by Kate Elliott
“Aosta. What news, Hathui? Have you come from the king? I’ve been sent with an urgent message from Princess Theophanu—”
Hathui’s face drained to white, bled dry, and she sank down onto the fallen stone with a grimace of pain. “You must ride straight back to Princess Theophanu!”
“The king’s dead?”
“Not dead when I left him.” Hathui spoke so quietly it was difficult to hear her voice. “I pray he is not dead now.” Tears trickled down her cheeks, and her breathing became harsh. “That I should take so long to get even this far! And I do not know how far I have left to go.”
Her expression made Hanna tremble as the older Eagle grabbed her sword hilt and pushed herself up, looking grim and determined. “We must make haste, you to Princess Theophanu and I—Can you tell me, Hanna? Where is Prince Sanglant? I have followed rumors that lead me east, but I may be following a cold trail, God help me, for he is veiled to my Eagle’s Sight. I must reach Prince Sanglant.”
Ernst had wandered close to listen, but Hanna chased him off. “You’re sentry, Ernst! You must keep watch. Those brigands could come sneaking back and kill us while we’re not looking!”
She picked up one of the bandits’ captured staves, which was not much more than a stout walking stick carved to a nasty point at one end, and beat down the bramble bush around the stone bench so she and Hathui could sit without fear of thorns. It felt good to batter down the bramble bush, to hear the snap of vines and watch bits of leaf spill like chaff onto the ground, revealing more of the old stone ruin. By the pattern of the tumbled stones and their neatly dressed edges, she guessed this had once been an old Dariyan way station. Dariyan messengers, folk like herself, had sheltered here long ago.
“Sit down,” she said. Hathui sat, shaking and still pale. “You must tell the whole.”
Haltingly she did, although Hanna had never before heard Hathui sound so unlike the confident, sharp-tongued Eagle she had met in Heart’s Rest five years ago. While she talked, Ernst paced out the edge of the clearing, riding a short way down each of the three paths that branched out from the clearing: one led north back toward Theophanu, one east, and one southwest. Each time he returned he glanced over at them and their hushed conversation before resuming his circuit of the forest’s edge.
Hathui spoke more with rasp than voice. “I bring no message from King Henry, only news of his betrayal. Hugh of Austra has connived with Queen Adelheid and the skopos herself, the Holy Mother Anne, to make Henry their creature in all ways. I know not with what black spells Hugh has sullied his hands, but he trapped an unearthly daimone and forced it into the king, who was all unsuspecting. Now the king speaks with the daimone’s voice, for the daimone controls his speech and his movements.”
“How came Hugh of Austra into the councils of Queen Adelheid and the skopos?”
“He is a presbyter now, forgiven for all his sins,” said Hathui bitterly. “I know little of the new skopos save that she claims to be the granddaughter of the Emperor Taillefer. She also claims to be Liath’s mother.”
Could it be true? Hanna had seen Liath’s child, with Sanglant, in the few days she had remained at the prince’s side beyond the Veser, when the prince himself had interviewed her at length about the time she had spent as a prisoner of Bulkezu and the Quman army. Before he had sent her away to carry word of his victory and his plans to his sister. She had heard this tale herself, but it seemed as unlikely then as it did now.
Or perhaps it was the only explanation that made sense.
Wind made the leaves dance and murmur. A brown wren came to light among the brambles, eyeing Hanna and Hathui with its alert gaze before fluttering off.
“There is more,” said Hathui at last, sounding exhausted, her shoulders slumped. “The infant Mathilda is to be named as heir. Adelheid wanted Henry to stay in Aosta to fight in the south, although it was his intent to return to Wendar. That is why they bound him with the daimone. Now he only does what they wish.”
“Why go to Sanglant, then?”
“He must be told what has happened.”
“He is himself a rebel against the king. You must take this news to Theophanu at once!”
“Nay, to Sanglant. So Rosvita counseled me. She said …” Hathui grasped her injured arm again, shutting her eyes, remembering. Her words were almost inaudible. “She said, ‘a bastard will show his true mettle when temptation is thrown in his path and the worst tales he can imagine are brought to his attention.’ Ai, Lady. She allowed herself to be taken prisoner so that I might escape. I do not know if she lives, after all this time. I have searched with my Eagle’s Sight, but I see only darkness.” To Hanna’s horror, indomitable Hathui began to weep. “I fear she is dead.”
