there¡¯s been trouble. Anyway, I don¡¯t know what to think. I¡¯ve never stood a storm like this one. It¡¯s not natural. Only a fool would stay out in weather like this.¡±


    Ivar laughed, and Martin grinned, handing him the lantern.


    The fourth in their group was a speechless lad whom Uta and Martin never referred to by name. While Ivar held the light as steady as he could, the others got to work, with the lad alternating between working and holding a light.


    ¡°Think we can hang it?¡± Uta asked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t trust those branches,¡± said Martin, looking upward at the rattling mass of oak boughs. The wind kept steady and strong, and the rain beat over them. ¡°Can we shift it up on its back?¡±


    In the end they used rope to tie up its hindquarters a bit. Uta cut the hide from anus to throat, the insides of the legs and a circle above the fetlock, all done with surprising speed and gentleness. No intestines spilled. With Martin¡¯s help she peeled the hide off and finished the cut at the neck. The nameless lad set down his lantern and rolled the bloody hide up so it would be easy to carry.


    ¡°There!¡± said Uta, pointing down the road with her dripping knife.


    A trio of lanterns approached, resolving into the youth called Bruno and three men, one trundling a handcart, one carrying a pair of baskets lined with canvas, and the third hauling a net and a handsaw.


    ¡°What damage at home?¡± Martin asked.


    ¡°Roof tore off the new weaving shed,¡± said one of the older men, ¡°but all else held. Still, it¡¯ll be the Enemy¡¯s own work to clear up when it comes light again.¡±


    They looked Ivar over as if they thought he might have had a hand in the destruction, and then got to work. Blood melded with rain on the ground. The hot smell of intestines, finally freed by a deeper incision, cut through the chill night air and the scent of rain as they captured them in one of the baskets. They pulled out the precious inner meats. Working quick and dirty as the rain continued to fall, they dismantled the horse into manageable pieces.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be glad to get out of this,¡± said Martin as they got everything loaded up and balanced. They were leaving nothing behind.


    It was an oddly cheerful procession, although it was so cold and miserable. Ivar could not talk; he was too tired. The others laughed and joked as they squelched along, sticking frequently in mud, cursing and swearing as they dug out the wheels for the third time, stumbling and once losing the kidneys entirely when the nameless lad lost hold of his side of one basket. But Uta groped around in the underbrush and found them both, gleaming wetly, still warm. The carcass steamed in the cold air, its soul dissolving upward, if horses had souls. Had the scholars at Quedlinhame ever discussed such a question? Ivar could not remember. His old life seemed impossibly distant. All he knew now was that his feet were numb and his nose was running and there was an unfathomable amount of debris fallen just within the halo of the lanterns although fortunately no great trunk had fallen across the road.

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    A dozen folk waited for them at the gateway of a palisade dimly seen in the murky night. A cluster of buildings huddled within its safety, but it was too dark to note more than shapes scattered across a clearing. He was hustled into the blessed warmth of a long hall while his companions took the carcass elsewhere to hang. Erkanwulf sat on furs beside the hearth fire, talking to a wakeful child crouched beside him.


    ¡°Ma!¡± The child called to a woman who had led Ivar in from the gate. She pushed back her hood to reveal a face more handsome than pretty. She had an infant bundled against her chest in a sling. ¡°He says he was at Gent! Just like Da!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re out of Gent?¡± asked the woman in surprise.


    ¡°Nay,¡± replied Erkanwulf, ¡°I was only there one time, when there was a big battle. That was years ago. I was just a lad.¡±


    ¡°My husband was a refugee out of Gent. Mayhap after that big battle you speak of, the one with the Dragons.¡±


    ¡°They all died!¡± cried the child happily. ¡°All those Dragons! All but one! That was the captain. Nothing can kill him!¡± he added confidingly to Erkanwulf. ¡°He¡¯s a great warrior, the best who ever lived.¡±


    Ivar was too cold and wet even to work up a smoldering burn at the mention of Prince Sanglant, that most noble and attractive of creatures. It just didn¡¯t seem important.


    Erkanwulf smiled at the child, then nodded at Ivar. ¡°You¡¯re a sight, my lord cleric,¡± he said with a mocking lift of his head.


    The woman stopped dead, and turned to Ivar with her jaw dropping open. She had all her teeth and good, clean, healthy eyes. Her grip, when she caught his elbow, was uncomfortably strong. ¡°Are you a churchman? We haven¡¯t had a deacon, or a frater even, out our way for years and years. We¡¯ve been wanting¡­.¡±


    Laughing, Martin and Bruno came into the hall, pausing in the dug-out entryway to take off their boots.


    ¡°Martin!¡± she called, and Martin looked up at the sound of her voice and grinned at her. What they shared, Ivar felt as a joyful presence, like the perfume of the first meadow flowers of spring, that penetrated even in this dank and fetid winter hall. The hall had stood up to the gale; the presence glimpsed in their shared gaze had withstood the storms of life. ¡°This one is a cleric! Maybe he could give us God¡¯s blessing on our marriage.¡±


    ¡°Surely we have God¡¯s blessing already,¡± said Martin as the child ran over to him and leaped up into his arms, cuddling there.


    ¡°Hush!¡± She made a sign with her hands, and spat, and then looked embarrassed. ¡°Begging your pardon, my lord cleric. Old ways die hard. I mean nothing by it. But it¡¯s bad fortune to say what might attract the evil eye. Would you do it? We¡¯ve nothing to offer but a place to sleep and something to eat and drink for as long as you must bide here until your companion is healed and you can go on. And these unnatural rains end. Can you speak God¡¯s blessing over us? We¡¯ve been handfasted these six or seven summers but never had God¡¯s blessing spoken over us.¡±


    I can¡¯t.


    But as she stared at him, eyes wide and a hopeful smile on her lips, he could not say ¡°no¡± to her. He didn¡¯t know the words. He¡¯d forgotten most things and learned little to begin with. He hadn¡¯t paid attention because he hadn¡¯t wanted to. He¡¯d wanted everything else. Anything out of his reach had seemed so bright and ripe to him, like the perfect apple dangling from a branch too high to ever reach.


    ¡°I¡¯ll sing God¡¯s blessing over you,¡± he said, ¡°in the morning.¡±


    Ai! She was so happy as the rest stamped in and by lantern light stripped down to shifts and cozied into the pallets and platforms tucked up under the eaves that they slept on, all snugged together for warmth. They offered him an honored place close to the hearth, and he lay down beside Erkanwulf and the little lad, who had taken a liking to the rider, but although he closed his eyes, he could not sleep.


    After a while Erkanwulf stirred, and whispered, ¡°I¡¯ve never heard you sing a blessing, not once in all this time. You¡¯re just a heretic, not a real churchman, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Is there any harm in it?¡± Ivar murmured. ¡°I served as a novice at Quedlinhame. It isn¡¯t as if a frater or cleric is likely to wander through here. Anyway, they¡¯ve served us a good turn.¡±


    Erkanwulf grunted softly. ¡°I suppose there¡¯s no harm in it. Funny, though. That one, called Martin, he came out of Gent years ago, so I hear. He was a lad then and he settled here and married a local girl. This is their boy.¡± The child was snoring softly on the other side of Erkanwulf. ¡°The wee lad has never heard of Autun or Lady Sabella or Biscop Constance, but he knows all about Gent and roads east.¡± His voice got rough, or perhaps his leg was paining him. ¡°What will we do? We¡¯ve only one horse now. You know as well as I do that we¡¯ve nothing but empty promises to carry back to Biscop Constance.¡±

 Page 42

    ¡°Let me think. Something strange is abroad in the world, don¡¯t you suppose? That wind ¡­ it sounded liked the cry of a living soul. Made me shiver right down through my skin. It made me think of a verse from the Holy Book, only I can¡¯t remember it right, something about the seas boiling and the wind tossing down trees.¡±


    Erkanwulf snorted. ¡°Every deacon and cleric and frater I¡¯ve ever met has a better memory than you, Lord Ivar, most noble cleric.¡±


    He spoke mockingly, but the words didn¡¯t sting. It was Erkanwulf¡¯s way to tease. A year ago, a month ago, Ivar would have stewed and simmered, turning those words over and over, but not now.


    ¡°The verses spoke of the end of the world,¡± he said instead. ¡°I feel we have been touched by a terrible, grand sword, a weapon wielded by God, or by those among humankind who don¡¯t fear what they should fear. Did you ever see trees fall so? Like sticks kicked over by a boy!¡±


    ¡°I did not. Never in my life, and I¡¯ve stood in forests when the wind howled on winter nights. I thought I would piss myself, I was so scared.¡±


    Rain still drummed on the thatch roof of the hall, steady and ominous.


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± agreed Ivar. ¡°It wasn¡¯t natural. Nor were those shades we saw before either. We have to keep our eyes open and be ready to act. We have to get back to Biscop Constance no matter what. And go quickly, as soon as the weather breaks.¡±


    But in the morning, it rained. In the afternoon, it rained. All the next night, it rained. For five days it rained without letting up. The villagers kept busy with many tasks around the long hall and within the warren of huts and hovels and sheds they had erected within their log palisade. They ate the froth meat out of the horse in a series of soups that stretched the meat so that it would feed the two dozen or so folk across several days. Every evening as the light faded they gathered around the hearth fire and demanded Erkanwulf tell them the tale of Gent, or that Ivar regale them with the story of the ill-fated expedition east into the marchlands under the command of Princess Sapientia and Prince Bayan of Ungria.


    ¡°Look here, I pray you, my lord cleric,¡± said Martin late on the sixth day after he¡¯d come in from outside. He stank of smoke. He¡¯d been curing horse meat. He rummaged in a chest and brought out a parchment tied with a strip of leather. This he rolled out on the table. Folk crowded around, whispering as they stared at the writing none of them could read. ¡°It¡¯s our charter! From the king himself, may God bless him and his kin. Do you see the seal here?¡± He touched the wax seal reverentially. ¡°We just heard it the once, read by that Eagle that rode through here, the one with a dark face. She had to take it away so it could get the king¡¯s seal. Another Eagle, a red-haired one like to you, rode through a year or so after and brought it back to us. But he couldn¡¯t read. Can you read it for us, so we can hear it again?¡±


    How they all gazed at him with hopeful expressions! They were such a sturdy group, healthier than many because the forest provided so much, all but a steady supply of grain and salt which, they¡¯d told him, they traded for. Even in lean years they could survive with less grain. They hadn¡¯t any horses, but three milk cows. They had forage for their goats and sheep as well as certain plants and tubers out of the forest that could be eaten by humankind in hard times even if they weren¡¯t tasty. They ate meat often, and they were proud of it, knowing that folk beyond the forest never fared so well.


    He bent over the diploma. The lantern light made the pen strokes waver. He¡¯d never read well nor did he like to, but the months in Queen¡¯s Grave and the unrelenting supervision of Biscop Constance had forced him to labor over Dariyan, the language used both by the church and by the king¡¯s schola for all decrees and capitularies.


    They waited, so quiet that the sound of dripping rain off the outside eaves made him nervous. He kept expecting the rain to start up again. Luckily, it was not a long document. He stumbled through it without utterly shaming himself. King Henry¡¯s promise was straightforward: the foresters would be free of service to any lord or lady as long as they kept the king¡¯s road passable for himself and his servants and messengers and armies.


    ¡°The Eagle read it better,¡± murmured Martin¡¯s wife to her husband, then blushed when Ivar looked at her.


    ¡°Eagles can¡¯t read,¡± he said. ¡°They learn the words in their head and repeat them back. That¡¯s what she must have done.¡±


    ¡°Nay, she read it all right,¡± said one of the older men. ¡°I recall that well enough. She touched each word as she spoke it. How could she know which was which if she weren¡¯t reading? Strange looking girl, too, not any older than my Baltia here.¡± He set a hand on the head of an adolescent girl perhaps sixteen or seventeen years of age. ¡°I don¡¯t know if she were pretty, but she sure caught the eye.¡±

 Page 43

    ¡°She was at Gent, too,¡± said Martin. ¡°She was the one what saved us, those of us who escaped.¡±


    ¡°I know who you mean!¡± said Erkanwulf from his seat on the bench. ¡°We rode with her, Captain Ulric¡¯s band out of Autun, that is. She was riding with Count Lavastine¡¯s army, but she was a King¡¯s Eagle, after all. I¡¯d wager it was the same one.¡±


    Ivar sat down, clenching his hands. He shut his eyes, and at once they fussed around him and Martin¡¯s wife, called Flora, brought him ale to drink to clear his head.


    ¡°I will never be free of her.¡± He hadn¡¯t meant to say it out loud. He laughed, seeing them stare at him. Erkanwulf looked skeptical. Martin looked puzzled. Flora¡¯s mouth had turned up softly, and her gaze was gentle, as though she had guessed it all. She touched her young husband on the shoulder, and he started, glanced at her, and reading something in her expression¡ªwords weren¡¯t the only marks that could be read!¡ªhe rolled up the diploma and stashed it away in the chest beneath the community¡¯s other precious possessions.


    ¡°You said you¡¯d give us your blessing, Lord Ivar,¡± he said. ¡°Will you do so?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do so.¡±


    He rose. Old memories clung. They were a stink he would never be rid of. Liath had never been his, and she would never have chosen him. She sure caught the eye. He wasn¡¯t the only man to have thought so. But it no longer mattered. The world had changed in a way he did not yet understand.


    ¡°Stand before the hearth fire with clasped hands,¡± he said to Martin and Flora. He¡¯d never witnessed a commoner¡¯s wedding. Rarely did a deacon officiate in any case, since the law of bed and board made a marriage. He dredged for scraps of verse, God¡¯s blessings for fecundity, the wedding of church and humankind as bride and groom, the necessity of holding fast to faith.


    ¡°For healthful seasons, for the abundance of the fruits of the earth, and for peaceful times, let us pray. Have mercy upon us, now and ever, and unto ages of ages.¡±


    Flora wept. Martin sobbed. Their son skipped around them in glee while the baby waved its chubby arms. Balt and his daughter broke out a flute and a fiddle, and the others took the table down and cleared a space for dancing. Erkanwulf tested his healing ankle by spinning Uta round and round, and he came back, laughing, to sit and rest and grimace.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be so grim,¡± he said to Ivar. ¡°Standing there with your arms crossed and a frown like my grandmam¡¯s! Heh! She never smiled one day in her long life! My da used to say that a spell had been put on her when she was a young sprite that she¡¯d drop dead if she was ever happy, so there you are. She was the oldest person I ever saw till the day she dropped dead.¡±


    The story teased a grin out of him. ¡°Was she smiling?¡±


    ¡°She was not! It wasn¡¯t the curse that felled her. She got hit in the head by a piece of wood that flew free when one of my uncles was chopping up a log. A little like my poor horse, now I think on it.¡±


    ¡°Erkanwulf! How can you speak so disrespectfully of the dead?¡±


    ¡°She was a mean old bitch. That¡¯s just how it was. No one was sorry to see her go except the dog.¡±


    Like me. But he shook himself. It was, a lie he told himself, and he didn¡¯t know why. He had told himself that lie for years, ever after Hanna had chosen to go with Liath over him. But he had seen how false the lie was the day Sigfrid, Ermanrich, and Hathumod had cried to see him risk his life for Biscop Constance. He had seen how false it was the day Baldwin had given up his freedom for the rest of them. He had seen how false it was the day Baldwin wept, believing him dead. Maybe Hanna, and Liath, had scorned him, but there were others who needed him. Who were waiting for him.


    He grabbed Erkanwulf¡¯s shoulder. ¡°As soon as the road¡¯s clear enough that the horse isn¡¯t at risk, we¡¯ll go.¡±


    ¡°If you wish,¡± agreed Erkanwulf. ¡°You¡¯ve got a strange look on your face. Has an imp gotten into you?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s time. We¡¯ve got to act while we have the chance.¡±


    ¡°Time for what?¡±


    ¡°Time for Captain Ulric and all the men loyal to him to choose whether to act, or to give way. Princess Theophanu can¡¯t help us. It¡¯s up to us to free Biscop Constance. There¡¯s only one way to do it.¡±


    3


    A burning wind struck with such ferocity that every tent in camp was laid flat. A hail of stinging ash passed over them where they huddled under whatever shelter they could find. After all this, after the rumbling and groaning of earth faded, the terrible glare of lightning gave way to a sickly gleam that Hanna at long last identified as dawn. She crawled out from under the wagon into the cloudy light of a new day in which everything had changed. She had taken shelter with Aurea, Teuda, and poor, addled Petra with her perpetually vacant expression.

 Page 44

    ¡°Stay there,¡± she whispered to the others. Their pale faces stared out at her.


    ¡°Do you see Sister Rosvita?¡± Aurea looked ready to scramble out, but Hanna waved her back.


    ¡°Stay there! You can¡¯t imagine¡ªjust stay there.¡±


    It was impossible to think such a day could ever dawn. It was impossible to imagine a world that resembled the one she surveyed now. The great traveling camp made up of the combined armies of King Geza of Ungria and Lady Eudokia of Arethousa looked like a field of rubbish. A few brave souls staggered to and fro uttering aimless cries into the dawning light. Clouds covered the sky. The air, especially to the south and west, was yellow because of a dragging haze that obscured her view in every direction beyond an arrow¡¯s shot. Only to the east was it vaguely lighter. A layer of ash covered everything, and it seemed most of the animals on which the army relied had fled. She had grit on her lips and in her eyes, and a skin of ash over every part of her body, even beneath her clothing, even under her eyelids.


    ¡°Hanna!¡±


    She stumbled forward over a broken tent pole to grasp the arms of Sister Rosvita. ¡°God be praised, Sister! Where are the others?¡±


    ¡°I have them all accounted for except Aurea, Teuda, and poor Sister Petra.¡±


    ¡°They are with me. What of Mother Obligatia?¡±


    ¡°She lives.¡± Rosvita shut her eyes as she exhaled, a sigh that seemed to shake the ground. Hanna found that she had tears in her eyes, knowing they had survived.


    Thus far.


    A bubble of canvas stretched and shifted like a living creature as Fortunatus emerged, wiping grime off his face. Beyond, not one tent remained standing. A body lay unmoving on the ground, but Hanna could not be sure the person was dead.


    ¡°I pray that was the worst of it,¡± said Rosvita as she lowered her hand. ¡°We must find water and food.¡±


    ¡°We must decide what to do next, Sister. It will take days for this army to recover, if it ever does. There should be twice as many people. Are they all still hiding, or have they fled?¡±


    Or died?


    Rosvita glanced toward the collapsed tent in which she had sheltered. Fortunatus lifted up the heavy canvas as Ruoda and Gerwita crawled out. Gerwita, seeing the camp, burst into tears.


    ¡°We are faced with a difficult choice, Eagle. Do we flee on foot, knowing we may perish from hunger and thirst?¡± She gestured toward the hazy south and west. ¡°I do not like the look of that. I would not turn my steps in that direction unless I had no other choice. But by traveling north and east we remain in Dalmiakan country, under the suzerainity of the Arethousan Empire. Yet in such circumstances, is it better to be a prisoner so we can be assured a bowl of gruel each day?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think there are any assurances any longer, Sister. I pray you, let me scout the camp while you get the rest of our party ready to move out. Perhaps there is a bit of water or food you can find in the wreckage.¡±


    ¡°Who will accompany you?¡±


    ¡°Alone, I may pass unnoticed in this chaos. I¡¯ll see what I can see. See what has become of kings and queens and noble generals.¡±


    Rosvita nodded grimly before kissing Hanna on either cheek. ¡°Go carefully, Eagle. We will be ready when you return.¡±


    Hanna had lain all night on top of her staff and her bow and quiver. She had a bruise down her chest and abdomen from their pressure into her flesh, but she hadn¡¯t dared lose her weapons to the wind. She grabbed them now as Aurea crawled out from under the wagon and helped silent Petra emerge into the dusty air. She slung bow and quiver over her back and walked into the camp with her staff held firmly in her right hand, gaze flicking this way and that, but the people she saw crawling through the debris or standing with hands to their heads seemed too stunned to think of doing her harm.


    A slender hound whimpered in the dirt; its hips were bloody, and though it kept trying to rise, it could not stand on its hind legs. A man scrabbled in the ruins of a wagon that had, somehow, completely overturned.


    ¡°Help me!¡± he said, to no one. ¡°Help me!¡±


    She came over and with her help he heaved up the heavy wagon, just enough so he could look underneath.


    ¡°No! No! No!¡± he cried in Arethousan, and he leaped back, releasing his hold on the wagon. The abrupt increase in weight caught her off guard. She barely released the slats and jumped back herself, scraping her fingers, as the wagon¡¯s bed crashed back onto the ground.


    ¡°Hey!¡± she called, but he ran off through the camp, still crying, ¡°No! No!¡±


    ¡°Ai, God!¡± she swore, sucking on her fingers. She had picked up two splinters, one too deep to pry loose. ¡°Oh, damn! Ouch!¡±

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    She wasn¡¯t eager to see what lay under the wagon, so she walked on through the ruins of the camp. As she neared the central compound, she saw more signs of life, soldiers hurrying about their tasks, some of them leading horses. A line of wagons was being drawn into position. A handsome bay so spooked that it shied at every shift and movement was being calmed by a stolid groom. Even here, the royal tents lay in heaps and mounds, fallen into ridges and valleys over whatever pallets and tables and benches sat inside. A rack of spears had toppled to spill all over. She glanced around to see if anyone was looking, bent, and snatched up one of the spears. No one stopped her. A gathering of some hundreds of people milled and swarmed in a clear spot beyond the collapsed tents. She edged forward into the crowd and wove and sidestepped her way far enough in that she could see what was going on.


    Nothing good: a storm of nobles arguing. That didn¡¯t bode well. She used her hip to nudge her way past a weary soldier and her height to see over the heads of the shorter, stockier Arethousans. No one seemed to notice her in particular; the ash had turned her white-blonde hair as grimy as that of the rest.


    ¡°But you promised me!¡± Princess Sapientia was saying. She had weathered the night better than many. Her face was clean and she didn¡¯t have dark circles under her eyes.


    King Geza had not fared so well. He was pacing, hands clenched, and his gaze touched his wife¡¯s figure only in glances. He was looking for something; Hanna wasn¡¯t sure what.


    ¡°I have five adult sons. Any one of them may believe this disaster is a sign from God for him to usurp my place.¡±


    ¡°They would not have done so before, after you left?¡±


    ¡°No. My officials were in place. Who knows what has become of them? This was no natural storm. The priests will speak in many tongues, all arguing among themselves. The Arethousans will scold the Dariyans. The old women will creep from their huts and start scouting for a white stallion. I must go home and see to my kingdom lest it fall to pieces.¡±


    ¡°This storm may not have touched Ungria! It¡¯s so far away.¡±


    Geza stopped for long enough to look at Sapientia with disgust. ¡°Only a fool would not recognize this storm for what it is. As soon as my soldiers are ready, we march.¡±


    ¡°But you promised me¡ª!¡± She choked on the words. She could not get them out of her throat. ¡°I married you!¡±


    ¡°Come with me, then. Once Ungria is safe¡ª¡±


    ¡°What of my kingdom?¡± she exclaimed.


    ¡°By the blessed Name of God, woman! All that lies south of here is blasted, so the scouts say. To the west, toward Aosta¡ªwho can see for the smoke and fire? Do not be blind. I will not ride to Wendar. I turn my back on Aosta, just as God has.¡±


    ¡°You promised me!¡±


    Hanna wanted to shake her, but King Geza was faster, and less patient than Prince Bayan to be sure.


    ¡°Then I divorce you, Sapientia. Go on your way as you please.¡±


    ¡°Divorce me?¡±


    ¡°I divorce you. Must I repeat myself? Ah! Captain! What news?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re ready, Your Majesty.¡±


    ¡°Then we go.¡± He gestured. The captain shouted a command in Ungrian, and half the men milling around scattered so swiftly that Hanna felt spun in circles although she didn¡¯t move.


    ¡°But what about me?¡± cried Sapientia plaintively.


    ¡°I divorce you. It is done. Feh!¡± He strode off, talking in a low voice to his captain. He didn¡¯t even look back as the handsome bay was led up for him to ride.


    Sapientia stood gasping, her hands opening and closing although she had nothing to grasp onto.


    Hanna whistled under her breath and began to retreat out from the chuckling, staring crowd of Arethousans, softly, slowly, taking care not to draw attention to herself, just a quiet hound slinking off to do its business, nothing worth noticing. Off to the right she heard the shouts of men and the jangling of harness as a large troop moved out. Lord protect them! Geza had abandoned his bride and his allies without a moment¡¯s hesitation. She knew she had to get back to Sister Rosvita quickly. She knew what the answer was, now, to their predicament.


    Move fast, and get out of the way.


    ¡°There!¡±


    She spun, but it was too late. Sergeant Bysantius strode up with a dozen guards at his heels.


    ¡°Eagle! Come with us.¡±


    They had already surrounded her. She saw, around them and beyond them, the steady tidal flow of troops and servants toward a distant goal. Bysantius grabbed her elbow and towed her along with him.


    ¡°They¡¯re wanting you,¡± he added.

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    ¡°What about my companions?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not wanting your companions.¡±


    Lady Eudokia was seated on a stool under a torn awning fixed in place by four men holding up poles tied to each corner of blue silk. The fabric echoed the clear heavens they could no longer see. Her young nephew clung to her robes, face hidden in her lap. She sipped from a cup while Lord Alexandros spoke to a trio of captains, all of them pale with ash and looking as dour as any farmer who has just seen his field of rye marred by the black rot. Beyond, wagons rumbled into place in a line of march. A rank of mounted soldiers trotted past, heading for the front of the line, which was obscured by haze. The Arethousan army was moving out.


    ¡°Exalted Lady.¡± Sergeant Bysantius dropped to both knees, bowed, and rose. He shoved Hanna forward. ¡°The Eagle, as you requested.¡±


    She tripped over her feet and barely had time to right herself before the general whistled, listening to the report of one of his captains.


    ¡°Geza¡¯s gone already? Hsst! We¡¯ll leave a small rear guard behind to bring any who scattered in the night. Bring the horses!¡± He saw Hanna, but nodded toward the sergeant. ¡°That was fast.¡±


    ¡°I found her wandering, Your Excellency.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s too valuable to lose, as we agreed before. You¡¯ll be in charge of her, Bysantius. It will be your head if she escapes.¡± He turned away and walked to his horse.


    It was strange how easily she understood Arethousan now, as if the scent of camphor tossed into the flame to let the lady and the general see what she saw had at the same time opened her mind and let it steal words out of theirs.


    ¡°I pray you, Your Excellency,¡± she cried, starting forward. ¡°Exalted Lady. I pray you, my companions ¡­ I know where they are. If you¡¯ll just let me go and make sure they¡¯re with one of the wagons¡ª¡±


    He paused, turning back to frown at her. ¡°You misunderstand us. We do not need your companions anymore. They are of no use to us because our circumstances have changed so greatly.¡±


    ¡°Surely you don¡¯t mean to abandon them!¡±


    He shrugged and walked away.


    ¡°Sergeant! Exalted Lady!¡±


    Lady Eudokia sipped at her cup and ignored Hanna¡¯s cries.


    ¡°No offense,¡± murmured Bysantius, gripped her arm, ¡°but you¡¯d do better to come quietly.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t abandon them! They¡¯ll die!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s out of your hands, Eagle. You are the prisoner of Lord Alexandros now.¡±


    She ripped her arm out of his grasp and bolted, but two of the guards tackled her. She went down hard, but kept fighting until they pinned all her limbs. They stripped her of her weapons, tied her hands and feet with rope, and threw her in the back of a wagon as it lurched past in the train of Lord Alexandros. Scraped, bloody, and bruised, she wept with fury, hating herself for her helplessness.


    4


    HANNA did not return. They waited for hours at the edge of camp, hoping not to be noticed, and indeed it was as if they had become invisible. No one paid them the least mind. There was no telling what hour of the day it was, or what service they ought to sing, because the clouds never lifted and the light kept its smoky, sullen glow, scarcely enough to read by.


    At intervals they watched vague shapes that seemed to be troops moving in the distance, perhaps a line of march receding toward the northeast, but the haze obscured most movement beyond an arrow¡¯s shot. Their eyes stung and their noses ran from the constant irritation of falling ash and blowing grit. Yet the patter of ash fall eased by the time Fortunatus sighed and turned to Rosvita.


    ¡°What if she is not coming back, Sister? Should one of us go look for her?¡±


    ¡°We will not split up. What happens to one, happens to all.¡±


    ¡°We have waited here long enough,¡± said Mother Obligatia. They had set her litter across the wagon and shielded her with a canvas awning so that the ancient nun could ease up on her elbows and survey the scene. ¡°Night will come and find us standing like dumb beasts in the field.¡±


    Rosvita smiled, feeling how stern her heart had become. Smiles meant something different here in the aftermath; they betokened not happiness or laughter but determination. ¡°You are right. We must make a decision, or others will choose for us.¡±


    They had taken turns circling out from their position, venturing only to that point where they could still see back to the group as they searched in the wreckage for food and water. They had found five corpses, put one dreadfully injured dog out of its misery, and managed otherwise to collect a small store of provisions and, most importantly, a score of sacks and leather bottles filled variously with wine, sweetened vinegar, and a nasty-tasting liquid that stank of aniseed but was something they might be able to drink in dire need.

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    The wagon under which Aurea had sheltered was too heavy to drag, but Hilaria discovered a handcart in decent shape, needing only a small repair to the axle because it had tipped over and spilled its load of bundled herbs.


    ¡°Some peddler following the army,¡± said Aurea as she helped the girls gather up what could be salvaged: lavender, mostly, sage, tufts of bay and basil, and feverwort. ¡°A bag of chestnuts! Why would anyone abandon such treasures?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps the peddler is dead,¡± said Ruoda sharply. Gerwita began to snivel.


    ¡°We¡¯ll stay together,¡± said Rosvita, seeing that tempers would run high with exhaustion and fear driving them. ¡°Take turns hauling the cart.¡±


    They set off with Rosvita in the lead beside Diocletia. Behind them, Fortunatus and Teuda carried Mother Obligatia¡¯s litter. Heriburg followed with the precious books slung over her back. Ruoda and Gerwita shepherded Petra, while Jerome and Jehan took turns pushing the cart. Tireless Hilaria paced up and down the line to spell those who needed a rest, and Aurea set herself as their rear guard. They had no particular destination but made their way through rippling lakes of torn and crumpled canvas, past discarded shoes and forgotten harness, an iron kettle, a red cap, and a broken leather strap affixed to a bronze Circle of Unity in the Arethousan style with crossed bars quartering the interior. The armies had left an eerie silence in their wake but for the wind grumbling through scraps of canvas and a dog snuffling at an overturned wagon, trying to dig its way in to something caught underneath.


    But for the wind and the dog, nothing and no one moved in the haze. Those folk the armies had not taken with them had, evidently, fled the scene, fearing worse to come. It was difficult to imagine what could be worse than what they had suffered during the night.


    ¡°Look!¡± murmured Diocletia. ¡°There¡¯s someone¡ªthere!¡±


    A figure huddled in a clearing notable for the lack of debris on all sides except a single expanse of splotched canvas that had once been a grand tent and a scattering of spears tumbled on the ground. The creature crouched with its head buried in its dirty riding skirts and its arms wrapped around its knees, like a child.


    Rosvita gestured for the others to halt. She ventured forward cautiously with Diocletia beside her. The nun paused to pick up a spear, and Hilaria and Aurea hurried up beside her to gather up the rest. They walked softly, but even so, the person seemed utterly lost not to have heard their approach. They halted a body¡¯s length from her¡ªit was now obvious it was a woman¡ªand Diocletia moved sideways so that if the woman was armed and dangerous she might not strike them both dead with one blow. How had it come to this, that a holy nun should think like a soldier, weighing tactics? Was this to be the fate of all humankind in the weeks and months to come?


    ¡°Friend,¡± said Rosvita in Arethousan, as gently as she knew how. ¡°We will not harm you.¡±


    At first, she gained no response. But at last that dark head stirred and a woman raised a tearstained face to stare at her with an expression of such hopelessness that Rosvita felt tears in her own eyes drawn out by that naked anguish.


    She was stunned as she recognized the other woman. ¡°Your Highness,¡± she said in Wendish. ¡°I am Sister Rosvita. Do you remember me? Where is King Geza?¡±


    ¡°I divorce you,¡± said the princess, each word formed so precisely that it seemed she was repeating a phrase spoken by someone else. Her gaze was bleak, and her hands were dirty, as if she had been digging.


    ¡°Are you alone, Your Highness?¡±


    Sapientia¡¯s laugh was that of a madwoman, quickly cut off. ¡°A prince without a retinue is no prince!¡±


    ¡°We are your retinue, Your Highness.¡±


    Sapientia stared at her for a long time without answering. Rosvita began to doubt the princess had heard her.


