The Gathering Storm

by Kate Elliott

  Antonia did not trust her.

  “I respect Lord Hugh, Sister Antonia. He supports Henry and myself because he is Henry’s loyal subject, and because we allow him influence beyond that granted to most men who are dedicated to the church. I am not naive, although you may think me so because I have a pretty face. Lord Hugh recommended you to me. That is why I have admitted you to my councils.”

  No other reason. Adelheid did not say the words; she didn’t need to.

  “Lord Hugh is an ambitious man.”

  “He is a bastard and a churchman. He cannot rise higher than presbyter. He can never hope to become skopos. He can never cast off his robes and become a lord and sire children to inherit after him. His sisters inherited Olsatia and Austra. He is trapped as he is now.”

  “Do you not trust him, Your Majesty?”

  “I know what he is, Sister Antonia. I think you do as well. I trust him as I did my beloved cat. Cats are not dogs. They serve you if they wish. Their claws are sharp.”

  “They are among God’s most beautiful creatures.”

  “Are they?” Adelheid’s smile was as sharp as the rake of a leopard’s claws. “I have never thought any man as desirable as my dear Henry.”

  Maybe it was even true. Hugh had never had the power to give Adelheid an imperial crown.

  Antonia swallowed a sigh of irritation and speared a slice of melon with her eating knife. “Let us be honest, then, Your Majesty. What do you want of me?”

  “You are educated in the arts of the mathematici. Your knowledge can be of value to me and to the kingdom. I hope you will agree to go with my daughters to Tivura and educate them. Mathilda is destined for the throne. Berengaria, however, must go to the church. It would be better for Mathilda if the two sisters never quarrel over what is already ordained. The elder must go before the younger. That is the way of the world. Teach Berengaria what she needs to know so that she can support her sister when they have come of age and into the inheritance that Henry and I mean to leave them.”

  The servants had retreated to the door, standing silently, heads bowed, as they awaited Adelheid’s commands. Only the woman fanning did not cease, as Antonia could not endure the heat if the air remained still. The tick of the fan’s rising and falling was the sole sound in the chamber. From outside there came a shout. Much farther away, the noise of people who had rushed out onto the streets in the aftermath of the tremor faded as folk retreated indoors. The sun’s hammer struck more mightily than their fear. They had grown used to the tremors, to the daily sight of the smoking mountain and its sparks and clouds of spitting, hot ash blown in by the west wind. The market would open as afternoon melted into dusk. In summer, the city was more lively in the evening than during the heat of the day.

  In this way, the barrens were a practical people.

  Horses whinnied in the courtyard below. Adelheid drained her cup, beckoned, and a servant hurried over to refill it. Antonia popped the melon into her mouth and savored its sweet moisture.

  The infant Berengaria could walk and speak a few words. She seemed biddable and clever, although she was not yet two years of age. Adelheid’s plan had merit, although the empress might not comprehend the full magnitude of Antonia’s ambitions. Berengaria could serve her in many ways, as could Mathilda.

  Yet they were so young, and she was old. She would be dead before Mathilda ruled.

  Unless, of course, both Adelheid and Henry died untimely deaths.

  “I will go to Tivura if you command, Your Majesty,” she said, bowing her head obediently.

  “I trust my daughters with you, Sister, because you need them. Care for them as if they were your own, bring them safely through the days to come, and I will see that you receive that which you desire most.”

  “What do you suppose I desire most?”

  Adelheid made a sweeping gesture toward the unseen portion of the hill where the other palace lay. “I will make you skopos. Is that enough?”

  “I have underestimated you, Your Majesty,” said Antonia with a curt laugh, because Adelheid had surprised her, and she did not like to be surprised.

  There was silence, and for a moment Antonia thought she had offended the empress, but Adelheid made a little noise in reply, half laugh, half thoughtful sigh, as she rose and went back out onto the balcony. It was the vantage point she liked best. “I am a small flower, Sister Antonia, but a hardy one. Drought and sun and wind and snow will not kill me.”

  “All things die, Your Majesty.”

