It was the same here. The face I had thought pale was simply impossibly fair. The eyes that looked shadowed by blindness were gray, the pale gray of summer clouds as they spread out over the mountains on a warm summer day. And she was wrapped in the green mantle and gown of the ever-living, ever-giving, ever-abiding earth.
“Libane,” I said, “how can I keep my promises? To keep one is to break the other.”
“It is time,” she replied, “for you to greet your much sought lord.”
We left the Paradoxisus at nightfall. Libane and Annin led the procession, and it was just that: a procession. King Bade’s prisoners joined us. Many were worn down by labor while still young. I have never seen so many scars. And I know. I saw all of them bearing the marks of savage punishment. Some had been totally blinded so they could be used as draft animals. Many others were raked by whip scars. Eyes and hands were missing from many. The women, many of them designated comfort women, were a bold, cold lot. Most of their eyes burned with hatred.
In God’s name, I thought, how will we heal this?
Libane and Annin stood one on either side of me, and the slaves waited along the path we traversed. As I passed, they greeted me and then fell in behind us, so I saw and knew all their suffering. Some families were intact, and they brought their children. Others knelt along the route and were taken in hand by adults that would accept them.
As we wound our way through King Bade’s magnificent gardens, the procession grew longer and longer. I don’t know how many people were there. Several thousand, I think, by the time we reached the swamp.
The dark water was bright with the reflections of the torches carried by the rebels with us. We stood and waited until Black Leg and Arthur waded out of the swamp. Before he reached dry land, our eyes met. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t have more than a passing thought to spare for Black Leg.
Indeed, Arthur was the Golden King I had dreamed of. His clothing was shabby, but he filled the woolen dalmatic magnificently, shoulders broad as an ax handle. He was blond-bearded, and the shaggy hair on his head was spun red-gold.
I knew when our eyes met that long ago on the quay at Tintigal I had met a boy, but the person who stood before me in this hour was a man. A man and a king.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALICE BORCHARDT shared a childhood of storytelling with her sister, Anne Rice, in New Orleans. A professional nurse, she has also nurtured a profound interest in little-known periods of history. She is the author of Devoted, Beguiled, The Silver Wolf, Night of the Wolf, and The Wolf King. She lives in Houston.
BY ALICE BORCHARDT
Devoted
Beguiled
The Silver Wolf
Night of the Wolf
The Wolf King
The Dragon Queen
The Raven Warrior
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are either
a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A Del Rey® Book
Published by The Random House Publishing Group
Copyright © 2003 by Alice Borchardt
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by The Random House Publishing Group,
a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by
Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Del Rey is a registered trademark and the Del Rey colophon is a
trademark of Random House, Inc.
www.delreydigital.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is
available from the publisher upon request.
eISBN: 978-0-345-46433-0
v3.0
The Raven Warrior Page 59