    Fortunatus crept up beside Rosvita and leaned to whisper in her ear. ¡°There is no one left, Sister. She¡¯s been abandoned, just as we were.¡± He sounded as shocked as she felt. ¡°She is King Henry¡¯s daughter! What will we do?¡±


    ¡°We must take her with us.¡±


    A robed person swept past them and heedlessly knelt down within range of the princess. ¡°Come, little lamb,¡± she said in Dariyan. ¡°You¡¯ve strayed far, but we¡¯ll take care of you now.¡±


    It was Sister Petra. Her expression was calm, almost blank, but her voice had a soothing gentleness. If Princess Sapientia understood her coaxing, spoken as it was in Dariyan, she made no sign, but she allowed herself to be helped to stand, she allowed herself to be herded along without protest. She said not one word more as they made their way through the wreckage of the camp, always moving upslope and away from the distant ocean, until they came at long last to a pine wood whose sparse canopy gave them a measure of shelter as the light changed and became rather more dense. Night was coming on, although a glow remained in the sky, painting the heavens a deathly orange-red. They rigged up a serviceable shelter and dined sparingly on a stew of leeks and turnips flavored with a bay leaf and cooked over an open fire in the kettle they had found in the deserted camp.

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    ¡°We are well set for a hike in the woods,¡± said Fortunatus, attempting levity although there wasn¡¯t much to be had.


    Rosvita smiled gratefully at him. They had a single spoon, which they passed around between them to eat out of the kettle. ¡°We have provisions, and freedom. It is more than we had before.¡±


    ¡°Best be grateful for each least blessing God grant us,¡± agreed Mother Obligatia. She was so tiny and so frail that the power of her voice always amazed Rosvita. She was actually sitting up for the first time in many days, as if the terrible night had strengthened her.


    Her words awoke someone else. Sapientia had let the spoon pass by without acknowledging that it, or anything, existed. She had walked in a trance, pressed along by the constant attentions of Sister Petra, whose entire being was focused on her helpless charge. The glow of the fire painted shadows on the princess¡¯ face, making of her a mask whose expression could not be fathomed because it was so empty. But the mask spoke.


    ¡°A prince without a retinue is no prince,¡± she repeated.


    Rosvita knelt beside her. ¡°We are your retinue, Your Highness.¡±


    After a long silence, Sapientia turned her head and looked straight at the cleric, although Rosvita at first wasn¡¯t sure the princess knew who she was. Behind her, Jerome slurped at the spoon.


    ¡°You love my father, Sister Rosvita,¡± Sapientia said.


    ¡°I love him and serve him, Your Highness.¡±


    ¡°Do you love me, Sister?¡±


    ¡°Nay, child, not in the same way. I have known your father for a very long time. He has my heart, but you have my loyalty. I will not abandon you.¡±


    Sapientia slammed fists into the ground and again, and again. ¡°Not like all the others! My father! Bayan! Sanglant! The Pechanek mothers! Geza! Every one of them deserted me!¡± The storm broke over her. She sobbed in great heaves, trembling all over. Petra stroked her shoulders, murmuring words that made no sense, and after a while the princess calmed.


    Wind crackled through limbs. Among the trees a branch snapped and crashed down to the ground. Otherwise it was so quiet. Too quiet. They had seen no birds all day. No telltale rustling marked the comings and goings of the little nocturnal creatures who ought to be scuttling about their nightly rounds.


    Sapientia¡¯s reaction was such a brief window, opened to show a light within and perhaps soon to be shut. Rosvita had to ask, although she feared the answer.


    ¡°Your Highness. Did you see Hanna? The Eagle who was with us?¡±


    Sapientia did not raise her head. Her voice was hoarse and ugly. ¡°She¡¯s dead.¡±


    ¡°Ai, God,¡± Rosvita whispered. ¡°You saw her dead? You saw her body?¡±


    Sapientia refused to answer, only stared at the ground.


    ¡°What will we do?¡± they asked, one by one, all but Mother Obligatia.


    ¡°I should never have let her go off alone!¡±


    ¡°Nay, Sister,¡± said Mother Obligatia, scolding her. ¡°The Eagle did what she had to do. That was her duty. She knew it was dangerous.¡±


    Guilt burned. Rosvita thought of Hanna as one of her charges, now that they had traveled so far together. She could not find any ease in her heart by prating about duty. She rose and paced around the fire, examining each one who had followed her so far: Mother Obligatia with her ancient sorrows and dangerous past; the abbess¡¯ three stout attendants in the persons of Diocletia, Hilaria, and the lay sister Teuda; poor Petra, now cooing and stroking the unresponsive Princess Sapientia; Rosvita¡¯s faithful servant Aurea, with her strong arm and steady head; that gaggle of young clerics who admired her far too well, timid Gerwita, stubborn Heriburg, clever Ruoda, and the two young men, Jerome and Jehan, still youths in so many ways. Last of all, she met the gaze of the one who was her secret strength: Brother Fortunatus. He nodded at her. He would never waver.


    ¡°We rest as well as we can, for we will need our strength. It seemed to me that the light was better in the east, but that way lies Arethousa. Unless tomorrow brings an unexpected change, we must try our luck to the northwest. We must try to reach Wendar. God help us.¡±


    God help me, she thought, as they made ready to rest on the cold ground, arranging cloaks and canvas and blankets over themselves, a jumble of treasures they had salvaged out of the camp. They had provisions to last for perhaps five days. God help me, I pray you. I do not want to lose another one.


    Out in the forest, a twig snapped. All of them looked up, startled and anxious. They waited, but no further noise beyond that of the wind rattling in the boughs disturbed the evening silence.


    ¡°What if there are bandits, Sister Rosvita?¡± asked Gerwita. Her voice was so soft it almost vanished under the sound of the wind. ¡°We have no weapons to defend ourselves. We can¡¯t use those spears.¡±

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    The girl looked scared. The others stared at Rosvita, waiting for her answer.


    She caught Fortunatus¡¯ gaze. He smiled bravely.


    ¡°We have our wits, child. Let us pray they are weapon enough.¡±


    VI


    THE ENEMY¡¯S HANDIWORK


    1


    ¡°LOOK, Your Excellency. Can that be Darre?¡±


    The soldier shifted impatiently as his comrade led Antonia¡¯s mule the last few paces to the top of the ridge. From this vantage point the plain of Dar could usually be seen in all its glorious expanse: the river, the towers rising on the palace rock, the domes of the two great cathedrals, the manifold streets as twisty as the Enemy¡¯s minions, the western hills that blocked the path to the sea, the thousand fields on which the ancient city had first taken root and grown into an empire.


    Antonia¡¯s eyes hadn¡¯t stopped stinging since that awful night when the wind had torn the thatch off the cottage in which she sheltered, and ash had started to fall. She rubbed them now as they halted.


    ¡°God help us,¡± added the soldier, voice choked. ¡°The western hills are all on fire. And the plain of Dar¡ªlook!¡±


    ¡°I see nothing,¡± said his companion.


    It was a foul soup of air, like the congealed breath of the Enemy: smoke and brimstone, the stench of the Pit. For the space of one breath, a shift in the wind stripped the worst layer of haze off the land and she glimpsed the distant towers and walls of Darre before they were swallowed up again in the fog.


    ¡°We must descend,¡± she said, and she heard the two guards whistle hard between teeth. They were frightened because they were weak, although they had guarded her faithfully enough on their journey. She had lost count of the days.


    ¡°Who knows what kind of creatures might be lurking down there in that smoke,¡± said the taller one, called Focas. ¡°They could have claws as long as my arm. They might rip us to pieces.¡±


    ¡°God will protect us,¡± said Antonia. ¡°Have we not met dangers? Have we not survived?¡±


    Pietro spoke less but said more that was to the point. ¡°What if we can¡¯t breathe that fouled air?¡±


    ¡°We must go down,¡± repeated Antonia. ¡°We must reach Tivura, to see if the princesses have survived. As for the rest, I fear God have punished the wicked most decisively.¡±


    The soldiers looked at each other, a glance that excluded her, as they had always excluded her. They served her faithfully, it was true, but out of loyalty to Empress Adelheid. Still, no matter how irritating it was that they could not recognize her worth and God¡¯s favor, she endured it because she had to, because it was another test thrown in her path. God honored the righteous, but They did not always spare them trouble and ingratitude.


    ¡°The princesses,¡± said Pietro. ¡°That¡¯s what the empress would want.¡±


    Focas nodded. ¡°The princesses,¡± he agreed. ¡°We must see if they can be rescued, if they are indeed trapped down there, although we must hope they are not. If their stewards have any wits about them at all, which I doubt, they would have fled to a safe place.¡±


    ¡°No one can flee God¡¯s wrath,¡± said Antonia sternly. ¡°There are those who have done what they ought not.¡± She gestured toward the hazy landscape below. ¡°Thus are they rewarded with chastisement and death.¡±


    Focas rubbed his forehead, looking anxious.


    Pietro hefted his spear. ¡°No use waiting.¡±


    They started down the road, which was utterly deserted although the day wasn¡¯t far gone. It was difficult to measure the hours because the cloud cover never lifted and the light had a sameness to it that made noon seem like twilight and morning no different than afternoon. Ash squeaked under their feet. Pebbles rolled and crackled, and more than once Focas or Pietro slipped and, swearing, caught themselves before they fell. Fortunately, the mule was a sure-footed creature, stolid and companionable and not particularly stubborn.


    As they descended, the light changed and deepened to a queer yellow fog that painted their skin the color of parchment. The hollows of their eyes darkened until the two soldiers looked like walking corpses as they strode along. Down and down they walked, as into the Pit. The world had emptied. They saw no one and no thing. Even the grass had withered into dry stalks. Now and again they crossed a stream running down from the circling heights, but a sour taste choked the water although they forced it down anyway. It sat heavily in parched stomachs. Antonia felt sick. Her head pounded and her throat burned. Each breath scraped as she wheezed along.


    In time twilight faded to night. They set up camp off the road but not so far that they would lose sight of it and thus find themselves lost in the morning. The mule ate its lean dinner; they had only two days of grain left and certainly there was little enough to graze. They had bread and cheese and wine for themselves. The soldiers took turns on guard duty. She slept on her cloak under a canvas lean-to. She did not mind the hardship, although her old bones ached and her head never stopped hurting.

 Page 50

    At dawn Pietro hissed. ¡°Focas! Rouse you! Do you hear that?¡±


    She rose and came to stand beside them, fingering the amulet at her chest.


    She heard the jingle, too, and touched each man on the elbow. ¡°Stand you as still as mice when the owl swoops. Say nothing.¡±


    They, too, wore amulets, as did the mule. She had woven them with her own hands out of wolfsbane and turnsole, and still nursed blisters on her palms and fingers.


    The procession emerged out of the haze: a line of sobbing, hacking, coughing men and women coffled in a line and guarded by a crew of men who in another life might have been soldiers as honorable as the ones who stood on either side of her. The soldiers wore cloth tied over mouths and noses to protect themselves from the air. The prisoners had nothing but the rags on their backs. A few were naked. As they shuffled past, she counted them: eight, sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four. Over one hundred in all, a remnant.


    Although their guards were alert, looking from side to side and pointing here and there into the gloom, they marked no watchers, even those standing in plain sight a stone¡¯s throw off the road. As the last man, a brawny, swaggering fellow, faded from sight, Pietro let out a great sigh that was more of a hoarse choke, and touched his chest where the amulet lay.


    ¡°Lord be praised,¡± he said.


    Focas choked down a hysterical laugh. ¡°Didn¡¯t you recognize him? That was Sergeant Hatto there walking last of all. Do you think those were slaves they were herding away?¡±


    ¡°Slaves now, whatever they were before.¡± Pietro knelt, touched his hand to the dead earth, and kissed his fingers. ¡°I pray you, Your Excellency, let us go swiftly.¡±


    ¡°This land is a charnel house,¡± said Focas. ¡°I can smell it.¡±


    They walked again that day, and the stench of sulfur got worse. Antonia¡¯s headache got worse. Her eyes wept from the burning. In time, they saw off to either side glowing cracks spewing ghastly yellow smoke. It was as though the Earth itself was breaking apart. Once Pietro almost fainted when the wind caught him full on with a streamer of air off one of the fumaroles, but he staggered forward gasping and vomiting until he was out of danger. After that they were careful to keep cloth tied tightly across mouth and nose.


    They walked as though in a tunnel, since they could see no great distance to any side. The haze clouded everything, making the world seem by one measure very small indeed and by another like a vast unknowable wasteland that could never be crossed but only suffered. Trudging on in this way they missed the crossroads where they might turn aside to Tivura and came at the end of the second day to the walls of Darre. In all that time they had seen not a single living creature except that one sad procession. No birds flew; no sheep blatted; no goats disturbed their rest, seeking scraps to eat. The mule was not faring well, but it had a strong sense of self-preservation and refused to fall behind. Even so, Antonia walked rather than rode for fear it might buckle and toss her to the ground. If she broke a leg, she, too, would be trapped in this purgatory.


    That was what it was, of course. She recognized it as they saw the gaping gates rise out of the fog in front of them and beheld the tumbled ruins of the fairest and most magnificent city humankind had ever built. Had they unwittingly crossed through a stone crown into the world where galla roamed? Had Anne¡¯s magic brought down the destruction? Or had the Lost Ones returned with plague and fire to defeat their ancient enemies?


    ¡°We¡¯ll go to the palace, camp there tonight, and after take the road to Tivura.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like to go into the city,¡± said Focas as Pietro stroked his beard. ¡°It scares me. I don¡¯t mind saying so. It scares me.¡±


    ¡°None will see us. I think the city deserted in any case.¡±


    Pietro hesitated. Even after all this time he did not trust her; he did not look to her as a servant ought to obey his master. Still, in the end he turned to Focas and said, breath whistling as he spoke, ¡°The empress. She would want it, would she not?¡±


    The empress. They were all Adelheid¡¯s faithful soldiers, every one of them.


    Fuming, she followed them into the empty city. Twice, they saw dogs slink away around corners, tails tucked tight and heads down. Of dead folk there were none, but human bones they saw aplenty scattered across avenues and the open squares. Fallen apartment blocks and tumbled columns lay like dead beasts in the rubble. Each entryway was a dark mouth; each was silent. Wind swirled dust up from the streets to blend with the haze. Once, from far away, they heard a shout. Their footfalls scraped ominously, echoing off the walls. But they saw no one.


    ¡°How many days since that wind blasted us?¡± Focas whispered as they reached the paved ramp that led up to the two palaces built atop the central hill. ¡°This happened then, don¡¯t you think? The storm brought destruction with it. I could smell it in the air, like it was diseased.¡±

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    Pietro scratched his nose, then sneezed. ¡°I wish we¡¯d stayed with the empress. No telling if she lives, or is dead.¡±


    Close by, a dog growled, and both soldiers whirled, raising their spears, to be greeted by a heavier silence.


    ¡°Come,¡± said Antonia. ¡°It will be dark soon. Let¡¯s find shelter.¡±


    They made their way up the ramp past broken-down wagons abandoned in haste and in one case with the remains of a horse scattered around the traces where dogs had ripped it apart. Focas counted swords, and had reached the astounding total of fifty-five before they reached the top.


    ¡°Who would throw down their good iron swords like that?¡± he muttered to Pietro. The two men stood a stone¡¯s throw away from Antonia, but she overheard them nevertheless.


    ¡°Dead men. We¡¯ll be dead, too, if we don¡¯t get out of here. This is a fool¡¯s errand.¡±


    ¡°Hush!¡±


    From the top of the ramp they surveyed the city. Nothing moved but for a tumbling scrap, hard to say what it was but probably a bit of cloth, rolling down a distant avenue. The fog obscured even the towering walls and distant gates. Of church towers, she saw none. Perhaps they had all fallen. Off to the west in the hills bordering the sea, streaks of fire that marked red flowing rivers pierced the sullen haze despite the distance.


    Surely even the Pit smelled sweeter and nourished more life!


    Surely not. This was the Enemy¡¯s handiwork.


    ¡°Come,¡± she said.


    They ventured into the broad courtyard that fronted the twin palaces. The imperial palace had burned. It still stank of charred wood, a sharp scent overlying the reek of brimstone and decay. The skopos¡¯ palace had many more sections built entirely of stone, and these had survived with less damage.


    ¡°I had thought to examine the regnant¡¯s schola and library,¡± said Antonia thoughtfully as they stood in the courtyard that separated the two palaces. ¡°But it appears too dangerous to walk there.¡±


    She advanced nevertheless into an alcove where a sooty face peered at her out of the stone: a woman¡¯s visage wreathed with snakes that were also her hair. A viscous green puddle had collected in the basin below her open mouth, once a fountain where travelers might splash water on dusty faces before entering the great hall to meet the regnant. The mule strained toward the water. Pietro hauled it back.


    ¡°Perhaps there is something left in the barracks, if the rats haven¡¯t eaten it all up,¡± said Antonia. ¡°Go carefully, see what you can find. Seek grain and water for the beast, and provisions for ourselves. Also, a place to shelter for one night.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Your Excellency. I¡¯ll go, and Focas will stay and attend you.¡±


    ¡°Nay, best you go together. I will attempt the skopos¡¯ palace and meet you here by this fountain.¡±


    ¡°If there are dogs, or madmen ¡­?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Do as I command.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Your Excellency.¡±


    Impertinent man! She crossed under the shadow of a vast arch and found, in the usual niche, a brace of lanterns that, amazingly, had not been tampered with, together with flint and scraps of linen. These she carried as she walked quietly along the old familiar corridors. It was utterly silent. In here, she could not even hear the wind. Now and again she glimpsed withered gardens through open windows and doors. The fountains, of course, had all stopped running. Dust scraped under her feet.


    She almost did not recognize the double doors that led into the audience chamber. The gold leaf that had once covered the relief carved into those doors had been pried off and taken away by thieves or by faithful servants. Who could know? One door sat askew, having lost two hinges. She did not touch it but tugged on the other, which opened with a groan into the empty hall.


    Her footfalls echoed softly as she walked. The ceiling arched high above, dimly perceived. The mural washed across the far wall, depicting the Translatus of the blessed Daisan, had splintered with a thousand cracks, and the Earth beneath his feet had vanished into a pile of fragments on the floor. Up on the dais, the skopos¡¯ chair was broken into pieces and all the gems pried out. A single amethyst had been left behind, dropped in haste, no doubt. She picked it up, turned it, but there wasn¡¯t light enough to catch the glints within. Still, in a pinch, it might serve her. She tucked it into the pocket sewn into her sleeve, then pushed past the curtain at the far right and came into the private sanctum of the skopos.


    A room, whitewashed, with paintings of noble saints gracing the ceiling. There was a single table, a battered chest whose lock had been broken, and a shattered ceramic bowl at the foot of the bare pallet where, once, the skopos had rested. Anne had not scorned luxury, but neither had she coveted it.

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    The thieves had skipped over the single locked cupboard, sealed with an amulet. She studied it, careful not to touch its knot in any way: wolfsbane, which was poison to the skin, for invisibility, lavender for chastity and thereby to keep locks unbroken, and thistle for strength. Cunningly woven, certainly, but she recognized the pattern as one she had taught to certain of Anne¡¯s clerics. A brief murmured spell, a douse of oil over the dry herbs from the lamp¡¯s reservoir, and she snapped flint, got a spark, and set a scrap of linen burning. The amulet flared so brightly that she stepped back in surprise, shading her eyes. After so many days under a veiled sky, she had forgotten how brilliant light could be. The amulet vanished in a swirl of ash.


    She used the point of her knife to cut the binding rope off the latch. Steam hissed along the blade and it glowed white hot, then spat sparks. The latch fell free, and the right side cabinet door swung open, moaning like the wail of the damned.


    Anne had cared little for earthly things. This truth was never more in evidence than now. Anne had abandoned everything in her desire to destroy the Lost Ones. Everything.


    She had left behind the holy vestments, the golden cup, although not the staff of her office. But there were other treasures as well: wrapped in a layer of greased leather and under that cushioned in lambskin was an ancient, degraded spear which Antonia recognized as the Holy Lance of St. Perpetua, once carried by Emperor Henry into battle. Henry would never have left such a holy relic behind; its protection was worth more than a thousand soldiers. But Henry, after all, had been ensorcelled; he hadn¡¯t needed or wanted such things; hadn¡¯t noticed they were missing, because the daimone had obeyed only what commands its master gave it, disregarding the rest.


    He had even disregarded the most potent symbol of imperial power, which was bundled up so casually in plain linen that anyone might be excused for believing it was nothing important. How Anne had come to possess it Antonia did not know, but when she unwrapped it, she knew she had gained something important indeed:


    Emperor Taillefer¡¯s seven-pointed golden crown, adorned with seven jewels¡ªthe crown of stars.


    2


    THEY reached the villa Tivura two days later, having lost their way twice because it was so difficult to navigate in the haze. The mule trudged on without complaint, but it was clearly ill; gunk wept from its eyes, and its breathing, like that of its human masters, was labored. Each breath she took scraped in Antonia¡¯s chest. If they did not leave the plain of Dar soon, they would all succumb to the foul air.


    ¡°Is this the right stream?¡± Pietro asked for the fourth time, breaking off to cough again. He hacked incessantly.


    ¡°We are on the right road. It rises.¡± Speaking hurt, so Antonia spoke little.


    The mule tugged at its reins, trying to get to the water. Focas knelt at the bank and scooped up water, tasting it. He spat it out, then wiped his lips. ¡°Not as bad as before. It might be safe to let the poor beast drink. It doesn¡¯t taste of rotten eggs like it did downstream. It isn¡¯t warm.¡±


    The two soldiers looked at her. She nodded. ¡°Let it drink, then, but not too much. I¡¯ll go ahead.¡±


    ¡°Your Excellency!¡±


    ¡°I do not fear bandits.¡±


    ¡°You should, Your Excellency!¡± exclaimed Focas. ¡°Dogs, too. We had to beat off that pack last night. They smelled us.¡±


    She hesitated. She hated showing fear, but in truth the dogs had been starving and therefore dangerous. At last she settled down on the ground and waited while the mule drank and Pietro washed his hands and face in the streaming water. It seemed clear. Although the constant rain of dust out of the air had certainly fouled it, it didn¡¯t stink the way it had down by its confluence with the Greater Tivur, whose course led through Darre and thence south through rolling hills to the sea.


    Those hills were on fire. At intervals the haze lightened, and since they were moving slowly upslope as they walked northeast, she caught glimpses of the red rim of fire that scorched the western horizon at all hours, easiest to see at night, of course, but visible during the daytime as well.


    Her legs ached and her hip shot through with pain as she rose, but she closed her lips tightly as they moved on. In a hundred paces more the famous lady columns ghosted out of the fog: stone columns carved into the shapes of dour women, escorting them into the garden of the long-dead emperor who had built the most beautiful paradise known on Earth, so it was said. Some called it a replica in stone of the garden that grew at the entrance to the Chamber of Light, but Antonia knew better. The Dariyan emperors had scorned the truth. They had worshiped idols and demons. Therefore, everything they had built, while sturdy, was irrevocably tainted by the kiss of the Enemy.

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    Still, Empress Adelheid¡¯s grandfather had refurbished the domed hall, and one of her great-aunts had built stables where once the emperor had housed his guests. The stone ladies glowered at them, faces half obscured, but they were only stone and could not therefore impede their progress.


    ¡°Look!¡± said Pietro, and coughed. Coughed again. ¡°A light!¡±


    Focas looked at Pietro. Together, without exchanging words, they nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll go ahead, Your Excellency. In case it¡¯s bandits.¡±


    Her chest hurt. She was too tired to complain. She just wanted to rest her feet. Focas strode ahead. Truly, it was remarkable how well he had held up. He was as strong as a bull, and far more tractable than his companion. His form faded into the haze, although by now they could see the curved facade of the grand court that greeted visitors. They paused where the paved road gave way to the broad forecourt. Turning, Antonia looked into the haze over the plain, but it was impossible to see anything. On clear days, one could see Darre away in the distance, surrounded by fields.


    She choked, coughing. The mule wheezed.


    ¡°Hsst!¡± whispered Pietro. ¡°Do you hear?¡±


    ¡°Where did the light go?¡± she asked, scanning the wide court and the semicircle of columns, but no lantern or torch burned now.


    ¡°Hsst! Look!¡±


    Ghosts advanced out of the fog, wreathed in trailing haze, formless and faceless although about the height of men.


    She was ready. She had always been ready, knowing how little surety there was in traveling with such a small party. She unsheathed her small knife and grabbed at the mule, pressing the point to one of the veins in the side of its neck. A trickle of blood flowed over her fingers as she spoke the words that would raise a galla. The air hummed. Where blood beaded on the mule¡¯s hide the haze coalesced as though forming a rope out of darkness. The tang of the iron forge drifted up from the earth.


    ¡°Your Excellency! See what I have found!¡± Focas strode into view, easy among the ghosts. ¡°We have found what we sought! They have been sheltering here in the catacombs. This good captain says the princesses are alive and in his care.¡±


    Too late! The spell had gone too far and must be released or else rebound upon her. The stink of the forge gusted on the breeze. A shadow spilled into the ground beside the pooling blood. The mule brayed and jerked away from the knife, then collapsed as its blood pumped onto the ground.


    ¡°What¡ª?¡± cried Focas, as the men behind him drew their weapons.


    It was a small galla, appetite whetted by the taste of blood, but it would demand more before it could be dispatched. It would turn on her, or on anyone. Its substance thrummed in the air as it materialized into this plane. Its muttering words¡ªpain pain pain¡ªghosted in the air like the sound of tolling bells. The air of this world burned it. It was angry, and trapped, and panicked. She had to act quickly.


    She sealed the spell with a name.


    ¡°Pietro of Darre!¡± she whispered without hesitation.


    ¡°Your Excellency!¡± cried Focas, hanging back as the others cried out loud in fear. ¡°What foul creature plagues us?¡±


    ¡°A traitor among us! One who does not serve the empress has brought a demon into our midst to murder the princesses!¡± She flung up her hands; her sleeves slid down her arms as she cried out. ¡°St. Thecla save us! Matthias, Mark, Johanna, Lucia! Marian and Peter! Deliver us from evil! Seek the one whose spirit has fallen to the Enemy! Seek the one who would destroy us! Take him! Take him! Drive his soul into the Pit! And then begone!¡±


    The shaft of darkness that formed the body of the galla in this world writhed like a chained soul seeking release. The stink choked her, but she kept her arms raised; she did not falter. The galla had the gift, or curse, of sight. They could see into the souls of every man and woman. The darkness lurched, spinning sideways.


    Its bell voice rang dully. ¡°Pietro.¡±


    Pietro screamed. He, and the darkness, vanished, and only his bones remained.


    The galla had escaped back to its own sphere. That whiff of iron dissipated, subsumed in dust.


    Men shouted and wept but gathered most pleasingly around her as sheep flock to the shepherd when they fear the assault of the wolf. Focas fell to his knees, sobbing. The mule struggled to its feet, but collapsed again.


    ¡°Your Excellency! I am Captain Falco.¡±


    ¡°I know you, Captain Falco. You are the empress¡¯ most faithful captain.¡±


    He nodded, acknowledging what was to him not compliment or flattery but the breath that allowed him to exist. He appeared unshaken by Pietro¡¯s death, but it was difficult to judge.

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    ¡°You have done well to guard the princesses. Where are they?¡±


    ¡°Safely in the catacombs, Your Excellency. What news of the empress?¡±


    Always the empress! Yet there would be time to mold these soldiers to her will, and those who refused her could be disposed of, as God desired. The disobedient, after all, were doomed to the Pit.


    ¡°Alas, I do not know what has become of the empress. She sent me ahead but remained herself on the coast, in the town of Estriana. She had set an ambush for the northern prince, the rebel, the one who sought to kill his own father, the Emperor Henry.¡±


    ¡°Patricide!¡± Falco was a stolid, competent soldier of medium height, with the broad shoulders of a man who has swung a sword and carried a shield since he was a lad. ¡°I had heard the Wendish were barbarians. Now I know it to be true!¡±


    In Antonia¡¯s opinion, the Wendish were simple, honorable folk in their own crude way, without more than a finger¡¯s weight of the capacity for greed, backstabbing, and treachery that thrived among the sophisticated Aostans. The southerners plundered and robbed each other, cut each other¡¯s throats, and whored with their own sons and daughters. Still, it was best not to mention that to Captain Falco, who might take offense even though it was only the truth. God would overwhelm the wicked and reward the righteous, and Antonia would see justice done while she was waiting for Them to act on Earth.


    Focas crept forward and poked at the scatter of bones with the butt of his spear. ¡°Can it be?¡± he croaked. ¡°Can Pietro have been harboring a foul demon in his soul this entire time? I did not see it! I did not see it!¡±


    ¡°Hardship blinds us,¡± she said kindly.


    ¡°It is well you are here to protect us,¡± said Falco, but his tone was bland and his gaze without passion.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± she agreed. ¡°We must go swiftly. The land here is poisoned by the Enemy. It is best we move north in haste.¡±


    Still, he hesitated. ¡°What if the empress comes seeking her daughters, Your Excellency? They are her treasure. She will not abandon them.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°We must leave a few men behind. You pick them, Captain.¡±


    ¡°It is likely that the men I leave behind will die.¡±


    ¡°We will all die in time. That is God¡¯s will. They will only ascend sooner to the Chamber of Light, where the righteous find peace.¡±


    He frowned. In the silence, as he considered, some of his men coughed. The claws of the Enemy sank deep. So many had been infected with the taint that had gripped Pietro, and that she struggled against with every breath.


    ¡°Darre is lost, Captain. Best we move quickly before we are overtaken by the Enemy as that one was.¡± She gestured toward the bones.


    His frown deepened, and he stiffened, clenching his hands. ¡°Very well, Your Excellency. It is past time we carry the princesses away. Both suffer from a grippe. I will leave Terence and Petrus, and this man of yours, Focas.¡±


    He was testing her, but she was equal to the challenge. ¡°Very well. See that it is done, and that the rest make ready.¡±


    ¡°Where do we go?¡±


    ¡°This question, indeed, I have pondered on my long journey. We met refugees who say the coast is awash and many towns destroyed. West, as we see, is all on fire. We must go north.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°There is one whose loyalty we can count on, who will shelter us. We must march north past Vennaci and take the road to Novomo.¡±


    VII


    ON THE ROAD


    1


    A griffin¡¯s cough woke him. He sat up, instantly alert, but only with his second breath did he recall where he was and what he was missing.


    ¡°Liath!¡± he said sharply.


    She was gone.


    He jumped up, wrestled on his tunic, and pushed out past the tent flap.


    ¡°Your Majesty!¡±


    ¡°Where is¡ª? Ah. Be at ease, Benedict. Sibold.¡±


    ¡°Your Majesty.¡± The soldiers nodded as Sanglant walked past them toward the campfire set beyond the ring of tents. He heard them whisper to each other.


    ¡°I win! Told you he wouldn¡¯t stay sleeping.¡±


    ¡°You did not win! We didn¡¯t wager whether, but when.¡±


    Liath sat cross-legged beside the fire, hands open and relaxed on her thighs as she stared into the flame. Hathui paced behind her. The Eagle glanced up as Sanglant walked up and nodded, acknowledging him. He halted behind Liath to wait.


    The last few nights had been really cold, the first hard winter chill since the warm nights and overcast days after the great storm. That chill made him uneasy in a way he could not explain. It hurt in his bones the way a coming change in the weather might make a man¡¯s joints ache, warning him of rain. The ground was cold and dry beneath his bare feet. It was, as always now, too cloudy to see stars or moon, but the heavens still bled an unnatural light, almost as bright as if there were a full but bloody moon.

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    ¡°How long have you been out here?¡± he asked Hathui in a low voice.


    ¡°Too long, Your Majesty.¡±


    ¡°Still nothing?¡±


    ¡°Nothing. If Liath cannot see within the flames, then I think no one can.¡±


    He and Hathui waited in companionable silence. Liath had a remarkable capacity to focus; she did not once shift, not even to brush the hair away from her cheek as the wind stirred it, which surely must distract her. He twitched, wanting to smooth back her hair, wanting to touch her. She seemed blind and deaf to their presence, although they stood just behind her. He could never be so close to her and ignore her so thoroughly. She was a roaring fire to him, a force impossible to shut out. The heat of her smote him, although he doubted anyone else noticed it. He was the one who burned.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t she cold?¡± he asked, but Hathui only shrugged, and because he couldn¡¯t stand not doing something he went back to the tent and fetched a cloak, which he draped over Liath¡¯s shoulders. She did not thank him; if she noticed the thick cloak at all, she gave no sign.


    He paced. Twice Hathui added wood to the fire. Neither time did Liath alter her intent stare, as if the Eagle¡¯s movement and the hot lick of fresh flame did not register. After some time the darkness lightened, heralding dawn, and as a wind rose off the Alfar Mountains now south of them, she finally sighed and sat back, rubbing her eyes.