Rosvita meant little to Hanna beyond being Ivar’s elder and half sister. “When did this happen? How long have you been traveling?”
She wiped her cheeks with the back of a hand. “Months. Since last year. I had to ride west, toward Salia. Even then I came too late to the mountains. Snow had already closed the pass. So I laid low and lived as I could, all winter. They hunted me. A dozen times or more I saw soldiers wearing Queen Adelheid’s livery along the roads. It was only three months ago that I was able to fight my way through the snow and into Salia, and then I had to travel in the wilderness, or at night, until I came at last to Wayland. There I found that Duke Conrad’s soldiers would as soon throw me in prison as aid me. I have not come easily to this place.” She patted the cold stone, almost with affection. “Those bandits were the least of the troubles I’ve faced. I fear I have a long and difficult journey still ahead of me.”
“So you do, if you will not turn north to bring your tidings to Theophanu. Prince Sanglant rides to Ungria. He left last autumn from Osterburg, after the battle there, although I do not know how he fared this past winter. He is hidden to my Eagle’s Sight as well. You would be a fool to ride east after him. You must take this news to Princess Theophanu—”
“Nay!” She rose, striding toward her horse. “I must ride to Sanglant! I will do as Sister Rosvita commanded me, for she is the last one I know who is loyal to the king now that Hugh has murdered Margrave Villam.”
“Villam!” The words came at her like barbs, pricking and venomous. “May God save us if it’s true.” And yet … “We’ve heard no news from Aosta. Nothing. Princess Theophanu sent three Eagles to her father with desperate tidings—”
“One at least delivered that message, but she has been detained in Darre. Perhaps the others have as well, if they reached the court after I fled. They will not let Theophanu’s Eagles leave Aosta now. King Henry knew that he was needed in Wendar! He meant to return!” She halted beside the tallest segment of wall, which came to her shoulder; a pair of fallen wooden roof beams lay covered in nettles and moss at her feet. Her expression was set and stubborn. Unshakable. “I go to Sanglant, Hanna. Sanglant will avenge his father’s betrayal. He will save Henry. No one else can.”
“Sanglant is not the man you think he is, Hathui. Do not ride to him, I beg you. Princess Theophanu—”
“No.” Hathui tied a stave to her saddle and made ready to mount. “I will not be bent from my task.”
This was the stubbornness that King Henry had admired so much that he had made Hathui his favored Eagle and, indeed, an intimate counselor whose opinion he consulted and trusted. Hathui loved the king.
But she was wrong about Sanglant.
“Very well,” said Hanna at last. “Ernst will return to Theophanu.”
The answer gave Hathui pause as she swung onto her mare and, turning, gazed with an expression of dismay at Hanna. “What do you mean to do?”
“I mean to do as Princess Theophanu commanded me. I will ride to Aosta to the king.”
“Hanna!”
“I can be as stubborn as you, Hathui.” But as she spoke the words, she felt the wasp sting burn in her heart. Was she turning away from Sorgatani because the Kerayit princess had not rescued her from the Quman? Was she punishing S
anglant, who had betrayed his own people by letting Bulkezu live? Or was she only doing what was right?
“You can’t have understood what I’ve told you—”
“I understand it well enough. I will deliver Theophanu’s message, as is my duty. I will deliver my report about the Quman invasion to King Henry, as I swore I would. I shall see for myself how he responds.”
“You cannot trust them! What they might do to you—”
“They can do nothing worse to me than what I’ve already suffered.”
Imperceptibly, as they spoke, the sun had burned off the fog, and now light broke across the clearing. Dew sparkled on nettles and glistened on ripe berries, quickly wicked away by the heat of the sun. The morning breeze faded and a drowsy summer glamour settled over the green wood, broken only by the song of birds and the caw of an irritated crow.
The light of camaraderie had fled from Hathui’s face, replaced by the expression of a woman who has seen the thing she loves best poisoned and trampled. “So be it. You have chosen your path. I have chosen mine.”