  “As God will it, so shall it come to pass. But are we not creatures of free will? I acquiesced to my first marriage. I thought I had no choice in the matter, I thought those who chose for me must know best, until I discovered that my noble husband was no better than a rutting stag, bellowing and roaring. I swore never to acquiesce again.” Her white scarf fluttered as a wind rose off the river, bringing with it the stench of the city’s sewage, but Adelheid did not flinch, although Antonia felt compelled to cover her own nose with a corner of her sleeve. “Nor will I. Now that I have tasted the sweetness of freedom, I cannot return to the bitter plate.”

  “God demand obedience.”

  “God demand that we do what is right.”

  “The Enemy tempts with sweet things.”

  “Yet so do God, for what is right must seem sweet to us. So the blessed Daisan preached.”

  Voices rang in the hall beyond the closed doors. The servants leaped aside as the doors were flung open and a captain wearing the tabard of the palace guards strode in, dropping to his knees before the empress. Like all her captains, he was a solid, competent man, neatly dressed and devotedly loyal to his young queen.

  “Your Majesty! A messenger from the north. From Zuola.”

  “Zuola!” The county of Zuola lay north and east of Darre, near the border with Dalmiaka, on the plain below the easternmost extent of the Alfar Mountains. “Is it news of the emperor?”

  “Alas, no, Your Majesty. Ill news, I fear.” He looked back toward the door, hearing the jingle of mail, and a weary man clattered into the room with a guard on either side. The messenger’s dark hair was plastered to his head with sweat, and sweat had made runnels through the dust staining his face. Dust spit from his boots with each step; he shed it from his clothing onto the rugs.

  “Your Majesty,” he croaked.

  “Give him wine,” said Adelheid.

  “Nay,” he insisted, kneeling beside the captain. Dust shook from him. Antonia coughed. “I’ll take wine after, if it pleases you, Your Majesty. Dire news.”

  She was pale but not cowed. “Go on. Is it the emperor?”

  “Nay, I have heard nothing of the emperor, Your Majesty. I am one of those you posted in the Brinne Pass.”

  “An army! Has it come?”

  “A large army, Your Majesty.” He began coughing too hard to continue.

  One of the guards was so excited he could not contain himself, but blurted out rash words. “Rumor says it is led by a sorcerer who commands two griffins.”

  “Griffins!” The servants exclaimed in wonder.

  Adelheid’s face changed color, but she said nothing.

  “Hush!” Captain Falco gave the guard a sharp look, and he flushed, shamefaced, and stepped back.

  “Rumor delights in false words.” The empress turned her attention back to the messenger. “What is your name?”

  He bent his head, acknowledging her intent notice, the honor she did him by asking who he was. Most men and women lived and died without ever coming to the attention of their noble ruler, and often this was to their advantage, but Adelheid was a different kind of ruler, one who liked to know to whom she spoke, even if they were the lowest laboring serf.

  “I am called Milo, Your Majesty.”

  “Drink first, then tell me only what is known for certain.”

  He dared not disobey, and in truth it was clear that he was grateful to drain two cups of wine and wipe his neck and face with a damp linen cloth. Adelheid waited patiently, as stil
l as a cat watching a mouse which has not yet realized that it is intended to become dinner.

  “It is better to consider your words than to speak in haste. Captain Falco, send for Duke Burchard, Count Tedbald, and Captain Lutfridus.”

  He sent a guard on the errand, then knelt again beside Milo. Already word had run through the palace that a messenger had come bearing ill tidings, and a murmur of voices betrayed the gathering of servants, guardsmen, and courtiers come to lurk outside the doors, although none dared enter the empress’ private apartments without explicit permission.

  “Go on, then, Milo. Do not fear to speak before me.”

  “Your Majesty.” He wiped his forehead one more time, more for courage than to cool himself. “We camped many months in the pass. The winter wasn’t so hard, for it snowed less than usual. We placed ourselves with a good view of the trail, so we might see scouts or the van of an army coming long before they might chance to see us. So it proved. A large army is crossing the pass. In truth, they may have come down into Zuola in the days it has taken me to ride here, although over the months we rigged traps to create as many obstacles as we could manage. My comrades have ridden according to our orders. I came here.”

