PART TWO

JENS' GRAVE

IN THE AFTERLIFE

PROBABLY he was dead.

But when the fish twisted and slipped out of his hands to escape back into the river, it acted like a living fish. The men who laughed uproariously around him sounded lively enough, and the stocky man who had yesterday threatened him with an ax had certainly looked alarmingly alive.

He knew what death felt like. Just yesterday he had held a newborn infant in his hands that was blue with death, but he'd learned the trick from Aunt Bel that sometimes newly reborn souls needed chafing to startle them into remembering life. Just yesternight he'd stumbled through a battlefield with his own life leaking from him in flowering streams of blood.

It was hard to believe that he was alive now, even standing up to his hips in the cold river as the tug of the current tried to drag him downstream. It was easier to believe that he was dead, even if the fish in the baskets up on the shore churned and slithered, bright sunlight flashing on their scales. His companion, Urtan, clapped him on the shoulder and spoke words, none of which meant anything but which sounded cheerful enough. Maybe death J

wouldn't prove onerous as long as God granted him such good company.

The other men, Tosti and Kel, had started splashing each other as soon as the last weir had been hauled into the shallows and emptied of its bounty. Now Kel stoppered up the weir with a plug of sodden wood and flung it back into the river, and they swam a little, laughing and talking and with gestures making him welcome to join them.

He let the current jostle him off his feet as he lay back into its pull. Didn't death claim its victims in exactly this manner? Perhaps he was only streaming upward on the River of Heaven, making his way toward the Chamber of Light through a series of way stations. But as the water closed over his face, he heard the hounds barking. Just as he heaved himself over and stood, Sorrow bounded out into the river, paddling madly, while Rage yipped anxiously from the shore.

"Nay, nay, friend," he said, hauling Sorrow by his forelegs back \ to the shallows, "I'll bide here in this place for a while yet, if God so will it." His companions swam closer, unsure of his intent. They smiled cautiously as he shook out his wet hair, then laughed when Sorrow let fly a spray of mist as the hound shook himself off.

The village lay just beyond the river. Towering behind sod-and-timber houses rose the huge tumulus with its freshly raised earthworks and the gaunt circle of giant stones at the flat summit. In many ways, the tumulus reminded him of the battlefield where he had fallen, but the river had run on a different course there, and the forest hadn't grown as thickly to the north and west, and the tumulus itself had been so very ancient. Nor had there been a village lying in its shadow.

This couldn't be the same place where he had died.

"But it's a good place," he assured Sorrow, who regarded him reprovingly. Rage padded over for a pat and a scratch.” Yet doesn't it seem strange to you that there should be no iron in the afterlife? They carry daggers of flint, and their ploughs are nothing but the stout fork of a tree shaped so that one length of it can turn the soil. It seems strange to me that God would punish common folk by making their day-to-day work harder in the other world."

So Aunt Bel would have said. But of course, she wasn't his aunt any longer; he had no family, orphaned child of a dead whore.

"Alain." Urtan gestured toward the baskets, which needed two men each to hoist.

Perhaps he had no family, but in this land they needed him, even if only for as humble a task as carrying a basket of fish up to the village. Hadn't he given everything else to the centaur woman? Maybe at this way station of the journey toward the Chamber of Light, he had to learn to forget the life he had once lived.

They hauled the baskets up the slope. Children shrieked and exclaimed over the fish, and after much good-natured jesting he realized that it wasn't so hard after all to learn a few words: "fish," "basket," "knife," and a word that meant "child,"

applied equally to boys and girls.

It was a good idea to learn as much as he could, since he didn't know how long he would bide here, or where he would end up next.

By the gates he saw Adica. Without the gold antlers and spiral waistband that had made her presence awe-inspiring up among the stones, she looked like any young woman, except for the lurid burn scar on her cheek. She watched them as they hauled the baskets through the gate, and he smiled, unaccountably pleased to see her, but the spark of pleasure reminded him of last night, when she had gestured toward the bed in her house. Her movement as she smiled in response made her corded skirt sway, revealing the length of her bare thighs.

He flushed and looked away. He had made vows to Tallia, hadn't he? If he must abjure them, if he must admit that he and Tallia were no longer husband and wife, then hadn't he long before that been promised to the church? He ought not to be admiring any woman.