    ¡°Ai, God. No matter how deeply I search¡ª¡± She looked up, then, and smiled, seeing him. ¡°Aren¡¯t you cold?¡± she demanded. ¡°You¡¯re practically naked!¡± She shuddered, drawing the cloak more tightly around her shoulders. ¡°I¡¯m freezing.¡± She laughed. ¡°Where did this come from?¡±


    He shook his head, a little disgusted, if truth be known. Resigned. Amused. She was not the woman he had believed he married.


    ¡°What news?¡± he asked instead, offering her a hand.


    She took it and let him pull her up, dusted off her tunic and leggings, and blew on her hands to warm them. Her fingers were red from cold. ¡°It matters not how deeply I search. It¡¯s as if my Eagle¡¯s Sight has vanished. There are twenty Eagles with this army, yet none of us can see through the flames. We are blind.¡±


    ¡°I am no blinder than I was before.¡±


    ¡°True enough, my love, but I am blind, and I don¡¯t like it because I don¡¯t know what it means.¡±


    ¡°What it means to be blind? Like those of us who are not as gifted as you?¡±


    She looked sharply at him, hearing the pinch in his words. ¡°That isn¡¯t what I meant at all! Eagle¡¯s Sight gives us an advantage, nothing more. It gives a sense of surety that perhaps makes one overconfident. It¡¯s as if a curtain has fallen across our vision, and we can catch only fragments and glimpses through a rip in the cloth. Was it the cataclysm that blinded us? Is it the haze and the clouds? Is it magic, woven by the Ashioi to cripple us? Was the Eagle¡¯s Sight woven into the great crown in ancient days, and is it clouded because the crowns are fallen? I don¡¯t know, and what I don¡¯t know I can¡¯t solve.¡±


    ¡°Are the crowns fallen?¡±


    She rubbed her eyes, yawned, and he caught her under the arm. She leaned against him, eyes shut.


    ¡°Anne is dead. That¡¯s all I know. Anne and everyone with her are gone.¡± Her sigh shuddered through her body. ¡°I felt those who wove the other crowns until the moment Anne died and the crown she wove was destroyed. I cannot say if the others survived the fire and the storm. They may have, or they may be dead, too.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t think every person at the other crowns died, too?¡± asked Hathui. ¡°You said that you ¡­ that you destroyed everything¡ªall life¡ªwithin a league of the crown where Anne was.¡±


    Liath pushed away from Sanglant, and when he reached for her, she shook her head, needing to stand alone. ¡°I don¡¯t know if the fire reached through the weaving to touch the others. Without Eagle¡¯s Sight, I may never know. I am sorry for the sake of Meriam. I liked her.¡±


    ¡°She treated me with respect,¡± muttered Sanglant, ¡°unlike the rest of them.¡±


    Her gaze flashed to him, and a smile lifted her lips. ¡°It is true, my love, that they did not treat you as you deserved. Yet consider that they are likely dead now, while we have survived.¡±


    ¡°I cannot regret their deaths, considering all we have suffered.¡±


    ¡°Nay, that¡¯s not what I meant. Only that I never thought about what would happen afterward. Aren¡¯t we blind in that way, all of us? We march toward the gate, but it¡¯s the gate we see, not the land lying beyond. We can¡¯t see that landscape until the gate is opened and we¡¯ve stepped through. Then it¡¯s too late to go back.¡±

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    Around them, folk stirred as they rose and made ready to march. They had crossed the Brinne Pass in fifteen days. The northern air had invigorated the sullen and the exhausted, who could see how much closer they were to home. Certainly, less dust plagued them. In the early days it had filtered down constantly to coat hands and faces with a film of grit that they hadn¡¯t the leisure or water to wash off.


    Soldiers rolled up blankets. Sentries called out a challenge to men trudging into camp with full buckets drawn from a nearby stream, while grooms led the horses to water in groups of twenty. As ragged and weary as his men looked, he knew the horses managed worst of all. The army was almost out of grain, a meager ration to begin with, and the grazing was poor. At least, here on the northern slopes of the mountains, the water was clear, unclouded by particles and ash. Yet it still hadn¡¯t rained, despite the clouds, and both villages they had passed as they came down out of the mountains had been deserted, houses and huts blown down by the great storm.


    ¡°I can¡¯t stop seeing them,¡± she whispered. ¡°The way they burned. I can¡¯t stop hearing them scream.¡±


    He knew better than to touch her when she was in this mood. ¡°They were your enemies.¡± He¡¯d said the same thing a hundred times in the last fifteen days. ¡°They would have killed you.¡±


    ¡°I know. But I still feel unclean, as though I¡¯m stained with the Enemy¡¯s handiwork.¡±


    He waited. As the light rose, the world came into view: hills, forest, wilting trees. Drought and lack of sun, unseasonable heat followed by this sudden cold winter blast, had taken their toll on the vegetation. To the north the land was too hilly to see far. The road twisted away past a ridgeline, lost to sight. To the south, on a clear day, they would have been able to see the mountain peaks, but there was yet a haze dusting the air, ever present. Even at midday the light lacked strength. It was uncanny. Indeed, it scared him more than anything else. He was no farmer, but he knew what farmers needed: rain, sun, and seasonable weather. After years of civil strife, invasion, drought, famine, and plague, he could not imagine that any Wendish noble or biscop held plentiful stores in reserve. They had already suffered hard times. How long would these clouds linger?


    ¡°Death in battle is not the worst we may see,¡± he said at last. ¡°Those deaths may be the most merciful ones, in the end.¡±


    She had shed a few tears, but she wiped them away. She examined him as she might study a manuscript, that look that devoured, so rarely turned on him! He did not understand her yet. He wasn¡¯t even sure what she thought of him. That she was willing to love him passionately he knew. Of the rest, of what lay beyond lust, he had to unfold piece by piece.


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep trying,¡± she said, and it took him a moment to realize she meant that she would keep trying to find her Eagle¡¯s Sight. ¡°The crowns, too. If they¡¯re all fallen, then we have no advantage over our enemies. But no disadvantage either as they have nothing we do not also possess. Unless there are those still who can see with Eagle¡¯s Sight while denying it to us.¡±


    ¡°Do you think there might be?¡±


    She looked at Hathui. Hathui shrugged, without expression. The two women trusted each other in a way that, annoyingly, excluded him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think it likely any other person born of humankind has survived who can see if I cannot.¡± Liath said the words without vanity or arrogance. ¡°Eagle¡¯s Sight ran through the world on the river of aether. That element is bound into my being, so I should be more sensitive to its ebb and flow than most of my father¡¯s kinfolk. Yet it also seems likely to me that a sorcerer whose skills are honed to the finest pitch might be able to discern things I cannot. And I know nothing of those ancient ones who spoke to me, or the Ashioi, or the Horse people. They may still possess the sight, while we¡¯ve gone blind. And anyway, I am so young, so ignorant, compared to someone like Li¡¯at¡¯dano¡ª¡±


    ¡°See who comes,¡± interrupted Hathui, lifting her chin.


    The centaurs had proved hardiest of all his soldiers. Like goats, they seemed able to eat almost anything, although he had never seen any of the Horse people eat meat. Capi¡¯ra¡¯s fine coat was discolored by streaks of grime, but she looked perfectly able to trample him on the spot if he gave offense.


    He nodded, acknowledging her. She stamped once.


    ¡°It is time.¡± She gestured toward the east. ¡°We turn east and follow the hills on our own path. We come to northern plains of Ungria and from there east to home. Our alliance is finished. Now we leave.¡±


    ¡°I am sorry to see you and your people go,¡± he said, ¡°but I know I cannot hold you here.¡±

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    ¡°That is right.¡±


    He smiled. She did not smile in reply, but neither did she frown. ¡°What of the future?¡± he asked. ¡°What of our alliance?¡±


    ¡°I report on all we witness to the council, as you would say. The ones who lead us will discuss all that happened. The strong minds will decide. We, the rest, will follow.¡±


    ¡°What of our daughter?¡± asked Liath.


    ¡°I have not forgotten your daughter, Bright One. See who comes with me.¡± She flicked a hand up.


    There were some of the steppe-dwelling Kerayit among her dozen attendants, but to Sanglant¡¯s surprise the shaman, Gyasi, had also come, together with a pair of Quman captains. He hadn¡¯t noticed them at first because, not mounted, they weren¡¯t yet wearing their wings, and judged by facial features alone they did not look so very different from the Kerayit tribesmen.


    The shaman and his companions knelt before Sanglant, tapped knuckles to foreheads as they acknowledged Liath¡¯s presence.


    ¡°We beg you, master,¡± said Gyasi, ¡°let us return with the Horse people to our homeland. I will be your messenger. I will seek news of your daughter. I will bring her back to you if she still lives. My clan owes her our service, for as long as she lives.¡±


    Liath looked away, wiping a tear off her cheek. ¡°She lives,¡± she muttered. ¡°I saw her.¡± She swung back to face Sanglant. ¡°I should go.¡±


    ¡°No. I grieve for Blessing as well. I fear for her. But it serves no purpose for you to travel east on a journey that could take years. I weep for my daughter. I miss her. But if you go, it will not bring her back more quickly. And if she is dead¡ª¡±


    ¡°She is not dead!¡±


    ¡°She is not dead if our wills make it true, but we don¡¯t know. I trust Gyasi to find her and bring her home. Heribert is with her. That must be enough. There is too much at stake elsewhere, and I. Need. You.¡±


    She lifted a hand. She could not answer in any other way. It was not acquiescence, precisely. She was herself torn and indecisive.


    ¡°Take what supplies you need, Gyasi. You take as well my heart, for my daughter is precious to me.¡±


    Gyasi nodded. ¡°She saved my life and that of my nephews, Majesty. This obligation I owe to her. I am not a man unless it is discharged.¡±


    Even so, even knowing he did what was necessary, he found that he, like Liath, could not speak because of sorrow and fear choking the words in his throat. He, too, lifted a hand. The gesture must speak where he would otherwise break down. So much loss; Blessing might be the least of it.


    The shaman rose, but paused before he turned away. The centaurs and their attendants were already moving toward the pathless forest while Gyasi hummed a queer little tuneless melody under his breath. A twisting track opened between the trees, not quite seen, not quite felt, but present as mist rising from the hills at dawn. The fall of hooves, the rattle of harness, the soft conversations among men all vanished, bit by bit, as the party moved onto that path and vanished into the woodland. Behind Sanglant, the army made ready to leave, but men stopped in their tasks, hearing that uncanny music, and stared as the forest swallowed the centaurs and their companions. Last of all, Gyasi stepped onto the path, and the trees closed in behind him. At once, the forest appeared as an impenetrable tangle of fallen logs and stands of beech and fir grown among brambles and thickets of sedge and bilberry.


    ¡°Their path will be swift, I¡¯d wager,¡± murmured Hathui.


    ¡°Let us leave this behind,¡± said Liath, more quaver than voice. ¡°I will cry.¡±


    Every man and woman was eager to get moving, to reach home. To discover if home had weathered the storm. Many, like Liutgard and Burchard and what remained of their armies, had been away from Wendar for years, having marched south with Henry in his quest to restore Taillefer¡¯s fallen empire. That was all gone now.


    So much else was gone, he thought, brooding as they rode at a steady pace along the road. Often they had to halt while those in the vanguard cleared the road. The storm had torn through this countryside, leaving debris everywhere. No one would lack firewood for burning this winter, had they any game to roast over the flames.


    ¡°You are quiet, Your Majesty,¡± said Hathui having given up her attempts to get Liath to speak.


    ¡°What have we left?¡± he asked her. ¡°What was once an alliance is now, again, only loyal Wendishmen and march-landers.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that for the best?¡±


    ¡°Is it? Did we not have strength in numbers? Did we not have strength because we reached across the old boundaries? My father was not foolish in thinking that empire would make him strong.¡±

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    ¡°It killed him.¡±


    Hathui¡¯s tone surprised him, but as he examined her face, he saw neither anger or resentment, only sadness.


    ¡°Did it? That he marched south to Aosta¡ªperhaps. Yet any of us might die, on any day.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps not you, Your Majesty.¡±


    The barb had a sharp hook. ¡°That may be, yet I pray you consider that my father might have died in his bed, or fighting against his enemies in Wendar, as easily as he was captured by the queen¡¯s plots.¡±


    ¡°Do not forget Hugh of Austra, Your Majesty.¡±


    Ah.


    He glanced at Liath, but she seemed far removed from their conversation. She had light hands on her mount, a submissive mare who was content to follow where the rest led. She was far beyond him, a world away, judging by her frown and the unfocused nature of her gaze, not quite lighting on tree or earth or cloudy sky.


    ¡°I have not forgotten him, Hathui. Where he is now, I cannot say.¡±


    ¡°Dead, I hope,¡± muttered Hathui. ¡°I saw him murder Villam with his own hands. I will never forgive him that, although my forgiveness is not a thing a man of his station cares about. If he lives, he will have found refuge. I hope he is dead.¡±


    ¡°I would just like to know.¡± He laughed. ¡°Better to know that there¡¯s a man in the dark stalking you with a knife. Even if you can¡¯t see him. Yet what do you make of it, Hathui?¡±


    ¡°Of Hugh¡¯s plots and Queen Adelheid¡¯s treachery?¡±


    ¡°Nay. Of this new alliance.¡±


    ¡°What alliance, Your Majesty?¡± She looked around, as if expecting a pack of wolves to lope out of the surrounding woods. As they moved down into the bowl of a valley, beech and silver fir gave way to spruce. The dense boughs of spruce had absorbed the heavy winds better than most trees. Although the road was darker, often shaded and dim, few broken branches and fallen trees blocked their path.


    ¡°That between the Quman and the Horse people.¡±


    ¡°Is there one?¡± Liath had been listening, after all. She spoke as if the question had been addressed to her. ¡°The Horse people are few, so they say. If they do not make allies of the Quman, they will end up fighting them. So they have done for generations, surely, with the aid of sorcery.¡±


    ¡°So they have done, but it is not clear what will become of sorcery now, or how the balance of power will change with the return of my mother¡¯s people. If I were one of the leaders of the Horse people, I would seek allies. It may be they will seek an alliance with the Quman. It may even be they will seek an alliance with the Ashioi.¡±


    ¡°The Horse people and the Ashioi were enemies.¡±


    ¡°Long ago.¡±


    ¡°I have met Zuangua, as have you, Sanglant. To him, to the many who lived in the shadows all that time, it is not long ago but yesterday. Even to the ones who were born in exile, it is within the living memory of your grandfather, who can tell the tale.¡±


    Sanglant had only the vaguest memory of his father¡¯s father, Arnulf the Younger, but Henry¡¯s mother, Queen Mathilda, had patted and cosseted her young grandson as affectionately as could so reserved a woman. All her love was held tight for Henry. She had admired Sanglant, but his birth had meant most to her, he suspected, because it gave Henry his claim to the regnancy.


    So it was strange to think of having a grandfather, so old a man that he had seen the world almost three millennia ago. He could not grasp such an expanse of time. He had never been one to hoard grudges or dwell on the past. He refused to live in Bloodheart¡¯s hall forever, chained down with the dogs.


    ¡°That may be true,¡± he replied, ¡°but enemies can become allies if a greater threat rises.¡±


    ¡°Who would that be?¡± demanded Hathui. ¡°If the stories are true, humankind and the Horse people moved heaven and earth in truth to cast away the Ashioi. If I were one of the Lost Ones, I¡¯m not sure I could forgive that. If I were one of the Horse people, I¡¯m not sure I would expect to be forgiven.¡±


    He laughed. ¡°We are not the Horse people. They are not like us. Li¡¯at¡¯dano said so herself. She said that humankind have driven them far into the east, and decimated their herds through disease and conflict.¡±


    ¡°The Quman did that,¡± said Hathui, ¡°who hate and fear them.¡±


    ¡°And others. But Capi¡¯ra and her troop have seen the west, now. Wendish folk defeated the Quman. Anne and her sorcerers raised this great storm. If I were one who leads among the Horse people, then I would fear Wendar.¡±


    ¡°There is another power that you neglect,¡± said Liath suddenly. ¡°Anne did not raise the storm. The ancient ones did. Li¡¯at¡¯dano did. The Ashioi land would have returned in any case. Anne meant to exile them again, to destroy them for all time. That she did not, that worse destruction did not overtake us all, is due to the voices from the north. There is power there we must not ignore.¡±

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    ¡°The Eika?¡± Hathui asked. ¡°They are barbarians. One chieftain might strike and lay waste along the coast, but I recall how Count Lavastine held them off with his local milites. A strong Wendish and Varren resistance will beat them back.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± said Sanglant. ¡°It bears watching.¡±


    ¡°There is so much we do not know,¡± murmured Liath, ¡°and it will be more difficult to learn now that we are blind.¡±


    2


    WHEN they stopped at nightfall, Hanna left her guards while they argued over whether or not to set up a tent for the night, and staggered over to a trickling stream. In the midst of a crowd of hot, thirsty, complaining Arethousan soldiers she splashed water on her face and slurped down as much as she could hold in her cupped hands. Soon the water became murky from so many stamping through the shallows. A man slammed into her shoulder as he pushed forward toward the stream. He muttered a curse, looked at her once, then a second time, and called to his fellows.


    ¡°The Wendish bitch! See here! She¡¯s slipped her leash.¡±


    All at once a half dozen of them pressed back from the water to encircle her. She had overreached because her thirst had driven her forward rashly. She turned her wrists in toward her body to grip the chain, ready to use it as a weapon.


    Sergeant Bysantius appeared beside her with a quirt. ¡°Back! Back!¡± he cried as he slashed left and right, driving the soldiers away from her.


    Her heart was still racing, and her mouth had gone dry, so she pretended to a calmness she did not feel as she sat back on her heels and wiped her forehead as well as she could with her wrists manacled. ¡°I thank you, Sergeant.¡±


    He raised one eyebrow, then pointed behind her with the quirt. ¡°I didn¡¯t come for you. See, there. General Lord Alexandros waters his horses.¡±


    They marched these days through dry, hilly countryside devoid of habitation. This stream poured out of a ravine. Except at this ford, its banks were too steep for horses to drink. Muttering, the soldiers headed back to camp.


    ¡°Up!¡± Sergeant Bysantius grabbed her elbow and pulled her upright. ¡°Out of the way.¡±


    She shook her arm out of his grasp before he could lead her away. The chain that bound her ankles allowed her to walk but not run, and she was unable to avoid the rush of horses brought to the stream by the general¡¯s grooms. Alexandros himself rode a chestnut mare with a pale gold coat. His entire string had chestnut coats, most pale and a few richly dark in shade. He pulled up, dismounted, and tossed his reins to a groom before walking over to Sergeant Bysantius.


    ¡°Sergeant, bring the Eagle to me at my tent.¡±


    ¡°Yes, my lord general.¡±


    He strode away with a dozen men swarming in attendance.


    ¡°He has no need to crawl for a taste of water as the rest of us do,¡± she said bitterly to the sergeant. ¡°He has wine to drink while his soldiers go thirsty.¡±


    Bysantius scratched his cheek. ¡°He has earned his rank and his privileges. He¡¯s no better born than half these men.¡±


    She laughed. ¡°How can that be? He is a lord.¡±


    ¡°A man who commands an army is likely to be addressed as ¡®lord,¡¯ I¡¯m thinking. Even by those who were born under a canopy boasting the imperial star. Especially if they need the men and weapons he can bring to their cause.¡±


    ¡°The exalted Lady Eudokia needs him in order to raise her nephew to become emperor?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°A strong hand rules where weaker hands sow only chaos. Come.¡±


    She followed up along the dusty ground on the trail of the lord general, now vanished into the glut of wagons, horses, milling troops, and canvas tents that marked the camp. Every night the camp was set up in the exact same order, every tent sited in relation to the emperor¡¯s tent according to its inhabitants¡¯ rank, position, and importance to the royal child. This night, they had halted in the middle of what had once been a village.


    Three brick hovels stood in the midst of a dozen ancient olive trees, but the tiny hamlet appeared abandoned, perhaps yesterday, perhaps one hundred years ago. In this dry country it was impossible to tell.


    Bysantius paced himself so as not to get ahead of her. Over the last ten or so days she had accustomed herself to the chains so that she could walk without stumbling.


    ¡°I thank you,¡± she repeated.


    ¡°For what kindness?¡± he asked, almost laughing.


    ¡°For saving me from whatever unkindness I might have suffered from those soldiers.¡±


    ¡°The general wants you unharmed. You¡¯re no use to him dead.¡±


    She was, apparently, no use to him living, but she forbore to say it, knowing it foolish to remind her captors that they might be better off saving for their own men the bit of food they fed to her each day. ¡°Is it true of all of you, that you serve the lord general and not the exalted lady?¡±

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    Now he did laugh. ¡°The priests teach us that we serve God, is that not so? God served humankind by walking among us for a time so He could lead us into the Light.¡±


    ¡°That is a heresy.¡±


    ¡°Nay, you Darrens are the heretics. You say that the blessed Daisan was only a man like you and me.¡± He spoke without heat. He was not, apparently, a man made passionate by religious matters.


    ¡°The deacons of my own land taught me that the blessed Daisan prayed for seven days and nights and was lifted up to the Chamber of Light by the Mother and Father of Life. You don¡¯t believe the tales of his martyrdom, do you?¡±


    ¡°No, not his martyrdom.¡± Yet he frowned. ¡°The blessed Daisan holds two natures within him, for how else could he have been translated into the Chamber of Light while still living? Still, folk do talk of this martyrdom, how his skin was flayed from his body.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve met more than one person in the west who whispers the heresy of the Redemption. I didn¡¯t know folk spoke of it here, too.¡±


    He slapped his quirt against his thigh and glanced first left, then right, as they made their way through camp. Exhausted, men sat on the ground or reclined on blankets or cloaks. ¡°Anyone might hear. The Patriarch has spies among the troops.¡±


    If that were so, it must mean that the Patriarch feared the power of the heresy. Why spy out what you did not fear? Yet surely the heresy Ivar professed had come from somewhere. Why not from the east? It was the most likely story. Despite what Bysantius said, they were heretics here anyway with their talk of ¡°two natures.¡± Once that door was opened, as Deacon Fortensia used to say in Heart¡¯s Rest, any shameless layabout could creep in and pretend to be a holy saint.


    ¡°You ever put thought to what you¡¯ve hope for, if the lord general grants you your freedom?¡± asked Bysantius as they approached the general¡¯s big tent, just now shuddering into place as soldiers and servants raised the canvas over the frame and staked it down.


    ¡°What I¡¯ve hope for? I hope to go home! I serve the emperor, Henry.¡±


    ¡°Scouts say the land is blasted west of here. That ash and dust and fire parch the air. I don¡¯t think the Wendish king has an empire left. You¡¯d do better to stick it out in civilized country.¡±


    Her eyes burned. She wiped away tears as she struggled with dismay. ¡°I hadn¡¯t heard those reports.¡± In her own country, she would have. Eagles talked to each other and knew everything, as much as anyone could know. They knew almost as much as the regnant, because they were his eyes and ears.


    ¡°You¡¯re a prisoner,¡± he replied, gaze bent on her, ¡°but you might be otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Otherwise?¡± She sniffed back her tears, hating to show weakness.


    ¡°I¡¯d marry you, if you were willing.¡±


    ¡°Marry me?¡± The incongruity of the comment dried her tears and her anger, then made her laugh. ¡°Marry me?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re strong, capable, smart. The exalted Lady Eudokia tells me you¡¯re still a virgin. You¡¯d make a good wife. I like you. You haven¡¯t given up.¡±


    Now she burned but for other reasons. How could the exalted lady know?


    ¡°I haven¡¯t given up. I¡¯m not accustomed to these chains yet.¡±


    His sidelong gaze was measuring, not angry. ¡°It was fairly asked. I might hope for the same courtesy in an answer.¡±


    ¡°I am still a prisoner. Ask me when I am free to leave or stay as I wish.¡±


    ¡°Huh,¡± he said, half of it a laugh and the rest nothing she could interpret. With his quirt he indicated the entrance to the general¡¯s tent. ¡°Go in.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not coming in?¡± she asked, and had to stop herself from grabbing his arm as at a lifeline. She could not bring herself to speak the thought that leaped into her mind: Alone, I fear the general¡¯s anger, but if you were there I might hope for someone to protect me against it.


    He brushed a hand through his dark hair as would a man preening for a lover¡¯s visit. ¡°Go in,¡± he repeated, and lifted his quirt. ¡°I¡¯ve a few guards to speak to. They¡¯ve gotten careless.¡±


    Careless about her.


    He nodded, dismissing her, and walked away. General Lord Alexandros¡¯ guards moved their spears away from the entrance and let her pass. Inside, a servant unrolled a rug to cover the red-gray earth, but otherwise the general had dispensed with the opulent furnishings that had surrounded him before the great storm. No green silk draped the bare canvas walls. Chairs and rich couches were banished, replaced by a bench, a pallet, and a pitcher of water set in a copper basin, placed on a three-legged stool. He was sitting on the bench wiping dust off his face with a square of linen while a captain dressed in a red tabard gave his report. This man had an unusual accent and spoke at such a galloping pace that she had trouble understanding him.

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    ¡°¡­ a day ahead of us ¡­ refugees ¡­ the city. They fled ¡­ the sea. These folk are the ones ¡­ the storm in the sky¡­¡±


    The general glanced up, noted her, and beckoned to a servant. ¡°A fire,¡± he said softly to the man, who slipped out as the captain kept speaking.


    ¡°¡­ They fled to the hills ¡­ the sea ¡­ the city ¡­ they are lying ¡­ it is true ¡­ do you wish to speak to them?¡±


    ¡°No, not yet. If their story is true, we will meet others who tell the same tale. If it is false, then we will soon know. Put out a double sentry line. Stay on guard against bandits and thieves.¡±


    As the captain left, the servant returned with a brazier heaped with glowing coals. A second man walked behind him carrying a cloth sling filled with sticks. They set up a tripod on the dirt and cradled the brazier in it.


    Alexandros gestured toward the brazier, but said nothing. She knelt in the dirt because she had not been given permission to touch the rug. One of the servants fed sticks to the coals. They blazed. She bent her attention to the flames, seeking within for those she knew: King Henry, Liath, Ivar, Prince Sanglant, Wolfhere, Sorgatani, Sister Rosvita and her retinue, Captain Thiadbold, and even her friends among the Lions, one by one.


    She saw nothing in the flames except flickering shadows. Perhaps every soul she knew had died in the storm. Possibly Ingo, Folquin, Leo, and Stephen were well and truly dead, lost in the cataclysm or in a battle she did not yet know they had fought. Probably Rosvita and the other clerics had died of thirst and starvation or been slaughtered by bandits.


    The entrance flap shifted. The movement of light across the ground startled her so much that she sat back on her heels, blinking, to see a pair of servants carry in the litter on which Lady Eudokia traveled. A trio of eunuchs placed four stools on the rug and stepped back as the servants placed the litter on this foundation, well off the ground. The eunuchs bathed the lady¡¯s face and hands in water, then retreated.


    ¡°What news?¡± the lady asked Alexandros.


    ¡°As you see, no different than last night or the one before or every night before that. Either she lies, or she is telling the truth and has lost her Eagle¡¯s Sight.¡±


    ¡°If so, is it a temporary blindness or a permanent one?¡±


    He scratched his neck, grimacing, then rubbed his eyes as if he were exasperated. ¡°What else do you know of this sorcery, Exalted Lady?¡±


    ¡°Nothing I have not already told you. Its secrets are not known to us. I will attempt the camphor again, but it is the last I possess.¡±


    ¡°See!¡± He fixed his one-eyed gaze on Hanna. A knife held to her throat could not have frightened her more. How could a common-born man rise to be called a ¡°lord¡±? Either he was in league with the Enemy, or the Arethousans were stranger than any folk she understood. That he was ruthless she knew; he had done nothing to succor Princess Sapientia; he had abandoned his other hostages without, apparently, a second thought. He drove his men forward at a difficult pace and left the stragglers behind.


    ¡°See.¡±


    Lady Eudokia tossed three tiny twigs onto the fire. The choking scent of camphor filled Hanna¡¯s lungs and made her eyes water and her head pound. She saw flames, burning and burning, and although the smoke and incense made her eyes sting, she kept staring into the dance of fire.


    Let them believe she was only a breath away from success.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± said Lady Eudokia, but she sounded curious more than disgusted. ¡°We may as well cavort naked with the fire worshipers as stare at these coals.¡±


    The general had not moved, but Hanna felt his presence as a threat. ¡°Is she lying, Exalted Lady?¡±


    ¡°I think she is not lying. I see only flames.¡±


    ¡°If we do not need her, then ¡­¡±


    ¡°Let us not be hasty, General. You are thinking as a soldier in battle. Think rather that those who brought this storm down upon us may have survived. I do not know what powers they hold to themselves. If they have the ability to cloud Eagle¡¯s Sight, we must consider what is best for us. Hold the Eagle in reserve, in case matters change.¡±


    ¡°What if it takes years?¡±


    She lifted a hand in a lazy gesture of disinterest. ¡°I have an aunt who has for twenty-eight years resided in the convent of St. Mary of Gesythan. It is better for the family that she remain alive than that she be killed. None leave that isolation once they are banished within. This one can be placed in the convent as well.¡±


    ¡°She is a westerner and thus a heretic.¡±


    ¡°True enough. She need not receive every comfort, as do the others.¡±

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    He scratched his neck again, leaving a trail of rashy red. ¡°A good enough plan. But I agree only on the condition that she remain in my custody until that time, and that I be granted leave to visit her there whenever I wish.¡±


    ¡°If my nephew becomes emperor, General, then these are no obstacles.¡±


    He nodded. She clapped her hands, and the eunuchs wiped her face again before moving back so the servants could carry her away. As the tent flap closed behind her retinue, the general turned to the soldiers waiting respectfully behind him. He pointed. A captain dressed in a blue tabard came forward and began delivering his report, but Hanna was too dizzy with fear to catch more than scraps of phrases:


    ¡°¡­ may be the same bandits who shadow us ¡­ may be another group ¡­ scouts can never find them ¡­ nay, never a trace ¡­¡±


    She ought to memorize each utterance, to hoard them like the treasures they were. She was an Eagle. What she heard, she remembered. What she remembered, she could report to her regnant just as this man reported to his. But she could not concentrate because she could not banish from her mind a vision of whitewashed walls surrounding her, too high to be climbed and without any gate for escape.


    A pair of servants trudged in bearing buckets of water. They set them down and busied themselves with the pitcher and basin. Her eyes were still stinging. As much as she swallowed, she could not get all her fear and frustration and anger down.


    Is this all her life came to? Had she somehow angered God so much that she was to be passed from one hand to the next as a prisoner? The general might call her an Eagle, but she was no such thing. It would have been better to have stayed in Heart¡¯s Rest and married Young Johan even with his smelly feet and braying, stupid laugh. A cow or goat was not precisely free, but at least it wasn¡¯t caged within narrow walls. She knew better than to let self-pity overwhelm her, but the temptation just for this moment was to fall and fall.


    One servant poured water from pitcher into basin. Because the scent of water hit her hard, she looked at them. They were both middle-aged men, wiry and strong, with stern expressions. They were the kind of men who have risen far enough to receive a measure of comfort and security as retainers of a powerful lord. One was, indeed, handsome enough that she might have looked twice at him if he hadn¡¯t been old enough to be her father. Bysantius¡¯ unwanted but flattering proposal had woken old feelings in her. It wasn¡¯t so bad to be desired or at least respected. Ivar was lost to her. She had admired Captain Thiadbold, but held loyal to her Eagle¡¯s vows. Rufus had, momentarily, tempted her, but in the end she had chosen the easier path. She had held herself aloof. She had never succumbed.


    Not as Liath had.


    In a way, she was envious of Liath, who had embraced passion without looking back, despite the trouble it had brought her.


    I am not so impulsive.


    Yet it wasn¡¯t so. She had left Heart¡¯s Rest to follow Liath. She had walked without fear into the east. She had wandered in dreams into the distant grasslands seeking the Kerayit shaman who had named Hanna as her luck.


    The good-looking servant winked at her, then rubbed at his dirty forehead with the stump of his right arm, cut off at the wrist and cleanly healed. The position of his arm concealed his mouth from his companion. His lips formed a word once, then a second time, soundless but obviously meant to be understood.


    Patience.


    She startled back. Had she imagined it? Was he speaking in Wendish?


    He and the other servant, carrying the emptied buckets, walked out the door, keeping silence as a new captain droned on with his report. She heard, in the wake of their passing, a faint tinkling like that of tiny bells shaken by a breeze.


    Five breaths later she knew, and was surprised it had taken her so long. He hadn¡¯t been wearing a churchman¡¯s robes but rather the simple garb of an Arethousan peasant. He had looked different, somehow; harder and keener and even, strange to say, more like a man who might want to be kissed, not a celibate churchman.


    Yet he had loved once, and passionately. Like Liath, he had leaped and never regretted.