  “Describe exactly what you saw.”

  “A great army.” He trembled and for a time was so overwhelmed by exhaustion, or recollection, that he could not go on. She waited. A commotion stirred the company waiting beyond the doors. Duke Burchard entered, leaning on his cane and attended by one of his nephews. Adelheid moved aside on the couch to let him sit next to her, and she patted his aged hand fondly, had a servant bring him wine, and bade him listen to the messenger’s report.

  Milo drank another cup of wine and went on.

  “A great host of armed men. It is true there are a pair of griffins, for I saw them myself. They are huge beasts! They shine in the sun! There was a horde of barbarians with wings sprouting from their backs, although others say they aren’t true wings but only crude emblems constructed out of wood. They looked like wings to me. And there were other foul creatures as well—men with the bodies of horses.”

  “Bwr! Bwr!” The cry erupted, torn from the listening multitude, for certainly a mass of people now pressed into the chamber and crowded the broad hall beyond. More folk came, a staccato of footsteps and a clamor of voices calling back the news to those who pushed at the rear.

  “Silence!” cried Adelheid. One by one and in groups they fell silent. Maybe the entire palace hushed, waiting on her words. “Barbarians? An invasion from the east? Are they Arethousans?”

  “Nay, Your Majesty. Most of them seemed to be Wendish.”

  “Wendish!” exclaimed the old duke. His hands trembled because of age, not anger or shock. His sojourn in Aosta and two bouts of the shivering fever had weakened him.

  “They fly the banner of a black dragon.”

  “The Dragons!” said Burchard. “It was Duchess Yolande’s rebellious brother Rodulf who was sent east to lead the King’s Dragons into the field against the Quman. Can it be the Dragons have come to aid Henry?”

  Adelheid’s small hand closed on Burchard’s wrist just as the duke opened his mouth to speak, and he looked at her, surprised. What message passed between them, read in lips and eyes, Antonia could not interpret, but the old duke bent his head, obedient to the young empress’ will, and kept silence.

  “Go on,” said Adelheid. “What else did you see and witness?”

  “There were other banners as well, a dozen or more. A silver tree on a blue field—”

  “Villam!”

  “A gold lion on a black field.”

  “Avaria!” The old duke moaned, and Adelheid called for a linen cloth and wiped his damp brow herself. “My Avaria. What means this? Have my heirs turned their backs on me? On the king?”

  “If they are friend,” said Adelheid, “then they do not threaten us. If they are our enemy, then we must crush them before they reach Darre. Burchard, will you march out with me?”

  “Do you mean to march against this army yourself?”

  “I did not surrender to John Ironhead. Henry still fights in Dalmiaka. I will protect Aosta. I will not run.”

  “If there are Bwr, Your Majesty …” said Captain Falco. “Bwr!” He was a brawny soldier, a man of action who served his lady bravely, but the name had the power to make a man as stalwart as he was shudder. The crowd murmured. This was how fear sounded, like water washing all resolve out of their hearts.

  The empress rose, lifted a hand, and commanded silence. Antonia did not trust Adelheid, but she admired her. It was a pity the empress was not as malleable as her young daughters, but God did not place obstacles in one’s path in order to make life easy. The road to heaven was paved with thorns and barriers. One had to climb them and not be afraid of getting scratched up.

  “Heed me!” she cried. “The Bwr once burned this city, but they will not do so today, nor will they do so as long as I rule over you and protect you! I will ride to meet them. Let every man or woman who can carry arms go to the north gate. Together with the city guard under Captain Lutfridus, they will guard the walls in my absence. I will ride out with my army, and with Duke Burchard’s and Count Tedbald’s faithful men.”

  That Burchard had been too old and Count Tedbald too untrustworthy to ride to Dalmiaka with Henry and Anne she did not say, although Antonia and most of the others knew it.

  They cheered her because she was their beloved queen, young and brave and pretty. Being pretty always helped.