Yet as they came to the big house that stood at the center of the village, he glanced back toward the gates, lying below them. Adica still stood there beside the elderly headwoman, called Orla. Hadn't he given up all the vows and the promises, the lies and the secrets? Hadn't the centaur woman taken his old life and left him as naked as a newborn child in a new world?

Perhaps, like the infant yesterday, he needed to learn how to breathe again.

Perhaps that was the secret of the journey, that each way station taught you a new lesson before you were swept again downstream toward the obliterating light of God.

At the big house, children of varying ages swarmed up and, by some pattern he couldn't quite discern, Urtan doled out the fish until a small portion was left for Tosti and Kel.

"Come, come," said Kel, who had evidently been stung at birth by the bee of impatience. He and Tosti were close in age, very alike except in temperament.

They led Alain through the village to the only other big house. It had a stone foundation, wood pillars and beams, a thatched roof, and pungent stables attached at one end, now empty except for the lingering aroma of cattle. Inside, Kel showed him a variety of furs and sleeping mats woven of reeds rolled up on wooden platforms ranged under the sloping walls. The young man showed him a place, mimed sleeping, and made Alain repeat five times the word which perhaps meant "sleep" or else "bed." Satisfied, he led Alain outside. Setting the guts aside for the stew pot, they lay the cleaned fish out to dry on a platform plaited out of willow branches. It took Alain a few tries to get the hang of using a flint knife, but he persevered, and Tosti, at least, was patient enough to leave him alone to get the hang of it.

There were other chores to be done. As Aunt Bel used to say. | "work never ceases, only our brief lives do." Work helped him forget. He set to willingly, whether it was gutting fish or, as today, felling trees for a palisade. He learned to use a stone ax, which didn't cut nearly as well as the iron he was used to and, after a number of false starts, got the hang of using a flint adze.

Could it be that God wished humankind to recall that war had no place in the Chamber of Light? War sprang from iron, out of which weapons were made.

After all, it was with an iron sword that-the Lady of Battles had dealt the killing blow.

Yet if these people didn't know war, then why were they fortifying their village?

Kel got impatient with the speed at which Alain trimmed bark from the fallen tree, and by gestures showed him that he should go back to felling trees while Kel did the trimming. Tosti scolded Kel, but Alain good-naturedly exchanged adze for ax. He and Urtan examined a goodly stand of young beech and marked four particularly strong, straight trees for felling.

Alain measured falling distance and angle, and started chopping. His first swing got off wrong, and he merely nicked the tree and had to skip back to avoid hitting his own legs. A man appeared suddenly from behind and with a curse gave a hard strike to the tree. Chips flew and the ax sank deep.

Startled, Alain hesitated. The man turned, looking him over with an expression of disgust and challenge. It was the man who had threatened him yesterday, who went by the name Beor. He was as tall as Alain and half again as broad, with the kind of hands that looked able to crush rocks.

The men around grew quiet; two more, whose faces he recognized, had appeared from out of the forest. Everyone waited and watched. No one moved to interfere. Once, with senses sharpened by his blood link to Fifth Son, who had taken the name Strong-hand, he would have heard each least crease of loam crushed under Beor's weight as the other man shifted, readying to strike, and he would have tasted Beor's anger and envy as though it were an actual flavor. But now he could not feel Stronghand's presence woven into his thoughts; the lack of it made his heart feel strangely empty, distended, and limp. Had he given that blood link to the centaur sorcerer, too, or had he only lost the link to Stronghand because blood could not in fact transcend death?

Yet envy and anger are easy enough to read in a man's stance and in his expression. Rage padded forward to sit beside Alain. She growled softly.

Alain stepped forward and jerked the ax out of the tree. He offered it to Beor who, after a moment's hesitation, took it roughly out of his hands.” You've great skill with that ax," Alain said with defiant congeniality, "and I've little enough with a tool I'm unaccustomed to, but I mean to fell this tree, so I will do so and thank you to stand aside."

He deliberately turned his back on the man. The weight of the other workers'

stares made his first strokes clumsy, but he stubbornly kept on even when Beor began to make what were obviously insulting comments about his lack of skill with the ax. Why did Beor hate him?