    The rank perfume of the camphor faded, but air within the enclosed tent seemed to rush in a whirlpool around her as though stirred by daimone¡¯s wings. Why was Brother Breschius working as a servant in the camp of his enemy¡¯s army?


    The wasp sting burned in her heart.


    3


    SANGLANT¡¯S army bedded down in and around yet another deserted village. The signs of abandonment did not tell a clear tale: had all the inhabitants died? Had they only fled, hearing the approach of an unknown army? Or had they fled days ago in the wake of the storm? Had some other force driven them away or taken them prisoner?

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    In these distant marchland borderlands, empty wilderness stretched wide, and villages were without exception bounded by log palisades, which protected mostly against wild beasts both animal and human since a true army would make short work of such meager fortifications. This one had not burned, but the gates sat wide and the vanguard had marched in without seeing any living creature except for a pair of crows that fluttered away into the trees, cawing.


    ¡°I miss birdsong,¡± Liath said. ¡°Even in winter, there should be some about.¡±


    Sanglant was out on his evening round of the army. Hathui had gone with him, leaving her with a trio of Eagles who regarded her with wary interest. She did not feel easy with Sanglant¡¯s noble brethren and preferred the company of the messengers.


    ¡°Hanna spoke of you,¡± said the redheaded one called Rufus.


    ¡°Hanna! When did you last speak with Hanna?¡±


    ¡°Months ago. More than that, perhaps. A year, or more. She came south with a message from Princess Theophanu. Hathui says that she and Hanna met on the road, in Avaria or Wayland¡ªI¡¯m not sure which¡ªand that Hanna knew the truth of what had happened to the king but she never confided in me or anyone.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°She was watchful. That¡¯s all I know. I liked her.¡±


    Liath propped her chin on a cupped fist and frowned at the Eagle. He was a likable, even-tempered young man who reminded her vaguely of Ivar but perhaps only because of his red hair. They looked nothing alike, and he did not have Ivar¡¯s inconvenient and ill-timed passions.


    She sighed. Heart¡¯s Rest seemed impossibly distant. That interlude with Hanna and Ivar, innocent friends, could never have happened in a world as blighted as this one. How blind she had been in those days! Hanna¡¯s friendship was true enough, but Hanna had been struggling with her own obstacles, which Liath had blithely ignored. Ivar had never been her friend; she had pretended otherwise because his infatuation with her had made her uncomfortable.


    Because he had seemed so callow, compared to Hugh. As much as she had hated Hugh, she had never truly stopped comparing Ivar to him, and found Ivar always wanting although he was honest and true.


    ¡°Hanna is my friend,¡± she said at last, seeing that the others¡ªRufus, dark-haired Nan, and an older man all the other Eagles called Hasty because of his deliberate way of doing things but whose name was Radamir¡ªwatched her. ¡°I wish we had news of her.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if she survived the earthquake,¡± said Rufus. ¡°That one that collapsed St. Mark¡¯s. I heard a rumor that she and some of the king¡¯s schola crept away during the tumult. I was gone by then. She had been placed in Presbyter Hugh¡¯s retinue, but Duchess Liutgard was unhappy about it. He never allowed Hanna to make her full report to the king¡ªthat is, the emperor.¡±


    She questioned him further, but he hadn¡¯t much more to relate although it all emerged in greatest detail, since Eagles honed their ability to memorize and recollect.


    ¡°I pray she still lives,¡± Rufus finished. ¡°She is a good woman.¡±


    ¡°If any can survive this, Hanna can.¡±


    Behind, a commotion signaled the approach of Sanglant and his entourage: the tread of footsteps, the babble of conversation, a chuckle, a muttered wager. It never let up. Tonight he spoke with his cousin, Liutgard, whom he seemed to trust, while that bastard Wichman trailed behind making crude jokes to the Ungrian captain, Istvan, who bore his witticisms stolidly. A bevy of nobles swarmed around; a steward waited at his right hand; soldiers loitered beyond the firelight, never straying far.


    He stood straight and held the centermost place among his retinue, with that astonishing ability to know where each of his attendants were without skipping from place to place like an anxious dog seeking a pat on the head. But she could see in his face and bearing that the journey and the obligations thrust upon him were exhausting him. He was strong, but even the strongest must rest.


    Soldiers had already pitched the journeying tent in which they slept. Thank the Lord and Lady that it was too small to admit more than two people.


    She caught Captain Fulk¡¯s attention, and he nodded at her and chivvied the king toward his pallet, separating him smoothly away from the others. Liath wasn¡¯t sure if Fulk liked her, or even respected her, but on this account, at least, they understood one another.


    She took her leave of the Eagles and, as Sanglant¡¯s attendants made ready to sleep, dispersed to their own encampments, or settled in for guard duty, she crawled into the tent and pulled off her boots.


    ¡°You must come with me when I tour the army,¡± he said impatiently. ¡°You must be seen at my side, as my consort. As co-regnant.¡±

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    ¡°I pray you, give me time. I am not yet accustomed to it.¡±


    She doubted she would ever become accustomed to it. She needed peace, and silence, and the company of books, but she dared not tell him that, not now. Not yet.


    He seemed about to say something, but did not, and stripped off the rest of his clothing instead. In general, unless attack was imminent, he preferred to sleep naked, and he was warm enough to protect her against the cold, which always debilitated her.


    ¡°I will never get used to cold,¡± she said as she pulled off her shift and, shivering, pressed herself against him skin to skin while pulling furs and cloaks over them.


    ¡°Yet you burn!¡± he whispered, kissing her.


    ¡°Umm,¡± she said.


    But after a moment he lay back, and she rested her head on his shoulder and waited. She was getting to know him. At moments like this, he had something in his mind troubling him that he would at length spit out.


    ¡°Are you still angry with me?¡± he asked. ¡°For forbidding you from going after Blessing?¡±


    Guilt, like a hungry dog, will stare and stare. She had lived with its presence all day until it had become a dead weight in her stomach. His breathing was steady. Hers was not.


    ¡°Oh, love, had I insisted on going, I would have gone, and you could not have stopped me.¡±


    He caught in his breath as if slapped, but said nothing; then let it out again, and still said nothing.


    She went on, because his silence hurt too much. ¡°I abandoned her. In Verna, first, even though it wasn¡¯t my choice to leave. For the second time out on the steppes, when we left her behind knowing she was close to death. And now, this time, for the third. So many voices chase through my head. What use is such a long journey when there are others who can make it for me? Who are better able to endure the trek. Who can serve in this way, as I can serve in others.¡±


    He still made no answer except to stroke her arm, shoulder to elbow, shoulder to elbow, his way of pacing when he was lying down.


    ¡°I do not even know Blessing. I may never know her. That is the choice I face. That is the choice I made.¡±


    ¡°I could have gone,¡± he said angrily, hoarsely, but his voice always sounded like that. ¡°Yet she is one child. Wendar and Varre and all who live there¡ªall who survived the cataclysm¡ªmay fall into chaos. Without the order imposed by the regnancy, there will be war between nobles, between duchies and counties. That is the choice I made. It is the obligation I accepted, although I never sought it. How is your choice different?¡±


    ¡°I am not Henry¡¯s heir. I am not even Taillefer¡¯s great grandchild. I am the daughter of a minor noble house, nothing more.¡±


    ¡°That strangely makes me think of Hugh of Austra, who would not have cared one whit for the daughter of a minor noble house, if that is all you were.¡±


    ¡°Ah! That was a cruel blow.¡±


    ¡°So it was intended to be. I grieve for Blessing. No one does more than I do. I admit I didn¡¯t always like my sweet girl, but I always loved her. Love her. If she is dead, Liath, if she already died, then we made the right choice.¡±


    ¡°I saw her.¡±


    ¡°You are blind in your Eagle¡¯s Sight. What was this vision, then? True, or false?¡±


    ¡°I believe it was true. I saw Blessing. I saw Li¡¯at¡¯dano. I think I saw Wolfhere. I saw a vision of you, when you took in the Wendish refugees who had fled Darre. Henry¡¯s schola, most of them.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± he admitted. ¡°It might well have been a true vision.¡±


    ¡°Or it might have been a dream. I might only have wanted to see her so badly¡­. It seemed so real. I saw her arguing with a youth, a young man¡ª¡±


    ¡°Thiemo? Matto?¡±


    ¡°I never saw him before.¡±


    ¡°Might it have been the past you saw?¡±


    ¡°Nay¡ªshe was the age she was when we left her.¡± But not yet as old as in that terrible vision when she had seen Blessing held prisoner by Hugh. ¡°It was the present, or the future. I¡¯m sure of it. It means she lives.¡±


    ¡°If that is so, and if Gyasi brings her back to us safe and alive, then we made the right choice.¡±


    ¡°What if she dies because one of us did not go to her?¡±


    ¡°Then we will be responsible. How else can we judge? What else can we do? Each day I must choose, and some may die, and some live, because of decisions I make.¡±


    ¡°Ah, God. It is no good task. So many are already dead.¡±


    ¡°And yet more would be dead, if you had not confronted Anne and killed her. You know it is true.¡±

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    ¡°It is true,¡± she said reluctantly, ¡°but I feel no triumph in victory.¡±


    ¡°That is because we gained no victory. All we managed was no defeat.¡±


    ¡°I met a party of farmers in Aosta. After the griffins rescued me from Zuangua. These farmers had lost their homes to the windstorm. Passing troops had stolen what remained of their stores. No doubt it seemed fitting to that lord and his army to do so, for he must supply his own in order to fight.¡±


    ¡°So he must, but he will not eat the next year if all those who farm for him die of starvation.¡±


    One of the knots plaguing her stomach relaxed. ¡°I suppose that is only one tiny injustice among so many great ones. Yet it makes me think of words Hathui once said: ¡®The Lord and Lady love us all equally in Their hearts.¡±¡¯


    ¡°That being so,¡± he murmured in reply, ¡°why did God make Wichman the son of a duchess and Fulk, who is in every way his superior as a man, the son of a minor steward without rank or standing except that which I give him? Why did I live when all my faithful Dragons died?¡±


    ¡°The church mothers have an answer to all these questions, else we would fall endlessly into the Pit for wondering.¡±


    ¡°What is their answer?¡±


    ¡°I can quote chapter and verse, but in the end, their answers are all the same: Humankind cannot know the mind of God.¡±


    ¡°As dogs cannot know the mind of their master, although they strive to be obedient?¡±


    She laughed.


    ¡°I must acquire a pack of loyal hounds, who will sit at my feet and growl at the faithless and remind me of how untrustworthy courtiers can be. Poor things.¡±


    ¡°The dogs, or the courtiers?¡±


    ¡°Do you remember my Eika dogs? What awful creatures they were, not dogs at all, truly. Yet I miss them in one way. I never had to guess their intentions. I could always trust them to go for my throat if they thought I was weakening.¡±


    She hesitated, and he felt the tension in her and turned to kiss her cheek. ¡°Say it. Do not fear me, so that you think you must hold your tongue.¡±


    ¡°Very well, then. Must you be king? With the dogs always circling around?¡±


    ¡°I must,¡± he said, taking no offense at her question. ¡°Alas that my father is dead. I wish it were otherwise.¡±


    ¡°He has other children.¡±


    ¡°They are not fit. Sapientia you know. Theophanu is capable, but she is too reserved and hasn¡¯t gained the love and support of those she would need to lead. Ekkehard is too light-minded. Henry¡¯s children by Adelheid are too young, and anyway they will receive little support in the north if Adelheid were to claim the Wendish throne for them. They may hope to inherit Aosta if they have survived the storm. Nay, let it be. Henry wished for this for many years. Now it has come to pass. I am his obedient son.¡±


    But because she lay so close against him, she felt his tears.


    4


    SOON the Arethousan army, in retreat, began to meet refugees on the road. As Hanna tramped along behind the wagon to which her new guards had tied her, she studied the folk huddled at the side of the track. Like most Arethousans, they were swarthy and short, with broad faces and handsome, dark eyes. The women displayed a voluptuous beauty that fear and poverty could not yet disguise. They carried bundles on their backs and sniveling children in their arms. Some pushed handcarts piled with belongings. Now and again she would see a man holding the halter of a donkey. More often a family had two or three scrawny goats tied together on a single lead. Once she saw a bloated corpse, but it wasn¡¯t obvious how the man had died.


    They stood silently as the army passed. After a time she began to think they were like the mosaics seen in churches in Darre, figures with kohl-lined eyes and magnificent robes frozen forever against a backdrop of open woodland. Only once did she hear one speak.


    ¡°I pray you, I¡¯ll do anything for a piece of bread for me and my child.¡± A skinny young woman clutched a slack-eyed, emaciated child to her hip as she twitched her rump awkwardly to attract the notice of the soldiers.


    Bysantius strode forward before any man could step out of line. He slashed at her face with the quirt. She cried out and retreated up the slope through dry grass that crackled around her. A man emerged out of the woods from behind a stand of prickly juniper. He was tugging up the drawers under his tunic as he sauntered back to join the rest, but before he¡¯d gone three steps a woman appeared.


    ¡°You never gave me what you promised!¡± she shouted.


    He didn¡¯t even look back. ¡°I took what you offered, whore!¡±


    Men sniggered, but glanced nervously toward their sergeant.

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    Bysantius stuck his quirt into his belt and drew his knife before the soldier could step down onto the path. ¡°Pay her what you promised.¡±


    The soldier¡ªhe was young and cocky¡ªpulled up short, eyeing the knife. ¡°I¡¯ve nothing to pay her. I eat what the rest of us do, when it¡¯s handed out at night. I¡¯ve no coin, as you ought to know, Sergeant. I¡¯m to be paid with land.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯re a thief.¡±


    The column staggered to a halt as soldiers poked and pulled at each other, turning to see the confrontation.


    ¡°Thieves are punished with death, by the lord general¡¯s order. Any man who takes without permission is a thief.¡±


    ¡°Here, here,¡± said the man, extracting a crust of bread from his sleeve, ¡°no harm done.¡± He turned, tossed the bread at the woman, and hurried back into line, his face red and the rest hooting at him. The woman scrabbled in the dirt and, scooping up the crust, ran away into the woods.


    ¡°Get on!¡± Bysantius added a few curses, sheathed his knife, and strode up the line brandishing his quirt.


    Hanna, too, had stashed away a bit of her last night¡¯s meal, nothing more than a bit of dry cheese, the last cut off a round. She fished it out of her sleeve and hissed.


    ¡°Tss! Here, you!¡± The young woman with the child had been weeping, huddled on the hill. Hanna tossed the cheese at her, but the wagon jerked forward and she stumbled to her knees and then scrambled to get up before she was dragged, and by the time she got herself stable again, she had lost sight of mother and child.


    She was, therefore, doubly hungry that night, but as she ate the thin gruel out of the pot she couldn¡¯t regret what she had done.


    ¡°Mind you,¡± said Sergeant Bysantius, coming over to crouch beside her, ¡°the infant will die a day later rather than sooner. You¡¯re just prolonging her misery.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps not. You can¡¯t know what will happen. Why are all these refugees on the road?¡±


    He scratched his neck. It was a mark of the general¡¯s respect for the sergeant that he had been given command of the rear guard, but the dry and dusty conditions, the constant kick of dust all day long, had caused his skin to rash. ¡°Nothing good, I¡¯m thinking,¡± he said. ¡°Nothing good.¡±


    Years ago she, Liath, Hathui, Manfred, and Wolfhere had ridden east into the rising sun, traveling toward Gent. On that ride she had seen streams of refugees fleeing the Eika invasion. They had come on carts and on foot, leading donkeys or carrying crates that confined squawking chickens. They had hauled children and chests and sacks of withered turnips or baskets filled with rye and barley. The road, damp with rain, had churned to mud under the crush of so much traffic. Yet, despite their desperation, those Wendish refugees had not had the despairing, hopeless look of Arethousa¡¯s wretched, fled from what every man and woman in the army referred to always and only as ¡°the city.¡±


    For days, stories passed up and down the line, but in the end even these rumors and purported eyewitness accounts could not prepare them for their first sight of ¡°the splendid daughter of the sea,¡± the great capital city of the empire of Arethousa. Chained to the wagon, Hanna could not see as the vanguard of the army reached a distant rise. The entire unwieldy column staggered to a halt as the men in the front seized up and the ones behind pushed forward to clamor for news.


    That news swept through them like wind. She leaned against the wagon¡¯s tailgate with eyes closed and let the rush pour over her. It was so good to rest.


    ¡°¡­ only the walls survived ¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a fool to believe it. Have you seen?¡±


    ¡°Nay, but it¡¯s what they¡¯re all saying!¡±


    ¡°So did the refugees, poor cattle. Doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯re right. A giant wave! Tssh! Let¡¯s go¡ª¡±


    ¡°Stay in line!¡± The sergeant¡¯s quirt struck, variously, wagons, flesh, and the dirt. ¡°Stay in line! Don¡¯t break ranks!¡±


    She opened her eyes. The soldiers leaned forward like hounds straining at their leashes, quivering, anxious, eager to race forward. But they held their ranks. A rider in the red tabard that marked the imperial scouts galloped back along the line of march and pulled up beside Bysantius.


    ¡°General Lord Alexandros desires your attendance at a council,¡± said the man. ¡°I¡¯m to command the rear guard in your absence. He says to bring the Eagle.¡±


    The rider looked around, seeking her, but because days of dust had veiled her pale hair, he didn¡¯t mark her. He dismounted instead and handed the reins to Bysantius, who smiled grimly and shouted at the guards to unlock Hanna¡¯s leg irons.

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    Her new guards were called Big Niko and Little Niko by the other soldiers, although the two were the same height. They were phlegmatic fellows who made up in attention to detail what they lacked in conversation and wit. They untied her from the rope that tethered her to the wagon, then unshackled her ankles. It felt strange to walk without the chafing on her legs, without the weight, without the cubit¡¯s length of restriction clipping her stride. Bysantius swung onto the horse, then extended a hand to help her up behind him.


    She disliked his closeness. He stank, but no doubt she did as well. Given the conditions in which they had marched, anyone would reek. That he didn¡¯t smell worse was remarkable. He was, without question, a powerfully built man. She tried holding onto the cantle, but as they started forward her awkward seat behind the saddle forced her to cling to his belt. Her head, shoulders, and breasts pressed against his back. Mercifully, he said nothing about the intimate nature of their position. He had enough to do to press forward along the line with soldiers calling to him for news at every step. Here, so close to the city, the way was broad, paved in the center with wide, dusty lanes to either side for additional traffic. What remained of forest sat far back from the road and then only to the south. North was clear-cut, the sloping land studded here and there with clusters of sad hovels now overrun with refugees. Folk stood in doorways, watching mutely as the army passed. If they owned livestock, their animals were well hidden. She heard not even one chicken¡¯s squawk or a goat¡¯s complaining bawl. Uncounted fresh graves lay in ranks behind each village and along the roadside.


    The road led up a long incline and at length they reached the height of the rise where Lady Eudokia and the general had halted with their close companions. All faces were turned toward the east. Besides the shifting of feet and the occasional protest of a horse held on too tight a rein, there was no sound except for a soughing whisper that might be the surf.


    Bysantius let out his breath all in a hissed sound. He was rigid. His broad shoulders hid half the view, but by craning her neck to peer past his back she saw a wash of cloudy sky that blended into the glitter of a distant sea and, beyond it, the contours of another land lying away across the narrow strait. Off to her right, slopes ran down to a coastal plain and the sea, but the crowd to her left concealed the sight they all stared at.


    ¡°Sergeant Bysantius!¡± General Lord Alexandros¡¯ voice cracked the silence.


    The sergeant started, shaken out of his stupor. He turned parallel to the shore, and she saw everything.


    The land beyond was a jumble of muted colors, a formless wilderness without trees or houses. The general waited just where the road began to pitch and wind away down toward a peninsula jutting out into the winter-gray sea waters. The promontory had a rounded gleam, ringed by pale stone and paler spume where water rolled up against the shore. The rugged lines of its heights and valleys confused her, while at her back she heard groans and tears from the folk gathered on the road. Many fell to their knees and beat their hands on the ground.


    ¡°What catastrophe has overcome us?¡± said the general, his voice little more than a scrape.


    The curtains that screened the exalted lady¡¯s litter from the sun and prying eyes had been thrown back so Lady Eudokia could see the full sweep of the scene. Her lips were pressed tight, but she did not weep. Beside her, her nephew picked at his nose as he whistled tunelessly under his breath, scuffing his feet, knocking his knees together, and otherwise behaving as though he wished they could get moving before he died of boredom.


    ¡°Only sorcery could encompass so much destruction,¡± she said. ¡°But see. The walls are intact.¡±


    ¡°In a manner of speaking.¡± He wiped tears from his face. ¡°A man¡¯s heart is intact when his beautiful mistress sends back the bracelets and baubles he has given her and takes up with another man, but he is ruined nevertheless.¡±


    ¡°Men are slaves to their desires, it is true. He is ruined, but he is not dead, and in time he will forget her. This is a bad analogy, Lord General. Think rather¡ªwe must rebuild, because the one who rebuilds will rule those who are grateful for the restoration of what was lost.¡±


    ¡°Arethousa was not built in a day, exalted lady.¡±


    ¡°No use waiting, then. We must inventory what remains, and what manner of workforce we have at our disposal, and what stores survive to feed our army and the people. If God is merciful, this winter will be mild.¡±


    ¡°If God is merciful, there will be rain, and the sun will emerge from behind these damned clouds! How can you not weep?¡±


    ¡°Tell me my tears will build a palace, and I will weep. Let us build and plan our revenge, even if it is my nephew¡¯s children who must lead our armies into war. We must act quickly in case any of my cousin¡¯s partisans have escaped. We must take control of the city while there are none to resist us.¡±

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    This time the general almost did break down, but with an iron will he controlled his body, his expression, his voice, and his entire being. ¡°That is not a city. That is a ruin. Ai, God. My dear wife.¡±


    The words sparked connections in her mind. What had bewildered her came clear. The peninsula was covered not by rocky terrain and fallen stones but by a vast city so huge that she had not recognized it for what it was. Its walls ringed the shoreline. Double walls made a skirt across the headland. What splendor these ruins might once have possessed she could only guess at. They were too big to comprehend, and the extent of the destruction staggered her because it made no sense. She traced the distant lines that marked the ground but could not measure palaces, churches, houses, or stables in the jumble. From this distance she saw nothing she could recognize as rooftops, no spectacular domes, only stair steps of tumbled stone in heaps and mounds that she had at first mistaken for natural formations.


    Surely this was an ancient ruin. Not even the gale wind could have destroyed so much and on such a scale. It was difficult to grasp, much less hold onto, their grief. It all seemed so remote, no more than an idea they had all long clung to.


    ¡°A wave drowned all, so we have been told,¡± said Lady Eudokia. ¡°How can any wave be large enough to overwhelm the city? It must have been some other thing, a spell perhaps, rising out of Jinna lands. Rising off the sea.¡±


    ¡°Look there!¡± said Bysantius, pointing.


    A gauzy mist was rising off the strait. Wisps of fog wafted up out of the ruins as the breeze blew in off the sea. Fog rose every place there was water. It seemed the ruins were awash, because the mist thickened, poured upward, and advanced inland toward their position as a wall of white like a towering wave off the sea. It swallowed the ground, the view, the sky.


    ¡°God save us,¡± muttered Bysantius, but he held his position.


    General Lord Alexandros drew his sword.


    ¡°Leave off,¡± snapped Lady Eudokia. ¡°Put me down, you fools. Bring me my chest. Let me see what I can do to dispel this unnatural mist.¡±


    No natural mist moved in such a manner. Hanna twisted to look behind her. Men backed away, making signs against evil. Her ears popped, and the few dogs remaining among the army began barking. As the fog advanced on a strong wind off the sea, the beasts tucked tails between legs and ran. Their fear, like a shower of arrows, struck throughout the ranks.


    ¡°Hold fast!¡± cried the general.


    ¡°Shit!¡± swore Bysantius.


    ¡°You clumsy fools!¡± swore Lady Eudokia, her voice cracking with anger as one of her eunuchs lost his grip on the chest and it spilled to the ground.


    The fog swept in. Between one breath and the next they drowned. Not in water, but in a veil of concealment so thick that she could no longer see the general or the exalted lady. Even the head of Bysantius¡¯ horse swam in and out of view. A tinkling of bells teased her ears, then faded.


    Once, years ago, in the custody of Bulkezu, she had seen an opening and bolted, but he had caught her, of course. Of course. Yet why be ruled by fear, as were those bawling and shouting around her?


    She saw her chance.


    She pushed back over the mare¡¯s rump, slid down, and landed as Bysantius called out sharply.


    ¡°The prisoner! The Eagle!¡±


    She dared not run for the sea, not knowing what had destroyed the city and what might still lurk under the waves or on the far shore. She ran south instead, knocked into soldiers before she saw them, shook loose and kept going before they realized what hit them. She tripped once, three times, ten, but her bruised shins and aching elbows goaded her on. This time she would escape. This time it would be different even if she died in the wilderness or was hacked to death by angry Arethousan farmers.


    That thought gave her pause enough to come panting to a halt, adrift in the fog with a sparse grove of trees around her, gnarled and low like the ubiquitous olives. She heard the clamor of the army behind her, surging as would the ocean in a storm as waves strike higher rocks and disintegrate into spray.


    ¡°Form ranks! Form ranks!¡± cried Sergeant Bysantius, his voice ringing out of the fog. Yet she sensed no body near to hers. That he sounded close was a trick of the weather.


    Maybe it wasn¡¯t so wise to wander alone, chained, and foreign in a land so notoriously unforgiving to strangers. Beware Arethousans, so went the saying. They were treacherous and deceiving, liars and heretics. But they had fed her, and the sergeant and her guards had kept her safe from those who would have been happy to assault her. She stumbled forward until she lurched into a tree, and sagged there with leaves and twigs tracing the contours of her back as she tried to catch her breath. The damp air chilled her lungs. She heard a nagging chimelike sound, as though her ears were ringing. As though her mind and heart were overwhelmed and dazzled. The choice seemed impossible: give up her freedom and live, or run and die.

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    ¡°Hanna!¡±


    The voice startled her into action. Despite knowing it was the wiser course, she could not sit quietly and be recaptured. Not again. She bolted, and slammed right into a body, oversetting him.


    ¡°Ah! Ow! I pray you, don¡¯t run, Hanna. Come with me.¡±


    That the words were Wendish was all that stopped her from scrambling away into the fog.


    ¡°Quickly.¡± He grasped her arm with surprising strength. She could barely see his face, yet sound carried well in the fog by some trick of the wind. A horn belled. Men shouted, and she heard Bysantius¡¯ voice raised above the rest.


    ¡°¡­ the Eagle. I¡¯ll cut off your cocks myself if she escapes¡­.¡±


    ¡°Come,¡± said her rescuer. ¡°We must hurry. This way.¡±


    ¡°Brother Breschius? How can it be?¡±


    ¡°Run now, answers later. Quiet. Easier for them to hear us than see us.¡±


    He slipped his hand down her arm until he held her wrist, then set off briskly into the forest with her stumbling behind. She had so many questions she thought she might burst, but the speed of their retreat and the single-minded intensity of his silence as he wove his way through the fog-shrouded trees without ever smacking into one kept her silent. Behind, she heard shouting and curses, the thrash of men cutting through underbrush. A hazy flicker of light marked torches.


    ¡°They¡¯re following us!¡±


    ¡°Hush. Do not fear. Listen to what is in your heart. If you do, you¡¯ll see the way as well as I do.¡±


    What was in her heart right now was a yammering like that of dogs racing after a terrified rabbit. Yet beneath the fear she listened for the sound of her feet slapping the ground, echoed by Breschius¡¯ surer tread and the constant singing of delicate bells. She listened for the susurration of leaves as the wind blew the mist in from the distant shore. A man¡¯s shout rose out of the background whispers, but faded as the frater took a sudden right-hand shift in direction. She had lost track of where they were going, knew only that they still jogged through the sparse forest she had observed from the road as they had walked this day. It was prickly; every shrub and tree stabbed at her. Thorns scraped her face, but they were softened by the weight of the fog, whose passage was silent. Fog could not be heard, only seen and tasted and smelled. Its clammy touch made her hands and face grow stiff with cold. Her tongue tasted the brine of the waters. Ghostly faces loomed out of the fog but were swept away before they touched her. She fell into them. She saw with their eyes what they had seen:


    The sea rises without warning and inundates the coastlands and the shining city and its impregnable walls. A wall of water rages through the strait, pouring through to reach the Heretic¡¯s Sea beyond, but in the city that wave washes all the way into the hills before dissipating and spilling back into the strait. As suddenly as the sea swelled, it now empties until long stretches of shoreline are left bare to the sky, revealing mud-slicked rocks and here and there the remains of boats and ships foundered close to land. Indeed, a brave man¡ªor a foolhardy one¡ªcries out that he can walk across to the far shore, and he sets out with walking staff and a bundle of cheese and bread slung over his shoulder. Of those who have not already drowned, and they are many because the first wave is not the deepest, some grab up what possessions and children they can easily lay hands on and hasten for the hills, but others forage through the flooded streets and down to the glistening shoreline, seeking treasure.


    All those who had not fled drowned when the second wave came, and then the third. Only afterward did the disturbance subside.


    All along the coastal plain, remnants of this flood tide pooled within the fallen ruins of the city and in hollows and declivities in the land. No sun dried them out, and the earth was so saturated by water that it could not drink all that had swamped it. It was from these waters that the fog was called. Its essence could almost be tasted. What had been left behind could be bound to the will of one trained in weather magic and condensed by means of the sorcery she had learned from her teacher into a fog that would bewilder her enemy, the ones who held her luck hostage. This tempestari had sent her slave into the heart of the camp and bound him with spells so no one would discover him. Now he followed the torch of her power back to the place where she and her companions waited.


    On all sides the fog concealed the land, but where Breschius walked, he walked as on a skein of silk teased out of the fog, a silvery path that led around every obstacle and wove around the contours of the landscape in a labyrinth that would confuse their pursuers. Hanna saw it now as clearly as he did. She no longer stumbled. He let go of her wrist, and together they settled into a swift walk which tired them less than running but still moved them swiftly away from the army.

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    She no longer heard shouts and calls but once she heard a dog¡¯s booming bark; once she heard a horse neigh; once she heard a woman¡¯s sobs.


    ¡°How far¡ª?¡±


    He raised a hand, and she stopped speaking. A silver bracelet ornamented with tiny bells gleamed at his wrist.


    They walked what she judged to be about the distance from her mother¡¯s inn to Count Harl¡¯s hunting cottage, where if she left at dawn bearing a round of cheese destined for the count¡¯s table she would get there soon after midday. He gave her a leather bottle filled with sour-tasting water. She drank whenever her throat got too dry. The fog held steady for a long while, but gradually it thinned until the landscape emerged around them, insubstantial at first but gaining weight and texture.


    Up here in the hills, Arethousa was a drier land by far than Heart¡¯s Rest. Wendar boasted lush forests grown thick with undergrowth. The density of foliage washed a hundred hues of green across the hillsides. Arethousa, by contrast, was a land of gold and brown. Even the leaves had a dusty pallor and were often waxy or more like thorns than leaves. The ground layer crackled beneath her feet where she stepped on straggling vines and runners. The grass was brittle, and its chaff irritated her nose as she kicked it up with each step.


    The tree cover was sparse. Often they crossed out from under what passed for shade and into a meadow of pale grass or spiny thornbush, where they caught such light as gleamed from the veiled heavens. Once, pausing, she pointed toward a lightening in the cloud cover.


    ¡°Do you think the sun is breaking through?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Hurry,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re losing the thread as the fog dissipates. Come, Hanna.¡±


    It seemed to her that the frater¡¯s vision was more subtle than hers. Although mist drifted within the trees and in patches across open ground, she had lost sight of the pulsing thread of light that led them. Still, she was free, she was unharmed, and although she was ravenous and light-headed, on the whole she felt content. It was an odd feeling, really, one she had rarely experienced in the last several years. She felt at ease and untroubled. At long last, it seemed, she was walking in the right direction.


    He followed a defile down along stony ground, whistling the familiar melody to the psalm ¡°Do not hide Your face from me in my time of trouble.¡± An animal trail led through a grove of oak trees, the only oaks she had seen for many days. They emerged into a clearing protected by high rock walls and cooled by the splash of a slender waterfall pouring off a cliff face. A scrape sounded behind them, and she turned to see a sentry, unseen until now, slip away into the trees back along the track.


    A campsite had been laid out around a pool worn into the rock below the falls. Lean-tos woven out of branches and reeds substituted for canvas tents. A fire burned under an overhang. There were two dozen or more horses confined by a fence made of thorny bushes, and a score or more people at work or rest in whatever shade they could find. She smelled meat roasting. The scent so overpowered her¡ªshe hadn¡¯t eaten meat for months, and nothing more than a portion of gruel for days¡ªthat she staggered as the pain of hunger bit into her stomach. Breschius steadied her. Folk looked up, their faces pale beneath a layer of grime.