Enough, thought Hanna. I have made my choice. The core of rage that these days never left her had hardened into iron. As long as Bulkezu lived, she would never give loyalty, aid, or trust to the man who had refused to punish him as he deserved.
“So be it,” she echoed.
There were three paths leading out of the clearing. She would ride hers alone.
PART TWO
THE UNCOILING YEAR
III
AN ADDER IN THE PIT
1
IN the east, so it was said, the priests of the Jinna god Astareos read omens in fire. They interpreted the leap and crackle of flames, the shifting of ash along charred sticks, and the gleam of coals sinking into patterns among the cinders, finding in each trifling movement a message from the god revealing his will and the fate of those who worshiped him. But no matter how hard Zacharias stared at the twisting glare of the campfire, he could not tease any meaning from the blaze. It looked like a common fire to him, cheerfully devouring sticks and logs. Like fire, the passage of time devoured all things, even a man’s life, until it was utterly consumed. Afterward, there was only the cold beauty of an infinite universe indifferent to the fate of one insignificant human soul.
He shuddered, although on this balmy summer’s night he ought not to be cold.
“What do you think, Brother Zacharias? Do you believe the stories about the phoenix and the redemption?”
Startled, he glanced up from the fire at Chustaffus. The stocky soldier regarded him with an affable smile on his homely face. “What phoenix?” he asked.
“He wasn’t listening,” said Surly. “He never does.”
“He’s seeing dragons in the fire,” retorted Lewenhardt, the archer. “Or our future,” said quiet Den.
“Or that damned phoenix you won’t shut up about, Chuf,” added Surly, punching Chustaffus on the shoulder.
They all laughed, but in a friendly way, and resumed their gossip as they ate their supper of meat, porridge, and ale around their campfire, one of about fifty such fires scattered throughout pasturelands outside the Ungrian settlement of Nabanya. Why Prince Sanglant’s loyal soldiers tolerated a ragged, cowardly, apostate frater in their midst Zacharias could never understand, but he was grateful for their comradeship all the same. It allowed him to escape, from time to time, the prince’s court, where he served as interpreter, and the grim presence of his worst enemy who was, unfortunately, not dead yet.
“Prince Ekkehard was a traitor,” said Den. “I don’t think we should believe anything he said.”
“But he wasn’t the only one who spoke of such stories,” insisted Chustaffus. “Men died because they believed in the redemption. They were willing to die. Takes a powerful belief to embrace martyrdom like that.”
“Or a powerful stupidity.” Surly drained his cup and searched around for more ale, but they had drunk their ration. “I don’t believe it.”
“It wasn’t heresy that saved Prince Ekkehard,” said black-haired Everwin, who spoke rarely but always at length. “I hear he was treated like a lord by the Quman. If that Eagle’s testimony was true, and I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t believe it, then there’s many honest, God-fearing folk who died while Prince Ekkehard ate his fill of their plundered food and drank stolen wine and dandled women, none of them willing to have been thrown into his bed. They might have been any of our sisters forced to please him or die.”
“Prince Ekkehard wasn’t the only one who survived,” objected Chustaffus. “Don’t forget Sergeant Gotfrid of the Lions, and his men. They escaped the Quman, and shades in the forest, and bandits who sold them into slavery before the prince redeemed him. Gotfrid is a good man. He believed in the phoenix. Even that Lord Wichman admits he saw the phoenix.”
“Give it a rest, Chuf,” said Lewenhardt. “If I have to hear about that damned phoenix one more time, I swear I’m going to put an arrow through the next one I see.”
Den, Johannes, and Everwin laughed longest at this sally, but Chustaffus took offense, and it fell to Zacharias to coax the glower off the young soldier’s face. As a slave to the Quman, he’d learned how to use his facility for words to quiet his former master’s dangerously sudden vexations.
“Many a tale is truer than people can believe, and yet others are as false as a wolf’s heart. I wonder sometimes if I really saw that dragon up in the Alfar Mountains. It might have been a dream. Yet, if I close my eyes, I can still see it gleaming in the heavens, with its tail lashing the snow on the high mountain peaks. What am I to make of that?”