Behind him, the other men moved away to their own tasks. Beor's presence remained, massive and hostile. With one blow, he could strike Alain down from behind, smash his head in, or cripple him with a well-placed chop to the back.

It didn't matter. Alain just kept on, fell into the pattern of it finally as the wedge widened and the tree, at last, creaked, groaned, and fell. Beor had been so intent on glowering that he had to leap back, and Urtan made a tart comment, but no one laughed. They were either too afraid or too respectful of Beor to laugh at him.

It was well to know the measure of one's opponents. That was why he had lost Lavas county to Geoffrey: he hadn't understood the depth of Geoffrey's envy and hatred. Could he have kept the county and won over Tallia if he had acted differently?

Yet what use in rubbing the wound raw instead of giving it a chance to heal?

Lavas county belonged to Geoffrey's daughter now. Tallia had left him of her own free will. He had to let it go.

Kel began trimming the newly fallen beech, and Alain started in on the next tree. Eventually, Beor faded back to work elsewhere, although at intervals Alain felt his glance like a poisoned arrow glancing off his back. But he never dignified Beor's jealousy with an answer. He just kept working.

In the late afternoon, they hitched up oxen to drag the trimmed and finished poles back toward the village. Sweat dried on his back as he walked. The other men wore simple breechclouts, fashioned of cloth or leather. The tunic Adica had given him looked nothing like their clothing. It had a finer weave and a shaped form that was easy to work and move in, even when he dropped it off his shoulders and tied it at his hips with a belt of bast rope. The men of the village had stocky bodies, well muscled and quite hairy. They had keen, bright faces and were quick to laughter, mostly, but they didn't really resemble any of the people he knew or had ever seen, as if here in the afterlife God had chosen to shape humankind a little differently.

Unlike his kinsman Kel, Urtan had the gift of patience, and he fell back to walk beside Alain to teach him new words: the names of trees, the parts of the body, the different tools and the type of stone they were made of. Beor strode at the front with various companions walking beside him. Now and again he shot an irate glance back toward Alain. But unlike an arrow, a glance could not prick unless you let it. Beor might hurt and even kill in a fit of jealous rage, but he could never do any other harm because he hadn't any subtlety.

The village feasted that evening on fish, venison, and a potage of barley mush flavored with herbs and leaves from the forest, sweetened by berries. Urtan ate with his family, his wife Abidi and his children Urta and a toddler who didn't seem to have an intelligible name, leaving Alain to eat with the unmarried men, all of them except Beor little more than youths. Adica ate by herself, off to one side, without companionship, but when Alain made to get up to go over to her, Kel grabbed him and jerked him back, gesturing that it wasn't permitted. Adica had been watching him, and now she smiled slightly and looked away. The burn scar along her cheek looked rather like a congealed spider's web, running from her right ear down around the curve of the jawline to fade almost at her throat.

The tip of her right ear was missing, so cleanly healed that it merely looked misshapen.

Beor rose abruptly and began declaiming as twilight fell. Like a man telling a war story, he went on at length. Was he boasting? Kel and Tosti started to yawn, and Adica rose suddenly in the middle of the story and walked right out, away into the village. Alain wanted to follow her, but he wasn't sure if such a thing was permitted. At last, Beor finished his tale. It was time for bed. Alain's friends had given him a place to sleep beside them but at the opposite end of the men's house from Beor. He was tired enough to welcome sleep, but when he rolled himself up in the furs allotted him, stones pressed into his side. He groped and found the offending pebbles, but they weren't stones at all but some kind of necklace. It hadn't been there earlier.

At dawn, when he woke, he hurried outside to get enough light to see: someone had given him a necklace of amber. Kel, stumbling out sleepily behind him, whistled in admiration for the handsome gift, and called out to the others, and they teased Alain cheerfully, al but Beor, who stalked off.

Down by the village gates, Adica was'already up, performing the ritual she made every day at the gateway, perhaps a charm of protection. As if she heard their laughter, she glanced up. He couldn't see her face clearly, but her stance spoke to him, the way she straightened her back self-consciously, the curve of her breasts under her bodice, the swaying of her string skirt as she walked from the gates over the plank bridge. It was difficult not to be distracted by the movement of her hips under the revealing skirt.