    ¡°Hanna!¡±


    They reached her before she registered their identity. She was hugged and only then did she meet the gaze of Brother Fortunatus over young Gerwita¡¯s dark head as the novice wept to see her. Fortunatus smiled as Gerwita let Hanna go and stepped aside for Sister Rosvita to come forward.


    ¡°Hanna!¡± The cleric embraced her. ¡°God be praised. We feared that you were dead, but the witch told us that you yet lived.¡±


    ¡°The Arethousans took me prisoner,¡± she said, astonished to find herself crying. ¡°Oh, it is good to see you, Sister Rosvita. Are all of you here?¡±


    ¡°All of us, by the grace of God. And one more¡ª¡± She looked back over her shoulder to a woman sitting alone on a rock beside the pool, as might an outcast.


    ¡°That¡¯s Princess Sapientia!¡±


    ¡°So it is.¡±


    ¡°Ai, God! What happened to her retinue?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not sure. She rarely speaks, but it appears that King Geza divorced her and abandoned her.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, of course. I saw him speak the words just before the Arethousans took me.¡±


    ¡°For your Eagle¡¯s Sight?¡± Rosvita released her while the others clustered around, saying little but smiling like fools.


    ¡°For my Eagle¡¯s Sight,¡± replied Hanna bitterly. ¡°Which has abandoned me rather like King Geza abandoned Princess Sapientia. How came you here? Who are these others?¡±

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    She scanned the vale. In the shadows to the east she saw now a peculiar wagon built into a tiny house. Even veiled by shadows its colors gleamed. It alone of every object she had glimpsed in the last ten or twelve days was not coated with a layer of ashy dust. Either it had been washed clean, or the dust could find no purchase there. Sorcery works in strange ways.


    ¡°It¡¯s Sorgatani!¡±


    Her tongue was dry. Her vision blurred, and she swayed as the exhaustion brought on by their long walk combined with a flash of anxiety to make her knees weak and her hands damp. She had yearned to meet this mysterious stranger again and yet she feared to meet one who had laid such a frightening obligation on Hanna¡¯s head. What did it mean to be the luck of a Kerayit shaman? It seemed she was about to find out.


    ¡°As for the others,¡± said Rosvita, ¡°there in that wagon resides the pagan sorcerer we are not allowed to see. This troop of soldiers is led by Lady Bertha, who is Margrave Judith¡¯s second daughter. They accompanied Prince Sanglant¡¯s wife to the shores of the Middle Sea to combat the Holy Mother Anne. It seems they emerged from the crown into the midst of Anne¡¯s camp and were set upon. In the battle, Liath was separated from the others and lost. The rest escaped. They have wandered these lands since the cataclysm, seeking news of Liath, if she yet lives.¡±


    These words flowed past Hanna, who heard little and comprehended less as she stared at the wagon and its bright patterned walls, where lion and antelope and horse figures loped into an unseen but understood vista beyond the sight of mortal kind, known only to those who have walked between the worlds and mounted the pole of the world tree into the heavens. The utterance of Liath¡¯s name acted as a hook and yanked her back to herself, a fish floundering out of water.


    ¡°Liath was here? What happened to her?¡±


    ¡°That you must ask the one you call Sorgatani. Fewer than half of Lady Bertha¡¯s soldiers survived the battle. Come, you are wanted.¡±


    A powerfully built woman strode up. She carried herself with the arrogance of noble birth, a thing so unconscious that Hanna knew at once this soldierly-looking female must be Margrave Judith¡¯s daughter. There was little resemblance between her and her mother, and even less to her beautiful half brother.


    ¡°This is the Eagle?¡±


    ¡°I am Hanna, my lady. I serve the Emperor Henry.¡±


    ¡°Emperor! Well, I hope his quest for Taillefer¡¯s crown has served him well, but I fear he has only served the plots and plans of those who ensorcelled him.¡±


    ¡°I fear so, my lady.¡±


    She beckoned, and a pair of soldiers showed Hanna to the stump of a tree hollowed and marked by ax blows, where an armorer plied his trade mending armor. Lady Bertha followed them and watched with interest as Hanna laid her chain across the log and leaned away, grimacing, as the men took turns hammering at the links until one shattered.


    ¡°You can manage with that for now,¡± said the lady. ¡°Go on, then. Sorgatani is anxious to see you.¡±


    ¡°Yes, my lady. How did you know how to find me?¡±


    ¡°Hanna,¡± said Breschius.


    She followed him. Rather than leading her first to the isolated wagon, he took her aside to the rim of the pool, where a naturally stepped rock ledge gave access to the water just out of sight of the main camp.


    ¡°You must wash first,¡± he said. ¡°You can¡¯t come into her presence so dirty as you are. I¡¯ll get clean clothing for you.¡±


    ¡°Where will any of you have clean clothing?¡± She gestured toward the camp. ¡°It looks as rustic as the hideout of bandits.¡±


    ¡°Wash,¡± he said, and left her there.


    She stripped and carried her filthy tunic and leggings into the water with her. It was cold enough, God knew, and the water more bracing than the chilly air, but nevertheless with her teeth chattering and her eyes stinging she endured it and scrubbed her hair and scalp with her fingers and rubbed down her skin as well as she could, crying and laughing together because it hurt to get clean. The shackles on her wrists and ankles had rubbed her skin raw in spots, but after the first sharp pain, the ice of the water numbed her injuries.


    Breschius returned with a square of folded cloth draped across his left forearm, held in place with his stump pressing it down from above. He chimed when he walked. It seemed he wore anklet bells as well as the belled bracelet. He placed the clothing on the rock and sat with his back to her at the top of the stair-step ledge. His hair, cut short, was clean, and his clothing had been washed and mended. Even his hand was not as dirty as those of the soldiers she had seen working and loitering in camp.

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    ¡°Were you with Liath?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I was Sorgatani, Lady Bertha, and Her Highness Lady Liathano came from the uttermost east, passing through two crowns until we came to the shore of the Middle Sea. There we met the forces of the skopos. Many of our people were slain, but we escaped because ¡­ because the lady called fire.¡±


    The tremor in his voice gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. When she said nothing, not sure what to say, he went on.


    ¡°Although we were pursued, Sorgatani used her weather magic to conceal us. So we escaped to these hills. Here we have remained.¡±


    ¡°Where is Liath?¡±


    ¡°Dead, perhaps. Living, perhaps. We do not know.¡±


    She heaved herself up onto the lowest ledge, shaking and trembling. ¡°Ai, God, I pray she is not dead.¡±


    ¡°Sorgatani does not think so. She believes she lives still, although we do not know where she is.¡±


    ¡°Is that why you stayed here? Seeking her?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    She found a ragged but clean scrap of linen on the top of the pile and rubbed off as much of the water as the cloth could absorb. Despite the chill in the air, it was still warmer out of the water than in it. He remained silent, back still turned, as she shook out a silk robe that barely reached her knees as though it had perhaps been meant for a shorter, stouter woman. Certainly it was broad enough for her shoulders and hips. It was a rich red, embroidered with golden dragons grappling with golden phoenixes.


    ¡°This is no Wendish tunic!¡±


    ¡°These are the clothes that belonged to one of her servants.¡±


    ¡°Her slaves? I will wear no slave¡¯s robes, however rich they may appear!¡±


    ¡°You are no slave, Hanna. You are Sorgatani¡¯s luck. These are the only spare clothes we have until yours dry and can be repaired.¡±


    ¡°What of the woman who wears these?¡±


    ¡°She is dead.¡±


    ¡°Then who serves Sorgatani? I know it is said¡ªwhat you told me once¡ªai, God! It seems so long ago! You told me that a Kerayit shaman can be seen by no person except her blood kinfolk along her mother¡¯s lineage, her slaves, her luck, and her pura, who is also her slave. How came you by these garments?¡± She had found, now, a cloth belt and a heavier wool tunic to throw over the silk underrobe. Beneath them came baggy linen drawers dyed a soft purple. The soft leather boots had to be fastened by garters to the broad belt, which was studded with gold plates embossed with the heads of griffins.


    ¡°Both her slaves died in our flight, alas, as did all nine of the Kerayit guardsmen who fought so that she might not be captured. Without any to serve her, Sorgatani would have perished as well, because of the geas laid upon her kind.¡±


    ¡°Then who serves her?¡±


    As quickly as she asked the question, she knew the answer. He did not turn, or shift at all, but his shoulders tightened and the angle of his head altered subtly and dangerously.


    ¡°You became her pura?¡± she asked, as shocked as she could be.


    He chuckled. ¡°Certainly she is beautiful, but alas, she made no such tempting offer. I accepted the chains that make me her slave.¡±


    ¡°Do you not serve God, Brother? How can you serve both God and an earthly master?¡±


    ¡°Is it not a worthy service to save the life of another, even if she is a heathen? So I do believe. If I did not serve her, she would have died. No one else in Lady Bertha¡¯s troop was willing to take on the duty. In any case, without Sorgatani¡¯s protection, we would have been discovered and killed long ago, and we would not gain a steady supply of meat to feed ourselves.¡±


    ¡°Are you content, Brother?¡±


    ¡°I am resigned, Hanna. God command me to serve. I have discovered that I am often surprised by the unexpected nature of that service.¡±


    She could not interpret his tone, and found that she did not want to think too hard about what he might have sacrificed and what it might mean that she was about to meet a woman who had claimed a relationship to her that Hanna did not remotely understand. ¡°What of Sister Rosvita and her companions? Did Sorgatani find them, too?¡±


    ¡°In a manner of speaking. Following your trail, we fell upon them hiding in the woods and so took them in.¡±


    ¡°Following my trail? That of the Arethousan army?¡±


    ¡°No, although truly it was not difficult to follow the army¡¯s dust cloud as it marched. You are Sorgatani¡¯s luck. Brought so close to you, how could she fail to know where you were? Thus were you found, and rescued. Come, are you ready?¡±


    She sighed as she clasped her belt and smoothed a hand over the bumps and ridges made by the embroidery. Such fine cloth would only be worn by the most noble of princes, in the west, and yet the Kerayit clothed their slaves in this finery. ¡°Yes. As ready as I will ever be.¡±

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    Her hair was tangled and she had no comb, but it was cleaner than it had been before. Her stomach growled, and she willed away a flash of dizziness as the wind shifted to spill the fat smell of meat past them.


    ¡°Leave your old clothing,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll see that it is cared for.¡±


    ¡°I thank you.¡±


    She was aware of the camp as a scene unfolding beyond her reach. When they reached the wagon, she mounted the steps and touched the latch tentatively.


    ¡°Go on,¡± said Breschius gently. ¡°Don¡¯t set your foot on the threshold.¡±


    She slid open the door and stepped over the threshold, ducking so as not to hit her head. The Kerayit were either much shorter than Wendish folk, or they disdained to waste space simply to accommodate height.


    She stumbled as she entered the interior, assaulted by its disproportion. The inside was larger than it had any right to be. She felt dizzy, but the fit passed as she pushed the door closed behind her and straightened up into a spacious, circular chamber richly furnished and eerily quiet. It had a round, felt roof, although definitely the wagon had conveyed no such thing on the outside. A central pole pierced the smoke hole, and the heavens, seen through that hole, shone with a silvery sheen shot through with flashes of light that might be distant lightning or sparks from a nearby fire.


    ¡°What manner of place is this?¡±


    ¡°This is where I live, Hanna. Be welcome here.¡±


    Sorgatani stepped out from the shadows. She was as beautiful as Hanna remembered from her dreams, if features molded so differently from those known in Wendish lands could be called beautiful. Hanna thought they could. She had not forgotten Bulkezu.


    Sorgatani¡¯s black hair was braided and pinned up against her head, and she wore as a crown a net of delicate golden chains that fell past her shoulders to brush her robe of golden silk. The simple beauty of that fabric put the gaudy embroidery of Hanna¡¯s tunic to shame, and she had a sudden uncomfortable insight that what had seemed a rich garment to her inexperienced gaze might not be one in truth when compared to the fineness of Sorgatani¡¯s garb.


    Hanna advanced cautiously to the central pole. There Sorgatani met her and extended both hands, palms up and open. She did not touch her. She kept a hand¡¯s breadth of distance between them, air that felt alive to Hanna¡¯s skin, as if it had the same breath and soul that animated all living things.


    ¡°We are met after long apart,¡± said the Kerayit woman. ¡°My luck has been taken prisoner by others, but now I have reclaimed you.¡±


    ¡°I am not your slave!¡±


    Sorgatani withdrew her hands. ¡°Did I say you were? I forget you do not know the customs of the Kerayit.¡±


    ¡°Forgive me. I do not mean to offend. Yet I must ask¡ªis it true you traveled with Liath? Is she alive? Where did you first meet her?¡±


    ¡°Far east, in the grasslands, we met. I accompanied her because it was thought my sorcery could assist her, but it proved not to be true.¡± She sighed. ¡°I liked her.¡±


    That sigh, her expression, the slump of her shoulders: all these touched Hanna in a way no other claim could have. Impulsively she grasped Sorgatani¡¯s hands in hers. The other woman¡¯s hands were callused and her grip, like Hanna¡¯s, was strong. ¡°She is my friend, too. If yours as well, then we are sisters, are we not? In friendship, at least.¡±


    Sorgatani¡¯s dark eyes widened, and her mouth opened, but only a gasp came out.


    Hanna released her. ¡°I beg pardon.¡±


    ¡°No. None is needed. It is just¡ªI am not accustomed to being touched.¡±


    ¡°So Brother Breschius told me.¡± Compassion spilled like light. ¡°It must be difficult, living so alone.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true I am lonely, Hanna.¡± She smiled shyly. ¡°When are you going to bring me my pura?¡±


    ¡°Ai, God! I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m fit for such a duty! There is much I do not know. I am the King¡¯s Eagle, but your luck as well. I do not know what it means. A man cannot serve two masters.¡±


    ¡°You do not serve me! You are my luck, that is all.¡±


    Hanna set a palm to her forehead. ¡°I¡¯m dizzy. Is there any place I may sit down?¡± She began to move to the broad couch to the left of the door, but Sorgatani steered her to a similar couch set on the right side of the door. ¡°Women don¡¯t sit or sleep on that side. Here.¡± She seated her on an embroidered cushion, then clapped her hands.


    The door slid open and Breschius entered, carrying a tray in one hand which he balanced adroitly with his stump. It contained a fine porcelain cup steaming with an aromatic brew and a bowl of leek-and-venison stew. He placed the tray on the bed and retreated to the opposite side, where he knelt on a layer of rugs.

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    ¡°Eat.¡± Sorgatani busied herself opening and shutting drawers in a tall chest standing beside the couch. At her back rested a saddle set on a wooden tree, decorated with silver ornaments and draped with a fine bridle.


    Hanna tried not to wolf down her food, knowing it better to eat slowly to spare her stomach the shock of rich food. The tea eased the cold, as did the cozy warmth in the chamber, which emanated from a brazier. As she ate, she studied the furnishings: an altar containing a golden cup, a mirror, a handbell, and a flask. The couch, more like a boxed-in bed, behind Breschius was covered by a felt blanket displaying bright animals: a golden phoenix, a silver griffin, a red deer. No familiar sights greeted her, as would have been the case in any Wendish hall or house she¡¯d had reason to bide in when she rode her messages for King Henry. In the land of the Kerayit, she was a stranger.


    ¡°I saw you in dreams, sometimes,¡± she said at last, not knowing how to speak to one whose language she ought not to know; not knowing how to interpret the many things she saw that were unfamiliar to her. ¡°I looked for you through fire, but these many days I have not been able to see you, or anyone.¡±


    Sorgatani turned. It was apparent she had been waiting for Hanna to speak, thus showing she was finished eating.


    ¡°Your Eagle¡¯s Sight, do you mean?¡± Sorgatani looked over at Breschius. The net that covered her hair chimed in an echo of his anklets and bracelet. Her earrings swayed, a dozen tiny silver fish swarming on the tide of her movement. ¡°Liath spoke of this gift. She taught me its rudiments.¡±


    ¡°She taught you!¡±


    ¡°Is it meant to be hoarded only to your chieftain¡¯s messengers?¡±


    ¡°So I always understood.¡±


    ¡°Yet who taught them? Have you ever asked yourself that? And why?¡±


    ¡°Why were we taught? So that we might see and speak across distances, and thus communicate with each other and with the regnant. In this way the regnant gains strength.¡±


    ¡°For what purpose? Nay, do not answer that question. All chieftains wish to be strong so they can vanquish those who stand against them. Yet before I learned to see through fire, I learned about the nature of the heavens and the mysteries of the crowns. For all my life I have been able to perceive beyond the veil of the world the gateway which we here in the middle world see as a burning stone. In its flames those with sight can see across long distances, and some can even hear and speak words. The Holy One, whose knowledge is ancient and terrible, can glimpse past and future.¡±


    ¡°So it was when we crossed through the crowns! I saw down many passageways!¡±


    ¡°Just so.¡±


    Breschius fetched the tray and went out.


    When he was gone, Sorgatani sat down on the bed beside Hanna and leaned closer to her. She smelled of a heavy, attractive musk, stronger than lavender. ¡°But hear me, Hanna. For all my life, the burning stone was like a beacon. Yet when the Ashioi returned, its light faded. I can barely touch it, or sense it, barely see it. It¡¯s as if I have gone blind.¡±


    ¡°Blind?¡± Sorgatani¡¯s scent distracted Hanna badly. She found it hard to think.


    ¡°I think Eagles trained themselves to see through the many gateways of the burning stone, although they did not know what they were doing. It flared so brightly that many could see through its passages.¡±


    ¡°Do you think it was destroyed in the wake of the cataclysm?¡±


    Sorgatani shook her head. ¡°The burning stone is not an artifact of the great weaving. In ancient days, so it is told, the Holy One had the power to see and speak through the gateway. That was before the great weaving was set on the looms. But only she had the power to call the gate into being, so it is told. The great weaving fed the power of the burning stone because Earth and heavens were joined by the thread of the Ashioi land, cast out into the aether. Now, that thread is severed.¡±


    ¡°So we are blind. What do we do now?¡±


    ¡°That is what you and I must decide.¡±


    Hanna winced. ¡°Do you really think Liath survived?¡± she asked, not wanting to trust to hope.


    Sorgatani glanced toward the pura¡¯s bed. A blanket was folded on the chest at the foot of the bed, but no one slept there. ¡°Liath was alive up to the moment of the cataclysm. She was captured by the one called Anne, whom we fought. We would all have been killed, but Lady Bertha¡ªa fine warrior!¡ªbroke us out of that camp. Afterward, my brave Kerayit raided their camp under cover of a fog I had raised, but they found no trace of her. So we waited nearby, concealed by my arts, because I felt that she was not dead but only biding her time. So she was. When that night came, when the Crown of Stars crowned the heavens, she brought to life rivers of molten fire out of the deep earth. We fled, because otherwise we would have died as did all of Anne¡¯s tribe. Every one of them. If Liath survived the deluge of fire, I do not know.¡±

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    For a long time Hanna was silenced by the force of Sorgatani¡¯s tale. At last, she spoke.


    ¡°Why did you stay here in this country?¡±


    ¡°I stayed to find you, Hanna. I waited at my teacher¡¯s side long enough while you suffered under the Quman beast¡¯s whip. I would not allow it to happen again. I knew you were alive. When we found the holy women and their companions, we marked the trail of those who had taken you. So, here we are. What do we do now?¡±


    Hanna let it go, at last, and sagged forward. Sorgatani caught her, and she lay her head against the Kerayit woman¡¯s silk-clad shoulder and rested there most comfortably. ¡°I want to go home,¡± she whispered. ¡°But what will you do now?¡±


    ¡°I will go where my luck leads me, of course.¡± She whistled sharply, a sound that made Hanna cover her right ear, which was nearest to Sorgatani¡¯s lips.


    The door slid open. Breschius appeared, his figure limned by the fading light behind him.


    ¡°Let Lady Bertha know that tomorrow we turn our path north. We will cross the mountains and travel west to Wendar.¡±


    He vanished as he closed the door.


    After a pause, Sorgatani asked: ¡°What will we find in Wendar? What manner of place is it?¡±


    ¡°It will be as strange to you as this wagon is to me,¡± she said, half laughing, half crying, and completely exhausted, too tired, indeed, to stand and seek out a place to rest. ¡°As for what we will find there, I don¡¯t know. I think the world has changed utterly. I have seen such destruction that at first it made no sense to me. A vast city flattened as with a giant¡¯s hand. Refugees on the roads, many of them starving. Clouds of dust everywhere. How much worse may it be elsewhere? What if there is worse yet to come? I must seek out the regnant of Wendar, whoever that is now, and give my report. That I must do first. Afterward¡ª¡±


    ¡°Afterward¡± was too vast a landscape to survey.


    VIII


    THE PHOENIX


    1


    THE estate Ivar and Erkanwulf rode into looked very different from Ivar¡¯s father¡¯s manor and compound. It had no significant palisade, only a set of corrals to keep livestock in and predators from the forest out, and there was a wooden tower set on a hillock just off the road to serve as a refuge in times of trouble. An enclosure surrounded a score of fruit trees. Several withered gardens lay in winter¡¯s sleep, protected by fences to keep out rabbits and other vermin. Four boys came running from the distant trees, each one holding a crude bow. Dogs barked. A barefoot child seated in the branches of one of the fruit trees stared at them but said no word. A trio of men loitering beside an empty byre greeted them with nods.


    In Heart¡¯s Rest the village had grown up around a commons, and in addition lay a morning¡¯s walk from Count Hart¡¯s isolated manor. Here, in Varre, houses straggled along the road like disorderly soldiers. Fields stretched out in stripes behind them until they were overtaken by woods. A tiny church had been built where the path they rode crossed with a broad wagon track. The house of worship was ringed by a cemetery, itself disturbed by a dozen recently dug graves. Wattle-and-daub huts with roofs low to the ground lay scattered hither and yon, but Erkanwulf led them to the grandest house in the village, a two-storied stone house standing under the shadow of the three-storied wooden tower.


    ¡°Who lives here?¡± Ivar asked, admiring this massive stone structure and the single story addition built out behind it. There were also three sheds and a dozen leafless fruit trees.


    ¡°My mother.¡±


    Before they reached the stone house, the church bell rang twice. Ivar looked back to see that two of the men who had greeted them beside the byre had vanished.


    ¡°She¡¯s chatelaine for the steward here, my lord,¡± Erkanwulf added. ¡°It was the steward who asked Captain Ulric to take me into the militia. They¡¯re cousins twice removed on their mother¡¯s side.¡±


    It was cold, and even though it was near midday, the light had the faded glamour of late afternoon. They hadn¡¯t seen the sun for weeks, not since many days before the night of the great storm and their rescue by the villagers who lived deep within the Bretwald.


    A woman came out of the farthest shed. Her hair was covered by a blue scarf and her hands were full of uncombed wool. ¡°Erkanwulf!¡± She turned and fled back into the shed. As though her cry had woken the village, a stream of folk emerged from every hovel and out of sheds and fields to converge on the stone house.


    It was a prosperous village. Ivar held his mount on a tight rein, preferring not to dismount in case there was trouble. He counted fully twoscore folk ranging in age from toddling babies to one old crone who supported her hobbling steps on a walking stick. There were older men, and lads, but no young men at all, not one.

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    Erkanwulf dismounted and tied his horse to a post before running down the path and into the arms of a fair-haired girl of perhaps sixteen or seventeen years of age. He grabbed her, spun her around, and kissed her on the cheek. Hand in hand they walked swiftly back to the stone house. His mother came out of the shed with her hands empty and a grim look in her eyes.


    ¡°Who is this?¡± cried the girl, breaking free of Erkanwulf¡¯s grip and walking boldly right up to Ivar¡¯s horse. She had no fear of the animal. She rummaged in the pocket tied to her dress and pulled out a wizened apple, which was delicately accepted by the beast.


    ¡°Too high for the likes of you,¡± said Erkanwulf with a snort. ¡°Unless you¡¯re wanting a noble bastard to bring to your wedding bed.¡±


    ¡°You!¡± said the girl with a roll of her eyes. She grinned at Ivar. She was plump, healthy, very attractive, and well aware of her charms.


    ¡°And a monk besides,¡± Erkanwulf added.


    ¡°As if that ever stopped a man!¡± She laughed. She had lovely blue eyes, deep enough to drown in, as the poets would say, and she fixed that gaze on Ivar so hard that he blushed.


    ¡°Hush, you, Daughter,¡± said Erkanwulf¡¯s mother. ¡°Don¡¯t embarrass me before this holy man. I beg your pardon, Your Excellency.¡±


    ¡°No offense taken,¡± Ivar said awkwardly.


    The mother swung her gaze from the one to the other. It was difficult to say who blanched more, the sister or the brother. ¡°What are you doing here, Erkanwulf? There came the lady¡¯s riders looking for you last autumn. We had a good deal of trouble because of your disobedience. Best you have a good reason for bringing her wrath down on us.¡±


    ¡°What trouble?¡± He looked around the circle of villagers gathered and saw that their mood was sour, not welcoming.


    When she did not answer, he said, ¡°We can trust this man. I swear to you on my father¡¯s grave.¡±


    She held up a hand and folded down one digit for each offense. ¡°Steward was taken back to Autun with both her son and daughter, as hostage for our good behavior. Bruno and Fritho were whipped for protesting. Your brother and four cousins took to the woods and hide there still, like common bandits, because the lady¡¯s riders said they¡¯d hold them as hostage against your return. Goodwife Margaret¡¯s two grandsons were led off God know where, although they said they meant to make them grooms in the lady¡¯s stables.¡± The crone bobbed her head vigorously. ¡°How is Margaret to plow her fields now? You best make a good accounting for yourself, Son, for as bad as all that is,¡± and now she folded in her thumb, and shook a fist at him, ¡°we lost also our entire store of salted venison meant to husband us through to spring. They took it as tax, a fine levied against your desertion. New year is coming. Our stores grow thin. Much of what remains is rotting. What with this cold weather, too much rain all winter, and no sun for these many weeks, I fear more trouble to come. What do you say?¡±


    ¡°He came at my order,¡± said Ivar, ¡°and in the service of Biscop Constance.¡±


    Folk murmured. Some drew the circle at their breast while others made the sign to avert the evil eye.


    ¡°She¡¯s dead, may God have mercy on her,¡± said Erkanwulf¡¯s mother.


    ¡°She¡¯s not dead but living in a monastery they call Queen¡¯s Grave.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what they said. That she was interred in Queen¡¯s Grave.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a place, not a graveyard,¡± he said patiently, seeing that the villagers had lost a bit of the suspicion that closed their features. ¡°It¡¯s a convent. She¡¯s alive. Lady Sabella deposed her, although she had no legal right to do so since Biscop Constance was given her place as both biscop and duke by the regnant himself.¡±


    ¡°King Henry is Wendish,¡± said one of the men who had greeted them so suspiciously by the byre. ¡°As is the biscop. At least Lady Sabella is daughter of the old Varren royal family on her mother¡¯s side.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a heretic,¡± said Erkanwulf¡¯s mother. ¡°Our deacon was taken away because she wouldn¡¯t profess.¡±


    ¡°Was she? Has the truth come so far as out here to this place?¡± demanded Ivar.


    ¡°He¡¯s a heretic, too,¡± observed Erkanwulf dryly, indicating Ivar.


    ¡°Hush, you,¡± said his mother before turning her attention back to Ivar. ¡°It¡¯s true enough, Your Excellency. The lady came riding by on her progress one fine day last spring.¡±


    ¡°It was summer,¡± interrupted Erkanwulf¡¯s sister. ¡°I recall it because the borage was blooming and it was the same color as his eyes.¡±

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    ¡°Tssh! Hush, girl! We heard enough about all that back then. I beg pardon, Your Excellency. My children will rattle on. The lady prayed with us, and said if we professed the Redemption she¡¯d send us salt and spices in the autumn. But none came. Because of your disobedience, Erkanwulf!¡±


    ¡°Still,¡± said her daughter, with a dreamy smile, ¡°I liked listening to what the lady¡¯s cleric had to say.¡±


    ¡°Because of his blue eyes!¡± said the old crone with a wheezy laugh. ¡°Ah, to be young!¡±


    ¡°I am surrounded by fools!¡± cried the chatelaine, but even her expression softened as she allowed herself a moment¡¯s recollection. ¡°Yet it¡¯s true he was the handsomest man I¡¯ve ever seen. More like an angel than a man, truly. And so soft-spoken, with a sorrow in his heart. Why, his good counsel softened even old Marius¡¯ heart and he patched up his ancient quarrel with his cousin William that they¡¯d been nursing for twenty years.¡±


    ¡°That was a miracle!¡± observed the crone wryly. ¡°And he was handsome! Whsst!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the fools!¡± cried Erkanwulf, for whom this recital had become, evidently and all at once, too much to bear. ¡°There can only be one young lord fitting that description, and he¡¯s no cleric. He¡¯s the lady¡¯s kept man, her concubine. She beds him every night, and parades him during the day like a holy saint wanting only a shower of light to transport him up to the Chamber of Light!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just jealous because Nan wouldn¡¯t roll you!¡± retorted his angry sister.


    ¡°At least she doesn¡¯t bed every man who comes asking!¡±


    Everyone began talking at once, as many laughing as scolding, but his mother walked right over to him and slapped him. ¡°You¡¯ll speak no such disrespectful words, young pup! Nor have you explained yourself yet! Steward put herself out for you because she liked you and thought well of you. Now look where it¡¯s gotten her! Speak up! The rest of you shut your mouths and listen!¡±


    No captain could have controlled his unruly band of soldiers more efficiently. They quieted, coughed, crossed arms, shushed children, scuffed feet in the dirt, and waited for Erkanwulf to start.


    Ivar forestalled him by raising a hand. ¡°I¡¯ll speak.¡±


    ¡°Begging your pardon,¡± said the chatelaine hastily, as he¡¯d known she would. He was a churchman, but in addition he sat mounted on a fine horse, and carried a sword.


    ¡°I escaped from Queen¡¯s Grave with the aid of Erkanwulf, here, and his captain.¡±


    ¡°Hush!¡± muttered Erkanwulf. ¡°I won¡¯t have him getting in trouble.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll be in trouble soon enough,¡± said Ivar.


    ¡°What trouble?¡± demanded the chatelaine. ¡°Are you speaking of Captain Ulric? He¡¯s a good man, local to these parts. I want you to make no trouble for him.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll make no trouble for him if you¡¯ll bide quietly once we¡¯ve left and say no word of our passing. We rode to Princess Theophanu¡ª¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s one of the Wendish royals,¡± said one of the old fellows wisely, and gained a clout on the backside from the crone.


    ¡°Hush, you! Let the brother speak!¡±


    ¡°Do you live better under the rule of Lady Sabella than you did under Biscop Constance?¡± he asked them.


    One by one they frowned and considered until the chatelaine said, grudgingly, ¡°Biscop Constance ruled fairly. If she promised a thing, then it was delivered. The lady¡¯s companions take what they wish when they want and tax us according to how the fit takes them.¡±


    ¡°Who rules in Wendar and Varre?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Sabella¡¯s daughter rules in Varre,¡± they agreed, ¡°together with her husband, the Wayland duke, the one with burned skin. Conrad the Black.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d accept the rule of Lady Tallia over that of the rightful regnant, King Henry?¡±


    ¡°What kind of kinship does Henry hold to us? It¡¯s his elder sister Sabella who is born out of the Varren royal house. Not Henry. He was born to a Wendish mother, nothing to do with us. He never came here anyway. Once or twice to Autun. That¡¯s all. It¡¯s nothing to do with us.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like that heresy,¡± said the chatelaine.


    Several others murmured agreement.


    ¡°The story of the Redemption sounded fair enough to me,¡± said Erkanwulf¡¯s sister, then flushed. ¡°And not just because of that cleric.¡±


    ¡°This one is a heretic, too, so ¡¯Wulf says,¡± replied the crone. ¡°So what¡¯s to choose between them? Is all the royals heretics now?¡±

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    ¡°No, not all of them,¡± said Ivar reluctantly, seeing by their expressions that he could not win this battle using his careful arguments. They were not Wendish. He was. In a way, he had already lost.