The soldiers never got tired of his story of the dragon.
“Were its scales really the size and color of iron shields?” asked Lewenhardt, who had a master archer’s knack for remembering small details.
“Nothing that big can fly,” said Surly.
“Not like a bird, maybe,” said Lewenhardt. “It might be that dragons have a kind of magic that keeps them aloft. If they’re made of fire, maybe the earth repels them.”
“Kind of like you and women, eh?” asked the Karronishman, Johannes, who only spoke to tease.
“Did I show you where that Ungrian whore bit me?” Lewenhardt pulled up his tunic.
“Nay, mercy!” cried Johannes with a laugh. “I can dig up worms enough to get the idea.”
“Someone’s been eating worms,” said Surly suddenly, “and not liking the taste. There’s been talk that King Geza is going to divorce his wife and marry Princess Sapientia. That’s the best way for the prince to get rid of her.”
“Prince Sanglant would never allow that!” objected Lewenhardt. “That would give King Geza a claim to the Wendish throne through his children by the princess.”
“Hush,” said Den.
Captain Fulk approached through flowering feather grass and luxuriant fescue whose stalks shushed along his knees and thighs. Beyond him, poplars swayed in the evening’s breeze where they grew along the banks of a river whose name Zacharias did not yet know. Where the river curved around a hill, an old, refurbished ring fort rose, seat of the local Ungrian noble family. Beyond its confines a settlement sprawled haphazardly, protected by a palisade and ditch but distinctively Ungrian because of the many stinking corrals. Every Ungrian soldier kept ten horses, it seemed, and folk who walked instead of riding were scorned as slaves and dogs. Yet who tilled the fields and kept the gardens? The farmers Zacharias had seen working in hamlets and fortified villages as Prince Sanglant and his army followed King Geza’s progress through the Ungrian kingdom were smaller and darker than the Ungrian nobles who ruled over them. Such folk were forbidden to own the very horses they were scorned for not riding.
All the men rose when Fulk halted by the fire’s light.
Lewenhardt spoke. “Captain. Is all quiet?”
“As quiet as it can be, with the army marching out in the morning.” Fulk surveyed the encampment before looking back over the six soldiers seated around the fire. “I posted y
ou out here to keep alert, not to gossip.” He nodded at Zacharias. “Brother, I come from the prince. You’re to attend him.”
“I thought he had Brother Breschius to interpret for him tonight. Isn’t it only Ungrians and Wendishmen at the feast?”
“I don’t answer for His Highness. You’re to come at once.”
Surly began whistling a dirge, breaking off only after Chustaffus punched his arm.
“You take your watch at midnight,” said Fulk to his soldiers. “I’ll be back to check up on you.”
That sobered them. Zacharias rose, with a sigh and followed Fulk. They walked along the river, listening to the wind sighing in the poplars. Although the sun had set, the clouds to the west were still stained an intense rose-orange, the color lightening toward the zenith before fading along the eastern hills to a dusky gray.
“I miss the beech woods of home,” Fulk said. “They say we’ll ride through grasslands and river bottom all the way to the Heretic’s Sea. There are even salt marshes, the same as you’d see on the Wendish coast, but lying far from the seashore. When I left home to join the king’s service, I never thought to journey so far east. But I suppose you’ve seen these lands before.”
“I have not. I traveled east the first time through Polenie lands.”
“Did you see any one-legged men? Women with dogs’ heads? Two-headed babies?”
“Only slaves and tyrants, the same as anywhere.”
Fulk grunted, something like a laugh. Like all of Sanglant’s personal guard, he wore a pale gold tabard marked with the sigil of a black dragon. “The Ungrians are a queer folk,” he continued, humoring Zacharias’ curtness. “As friendly as you please, and good fighters, yet I know their mothers didn’t worship God in Unity. I’d wager that half of them still sacrifice to their old gods. One of the lads said he saw a white stallion being led out at midwinter from the king’s palace, and he never saw it come in again for all that King Geza spent the Feast of St. Peter on his knees in church. God know they’re half heretics themselves, for it was Arethousan churchmen who first brought the word of the blessed Daisan to these lands.”