  When they had dispersed to make ready, Adelheid turned to Burchard and repeated her question. “Will you ride out with me, Duke Burchard? It seems that the obedient son has turned rebel.”

  “I cannot believe it,” said the old man. “Do you truly believe that Prince Sanglant has taken the field against his own father?”

  “A black dragon?”

  “Saony flies the red dragon. It must be the prince. Just as you warned me.”

  “He has turned against Henry. Will you ride with me, Burchard?”

  He wept quietly, but his gaze on her was steady. Like most men, he adored her. “I will ride even against my own children, Your Majesty. I will not waver. You know that.”

  She nodded. “We will ride together, old friend.”

  All were gone except the servants. Antonia relished the solitude. The bees had buzzed so frantically, maddened by fear and uncertainty, but now the chamber lay quiet, the only noise the beat of the fan against the air. That rhythmic pulse was so soothing. It was cooling off as the sun set. In the city, the markets had opened and folk walked the streets, hunting their suppers.

  Adelheid went back out onto the balcony. “See!” she called. “Have you seen it, Sister Antonia? It is brighter tonight. There it is, burning in the heart of the Queen.”

  Antonia knew what the empress pointed at. She sighed and rose. The only good thing about the heat was that her joints didn’t ache as much as they did in the cold.

  As the sun set, darkness rose in the east and the accustomed stars slowly burned, one by one, into view. In the constellation known as the Queen, now at zenith, a comet shone.

  “The Queen’s bow is pointed at the Dragon,” said Adelheid. “Others have claimed this comet portends the end of the world, but now I know it signals my victory over Prince Sanglant.”

  Lamplight stippled the battlements of the distant city walls as well as the nearer palace walls that ringed the hill on which the two palaces stood. Dusk waned to twilight and twilight faded to night as they stared at the comet, which was noticeably brighter than it had been three nights before—the night the queen’s clerics had first marked it. Three nights ago it had burned in the Queen’s Bow.

  “It moves quickly across the sky,” said Antonia. “How can you know what it portends? It might only portend God’s displeasure because of the manifold sins committed on Earth by the wicked.”

  “It might.” Her tone changed, and her head tilted provocatively. “Do you know what is whispered in th
e streets? Some say the comet is a warning that God mean to punish us because the church mothers suppressed the truth.”

  “Which truth?”

  “That the blessed Daisan was brought before the Empress Thaissania and condemned to death, that he had his heart cut out of him while he yet lived.”

  “Heresy! Foul heresy! You must pray that your ears should be burned off rather than another whisper of such foul lies touch them! This is the Enemy’s work!”

  “Do you think so?” Adelheid’s voice was as light as that of a laughing child’s although her words were as heavy as lead. “The ancient Babaharshan astronomers said that a comet portends change. I will have need of you, Sister Antonia. One task.”

  “If I can aid you, Your Majesty, I will.”

  The queen nodded, as though she had expected this answer. As though she knew Antonia had few other options at this moment. “I fear it will come to battle, but we are ready, because we have been forewarned. Because we have already prepared the trap. Yet force of arms alone cannot win the day.”

  At once, Antonia understood what Adelheid wanted. “What you ask is not a pleasantry, Your Majesty. Only blood can summon the galla. You are the one who must give me the lives I need to work the spell. Have you considered your part? Are you willing to do what is necessary? Are you willing to be the executioner?”

  The queen placed a hand atop Antonia’s. Her fingers were surprisingly strong as they tightened on Antonia’s. “I will do what I must so that I and my daughters survive.”

  XXVIII

  HOLY FIRE

  1

  AT dawn he shook the leaves off his body that he’d used to make a nest for sleeping. The air was cool but promised heat later. He licked his dry lips. After he slaked his thirst, he could search for food. A haze blurred the valley, but he smelled water close by, and pushing through thickets he got in under the canopy of beech and headed downhill. The beech began to give way to a mixed wood of oak and hornbeam in the full leaf of summer; the shade made him shiver. The sun hadn’t yet risen high enough to penetrate the cover.