    ¡°I¡¯d stand up for Duke Conrad,¡± said the old man. ¡°He¡¯s of good blood even with that foreign creature that gave birth to him, but the old duke, Conrad the Elder, was his father. Nay, I say enough with the Wendish. Let them plough their own fields and leave ours to us who are born out of Varren soil.¡±


    ¡°So be it,¡± said Ivar. ¡°Come, Erkanwulf. We¡¯d best ride now, while we¡¯ve still light.¡± He turned his attention to the chatelaine, who made no gesture to encourage them to stay. ¡°I pray you, give us a loaf and cheese. If all goes well, and you aid us by keeping silence, we¡¯ll rid you of the Wendish now biding on Varren earth.¡±


    ¡°What did you mean, back there?¡± Erkanwulf demanded as they rode out not long after. He was surly, having argued again with his sister and gotten only a perfunctory kiss from his mother. ¡°¡®Rid Varren soil of those from Wendar.¡¯ I thought we meant to aid Biscop Constance! I can¡¯t help that those fools back there don¡¯t see her for what she is¡ªa finer steward by far than Lady Sabella!¡±


    ¡°No use arguing with them. They can¡¯t help us anyway. In truth, if many of you Varrens feel the same way, then we must act quickly. I thought there might be many who hated Lady Sabella¡¯s rule. Those villagers by Queen¡¯s Grave were willing enough to help us.¡±


    ¡°They have to feed and house the guards. At least two girls from that village was abused by the guards, if the story I heard is true. The folk there have no reason to love Lady Sabella. But as for others¡ªwhat is one regnant to them, compared to another? They pay tithes either way, and live at the mercy of the weather and bandits and wolves and what measure of taxes the stewards take on behalf of the nobles each year.¡±


    ¡°Surely they must have seen that Biscop Constance was a fair ruler?¡±


    Erkanwulf shrugged. ¡°How many winters did she rule in Autun? The local folk know only that some Wendish noble was set in place by the Wendish king. We Varrens have no reason to love the Wendish, my lord. That¡¯s an old grudge, for sure.¡±


    ¡°Yet you and your captain and his men were willing to aid Biscop Constance in getting a messenger out.¡±


    ¡°We took her measure, my lord, when we served her in Autun. We know her for what she is. But there¡¯s war in Salia now. Our borders are at risk. Captain Ulric may no longer be barracked in Autun. He may have been sent southwest to fight. Or he may refuse to help us now. Maybe he¡¯s done as much as he¡¯s willing to do to aid Biscop Constance. I don¡¯t know. Duke Conrad is fair to soldiers. He¡¯s a good man to fight for.¡±


    ¡°Surely you know Captain Ulric well enough to know what¡¯s in his mind! He sent you to aid me, after all.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve been gone for months. Things have changed.¡±


    They rode in silence for a while along the path that cut through woods. Ash and sycamore swayed softly among oak and beech and hornbeam. It was cloudy, as always these days, and cold and dry. The rains of last autumn had evidently poured all their moisture into the earth in the space of a month or so of incessant rain, Over the winter there had been little snow, although the clouds never lifted, and in time the roads had dried enough for Ivar and Erkanwulf to set off again from their refuge in the Bretwald.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t like leaving,¡± said Erkanwulf after a while.


    ¡°What? Your village? They didn¡¯t treat you very nicely.¡±


    ¡°Nay, not them. You see why I left! No, I liked that steading in the Bretwald. They were good, decent, kind people. That¡¯s the kind of place I¡¯d like to settle down, not that I¡¯m likely to.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean? Settle in Bretwald?¡±


    Erkanwulf was about the same age as Ivar, not as tall, and lanky in the way of a young man who never quite got enough food as he could eat growing up. He was tough¡ªIvar knew that¡ªbut he shrugged like a man defeated. ¡°If I leave Captain Ulric¡¯s company, I¡¯ll have to go back to my village and let my mother make a marriage for me. Who else would have me? I¡¯d be an outlaw if I left the place I¡¯m bound to by birth.¡±


    ¡°They took in strangers in the Bretwald.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true. Refugees from Gent. I liked it there, with no lord holding a sword over their head and telling them what to do.¡±


    ¡°Until bandits realize how wide that road is, and attack them who have no lord to defend them.¡±

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    ¡°They¡¯d need more hands, then, wouldn¡¯t they? A man who had some experience fighting would be of use to them.¡± Erkanwulf brooded as they moved through the woods. No birds sang. Except for the murmuring wind and the soft fall of their horses¡¯ hooves, there was no sound at all. The quiet made Ivar nervous. He hadn¡¯t felt quite right since that terrible night when wind and rain had battered them and killed Erkanwulf¡¯s horse. They had commandeered the old nag Erkanwulf rode from a village whose name Ivar had already forgotten. Those folk hadn¡¯t greeted them kindly, but they¡¯d offered them shelter and given up the old mare in exchange for some of Princess Theophanu¡¯s coin. Those villagers didn¡¯t love the Wendish either, and with King Henry gone so long from his usual progress around the countryside, they saw no reason not to turn their hearts toward the old stories of Varren queens and kings who had once ruled these lands without any Wendish overlord telling them what to do.


    A long time ago, so it seemed, he had been young and thoughtless. He smiled, thinking back on it. Perhaps not so long ago. But so much had happened. He had been thrown headlong into a world whose contours were more complicated than he had ever imagined as the neglected youngest child of the old count up in Heart¡¯s Rest.


    ¡°For all I know, my father is dead by now, and my brother Gero become count in his place.¡±


    Erkanwulf glanced at him, his expression unreadable. ¡°What has that to do with us? My lord?¡±


    ¡°Nay, nothing. I just thought of it. I just thought how the world is changed, as you said yourself. Not just because of that storm or Biscop Constance¡¯s imprisonment, or any of those things, but because I left my father¡¯s estate and journeyed farther than I ever expected to go. I can¡¯t be that youth that I once was. When I think of how I was then ¡­ I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s just different now. We¡¯ve chosen our path. We can¡¯t go back.¡±


    ¡°Huh. True enough words.¡±


    ¡°What do you think we¡¯ll find in Autun?¡± Ivar asked.


    Erkanwulf only sighed. ¡°I hope we find what we¡¯re looking for. Whatever that may be.¡±


    2


    IT snowed the morning they crossed the river on the ferry and moved into a straggle of woodland near the southern gate of Autun. They stumbled over two corpses half hidden under branches and mostly decomposed. Skulls leered at them, so they moved on. In the ruins of an old cottage abandoned among the trees, they stabled the horses with fodder and water, tying their thread-worn blankets over the animals¡¯ backs. After that, they trudged overland to the city walls. No pristine stretches of fresh white snow blanketed the fields. It was all a muddy gray.


    They passed several clusters of huts and cottages, shutters closed and doors shut against the cold. No one was about. Once they heard a goat¡¯s bleat; once a child¡¯s weary wailing dogged them before fading into the distance.


    Erkanwulf led them first along the river and thence to a postern gate. They approached cautiously, hoods cast up over their faces. Ivar hung back as Erkanwulf strode forward to confront the two men hanging about on guard.


    A conversation ensued; he knew them. After a moment he beckoned Ivar forward and without further conversation they were hustled past the gates and into the alleys of the city. Autun was a vast metropolis; Sigfrid had told him that perhaps ten thousand people lived there, cheek by jowl, but Ivar wasn¡¯t sure he believed it. That was an awful lot of people, too many to comprehend. Even Prince Bayan and Princess Sapientia¡¯s combined armies hadn¡¯t numbered more than ten or fifteen centuries of soldiers in addition to auxiliaries and militia.


    On this late winter afternoon, few braved the streets. In one square a trio of beggars huddled by a public fountain, hands and faces wrapped in rags to protect themselves from the bitter cold. The tiny child¡¯s face was thin from hunger, and he scooted forward on his rump, like a cripple without use of his legs, to catch the copper coin Ivar tossed to them.


    ¡°Bless you, Brother!¡± the mother croaked, surprised.


    ¡°Where the phoenix flies, there is hope of salvation,¡± he said to her.


    Her face lit. ¡°Truth rises with the phoenix!¡± she answered triumphantly. ¡°Bless you! Bless you!¡±


    Unnerved, he hurried after Erkanwulf, who had not waited.


    ¡°We¡¯re trying to come in quietly,¡± scolded the young soldier when Ivar caught up to him. ¡°Don¡¯t leave a trail.¡±


    ¡°They were hungry.¡±


    ¡°Everyone is hungry! A coin will gain them bread today, if there¡¯s any to be had, but nothing tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°God enjoin us to ease suffering where we can. What is that she said about the phoenix?¡±

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    ¡°Hush.¡±


    They hurried across a broader avenue and stood in the narrow alley waiting for a score of mounted soldiers wearing the stallion of Wayland to pass before they scurried through the sludge to a narrow path between two-storied wood houses. The walls tilted awkwardly, shadowing their path, and the shadows made it almost as dim as twilight as they sidestepped refuse left lying in the cracked mud. Because it was cold, it did not stink, but it would, when spring brought warm weather.


    ¡°I¡¯ll never get used to cities,¡± muttered Ivar.


    ¡°It¡¯s not so bad,¡± said Erkanwulf. ¡°A man¡¯s freer here, where he can get rid of his past. And safer too, inside walls.¡±


    ¡°Only if those who are guarding you are trustworthy.¡±


    His companion chuckled. ¡°True enough. Wait here.¡± He left Ivar.


    The side street debouched into a square at whose center stood a post where men could be tied for whipping. Beyond that lay the barracks; Ivar recognized them from his brief visit to Autun two years back. It was getting dark in truth. An aura of red lined the western sky, what he could discern of it beyond buildings and in the shadow of the clouds. Erkanwulf¡¯s cloaked figure skulking at the barracks door, and vanishing inside, was rather like that of the shades they¡¯d encountered in the forest that awful night last autumn. Ivar shuddered and wrapped his cloak more tightly around his torso as the chill of night crept into his bones. He¡¯d been cold for a long time, and when he stood still he felt it most of all.


    No one moved in the deserted square. Now and again dogs barked. Wheels squeaked as a wagon passed down a distant street. Someone coughed, and a moment later a man came out of a house, stopped to look at Ivar, and strode away past the barracks, soon lost as night concealed his tracks. With so many people crammed all into one small space, surely there should be more noise, like the pastures and fields and compound of his father¡¯s estate which had always been busy with coming and going except in the worst winter and spring storms.


    He shivered and stamped his feet. They had agreed that if Erkanwulf was gone too long, then Ivar would retreat back to the cottage in the woods, but just as he was beginning to get really anxious the side door to the barracks cracked open and a figure slipped out and hurried across to him. Ivar groped for his short sword and began to draw it, but relaxed as Erkanwulf trotted up, breath steaming.


    ¡°Come on! Captain¡¯s here, off duty, and willing to hear us out. Hurry!¡±


    They ran across the square and were ushered into a lamplit room at the end of the barracks hall where Captain Ulric slept and ate. The captain was sitting on a bench beside two of his sergeants, all three picking at the remains of a chicken.


    Ivar¡¯s eyes watered, but he forced himself to look at the captain instead, trying desperately to ignore the trickle of moist juices. He was so hungry.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t expect to see you again, Brother Ivar,¡± said the captain, although his tone wasn¡¯t unfriendly. He meant what he said.


    ¡°With your help, Captain, we were able to reach Princess Theophanu.¡±


    ¡°So Erkanwulf led me to understand. What news?¡±


    ¡°None. Her Highness sorrows to hear of her aunt¡¯s plight, but she has no army and no treasury and cannot act against Lady Sabella and Duke Conrad. She offered us coin, fresh horses, good cloaks, and such weapons as we might use to defend ourselves, but nothing more than that. She bides in Osterburg at the seat of the duchy of Saony. That is all.¡±


    ¡°The Wendish king, the first Henry, was duke of Saony before he became king.¡± Ulric pushed the chicken away but paused with a hand on the wooden platter as he caught the desperation of Ivar¡¯s gaze. ¡°You two look hungry.¡±


    He shoved the carcass toward them, then engaged his sergeants in conversation while the two young men stripped every last scrap of meat and fat from the bones. Ale was brought, and the cup refilled after they had drained it. That, and the warmth and smoky draft from the lamps, made Ivar so tired that he forgot his rehearsed arguments.


    ¡°Do you mean to support Biscop Constance, or not?¡± he demanded. ¡°If you do, I have a plan that may allow us to free her. If not, then I pray you will let me go my way without hindering me, and let Erkanwulf remain here with no punishment. He¡¯s been a loyal soldier.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I know it,¡± said Ulric without looking at Erkanwulf, but Erkanwulf grinned at hearing those words and his shoulders lifted as he self-consciously rubbed the dirty stubble of a beard grown along his jaw. ¡°But if you free Biscop Constance, what then? She has no loyal soldiers and no treasury. She is in no wise different than her niece in Saony. Better she remain safe in Queen¡¯s Grave. If she escapes, Lady Sabella will hunt her down and this time kill her.¡±

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    ¡°We must move quickly. I will need your help, horses, provisions, men to escort us. A special seat built onto a saddle so that the biscop can ride, because she is crippled.¡±


    ¡°If all this comes to pass, then what?¡±


    ¡°We will ride to Wendar, to the town of Kassel. That way, Lady Sabella holds no noble Wendish hostage in Varre. Once the biscop reaches the duchy of Fesse, she can choose herself whether to ride to Osterburg.¡±


    Ulric was a cautious man. They both spoke in low voices. His sergeants, cool, stalwart men who spoke no word but only listened, sat so still and alert that a mouse could not have crept through that tiny chamber without being caught. Ivar wasn¡¯t sure whether they were listening to the conversation or listening for sounds from outside, in the barracks where the last conversations of men making ready for rest played out, and out of doors beyond the single closed shutter.


    ¡°A large guard protects the palisade and gates enclosing Queen¡¯s Grave. How are they to be suborned?¡±


    ¡°Not at all. They will believe they are only following Lady Sabella¡¯s orders.¡±


    For the first time, Ulric looked surprised. One of the sergeants rolled his eyes and tapped a foot thrice on the ground, as though impatient with this nonsense.


    ¡°Nay, hear me out.¡± Ivar hadn¡¯t known how passionate he had become about this idea over the last few weeks. He had a debt to pay twice over, and perhaps, if he were honest, he could admit that it was as much for himself as for the biscop that he wanted so badly to succeed. ¡°I know someone in Sabella¡¯s retinue. I hope to persuade him to steal what we need.¡±


    Once Captain Ulric had heard the whole thing, he sat for a while in thought with his bearded chin propped on a hand, then stood. ¡°Very well. I¡¯ll give you cover until dawn. After that, you must leave Autun, and Arconia, and never come back. Or, at the least, never be caught. If you come into my custody, I will be forced to treat you as a criminal and hand you over to Lady Sabella. I can assure you, she will not be merciful.¡±


    3


    IN the end he needed no particular disguise, only a cap drawn down over his head to cover his red hair. Any lowly servant could be found wearing such a thing to keep his ears warm in this cold winter weather. His robes, although cut for riding, were dirty and patched enough to pass as those of a laboring man, and the months of labor at Queen¡¯s Grave had given his chapped hands something of the look of those of a man born and bred to labor. He was hidden in plain sight with his gaze cast down and a slump in his shoulders to minimize his height; the sons of noble houses had a tendency to grow tall. Count Harl had always noted this with a certain arrogance, sure of God¡¯s favor manifest in the straight limbs and handsome faces of his children, but after so long on the road Ivar had begun to think it was more likely that he had simply gone hungry less often as a child than folk like Erkanwulf and frail Sigfrid.


    Captain Ulric had friends among the servants. One of these, an amiable woman with dark hair and pale blue eyes, took him with her when she made her evening rounds carrying buckets of coal to fill the braziers in the lady¡¯s suite. He staggered under a pole laid over his shoulders as she weighted it down with two full buckets on either side, their handles hooked into notches cut into the wood. A cover hid the hot coals, but heat radiated off the bronze buckets, warming him.


    ¡°Come along,¡± she said, ¡°but say nothing.¡± She carried only the empty buckets, tongs, and shovel, so he was sweating and his legs shaking by the time they climbed the steps that led up to the old palace, once the imperial winter residence of Emperor Taillefer.


    They passed by the broad porch of the famous octagonal chapel where lay the emperor¡¯s tomb. A pair of bored guards stood on watch, chatting as they chafed hands and stamped feet to keep warm.


    ¡°Yes, the lad would have been whipped to death, I¡¯m thinking, and all for a loaf of bread, but the lord cleric intervened and got him sent to the church as a servant instead. Hoo! That was a stroke of fortune.¡±


    ¡°Or God¡¯s work done through man¡¯s hands.¡±


    ¡°Truth rises with the phoenix! Here, now, did you hear about¡ª¡±


    ¡°Come!¡± whispered his guide, seeing how Ivar had slowed to listen. He hurried after her.


    The central palace, built all of wood, was an echoing hall and terrifically cold within, but they passed through to a separate wing where the lady and her personal retainers made their home. Like Count Harl, but unlike her brother the regnant, Sabella had planted herself in one place and traveled only brief circuits of the countryside when the mood took her or a pocket of discontent needed quelling.

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    Beyond the smaller audience chamber lay a series of rooms that housed her attendants and clerics. They passed through the tiny room set aside for her schola, dark and empty now. The sloped writing desks were veiled by shadows, and chests and cabinets sealed tight against vermin. Beyond that lay a handsome chapel, lit at this hour by a dozen lamps molded into the shape of guivres. Quietly, they set down the buckets next to a trio of braziers. A woman knelt on cold stone although there were carpets aplenty to cushion her knees. Her wheat-colored hair was braided back from her face and covered with a mesh of gold wire threaded with pearls, held in place with a golden coronet. Because her back was to them, Ivar could not see her face, but he did not need to see her face. He had stared at her back, at her profile, at her pale, drawn features through that hole in the fence in Quedlinhame often enough that he would know her anywhere and instantly. It wasn¡¯t only her rich burgundy underrobe and fur-lined overtunic that betrayed her as a woman of highest station. It wasn¡¯t only the heavy golden torque shackling her slender neck that announced her royal status.


    He recognized as well that particular way she had of clasping her hands, perfected in those days when it had hurt her to press her palms together because of the weeping sores, her stigmata, the mark of her holiness and the sign of the Lady¡¯s favor. The ones she had inflicted herself, by digging at her skin with a nail, so Hathumod claimed.


    If Tallia had been lying about the sores, then was it possible she had lied about the heresy as well? What if the phoenix was a lie?


    Nay, God had sent Tallia to test their faith. She was the flawed vessel that leaked God¡¯s word but could never hold it. They had seen the truth when the phoenix rose and healed Sigfrid.


    She prayed all in a rush, words crammed together.


    ¡°Let them be chaff in the wind.


    Let their path be dark and precipitous.


    Let the unworthy fall to their deaths.


    They hid a net to trap me.


    They dug a pit to swallow me.


    Let that net trap them, and the pit swallow them!¡±


    Meanwhile, Johanna, the servant, transferred ash into the empty buckets and hot coals into the braziers.


    ¡°Are we done?¡± asked a childish voice.


    ¡°Do not disturb me!¡± Tallia exploded. Leaning back, she exposed a small child kneeling on bare floor in a position that had, previously, concealed her existence from Ivar. She cracked the little girl across the cheek, her own expression suffused with rage. By the movement of her body under her robes, it was obvious she was hugely pregnant. ¡°How many times have I told you!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to pray so many times. Papa said¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll fall into the Abyss with the others! You¡¯ll do as I say, Berengaria!¡±


    The girl had pinched, unattractive features. Her skin was blotchy, neither dark nor pale, and she seemed all mismatched somehow, nose too small, lips too large, nothing quite right on her. Her sullen expression only exaggerated her sour looks.


    ¡°Must you make so much noise!¡± cried the lady, turning to glare at Ivar and Johanna. ¡°Aren¡¯t you finished yet, bumbling around like cattle?¡±


    ¡°Yes, my lady. I pray pardon, Your Highness,¡± said Johanna in a mild voice. ¡°But I am always taken by the holy whisper of God when I pause here. It¡¯s as if I hear Her voice, whenever you pray.¡±


    Tallia¡¯s expression softened, although she still had a tight grip on her daughter¡¯s tiny wrist. The child whimpered as the princess frowned. ¡°That¡¯s right. I¡¯ve seen you before. I remember you. What is your name?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m called Johanna, Your Highness. After the discipla who was martyred in such a cruel way, yet loving God and professing Her worship and Her Unity, now and forever.¡±


    Horribly, that fervid gaze turned on Ivar, and he ducked his head but not before seeing how her eyes narrowed and a cunning, frightened look came to her face. ¡°Who is this, then? He looks familiar, but I don¡¯t know ¡­¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s my cousin from the countryside, Your Highness, come new to town. He was here some months back helping out but had to go back to aid his ill mother, who passed up to the Chamber of Light after many months of agonizing sickness, may God grant her peace now that she is well shut of the world.¡± Johanna was a babbler, and it was obvious she had learned long since how to lie to avoid the lady¡¯s ill temper.


    Ivar kept his shoulders bowed and his face cast down, hoping Tallia would not recognize him.


    ¡°Does he believe in the Redemption? I¡¯ll have no servant toiling in my house who is a heretic!¡±


    ¡°Oh, he believes, indeed, Your Highness!¡±

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    ¡°He must say so himself! He must! People lie to me. They say they¡¯re dead and then they¡¯re alive again. They say I will rule, but then they keep the reins in their own hands. They babble about the phoenix, when the phoenix doesn¡¯t matter, and only because of his handsome face and pretty ways¡ª¡±


    Into this tirade clattered the duke, emerging out of a different door with an older and extremely handsome daughter in tow. He was dressed for riding, as was the girl, and he slapped his gloves against his thigh to announce his arrival.


    Tallia ceased speaking as though he had struck her.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Berry?¡± he roared.


    The girl shrieked, leaped away from her mother, and pelted across the floor to throw herself into her father¡¯s arms. In that instant, her face was transformed. ¡°I wanted to go! I wanted to go!¡± she cried.


    ¡°For the sake of God and peace, Tallia, you told me she was too sick to go riding!¡±


    ¡°She is ill in her soul, my lord,¡± she said, shuddering, a hand on her belly.


    ¡°Too sick! Puling and moping will kill her, not keep her healthy! Do you want her to die as did the two others?¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t talk to me like this!¡±


    The older girl, just broaching puberty, rolled her eyes in a way that reminded Ivar strikingly of the sergeant with Captain Ulric. Indeed, she had a martial stance that suggested she trained and rode and knew how to handle weapons.


    ¡°I told you,¡± repeated Conrad. ¡°I told you to let the child have done with all this praying. That¡¯s what clerics are for. Twice a day is enough. She needs exercise and a good appetite.¡±


    Tallia was white with anger, but the little girl held onto her father with an unshakable grip.


    ¡°Let me stay with you, Papa. Let me stay with you!¡±


    ¡°Of course you¡¯ll stay with me, as you should.¡±


    ¡°I hate you!¡± Tallia whispered.


    He laughed. ¡°That¡¯s not what you said last time you came crawling to my bed.¡±


    Tallia sobbed, then cast a glance of pure loathing at the older daughter and throttled her own tears.


    Johanna tugged at Ivar¡¯s sleeve. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    He set his neck under the yoke and lifted the buckets. He sidled sideways through the door and trudged after Johanna as they walked down a corridor that ended in a set of double doors.


    ¡°It¡¯s like poison,¡± she said in a low voice. ¡°Most of the time, thank the Lady, they stay in Wayland where they belong, but Lady Sabella will have her daughter in Autun to give birth with her own midwives attending.¡±


    ¡°Why? Hasn¡¯t Wayland any midwives?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s agreed between them. If the young queen gives birth to a boy, Lady Sabella gets him to raise. If a girl, naturally, the duke takes her. The last two died before they were weaned. Only the eldest has survived so long, and her not yet seen five summers.¡±


    ¡°Lady Tallia doesn¡¯t want to raise her own sons?¡±


    Johanna paused before the doors with a hand on one latch. ¡°Lady Tallia has no say in any decision, for all that she¡¯s the last descendant of the royal house of Varre and they call her queen. She¡¯s a frightened, petty, mean-hearted creature. For all that, I do pity her, caught between the stallion and the guivre.¡± She flicked a glance at the closed door, as if she could be heard by listening ears. ¡°Have a care, Brother Ivar. The stallion is hot-tempered and hotheaded yet honest in its passions and will kick and bite to protect its fillies. It¡¯s the guivre¡¯s cold glare that will kill you.¡±


    She lifted the latch and opened the door for him to slide through, careful as he balanced the pole on his shoulders so that the buckets would not clang against the walls.


    In this fine chamber a middle-aged man with attractive features strummed a lute and sang a cheerful song about the fox that devoured the chickens despite the farmer¡¯s efforts to hold it at bay. Tapestries covered the walls, and a dozen or more lamps, fearsome guivres with flame spouting from their eye sockets, gave light to the pleasant company collected around Lady Sabella. Her hair was half gone to gray, but she seemed otherwise vigorous and alert as she reclined on a couch and chatted with a circle of companions: several noblewomen, two men in cleric¡¯s robes, and a blond man who sat with his back to Ivar. Two stewards waited beside the hearth next to a table laden with platters of meat and bowls of sweets and fruits, lightly picked over but otherwise ignored. They watched for any sign or gesture from their mistress. One marked the entry of the two servants and nodded at them briskly, a signal to get on with their work.

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    A third cleric sat at a writing desk, intent on his calligraphy, head bowed and pen scratching easily on parchment. Ivar skipped over him and fixed his gaze on the back of the blond man seated beside Sabella. There was something wrong about his shoulders. They were too broad, and his hands, when he gestured, were as wide as paddles, the hands of a man comfortable wielding a great sword with little thought for its weight and the thickness of the pommel.


    Definitely not Baldwin.


    ¡°Hsst!¡± Johanna nudged Ivar toward the brazier placed beside the writing desk.


    Obviously Sabella kept Baldwin sequestered. Perhaps after they had replenished the coals in this chamber, they would move on to the noble duchess¡¯ most intimate inner chambers.


    He set down the buckets and looked up into the confounded gaze of the cleric who had, until an instant before, been so busy writing that his face had been concealed.


    Writing!


    His fingers were stained with smudges of ink. The parchment was virgin; no one had written on it before. Ivar had just enough experience of the cloister to know that the knife had seen little use in scraping away mistakes, although half the page was covered with flowing, handsome letters.


    The cleric¡¯s pale skin flushed pink, and a single tear trembled at the lower rim of his right eye. Snapping his mouth shut, he fixed his gaze back on his quill, checked the tip, dipped it in ink, and set back to work. The letters poured out of his hand fluidly, fluently. He wasn¡¯t even copying from an exemplar, but writing from memory.


    Even the masters at Quedlinhame, who had spoiled him because of his handsome face and pliant manners, had agreed that Baldwin was too stupid to learn to read and write beyond the simplest colloquies meant to teach ten year olds.


    Johanna appeared at Ivar¡¯s elbow, nudging his foot. He winced, and aided her as she stoked up this brazier and moved on to the rest placed around the chamber to warm Lady Sabella and her entourage where they lounged at their ease.


    ¡°As dreary as this winter has been, at least the Eika have not raided,¡± the blond warrior was saying.


    ¡°Nay, Amalfred, all last year they confined their raids to Salia,¡± remarked one of the women. ¡°Easy pickings there.¡±


    ¡°If Salia falls, then why not strike at us?¡± he retorted.


    ¡°We shall see. The merchants say it¡¯s too early to sail yet, that the tides and winds aren¡¯t favorable. They say some kind of enchantment has troubled the seas. We¡¯ll be safe if the winds keep the Eika from our shores.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps.¡± Lady Sabella¡¯s gaze flicked incuriously over the two servants as they went about their task in silence. She glanced toward the cleric, who was bent again over his writing.


    Ivar could not interpret the way her lips flattened into a thin line that might betoken suppressed passion, or disgust. The two emotions were, perhaps, related, he supposed as he kept his face canted away from her. He had himself swung wildly between those feelings, back in the days when restraint had been the least of his concerns, when he and Baldwin had run away with Prince Ekkehard and his companions. Right now, however, he was as flushed and out of breath as if he¡¯d been running. Who could have thought he had missed Baldwin so very dearly?


    ¡°Perhaps?¡± asked the warrior. He was a man boasting perhaps thirty years. He spoke with the accent of the west and was most likely a border lord. ¡°Pray enlighten us with your wisdom, Your Highness.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± she repeated, her gaze sliding smoothly away from Baldwin, as if he were of no account. ¡°The Eika are not all that threaten us, although it is true they raided all along the Salian shore last summer and autumn. According to reports.¡±


    ¡°My lands are overrun with Salians,¡± said one of the women.


    ¡°With our stores low, their presence threatens us,¡± answered Sabella. ¡°We must act in concert to drive them back to their homes.¡±


    ¡°What of those who accept the truth?¡± asked the lord. ¡°The heresy of the Translatus is still accepted by the apostate clergy in Salia. If the refugees who have accepted the truth return home, they will be executed.¡±


    ¡°Then their blood will be on the hands of their masters. God will judge. But the winter has been cold. Our stores are low. Strange portents trouble us. Nothing has been the same since that terrible storm that struck last autumn. I have refugees of my own from within my duchy to feed. I cannot feed Salians as well. Let the Eika conquer them¡ªand feed them! To the fishes, if necessary.¡±


    ¡°Ha! They say there are people in the sea who eat human flesh.¡±


    ¡°They say some in the west who are starving eat human flesh, Lord Amalfred,¡± observed Sabella.

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    ¡°Brixians, perhaps. They¡¯re the only Salians who would degrade themselves in such a way.¡±


    ¡°My lord,¡± said one of the clerics sternly, ¡°if such folk are starving, then God enjoins us to give them aid and compassion.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± continued Amalfred boldly, ¡°if Lady Sabella grants me those stores, then I can feed my restless soldiers who mutter about rebellion.¡±


    ¡°I pray you, Your Highness,¡± said Baldwin without looking up from his writing desk. How pleasing his voice was, compared to the coarser voices of Sabella¡¯s companions. ¡°Those rations of grain are meant to go to the poor in Autun, Your Highness. There are so many who haven¡¯t enough to eat.¡±


    ¡°The poor of Autun cannot aid me,¡± said Sabella, ¡°but Lord Amalfred¡¯s hungry soldiers can fight to protect the Varren borderlands.¡±


    ¡°And gain a little territory in Salia for themselves,¡± added one of her companions.


    Sabella laughed, but she looked again, frowning, at the pair of servants. ¡°Haven¡¯t you done? What slow pair of fools has been foisted on me now? What are your names?¡±


    ¡°I pray you, Your Highness,¡± said Baldwin sweetly without looking up from his writing desk. ¡°I have forgotten again whether it is the monastery of Firsebarg or that of Felden which desires a new abbot to rule over them, now that their lord father has been absent so long.¡±


    ¡°Firsebarg, Baldwin! Why won¡¯t you attend the first time I tell you things. My sister Rotrudis¡¯ useless whelp, Reginar, has gone missing since last year. Must I remember everything for you?¡±


    Johanna tugged on Ivar¡¯s sleeve, and he hastily followed her out of the chamber by a side door. They came into a narrow courtyard abutting the wall.


    ¡°Wait here a moment, I pray you,¡± Johanna said, indicating he should set down the buckets. ¡°I must use the necessary. Then we¡¯ll get on with our work.¡±


    She had lit a taper from one of the braziers and by its light slipped into one of the closed stalls built out from the wall.


    Up here on the height it was cold and the wind bit hard. He blew on his hands and stared about him, but there wasn¡¯t much to see. A pair of torches lit a distant gate. He could not see the town below but felt the expanse of air. All other souls slept. Only Lady Sabella had riches enough to burn oil at night.


    He stared at the door, and at last it creaked open and creaked shut. A light appeared, and a pale head loomed before him. Without speaking, he grabbed the cap that covered Ivar¡¯s head and ripped it off, then held the lamp close to see the color of his hair. With a muttered oath more like a moan than words, he grabbed Ivar¡¯s left hand first, released it, and grasped the right one. There winked the lapis lazuli ring, gleaming in lamplight.


    He shut his beautiful eyes and his legs gave out as he sank onto the stone in an attitude of prayer. His hands shook, and Ivar pulled the lamp from his grasp before he dropped it.


    ¡°Ai, God. How can it be? You were dead. I saw you myself. I touched you. I pressed that ring onto your cold hand. You were dead.¡±


    ¡°It was a ruse, Baldwin. I am sorry you had to suffer, not knowing the truth.¡± He set down the lamp and, hesitantly, placed a hand on Baldwin¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I was never dead, only drugged. I escaped from Queen¡¯s Grave to take a message to Princess Theophanu.¡±


    Baldwin surged up and embraced Ivar tightly, bursting into tears.


    Ivar was at first too choked up to speak, but he understood how little time they had. ¡°Surely your absence will be noted.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± murmured Baldwin into his shoulder. ¡°I came out to use the necessarium, but she¡¯ll wonder and suspect. She keeps me prisoner. You can¡¯t imagine how awful she is, always watching me.¡±


    ¡°You saved our lives.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± He said the words not with anger or accusation, but simply because they were the truth.


    He released Ivar, then grasped his hands in his own and stared keenly at him. There was a look in Baldwin¡¯s handsome face that had never been there before, but Ivar could not identify what it was. The light from the lamp, shining up from below, highlighted the perfect curve of his cheekbones and lent sparks to his lovely eyes. The midnight blue of his robes blended into the night, making him appear almost as an apparition, not a real human being at all. He had lost none of his unfortunate beauty.


    ¡°Why are you here, Ivar? I knew you wouldn¡¯t abandon me.¡±


    ¡°Will you escape with me, tonight?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I need one thing.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±

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    ¡°Parchment, ink and quill, Lady Sabella¡¯s ducal seal, and a person who can write in the manner of her schola. We¡¯ll need a letter to the guard at Queen¡¯s Grave, an order to release Biscop Constance and her retinue.¡±


    ¡°I can get those things by midnight,¡± said Baldwin.


    ¡°Even the seal?¡±


    ¡°Even the seal. I can write whatever you want.¡±


    ¡°I saw that¡ªI saw¡ªBaldwin, how did you learn to write so well? Can you read now, too?¡± He grimaced, hearing how he sounded, but Baldwin neither smiled nor frowned.


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t like it when I pray and act the cleric,¡± he said softly. ¡°It reminds her of her daughter, so it gives her a disgust of me. That¡¯s why I prayed so much, and practiced my letters so hard. Once I learned, I found I was good at it. Everyone says I have a beautiful hand for letters. They all praise me. I know every word in every capitulary and cartulary that comes out of her schola. I have the seal of Arconia, Ivar. I am the seal. That¡¯s what she calls me. See?¡±


    From the folds of his robe he pulled a small object tied to his belt. Ivar fondled it, feeling the ridges and depressions of a tiny carving impressed into stone. He hadn¡¯t enough light to read its features, but it felt like the sigil of a prince by which that prince set her approval and authority onto every letter and document that left her schola.


    ¡°I¡¯ll come as soon as all have gone to their beds. She won¡¯t want me tonight because she¡¯s in her blood. Meet me at the river gate. We¡¯ll need horses.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s taken care of, Baldwin. But if you can slip away so easily, why haven¡¯t you done so before?¡±


    ¡°Why would I? What have I to live for, if I am alone? Here, I had some hope of finding a way to free the others. I saw them.¡± His voice trembled at the edge of tears. ¡°I saw them in Queen¡¯s Grave, but we were never allowed to speak. I must go.¡±


    He released Ivar¡¯s hand, gave him a last, searching look, took the lamp, and hurried back inside. The door shut.


    Ivar simply stood there, dumbfounded. His thoughts were all tumbled. He gasped in a breath that was also a cry.


    ¡°Hoo!¡± Johanna came up beside him so quietly that Ivar hissed in surprise. ¡°That one! Some say he¡¯s a saint.¡±


    ¡°A saint?¡± He was flushed, and trembling, and, truth to tell, a little irritated. Since when did Baldwin tell him what to do with so much cool assurance?


    ¡°He¡¯s so even tempered, despite the way she treats him.¡±


    ¡°Does she abuse him?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s got a bad temper. She despises those she has no respect for, and treats them worse. She hates herself for loving his beauty so much. Duke Conrad¡¯s the better prince. All know that. But Lord Baldwin slips food to the starving and a kind word to the weary, behind her back. No natural person can be so beautiful. That¡¯s why he must be favored by God. Now, come. We¡¯ve one more chamber, and then I¡¯m to take you back to the barracks.¡±


    He pulled his cap back over his hair and followed her. His thoughts rolled all over each other in a confusing jumble that he just could not sort out. Nor had he managed it when at last Johanna delivered him to Captain Ulric and he gave his report to the captain and his companions.


    ¡°Very well,¡± said Ulric, who like most experienced military men knew how to act quickly. ¡°Erkanwulf, you¡¯ll ride south with the cleric after he has delivered the seal and the order.¡±


    ¡°Won¡¯t he ride to Queen¡¯s Grave with me?¡± asked Ivar.


    ¡°She¡¯ll be after him. He¡¯ll have to lead her on a chase while we rescue Biscop Constance. If they escape, they¡¯ll meet up with us later. If that meets with your approval, my lord.¡±


    When they had escaped the Quman, the others had looked to Ivar to lead them, but here it was different: he could only follow as the captain told him what they were going to do and only afterward asked permission as a courtesy, given the difference in their ranks.


    Yet there was hope. He agreed to everything Captain Ulric said. Quietly and in shadows, the war band left their barracks by ones and twos. Slowly, the stables were emptied out. Ivar walked with Erkanwulf through deserted streets with a taper to light their way, leading four horses whose hooves clopped hollowly on the pavement of stone.


    They waited for hours and hours at the river gate although, in truth, it wasn¡¯t longer than it would take to sing the morning mass. The gurgle of the river serenaded them. The wind brought the smell of refuse. It was otherwise silent and dark. He could barely distinguish the walls of Autun behind him where he stood huddling at their base on the broad strand between gate and river¡¯s edge. A score of boats had been drawn up onto the shore. The wharves were farther downstream, by the northern gate. A rat scuttled into the wavering, smoky light given off by the taper, froze, and vanished when Erkanwulf threw a knife at it. The blade stuck in the ground, and he leaned down to pull it free.

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    ¡°Where are the others?¡± Ivar asked.


    ¡°Most of them will remain behind to join the force that hunts for us. They¡¯ll join us later. A dozen men wait for you past the ferry. Here is Captain Ulric.¡±


    The captain emerged from the river gate, spoke tersely and in a low voice with the pair of guards who had let them all through, and stepped back to allow Baldwin to pass through. Baldwin paused with a hand half raised in the air, as if touching something he had not seen for years. He turned, searching, and found Ivar.


    ¡°They say I¡¯m to ride south, so that she¡¯ll follow me and not suspect what¡¯s happening. Is that right?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right, Baldwin. That¡¯s the plan. She¡¯ll follow the light that shines brightest to her.¡±


    Baldwin reached into his sleeve and withdrew a rolled parchment bound with leather. ¡°Here it is. A letter calling for the biscop¡¯s release and stating that as long as she departs Varre and never returns she is free to go, otherwise her life is forfeit. I thought it was most believable done that way. She¡¯s not merciful.¡±


    He offered it. Hand shaking, Ivar took it from him. He was hot and cold at once. Words had abandoned him. He tugged the lapis lazuli ring off his finger and pressed it into Baldwin¡¯s warm palm.


    Baldwin slipped the ring onto his own finger, held Ivar¡¯s gaze a moment longer, and turned to the captain. ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡±


    ¡°Erkanwulf will guide you,¡± said the captain.


    The pair moved away into the night, although the taper¡¯s light was visible for an interminable interval as they made their way up the strand.


    The parchment Ivar held paralyzed him. That quickly, Baldwin was gone, torn from him again. And anyway, he was so unaccustomed to succeeding that it seemed impossible he just had.


    ¡°I¡¯ll ride with you to the ferry,¡± said the captain. ¡°Sergeant Hugo will accompany you to Queen¡¯s Grave. The rest of us will meet you as soon as we can on the road to Kassel. Go then. Go with God. May She watch over you.¡±


    Only later, after he had crossed the river and felt its swirl and spray against his face, did he realize that Captain Ulric had spoken those last words without a trace of self-consciousness.


    May She watch over you.


    In Autun, at any rate, belief in the Redemption had triumphed, and he had to wonder: was it Lady Tallia¡¯s example, or Baldwin¡¯s, that had won the most converts?


    4


    WITH his hair concealed under a dirty coif and a boiled leather helmet on his head, Ivar stood among the dozen soldiers who acted as his cover and watched as Sergeant Hugo delivered the false order to Captain Tammus.


    ¡°Being sent into exile?¡± demanded the scarred captain after the deacon who presided over the camp¡¯s chapel read the missive out loud.


    ¡°I just does as I¡¯m told,¡± said Sergeant Hugo with a shrug. ¡°Still, there¡¯s troubles along the Salian borders worse these days than ever. I hear tell of famine. Lady Sabella needs all her troops for other business. Best to be rid of them. They can starve in Wendar as well as here.¡±


    ¡°Easier to kill them.¡± Tammus had a way of squinting that made his scars twist and pucker. He was an evil-looking man, with a vile temper to match, but he wasn¡¯t stupid. Ivar was careful to keep his head lowered. Tammus might remember his face. There had been only three young men interred in Queen¡¯s Grave, and his ¡°death¡± had been so very public and unexpected and dramatic. His hands felt clammy. Despite the chill, he was sweating.


    ¡°No orders about killing,¡± said Hugo without expression. ¡°We¡¯re to escort them to the border with Fesse and let them go on their own. That¡¯s all I know.¡±


    Tammus grunted. He took the parchment from the deacon and sniffed at the seal, then licked it, spat, and handed it back to the woman.


    ¡°It is genuine,¡± said the deacon, sure of her ground but hesitant as she eyed him fearfully. She had, Ivar saw, a fading bruise on her right cheek. ¡°The seal is that of the duchess, which she keeps on her person. The calligraphy is in an exceptionally fine hand. I recognize it from other letters she has sent this past year.¡±


    He wiped his nose with the back of his hand as he surveyed the dozen men-at-arms waiting beside horses, two carts, and a dozen donkeys and mules. They had tracked down Captain Tammus easily enough in the camp that lay outside the palisade. His was the largest house, two whole rooms, and the only one whose walls were freshly whitewashed. The camp looked unkempt and half deserted. Mud slopped the pathways. Ivar heard no clucking of chickens, although the guardsmen had once held a significant flock, taxed out of the nearby villages. Bored and surly-looking soldiers had gathered, but there were only a dozen of them, of whom half scratched at rashes blistering their faces and two limped. They looked to be no match for Hugo¡¯s troop, who were healthier and had, in addition, a strength of purpose that lent iron to their resolve.

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    Why did we not think to do this sooner?


    It was a foolish thought. Until his escape, no one in Queen¡¯s Grave had opportunity to speak freely to those outside.


    ¡°You have until nightfall,¡± Tammus growled at last.


    Hugo hesitated, as if to argue, but did not. He snapped his fingers, and his men mounted and rode briskly to the gates, which were opened at Tammus¡¯ order. After they rode through, the gates were shoved shut behind them.


    ¡°Something¡¯s wrong,¡± said Ivar.


    He dismounted. The bare ground, covered with a sheen of ice, crackled beneath his boots as he walked forward. He knew this landscape well enough. He had had many months to learn its contours. He had lost track of the time since he had escaped, but it had been nine or ten months, early summer then and the end of winter now. In that time the tidy gardens, fields, and orchards had gone untended, so it appeared. Worst, a dozen new graves marked the cemetery plot north of the infirmary. He recognized them because of the heaps of earth, yet not one bore a wooden Circle staked into the ground or a crude headstone.


    It was deadly quiet. Not a soul stirred, not even come to see what the noise was or to investigate the whickering of horses and the sound of armed men.


    He dropped his reins and ran for the compound, past the abandoned sheep pasture and the wildly overgrown bramble where once goats had feasted. The front door was stuck, canted sideways because of broken hinges. He yanked it open, grunting and swearing and crying, and tumbled into the vacant entry hall, sprinted, shouting, into the biscop¡¯s audience chamber, but it, too, lay empty. Even her writing desk was gone. He bolted out into the courtyard. Sister Bona¡¯s grave lay bare, untended except for a dandelion.


    Abandoned.


    Were they all dead? But if so, wouldn¡¯t Captain Tammus have known? Or had he simply ceased to care?


    ¡°Ivar?¡±


    He spun, hearing that gentle voice but seeing no one. ¡°Hathumod? Ai, God!¡± He was weeping with frustration and fear. ¡°Where are you? Where is everyone?¡±


    Forever ago, or so it seemed because it was a moment he preferred not to recall, pretty young Sister Bona had crawled out of the courtyard past a loose board. It jiggled now, and he grabbed it and wrenched it to one side, then cursed, because he¡¯d gotten a splinter deep in his palm.


    Hathumod¡¯s face blinked at him out of the shadows.


    ¡°What are you doing in there?¡± he demanded.


    ¡°Ivar! Oh, Ivar.¡± She was weeping. ¡°I thought you were dead.¡±


    ¡°I pray you, Hathumod. Come out! What are you doing in there?¡±


    She shoved the loose board aside and clambered out. Once, she would have been too stout to squeeze through, but she was so thin now that it hurt to look at her, all skin stretched over knobby bones. She had lost that rabbity look, although her protruding front teeth stood out more starkly than ever with no plump cheeks to give harmony to her features.


    ¡°We have stores hidden in here that we don¡¯t want the guards to know about.¡±


    ¡°Where is everyone?¡±


    ¡°We had to retreat to the amphitheater, at the head of the valley. It was too dangerous to stay here.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    She stared at him as if he had said something particularly stupid. ¡°Because of the sickness, of course!¡± Her lips quivered. She burst into tears. ¡°So many dead we couldn¡¯t bury them decently. And we were all feared we would die, too.¡±


    ¡°Who still lives? What of Sigfrid and Ermanrich? What of the biscop?¡±


    ¡°Th¨Cthey live. Th¨Cthey aren¡¯t the ones¡­. It¡¯s been so awful.¡± She tried to gulp down her sobs. She rubbed angrily at her face, but she could not stop crying. His intense relief at discovering that some still lived made him furious.


    ¡°Take me to them! We have only until nightfall.¡±


    ¡°F¨Cfor what?¡±


    ¡°To free you.¡±


    She wailed, bawling.


    He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. ¡°Hathumod! We must go quickly!¡±


    ¡°I¡ªif only you¡¯d come last autumn. Half our number are dead.¡±


    ¡°Hurry!¡±


    He grabbed her wrist and she followed him meekly outside. Hugo¡¯s men had fanned out to explore the compound, but Ivar called them back.


    ¡°There are stores hidden behind a loose board in the courtyard. Get those, and abandon the rest. There was a terrible sickness here. The demons who cause it might still be lurking. Sergeant, stay here and make ready. Half your men and the mounts come with us.¡±


    They rode down the path that led past the vegetable garden and the grain fields. Hathumod wept, unable to stop herself.

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    ¡°Who feeds them?¡± asked one of the soldiers. ¡°Ground¡¯s not been broken up or even ploughed.¡±


    ¡°The guards are feared to come in,¡± Hathumod sobbed, ¡°on account of the sickness.¡±


    They had built a pair of huts within the hollow of the amphitheater, protected somewhat by the high ridgeline. Four scrawny goats grazed in brambles at the limit of their tethers. Six sheep mowed the amphitheater slope; none had lambed or were even pregnant. Ivar did not see the community¡¯s ram.


    The monastics had heard the sound of horses and were waiting, clustered around the seated biscop. Like the others, Constance had grown thin, and thinness made her look old, frail, and weary. No more than a dozen huddled fearfully with the forest at their back. Ivar recognized Sigfrid¡¯s impossibly petite form at once, but Ermanrich seemed to be missing. Nay, that was him standing next to Sigfrid, only he was shrunken in girth, a stick, looking none the healthier for having lost his energetic stoutness. His face was pale and his chin scumbled with a half grown beard, but it was his features that lit first.


    ¡°Ivar! It¡¯s Ivar! I knew he would come back!¡± He hobbled forward; something was wrong with his right foot, and as soon as Ivar dismounted he flung his arms around him in a warm embrace.


    ¡°No time.¡± Ivar pushed him away. He gauged the heavens and the shifting light that marked the waning afternoon. ¡°We must leave now, while we have the chance. We have an order, sealed by Lady Sabella¡¯s seal and thereby binding. You are exiled from Varre, free to go as long as you cross into Wendar and do not return.¡±


    Some wept, but Biscop Constance in her calm way asked the first, and only, question. ¡°Who has written this false command, knowing themselves a rebel against Lady Sabella? Such an act is treason, punishable by death. Was it one of the clerics I trained? I thought them all exiled from her court.¡±


    ¡°It was Baldwin.¡±


    ¡°Baldwin!¡± cried Ermanrich.


    ¡°Baldwin can¡¯t write,¡± objected Hathumod from behind him.


    ¡°That is enough,¡± said Constance. ¡°I will need assistance. I cannot ride.¡±


    Ivar nodded. ¡°We have a cart and two mules to draw it. We have mounts for everyone. How are there so few left?¡±


    ¡°There are three out in the woods gathering,¡± said Constance, ¡°but it is true we are few in number. Sister Nanthild was first to die of the illness. It struck after the night of the wind. We lost half our number. It is only since we left the compound and came to live here that the deaths have ceased. I believe that the well is poisoned. You see how weak we are. If you had not come, Brother Ivar, I fear we would all have perished by summer from starvation. The guards refused to cross the gate or even bring us baskets of grain. The ram died, and the only pregnant ewe miscarried. We have not seen the sun for so many months we have forgotten what it feels like to enjoy its brilliant lamp. Plants cannot flourish without sun. Likewise, rainfall is erratic. God is angry, so I am convinced.¡±


    ¡°We must hurry.¡± He did not like to think that it might all be for naught, that he might rescue them and yet still fail. The world had so changed that he no longer recognized it. Like a cloudy day, it had gone all shadowed and dim. ¡°Let us go.¡±


    The three gone into the woods to forage were found. The rest had to bundle up their valuable possessions, to fold them into saddlebags and cloth sacks and or toss them into the back of the second cart or over the withers of their mules: blankets, cloaks, tunics, weed hooks, shovels, sickles, and scythes as well as awls, knives, kitchen implements, and a salt cellar; a silver ewer and four copper basins; needles, skeins of yarn, three spindles, and six fleeces also used for bedding; a leather chest containing the biscop¡¯s scribal tools; two psalters, three Holy Verses, and four other books, one of them a scroll of St. Augustina¡¯s Confessions and another a history of Varren princes. What remained of their stock of dried herbs taken from the infirmary and stored in a small wooden chest. An ivory-and-gold reliquary containing the bones of the left hand of the founder, Queen Gertruda.


    They met up with Sergeant Hugo at the gates with daylight to spare and rumbled out through the guards¡¯ encampment in a silent line of riders with the two carts positioned in the middle of the procession. Captain Tammus stared. He seemed ready to spit, but like them, he said nothing. No one, apparently, wanted to risk touching them. Before they¡¯d rolled out of sight, a half dozen guards ran through the open gates to see what they could loot. The last Ivar saw of the gate was the men running back out again with nothing in their hands, scared off, no doubt, by the sight of those forbidding graves.

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    Then the curve of the road cut off the view, as it always did. Each path drew its own landscape. He understood that now. Something always got left behind, and sometimes it was even something you wanted to lose, but mostly the things you wanted to lose stayed with you.


    He laughed, and Sigfrid, riding awkwardly astride a donkey, turned to look at him.


    ¡°How are you come to us, Ivar?¡±


    ¡°Let us ride until nightfall. Then I¡¯ll tell the tale.¡±


    They rode in silence, despite their joy, for it appeared Constance¡¯s schola were too weary and exhausted to sing. Their pace was killingly slow, burdened by the grind of the two carts and the awkward seats of several of the monastics who, like Sigfrid, had never learned to ride and yet were too weak to walk far. Through stubbornness and God¡¯s will they turned east onto a half hidden trail into the deeper forest and made it as far as that same clearing where Ivar had met Erkanwulf the previous summer. The thatched roof that covered the old stone chapel still held. They settled Biscop Constance and the weakest nuns in its shelter while the soldiers set up a half dozen traveling tents for the rest of them, in case it rained. The sergeant set out sentries and ordered a big fire built in front of the chapel. There was plenty of deadwood to be gathered and split for burning. Wind soughed through the leaves of the giant oak.


    ¡°Erkanwulf and I saw shades here,¡± said Ivar, chafing his hands as he stood before the fire. ¡°They killed some of the men pursuing us and drove the rest away, but they didn¡¯t touch us. I don¡¯t know why.¡±


    ¡°We heard no news of that,¡± said Sigfrid. ¡°Do you mean to say Captain Tammus suspected all along and sent soldiers to fetch you back?¡±


    ¡°I must believe so. Did no one confront the biscop?¡±


    They turned. She had come forward, leaning on her stick and supported by Sister Eligia, one of the survivors.


    ¡°We have heard nothing, no news at all from the outside world for the last nine months, Brother Ivar,¡± she said. A pair of soldiers rolled a log up behind her as a bench, and she sank down and thanked them graciously. ¡°Sabella passed by to gloat that same day you left us, but she did little more than inform me of Tallia¡¯s latest stillborn child as well as rumor from the south that the Wendish army had been lost in the east and that a cabal of malefici meant to cast a spell to drown the world in water. I could not make sense of her report. There came a night soon after when unnatural lightning coursed through the skies and a powerful wind ripped past us. Poor Brother Felix was crushed by a falling tree limb. Sister Gregoria broke her leg so badly that it festered and even Sister Nanthild¡¯s medicines could not heal her. That was a grim omen, for soon after, the sickness struck us down one by one. Give us your report, I pray you, Brother Ivar. Did you reach my niece, Theophanu? Is it she who has sent you to aid us now?¡±


    Except for the sentries, every soul there drew close to hear.


    ¡°Princess Theophanu sent word that she has no army and no treasure and cannot aid you, Your Grace.¡±


    Sister Eligia cried out, but Constance touched her forearm to quiet her. ¡°Go on. How do you come to us now, then, with Lady Sabella¡¯s seal?¡±


    ¡°We took matters into our own hands, Erkanwulf and I.¡± He told the story at length, and was interrupted often. The soldiers who knew somewhat more of the matter offered comments at intervals. The sergeant brought around ale and cheese and days-old bread, and they drank and ate with a will, and gratefully, for they were all so hungry. When Ivar had finished his story, Constance nodded. She lifted both hands in the manner of a biscop calling her flock to prayers.


    ¡°Let us sing in thanksgiving, Brothers and Sisters.¡± She had a light soprano, clear and true, and the others followed easily, accustomed to her lead.


    ¡°Exalted be God, our deliverer,


    Who has rescued me from my enemies


    And saved me from lawless men.¡±


    But not delivered yet. Ivar brooded as the others settled down to sleep on blankets and furs. Having been cast out into the wilderness, they were content to be free. Ivar sat with knees drawn up and chin on knees. Beside him, Ermanrich snored softly.


    ¡°You are troubled, Ivar,¡± murmured Sigfrid.


    ¡°We must wait for Captain Ulric. It could all come undone if Lady Sabella suspects and sends another troop after us. If Captain Tammus rides quickly to Autun and discovers the truth.¡±


    ¡°A journey of some days. We are safe for the moment. That isn¡¯t what troubles you.¡±


    Ivar frowned, but it was Sigfrid asking: so frail in his body and so strong in his mind, a curious vessel for God¡¯s favor but a precious and holy one nonetheless. ¡°I wonder if I could have acted otherwise. I should have insisted that Hanna go with me when my father sent me south to Quedlinhame. I shouldn¡¯t have spoken so harshly to her when we next met. What if Hanna won¡¯t forgive me? Why was I so unfair to Liath as to think she might love me in the same way I loved her? Was I blind? And what of Baldwin?¡±

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    ¡°Are you afraid of Baldwin?¡±


    He shrugged off the question by turning it. ¡°We would all be dead without his sacrifice.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± agreed Sigfrid calmly, ¡°but he was only following the example of the blessed Daisan, was he not? Not every person is given the blessing of sacrifice, Ivar. We have reason to hope that he will escape and reunite with us, do we not? God has rewarded Baldwin for thinking of others before himself.¡±


    ¡°Is that meant as a rebuke to me?¡±


    ¡°Only if you hear it that way.¡± Sigfrid chuckled. ¡°I missed you, Ivar. No one else frets in quite the way you do.¡±


    The words cut through the knot that had for many days been stuck in his throat. Before he knew it, he was weeping, tears streaming down his cheeks as he struggled not to sob out loud and wake Ermanrich and the two soldiers who were crowded into the tent with them and sleeping soundly.


    After a while, Sigfrid asked, ¡°What do you fear, Ivar?¡±


    ¡°I fear I lost something, but I don¡¯t know what it is. That I¡¯ll only recognize it when it¡¯s too late.¡±


    ¡°Two days,¡± said Sergeant Hugo. It was agreed they dared wait so long in the clearing before moving east again through the forest. The first day passed quietly enough. Constance rested, yet was never alone. By turns, and as if by accident, each soldier approached her and spoke privately to her as a man might to his deacon when he had a trouble to confess. Some spoke at length, others more briefly.


    Hunters returned with two wasted and sickly deer, which they ate anyway because their food stores were so low, and a grouse, whose meat was shared among the monastics. The nuns gathered morels and blewits, and Hathumod found an old stand of couch grass in a nearby clearing and dug up the now-bitter roots. With these victuals they ate well enough, although they had to drink water from a nearby stream and many developed a flux.


    Sergeant Hugo and his soldiers went through all their tack, greasing and repairing it. They carved arrows out of stout shoots in case they ran out of metal-tipped ones. The nuns scoured the woods for anything edible that might be dried or boiled for carrying.


    The second day Ivar spent most of his time with Constance recounting again and again the story of his travels with Erkanwulf, repeating details or, on occasion, recalling ones he had forgotten or overlooked. Every utterance made by Theophanu, Rotrudis¡¯ children, or their courtiers had to be reexamined. Had he been Liath, he would have recalled every word he had heard, but he was not Liath. He was the flawed vessel, and he worried that he had forgotten something important.


    ¡°Of the walls, again. There was building going on?¡±


    ¡°No, but there was one scaffolding. That would have been on the western wall, I think. I remember the light shining on it as we rode out. No one was working there.¡±


    ¡°Within the hall, was there any new work being done? Any repairs? Were the walls freshly whitewashed?¡±


    A whistle shrilled from the woods, down along the trail where the string of sentries ran out farthest.


    Sergeant Hugo jumped to his feet. Soldiers grabbed spears, swords, and bows. A bird¡¯s trill rang out, and several among them whooped and clapped.


    Captain Ulric rode at the head of his troop, his usually pleasant features creased with anxiety and a certain grim relief at seeing them. The rest of his men spread out so as not to overwhelm the clearing. Soon there were almost threescore folk gathered around the ancient chapel: Hugo¡¯s dozen, the fifteen monastics, and about thirty men at arms, all mounted, with the captain. It was strange, though, since Ivar had thought that the captain commanded almost a century of men.


    ¡°We are at your service, Your Grace,¡± Ulric said after he dismounted and knelt before her. She extended a hand. He kissed her ring. ¡°I pray pardon for coming so late.¡±


    ¡°That you have done this much was beyond my expectation, Captain. I know all among you have kinfolk. A few have wives and children of your own. What will become of them? My half sister Sabella is known to wreak her revenge on the helpless when she cannot find those who angered her.¡±


    ¡°This we knew, Your Grace. It is why we waited so long to act.¡±


    ¡°Why act now?¡± she asked him, but glanced at Ivar as the words faded and Ulric did not immediately reply. ¡°Brother Ivar convinced you?¡±


    ¡°He gave me the means, but it was not his argument that convinced me. In truth¡ª¡± He paused to grin at Ivar with a look that seemed half apologetic. ¡°¡ªthere have been other portents and omens. Dissatisfactions and fears.¡±


    ¡°Stories of grace,¡± she said, ¡°as I have been hearing these two days.¡±

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    He nodded. ¡°Stories of God¡¯s grace. Of the phoenix. We all know them, Your Grace. We know they are true. But the lady is reckless. She punishes those who work the land and shows mercy to those who are most cruel and greedy. The wars to the west have taken the lives of a score of my militia, but their families gained no bounty for their sacrifice, not even a payment for each lost man, as is traditional. The weather is wrong, Your Grace. I am no farmer, but I know the way of the seasons. First came that unnatural wind that blew down houses and smashed trees throughout the woodlands. We¡¯ve had no sun for months, not since the autumn. We had untimely rain last summer and little enough this winter. The stores in Autun grow low. The lady has not husbanded them wisely, not as you would have done, seeing that each family received a ration to last them through the lean months and seed corn if they lost their store to wind and bad weather. Lady Sabella has lost God¡¯s favor, so I believe. She has usurped what does not belong to her. Thus we are come. This one¡ªBrother Ivar.¡± He nodded toward Ivar. ¡°I took his plea as a sign that it was time to act. We have gathered our families and left behind our homes to follow you, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°Where is Baldwin?¡± demanded Ivar. ¡°Didn¡¯t you find him? Is he lost?¡±


    ¡°Nay, nay, he is with the others, he and Erkanwulf, a few hours behind us. We rode ahead to find you. We must move rapidly, Your Grace. Our desertion will be known too soon. Because we are so many, and laden with carts and children, we will not move as swiftly as Lady Sabella¡¯s mounted cavalry when they ride on our trail. We have done what we can to cast doubt upon our road, but they will discover it.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± All this time, Constance had held his hand. She let go, and he pressed it briefly to his forehead, gaze cast down. ¡°You have stepped onto a path from which there is no turning back.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°You have put yourself into my hands.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Your Grace.¡±


    She was used to command. She had been born into the royal family, and had been younger than Ivar was now when the biscop¡¯s staff had been placed in her right hand.


    ¡°I must ask of you and your company that you ride a more difficult and thorny path even than the one you have embarked on now. I have interviewed Brother Ivar at length. It seems clear to me that my niece Theophanu cannot aid me, perhaps will not aid me, and may not even have the means to feed and house my growing retinue. She may even see me as a threat, and certainly as a reminder of her weakness. Avaria is too far. While it is true I might find refuge in Fesse, I am determined to take the harder path.¡±


    The captain blanched, as might a man preparing himself for worse news than what he has just heard. ¡°Your Grace.¡± He bowed his head and thereby accepted his fate.


    ¡°Sabella usurped my place and imprisoned me because she rightly feared to murder me outright, although I am sure she hoped my injuries would kill me. They did not. Now I am free to act as I was not before. I will not ride into exile in Wendar. Henry set me as steward over the duchy of Arconia. No more would I trust a steward of my own who fled in time of trouble. I cannot act in a way I would myself condemn. We must rouse the countryside and fight to restore what is ours.¡±


    Ivar was too stunned to speak, and yet his heart thrilled to hear her impassioned words. She was crippled by her injuries, but she was not weak. Examining her proud face and brilliant eyes, he saw that she was in some measure stronger than she had been before her fall.


    ¡°Your Grace.¡± Ulric clenched one hand. The other rested on his sword hilt.


    The men murmured, their voices like the rush of wind through leaves. Farther away, a hawk skreed, and Ivar glanced up to see the bird glide away over the treetops. The fire popped loudly as a stick, burned almost to ash, broke into pieces. Sister Eligia coughed.


    ¡°I can offer nothing but uncertainty,¡± said Constance, ¡°but this I promise: We will win Arconia back.¡±


    Every man and woman knelt, and some sighing and some with a grin and one weeping and several with expressions of grim fatalism, promised to serve her and her cause.


    Even Ivar knelt. How could he do otherwise? Still, he was a little disgusted that he had planned so well and now had to watch the arrow curve off target.


    ¡°Where must we go?¡± he demanded.


    She nodded. ¡°That, too, I have considered. We must circle north to avoid capture, and then west to a place where we will find support and refuge. We will ride to Lavas County and seek aid and comfort from Lord Geoffrey.¡±


    ¡°Best to travel as one group,¡± said Captain Ulric as they waited for the baggage train to arrive. ¡°We might split into many smaller groups and hope to reach Lavas County undetected, but every small group will therefore be more vulnerable. Our trail is easily followed if we travel together, but we are also protected by our numbers. Lady Sabella will have to hear of our journey, and our road, and raise a large enough force to meet us without fear of being defeated by our numbers. That will take time and forethought, and may give us the advantage we need. Yet we must also consider, Your Grace, what we will do once we reach Lavas County. Of a certainty, Lady Sabella or Duke Conrad will send an army to drive us out.¡±

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    ¡°As we travel, we will discuss what choices we have,¡± Constance agreed. She paused and turned her head as though seeking something.


    The soft light cast its muted glamour over the clearing. Horses grazed at the sparse grass. They were being led in groups to water at the nearby stream, heard as a quiet laughter beneath the constant noise of men walking, talking, hammering a stronger axle into one of the carts, and, here and there, singing.


    ¡°I woke at midnight in the deep wood


    I woke at midnight when the moon was new


    There I saw a kindling fire


    A bright fire!


    Truth rises with the phoenix.


    So spoke the holy one:


    Truth rises with the phoenix.¡±


    ¡°What song is this?¡± Ivar whispered to Sigfrid, who sat cross-legged beside him with his bony hands folded in his lap and his thin face composed and calm.


    ¡°I¡¯ve not heard those words before,¡± said Sigfrid, ¡°but I know the melody well enough.¡± He hummed along, picking up the refrain at once.


    ¡°Truth rises with the phoenix,¡± echoed Ivar. Wind rippled, bringing a spatter of rain. He wiped his eyes as the mizzle shushed away into the trees. Above the chatter of men and the clatter of branches, he heard the tramp and rumble of an approaching procession.


    Naturally, Baldwin rode at the front on a handsome roan mare. His seat was matchless. Even his clerical robes, cut for riding, fell in pleasing folds and layers about his legs and was swept up in back to cover his mount¡¯s flanks. A well-dressed girl of about fourteen rode beside him on a sturdy gelding. She was so dazzled by Baldwin¡¯s attention to her that she did not notice the captain approaching with a frown on his face.


    ¡°Louisa! Come at once to pay your respects to the holy biscop.¡±


    Her eyes widened. She startled and touched the linen scarf that mostly covered her dark hair. ¡°Yes, Father. I pray you, Brother Baldwin, excuse me.¡±


    He smiled at her, and she flushed.


    ¡°Shameless!¡± muttered Ivar.


    Beside him, Sigfrid chuckled. ¡°You are no different than any of us. Poor Baldwin. Do we truly love him, or only his beauty? Yet he looks well.¡±


    He looked well. He cast his gaze anxiously over the multitude, found what he sought, and smiled so brilliantly at Ivar and Sigfrid that Ivar actually heard murmurs from the followers who with their carts and donkeys and bundles were moving in a sluggish flow into the clearing. Many faces turned to watch the young cleric as he dismounted and pressed through the crowd. Hands reached out to touch his robe, and seemingly unconsciously he brushed his fingers across the foreheads of small children pushed into his path.


    Ermanrich whistled under his breath. ¡°You¡¯d think he was a saint the way they treat him.¡±


    ¡°Ivar!¡± Baldwin surged forward to embrace him, weeping with happiness. ¡°Ai, God! Sigfrid! Ermanrich! Hathumod!¡± He kissed each of them, tears streaming in a flood of joy.


    ¡°You must greet Biscop Constance,¡± said Ivar, whose temper had sparked with unfathomable annoyance.


    ¡°It worked?¡± Baldwin asked as guilelessly as a child inquires about the ineffable mystery of God. ¡°She is free?¡±


    Biscop Constance approached them, leaning on her staff and assisted by Sister Eligia. ¡°I am free, Brother Baldwin, in no small measure because of the risk you took in Sabella¡¯s court.¡±


    ¡°Baldwin!¡± Ivar tried to keep his voice to a whisper, but his irritation kept pushing it louder. ¡°It¡¯s not right to make the holy biscop approach you. You should have gone to her first!¡±


    Baldwin dropped to his knees before the biscop. When she extended her hand, he pressed her ring to his lips. His tears wet her hand. Remarkably, she also had tears on her face.


    She, too, was blinded by his beauty.


    Ivar found himself wiping rain off his face, only it had stopped raining and he had already dried his face once.


    ¡°Are you the one?¡± she asked Baldwin.


    ¡°I am Lady Sabella¡¯s seal. I admit to worse things I did. I was her concubine, it¡¯s true, but I¡¯m not proud of my sins, Your Grace.¡± His face was so open and innocent that it appeared that whatever he had done he had done without malice or forethought.


    ¡°We have all done that which displeases God.¡±


    ¡°And God¡¯s mercy has saved us. I have sworn an oath to God, that I will serve Her alone and for the rest of my days, as penance for my sins and in service of Her glory, which has come down to us out of the heavens and casts its brilliance across the Earth.¡±


    Constance examined him closely. ¡°Are you that one I have heard whispers of? The rose among thorns?¡±

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    He shook his head, bewildered by her comment. The captain¡¯s daughter had come as close as she dared to stare at Baldwin, but her father drew her back with a look that might scar.


    ¡°Truth rises with the phoenix,¡± said Constance.


    He blushed. ¡°Oh. That. It¡¯s true I made up words to pass the time, and set them to a melody I liked to sing. It was an easy way to help folk remember the phoenix.¡±


    ¡°Then it¡¯s true, for surely you have a form most like to the angels.¡± She bowed her head.


    Baldwin looked up at Ivar and mouthed the words, ¡°What¡¯s true?¡±


    Ivar could only shrug.


    She raised a hand and by this means brought silence to the assembly crowded around to hear. ¡°A great evil has fallen upon us. Famine, sickness, war, and dissension plague us. God is angry, yet She has not forsaken us as we have feared. Many here have heard the stories of God¡¯s grace.¡±


    ¡°Truth rises with the phoenix!¡± cried a woman from the back, and other voices echoed her.


    ¡°Do not fear the days to come,¡± said the biscop as folk around her knelt. ¡°Her glory has come down to us out of the heavens and casts its brilliance over the Earth. If we will only believe, then we will be safe. God will answer us in our time of trouble, grant our every desire, fulfill our every plan. She sends us help from her sanctuary.¡± She raised Baldwin to his feet as he smiled pliantly with that look of beautiful incomprehension that in Quedlinhame had so charmed his praeceptors. ¡°A holy one walks among us.¡±


    Behind Ivar, Hathumod burst into tears.


    5


    ¡°YOUR Excellency! I pray you, forgive us for disturbing you. Come quickly, Your Excellency!¡±


    The servant¡¯s voice was shrill with a panic that roused Antonia out of a restful sleep. She grunted and slapped a hand over her eyes to shut out the flicker of lamplight as the clumsy servant leaned over her and the sting of oily smoke made her cough.


    ¡°Your Excellency!¡±


    ¡°I have woken.¡±


    The fool woman remained poised there, as stupid as a cow. ¡°Come quickly.¡±


    In the adjoining room, little Berengaria began to wail as Mathilda¡¯s shrieks filled the air. The servant groaned and fled, leaving Antonia to rise in her shift and grope her way through the dark room to the opened door that led from one chamber into the other. There was, mercifully, lamplight, and a trio of servants hastily shoving a heavy table out of the way.


    Young Mathilda was spinning, arms straight out and rigid, hands in fists. ¡°Get away, you beast! It has red eyes! Why can¡¯t anyone else see them?¡± She sobbed gustily.


    ¡°Your Highness, if you will only sit down¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shan¡¯t! You¡¯re trying to kill me! Just like Mama and Papa! They¡¯re never coming! You did it! You did it!¡±


    She swung wildly, battering her attendants. They skittered back to circle as nervously as a pack of dogs waiting to have a stone thrown at them.


    One of the double doors leading out into the courtyard creaked open and Captain Falco slipped in. He was dressed, armed, and alert. He slept athwart the doors on the pavement outside, but despite his constant faithful presence and the quiet surroundings in Novomo where they had bided many weeks now, Mathilda still suffered from night terrors.


    ¡°I hate you! I hate you!¡± she shouted, but it was not clear whom she hated, or what she feared.


    ¡°Your Highness,¡± ventured Captain Falco.


    ¡°Go away! Go! Go!¡± She stamped her feet over and over, drumming them on the floor, and flailed with her arms as she screamed and screamed. It was as if she was possessed by a demon.


    ¡°Your Highness!¡± said Antonia sternly.


    A nursemaid had caught up Berengaria, who could not cry for long before starting to cough, and bent her efforts to soothing the little one.


    ¡°Take her into my chamber,¡± said Antonia. ¡°Get her away from her sister! You should have done it at once, when you saw the fit coming on.¡±


    The nursemaid whimpered, and started for the other door, but Mathilda leaped forward and grabbed at her shift.


    ¡°No! You shan¡¯t steal her away! She¡¯s mine!¡±


    Berengaria set up a wail that at once broke into racking coughs, and the child was wheezing and gasping for breath as Mathilda began to jump up and down shrieking with each leap, completely out of control.


    ¡°Captain Falco! You must restrain her!¡±


    He hesitated. He hated to do it. He knew the princess fought him, and despised him, although he had never done one thing to harm her. Indeed, his softness had done the most damage, no doubt. A stern hand must control a hysterical child.

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    ¡°Captain!¡±


    She would not do it herself. Last time, Mathilda had bitten her.


    He turned his head, caught by a new sound. Out in the courtyard, torchlight gleamed. She heard a cacophony of voices and the clatter of many feet advancing on them. Falco drew his sword and stepped into the doorway, calling for his men. Mathilda was still screaming. The hapless nursemaid scuttled to the safety of Antonia¡¯s chamber.


    There came a slap, like an arrow thumping into wood. Falco fell to his knees and cried out. The second door slammed open, and an apparition appeared¡ªgaunt, filthy, and ragged but entirely alive.


    ¡°Mama!¡±


    Mathilda flung herself forward and hit her mother so hard that the queen would have tumbled over if so many attendants were not already pressing up behind her. All of the princess¡¯ hysteria collapsed into noisy, grieving, frightened sobs. She clung to her mother for what seemed an hour while no one spoke and Adelheid grasped her, dry-eyed, until at last the girl cried herself to sleep.


    By this time the nursemaid had crept back into the room with her mouth gaping open like a simpleton¡¯s and Berengaria silent and slack in her arms.


    ¡°Captain,¡± said Adelheid in a low voice.


    He had by now recovered from his shock and joy. At her direction, he took Princess Mathilda out of her arms and carried her to her bed. The child was so heavily asleep that she did not even stir. Adelheid beckoned to the nursemaid, who brought Berengaria to her. The toddler was still awake but now too weak after her fit of coughing to do more than gaze blankly at her mother.


    ¡°What is wrong with her?¡± The hoarse quality of Adelheid¡¯s voice did not change. She did not weep, or storm, or show any sign of anger or joy.


    ¡°It¡¯s the cough, Your Majesty,¡± said the nursemaid, stumbling over the words. ¡°She¡¯s had that cough since the storm that overset us all.¡±


    ¡°Demons were set loose in the world,¡± said Antonia briskly. ¡°They have found a way in to where weakness and innocence offer ripe pickings.¡±


    Adelheid glanced at her, but Antonia could not interpret what feelings, if any, stormed beneath her pinched features. It was not that the young queen was no longer pretty, although certainly she had lost her bloom. It was as if the light that animated her had been snuffed out. She was cold and hard, like a woman who would never laugh again.


    ¡°Have you no honey for her throat?¡± asked the queen, speaking sternly to the nursemaid. ¡°Ground up with chestnut meat, it might soothe her. She has always suffered these fits, as I¡¯m sure you have not forgotten.¡± She noted each of the other attendants with her gaze. ¡°I would have a bath, although I am sorry to disturb you all from your rest.¡±


    Lady Lavinia pushed forward out of the throng. ¡°Let us only be thankful you have survived, Your Majesty. Anything in my power to give you is yours.¡±


    ¡°You have endured the storm better than many,¡± observed Adelheid. As servants scurried off to haul and heat water and lay out clothing, she walked forward into the chamber to stand beside the bed shared by her daughters.


    ¡°The wind caused much damage, Your Majesty,¡± said Lavinia, ¡°but my people have set to work with a will to repair roofs and fences and walls with winter coming on. For a few days afterward there was some ash fall, but not so much that we could not sweep it off the streets and dig out the few ditches and pits that it disturbed. Still, there has been no sun for many months. It has been a hard winter.¡±


    For a long while Adelheid watched her daughters. Berengaria, too, had fallen asleep, but her thin face was pale and she whistled with each exhalation. A steward brought in cracked chestnuts, and the nursemaid sat down at the table to grind them into a paste she could mix into honey.


    Beyond, in the courtyard, torches and lamps were lit and servants scurried to and fro. Captain Falco had vanished, replaced by two solemn guardsmen. Lavinia yawned silently and rubbed her eyes, but did not stray by one step from Adelheid¡¯s elbow. The lady of Novomo was worn and worried but steadfast. She had lost less than most: her daughter had been sent north soon after Adelheid¡¯s departure for Dalmiaka, and so had weathered the storm in her mother¡¯s hall. Of her close kin, all were accounted for; all were alive.


    Soon it would be dawn, such as dawn was these days without any sight of the sun¡¯s disk ever appearing to promise that the light of God¡¯s truth would soon illuminate all of humankind. God had clouded the heavens as a sign of Their disapproval.


    ¡°I have seen such things¡­.¡± murmured Adelheid, more breath than speech. She did not weep, although her tone harrowed her listeners.

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    ¡°What have you seen, Your Majesty?¡± asked Lavinia, wiping a tear from her own face.


    ¡°God¡¯s wrath. I was spared only because I prayed to God that I might see my daughters once more. That they are safe is the best I could hope for. Henry is dead, murdered by his own son.¡±


    ¡°Patricide!¡±


    The servants whispered together, and this rush of conversation, like the press of wind through trees, flowed outside into the courtyard from whence it would no doubt be blown throughout the entire palace and town.


    Henry is dead, murdered by his own son.


    Adelheid turned. ¡°What must I do, Sister Venia? I had this report from an Aostan lord who saw Henry fall. Prince Sanglant has claimed the Wendish throne for himself although he is only a bastard and thereby has no right to take it. The Wendish folk have deserted us. The Aostan lords and ladies have fled to their castles, those who survived. The plain of Dar has been swallowed by the Enemy. Darre itself is a ruin. No one can live there. The western coast has burst into flame. The mountains spew fire. So we are punished for our sins. The nobles will strike against me. Already they blame me for what they term ¡®the Wendish folly.¡¯ Those who were once my allies have deserted me.¡±


    Antonia smiled. At long last, God had answered her, as she had always expected Them to do. ¡°Do not fear, Your Majesty. God are testing us. Through our actions, we will reveal our true natures. Then They will separate the wicked from the righteous. Anoint me as skopos, and I will set all to right.¡±


    ¡°How can I anoint you, Sister,¡± the queen asked bitterly, ¡°when I have no allies and no army and you have no chair?¡±


    ¡°It is true I have no chair, but I possess the skopos¡¯ robes and scepter, which were abandoned by Holy Mother Anne. She did not respect God as she ought. Earthly concerns stained her, so she forgot what was due her position as God¡¯s shepherd on Earth.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps. But all fell out as she predicted. The Lost Ones have had their revenge, and we survive in the ruins of their triumph.¡±


    ¡°We are not yet ruined, Your Majesty. Be strong. I have one other thing Anne left behind.¡± She crossed into her chamber. After a servingwoman helped her into a robe, she waved the woman out of the room and turned to her wooden storage chest. She had bound a burning spell into the lock in the form of an amulet identical to that Anne had used in the palace in Darre: wolfsbane, lavender, and thistle. Tracing a sign, she murmured the words of unbinding and protection before teasing apart the amulet and unlocking and opening the chest. She dug beneath layers of silk and linen and returned to the other room.


    Adelheid had not moved, although by now day was rising and the servants had extinguished the lamps.


    Two stewards entered, the second waiting as the first whispered to Lady Lavinia, who nodded.


    ¡°Very good, Veralia. Have the guards bring the prisoners to the courtyard. I¡¯ll be out in a moment.¡± As the first steward hurried out, Lavinia bent her head to hear the message brought by the second, then turned to Adelheid. ¡°Your Majesty, if you will attend me, there is water now for a bath and clean robes to change into. A meal to be served and wine to drink.¡±


    Adelheid did not move.


    ¡°I must go out for a moment, Your Highness,¡± Lavinia continued, looking anxious when Adelheid did not respond. ¡°My soldiers scout the countryside every day, seeking refugees. Enemies. Allies. We cast a wide net, and now and again catch a handsome fish. Few march as boldly to our walls as you did.¡±


    Lavinia faltered as Antonia shook her head, enjoining silence. Mathilda¡¯s attendants had shoved the big table out of the way and up against a tapestry depicting the trials of triumphs of St. Agnes, the virgin whom fire refused to burn. Antonia set her burden down on this table and unwrapped the cloth covering. It gleamed in lamplight, polished and bright.


    ¡°That is Emperor Taillefer¡¯s crown,¡± said Adelheid. Her expression sharpened. The fire that had refused to touch St. Agnes, tied to the stake for refusing to offer incense to pagan gods, had leaped into Adelheid¡¯s heart and caught there.


    ¡°Henry may be dead, Your Majesty, but his daughters live. You are still Empress, crowned and anointed.¡±


    ¡°I am still Empress,¡± she whispered, nodding.


    God grant a certain light to some people that causes them therefore to draw the eye. As one watches a flame ignite in oil, Antonia watched Adelheid burn once more. The trials she had suffered had seared away her soft prettiness, but even this could not touch the core of her, which was iron.


    ¡°We must bide our time and make our plans carefully,¡± the queen went on. ¡°We must seek what advantage we can. We must act quickly to build a base of support. News must go out at once that there is a new skopos. Then folk must come to us to receive your blessing.¡±

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    Perhaps she had underestimated Adelheid. Anger and suffering had honed her into a fitting weapon.


    ¡°Many will seek God¡¯s guidance,¡± Antonia agreed.


    ¡°It¡¯s true I still have an army, if Lady Lavinia can feed and house us. There are other allies who will be desperate for guidance¡ªas you say¡ªin this time of trouble. Frightened people seek a strong leader.¡± She touched each gem fixed to the seven points on the massive crown: gleaming pearl, lapis lazuli, pale sapphire, carnelian, ruby, emerald, and last of all banded orange-brown sardonyx, which represented God¡¯s hierarchy on Earth: God, noble, commoner.


    ¡°My lady!¡± The first steward reappeared at the door. Veralia was stout and brisk, a good captain of the hall. ¡°The guards have brought the new prisoners, as you instructed. They are armed, but have offered no resistance, so Captain Oswalo deemed it best not to provoke a fight. They are heavily guarded.¡±


    Adelheid stepped forward. ¡°What have you found, Lavinia?¡±


    ¡°A small band of Wendish folk, so I am told. I have already given instructions that any Wendish refugees are to be brought to me. We know not what jewels we may find among them. Veralia?¡±


    ¡°They were arrested by our soldiers yesterday, on the road that leads down out of the north.¡±


    ¡°Wendish refugees should be fleeing to the north,¡± said Adelheid.


    ¡°Captain Oswalo wondered at first if they might be spies, but¡ªwell¡ªyou will see, my lady. Your Majesty. There is a young Wendish lord and his attendant, a cleric, a servingwoman, two barbarians, and a girl who claims to be the descendant of Emperor Taillefer.¡±


    Indeed, a piercing, immature voice was suddenly audible to every soul in the chamber, driven in from outside by powerful lungs and delivered in Wendish.


    ¡°I said I don¡¯t want to come here! I said it. Why does no one listen to me?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps because your voice is too loud,¡± remarked a second voice, that of a youth. Its timbre caused Antonia¡¯s heart to race; she flushed, heat speeding to her skin.


    ¡°It has to be loud if no one can hear me!¡±


    ¡°Everyone can hear you, brat.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a brat. I¡¯m not! We need to keep going south, to Darre. I have to find my father, you know that. He¡¯s supposed to be in Darre, so that¡¯s where we¡¯re going. If we¡¯d fought them to begin with, we wouldn¡¯t be prisoners now!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right. Because we¡¯d all be dead. They outnumber us three to one.¡±


    ¡°That never stopped my father! Did it, Heribert? Did it?¡±


    The sound of that name made her dizzy. She thought she might collapse, but she forced herself to totter forward in the wake of Lavinia and Adelheid as they sallied out the door, their curiosity piqued by the childish outburst. Adelheid began to laugh, almost sobbing.


    ¡°How came this prize to me?¡± she asked Lady Lavinia.


    ¡°Do you know these folk?¡± Lavinia asked.


    Antonia caught herself on the door¡¯s frame as she stared past Adelheid¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°I know the one who is most important to me,¡± said Adelheid.


    Even Antonia, who had only seen her as an infant, recognized Sanglant¡¯s daughter in the lanky, furious girl straining to break free of a stolid young servant woman who held her by the shoulders. Whether the girl meant to kick the youth who stood with arms crossed in front of her, alternately making irritated faces at her and measuring his captors, or whether she meant to throw herself onto Lavinia¡¯s guards like a wild lion cub, Antonia could not tell. The servingwoman had a queer cast of skin but looked otherwise normal. There were, indeed, two barbarians, one man and one woman with dark complexions, slanted eyes, and outlandish tunics fashioned out of stiffened cloth nothing like woven wool. The woman wore an elaborate headdress. The man carried a quiver and a strung bow and seemed only to be biding his time, waiting for a signal. There was a youthful servingman as well, a callow lordling of a kind she recognized from her days as biscop in Mainni, some minor noble¡¯s youngest son sent off to serve a higher born man.


    She recognized the youth who was arguing with the princess. He had his father¡¯s look about him; no one could mistake him for another man¡¯s son.


    But what bent her back and made her sag against the frame was the seventh in their party, dressed in well-worn cleric¡¯s robes. A careful observer might remark on a certain resemblance between the noble youth and the once elegant cleric, but few bothered to look closely in a place where they had no expectation of reward.


    The princess broke free of her servant and marched right up to Adelheid.

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    ¡°Who are you?¡± she demanded, planting fists on hips as she jutted out her chin. She looked to be about twelve or thirteen years of age, which was manifestly impossible, but her behavior suggested that of a much younger child. ¡°You¡¯re dirty!¡±


    The empress looked down on the child, not kindly. ¡°I am the one who holds you hostage.¡±


    ¡°You do not!¡±


    The barbarian archer twitched and slid a hand toward his quiver.


    ¡°Put it down, Odei,¡± said young Villam. ¡°Best to see what they want before we get ourselves killed in a hopeless fight.¡±


    The man glanced at Princess Blessing, then nodded. He served the girl, but obeyed the youth, who already possessed his father¡¯s calm habit of command. Yet hadn¡¯t this boy died years ago? She had a vague memory of a tale told of Villam¡¯s youngest son vanishing beneath a stone crown. And hadn¡¯t Sanglant¡¯s and Liath¡¯s baby been born only five years past? This could not be the same infant she remembered.


    There was one among the prisoners who could answer her questions. One who watched without expression as the other six looked, each according to her nature, alarmed, angry, rebellious, puzzled, thoughtful, or scared.


    ¡°Now we have something Henry¡¯s bastard son wants,¡± said Adelheid. ¡°If you will, Lavinia, lock them away, but do not neglect them. These are a fine treasure. This will serve us well.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Your Majesty. Captain, place guards in the North Tower and install them there.¡±


    ¡°Yes, my lady. At once.¡±


    ¡°Will you ransom us?¡± asked the youth boldly.


    ¡°If it serves my purpose,¡± replied Adelheid, looking him over. She nodded. ¡°You must be Helmut Villam¡¯s son. The resemblance is remarkable. Are you one of his by-blows? I understood he had no legitimate sons still living.¡±


    The lad smiled, reminding Antonia even more of Villam, who had known how to use his charm to advantage. ¡°That mystery must remain unanswered.¡± His pause was not quite insolent, not quite proud. ¡°Your Majesty.¡±


    She laughed, amused by him, liking his face and his manners, although he was still a youth and she long since a woman. Still, the gap in years was not that great. Stranger matches had happened. ¡°Take them. I¡¯ll have that bath, Lavinia, with thanks.¡±


    ¡°Go,¡± said Lavinia to her captain.


    Antonia stumbled forward and grabbed the cleric¡¯s sleeve as, in the confusion, he hesitated while the guards pressed the others into the courtyard. He turned and looked at her, not appearing at all surprised to see her. In the solemn morning light, his eyes appeared more blue than hazel. A trio of guards waited to escort him while the rest dispersed. The child had begun to complain again in that irritating voice.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to go to the tower! I want to go to¡ª¡±


    ¡°You deserted me,¡± Antonia said, keeping her voice low so others would not hear. Long had it festered. Until this moment, she hadn¡¯t realized how angry he had made her. ¡°You disobeyed me! I never gave you permission to leave me.¡±


    ¡°I remember you,¡± said Heribert in a voice not his own. ¡°He never liked you.¡±


    ¡°What do I care if he liked me or not! He is a bastard, no better than a dog! It is your desertion of the one to whom you owe allegiance that offends God.¡±


    ¡°I acted because of what was in my heart. I loved him, but he is lost to me and I can love no other.¡±


    She slapped him.


    His face, so finely bred and once so familiar, seemed that of a stranger as he carefully drew his sleeve out of her grasp and turned to the guards. ¡°I would follow them I know,¡± he said with his back to her as if she were no better than a servant. No one to whom he owed fealty. No one who mattered one whit to him.


    She fell, and fell, into the Pit, into a fit of coughing furious sickening rage, but he was already beyond her and she would not make a scene with servants walking past and Captain Falco watching beside the door with rebuking curiosity.


    ¡°Are you well, Your Excellency? I pray you are not ill.¡±


    Falco did not so pray. He distrusted her. Few could love the righteous. They envied and hated them instead.


    But her son. Her own son, for whom she had sacrificed so much!


    Heribert would be punished, of course. Did it not state in the Holy Verses that children were commanded to respect and honor their mothers and fathers, or else be stoned to death?


    Yet Heribert was weak. She knew that because she had raised him to be weak and compliant. It was the bastard, the false one, the enemy¡ªPrince Sanglant¡ªwho had corrupted him.

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    Therefore, it was Sanglant who had to fall.


    PART THREE


    ADVENTUS


    IX


    WELL MET


    1


    THE adventus of Sanglant, son of Henry, into the ancient citadel of Quedlinhame at the head of his victorious army would be commemorated in poetry and song, Liath supposed, but no doubt the poets would sing of fine silken banners rippling in the breeze and gaily caparisoned horses prancing under the rein of their magnificently-garbed riders, a host splendid and brilliant beyond description, shining in the light of the sun. That¡¯s what poets did. This ragged army and dreary day offered no fodder for song, so song would make of them something they were not.


    But march they did along the road, silent, weary, hungry, but not beaten. On this gray, late winter day, the view before them was dominated by the hill and its ancient fortress, now the cloister ruled by Sanglant¡¯s aunt, Mother Scholastica. The fields on one side of the road lay in stubble, and on the other a field of winter wheat had sprouted mostly weeds.


    Scouts had ridden ahead to inform the abbess of their arrival, and that wise woman had sent her novices and nuns and monks out to line the road as a way of greeting the man who claimed the regnancy and who possessed, more importantly, the corpus of the dead king. Townspeople stood back, staring rather than cheering. They looked thin and pale. Like the wheat, they hadn¡¯t had much to subsist on over the winter. As the army trudged between the rows of robed novices and sturdy monks, Liath peered into those faces, although she knew Ivar was long gone from Quedlinhame.


    On that other adventus, so well remembered, Henry¡¯s troops and clerics had sung triumphant hymns as a processional. That so many of Sanglant¡¯s still breathed was a testament to his leadership, but certainly their arrival stirred no festive mood and no songs. Not yet. The songs would be written later.


    No one in Wendar had heard Henry, with his dying breath, name Sanglant as his heir. In Wendar, Sanglant would have to fight with intrigue, diplomacy, and force of personality. These weapons, which he liked least, he would of necessity wield most.


    It was not going to be easy.


    That, certainly, became clear as soon as they saw the welcoming party arrayed in the middle of the road: two men and two women in cleric¡¯s robes and a woman wearing the key and chain of the mayor. Liath sorted faces, and turned her attention inward in order to race through her palace of memory, marking names and features.


    Sanglant was ahead of her in thought although he rode at her left hand on his gelding, Fest. She heard him mutter under his breath. The words escaped her, but the tone was sour.


    ¡°Ha!¡± said Duchess Liutgard, who rode to his left and was never shy of speaking her mind. ¡°Now the game starts in earnest, Cousin. Where is your aunt? She has snubbed you by not coming out to greet you herself.¡±


    ¡°Is the insult worse to me, or to my father?¡± asked Sanglant grimly. ¡°He deserves better state than this trifling welcome.¡±


    A monk whose face seemed familiar to Liath came forward from the group and bowed his head. ¡°Your Highness. You are welcome here to Quedlinhame, ancient home of your father¡¯s grandfather¡¯s maternal lineage. I pray you, Your Highness, let me lead your horse into the town as befits your rank.¡±


    ¡°You are the prior?¡± asked Sanglant.


    ¡°I am.¡±


    Sanglant looked at his cousin Liutgard, and for an instant Liath felt insulted in her turn, that Sanglant shouldn¡¯t look to her first, who came first in his heart. Yet Liutgard¡¯s understanding of court politics so far surpassed Liath¡¯s as Liath¡¯s understanding of sorcery exceeded Liutgard¡¯s knowledge of the magical arts. Sanglant, being a good commander, called for spears when he needed spears and swords when he needed swords.


    ¡°Where is Mother Scholastica?¡± Liutgard asked. ¡°I am surprised she has not come to greet the regnant, as is fitting.¡±


    ¡°Has he been anointed and crowned, my lady?¡± The prior did not appear cowed by the ranks of soldiers. ¡°What of his siblings, Henry¡¯s other children? What transpires on the field of battle¡ªof which we have not yet heard a full accounting¡ªmay be reexamined by clearer heads.¡±


    ¡°As if you can possibly comprehend what we faced!¡± cried Liutgard, half rising in the saddle. Her horse danced sideways in response to her mood.


    ¡°We also suffered many losses in the storm. Your own heir¡ª¡±


    It was a cruel blow. Sanglant caught Liutgard¡¯s horse as her hands went slack on the reins. She was felled, speechless, and he must speak for her.


    ¡°What of Duchess Liutgard¡¯s heir?¡±


    ¡°Killed in last autumn¡¯s tempest by a falling branch when she was out riding,¡± the prior said primly, as if some fault accrued to the girl.

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    ¡°There is another daughter. Ermengard. Destined for the church, if I recall rightly.¡±


    The prior nodded. ¡°Mother Scholastica did all that was proper. She brought the child to Kassel to take up her sister¡¯s place.¡±


    Liutgard jerked the reins out of Sanglant¡¯s hands and pressed her horse forward until it almost trampled the prior, who took several steps back as his own people crowded forward to protect him. She was hoarse with fury. ¡°Mother Scholastica could bear these tidings to me herself, as would have been proper. Instead she allows me to come to this grief through your careless chatter!¡±


    Sanglant turned to his captain and spoke quietly. ¡°Fulk. We¡¯ll set up camp.¡±


    Fulk gave the order, and one of the sergeants blew the signal that marked the day¡¯s end to the march. Townsfolk scattered out of the way as soldiers rolled out wagons and dismounted from their horses.


    A skree reverberated from the heavens as the griffins returned. At first glance, they might appear as eagles. Within moments, however, their true nature became apparent, and the townsfolk who had lingered to chat or trade with the soldiers screamed and ran for the safety of the walls. To his credit, the prior stood his ground as the two griffins landed with a whuff of wings and a resounding thump on the ground. The poor mayor, gone corpse white, knotted her hands and began to weep.


    Liutgard reined her horse aside, her face white and her hands shaking.


    ¡°Prior Methodius, my tent flies the black dragon.¡± Sanglant gestured casually toward the griffins. ¡°You will also know where I camp by the presence of my attendants.¡±


    ¡°Have we your permission to retreat, Your Highness?¡± asked Prior Methodius, voice hoarse with fear.


    ¡°You may go.¡±


    They retreated slowly, like honey oozing down a slope. They were afraid to run despite wanting badly to do so. Sanglant dismounted on the road, holding himself under a tighter rein than he did his gelding.


    ¡°I wish the griffins had torn them to bits!¡± cried Liutgard. ¡°She is challenging your authority, and mine! That was a good answer to their impertinence.¡±


    He smiled, although not with any pleasure. ¡°I did not call the griffins. They always return about this time of day.¡±


    ¡°It will be taken as a sign. There is no telling what alliances your aunt has formed in the last few years. King Henry was gone from Wendar for too long. Half of the Wendish folk beg us for aid, and the other half curse at us for abandoning them. We can never trust her now. She scorns us, who served Henry best!¡±


    ¡°What do you say, Burchard?¡± Sanglant asked, seeing that Liutgard was caught up in a passion.


    Duke Burchard rode at Liutgard¡¯s left. His hands shook with a palsy, and he was always exhausted, at the end, so the poets would say, of his rope. He was not a warm man, Liath had discovered, but she respected him.


    He turned his weary gaze to Liutgard. The duchess had the stamina to adjust to reversals and hardships. She had lost one husband, and must at this moment be too stunned to really absorb the news the prior had brought her.


    ¡°I will see you anointed and recognized, Your Majesty. Then I mean to go home, set my duchy in order, and die. I have seen too much.¡± One of his stewards helped him down from his horse and led him away to a tent, the first up, where he could lie down.


    So they went, some time later, into the royal tent salvaged out of the ruins of Henry¡¯s army. On the center pole, the red silk banner with eagle, dragon, and lion stitched in gold flew above the black dragon.


    Inside, Liath sat on a stool as Sanglant paced, while his stewards and captains came and went on errands she could not keep track of. Now and again he glanced at her, as if to mark that she had not escaped him, but he listened, considered, gave orders, and countermanded two of these commands when new information was brought to him. He knew what to do. She was superfluous. Lamps were lit, and when she stepped outside to take in the texture of the chill winter air, she saw that it was almost dark.


    On the road, a score of folk carrying torches approached. They halted when Argent coughed a warning cry and raised his crest.


    She walked over to him. He bent his head and allowed her to scratch the spot where forearm met shoulder that he had a hard time reaching with beak or claws. His breath was meaty, and his huge eyes blinked once, twice, then cleared as the inner membrane flicked back. She should fear him; she knew that; but since Anne¡¯s death, her reunion with Sanglant, and the departure of the Horse people, nothing seemed to scare her, not even when it should. She watched, and she listened, but she spoke little and offered less advice.


    ¡°In some ways,¡± she said idly to Argent as he rumbled in his throat, ¡°it¡¯s as if all Da¡¯s training to be invisible has flowered. Do beasts know what their purpose is? Or do they simply exist?¡±