Kel and Tosti laughed outright and clapped him on the shoulder. He could imagine what their words meant: gifts and women and longing looks. Some things didn't change, even in the afterlife.

i o

He had come a long way. He no longer wore the ring that marked him as heir to the Count of Lavas. He no longer had to honor the vows pledged between him and Tallia. He no longer served the Lady of Battles. With a smile, he put on the amber necklace, although the gesture made his friends whoop and laugh.

That day they hoisted the poles they'd cut the day before into place in the new palisade. Once, Beor neglected to brace while Alain was filling in dirt around a newly upright pole, and the resultant tumble caused two poles to come down.

Luckily no one was hurt, but Beor got a scolding from one of the older men.

Alain went down with Kel and Tosti to the river afterward to wash.” Come!"

shouted Kel just before he dove under the water.” Good!" he added, when he came up for air.” Good water. Water is good."

Alain was distracted by the sight of the tumulus. Here, upstream from the village, the river cut so close below the earthworks that the ramparts rose right out of the water except for a thin strand of pebbly beach from which the men swam. He couldn't see the stone circle from this angle, but something glinted from the height above nevertheless, a wink like gold. The twisting angle of the earthworks reminded him of the battle where he had fallen. He heard Thiadbold's cries as if a ghost whispered in his ear. The past haunted him. Did the bones of their enemies lie up there? Two days ago, he had wandered off the height in a daze, following Adica. He hadn't really looked.

Stung by curiosity and foreboding, he began to climb. His companions shouted after him, good-humoredly at first, then disapprovingly and, finally, as he got over the first earthwork and headed for the next, with real apprehension. But no one followed him. At the top a wind was rising and he heard the hoot of an owl, although the sun hadn't yet set. Where it sank in the west, clouds gathered, diffusing its light. The stones gleamed. He ran, with the hounds beside him, sure he would see his comrades, the Lions, fallen beside their Quman enemies, whose wings would be scattered and molting, melting away under wind and sun.

As soon as he crossed into the stone circle, mist boiled up, drowning him, and he floundered forward. Was that the ring of battle in the distance? If he walked far enough, would he stumble back to the place he'd come from?

Did he want to?

He struck full against the altar stone, banging his thighs, and held himself up against the cold stone. The ringing had a gentle voice, not weapons at all but the click of leaves on the bronze cauldron.

"Why come you to the gateway?" said a voice he recognized from his dream.

He looked up but could see only a shape moving in the mist and the spark of blue fire, quickly extinguished.

"Why am I here? Where am I?"

"You have not traveled far as humankind measures each stride of the foot," she answered.” I brought you off the path that leads to the Other Side. Has it not been told to you that you are to be the new husband of the Hallowed One of this tribe?"

He touched the amber necklace at his neck, remembering the way Adica had invited him to sleep beside her. He had been angry, then, because he felt his desire was shameful.” None here speak in a language I understand, nor can they understand me. How is it that we can speak together, you and I, while I speak as a foreigner would with the others? You aren't even human."

"By my nature I am bound to what was, what is, and what will be, and so my understanding is alive in the time to come as well as the time that is and the time that was." Abruptly her tone changed, as though she were speaking to someone else.” Listen!" Her voice became faint. He heard the soft percussion of her hooves on the ground, moving away.” I am called. Adica comes looking."

Fainter still: "Beware. Guard the looms. The Cursed Ones walk!"

"Can't you give me the gift of speech?" he called, but she was already gone.

"Alain!"

The mist receded as suddenly as it had come. Adica hurried to meet him as twilight settled over the stones. He sat down, worn out by labor and by strangeness.

Adica stopped before him and looked him over, both alarmed and concerned and, maybe, just a little irritated. She was handsome rather than pretty, with a wickedly sharp gaze and a firm mouth. This close, he had the leisure to study her body: she had the pleasing curves of a woman who usually gets enough to eat, but she had a second quality about her, an intangible strength like the glow off a hidden fire. In a funny way, she reminded him of Liath, as if magic threw a cloak over its wielders, seen as a nimbus of power.

Her next words reproved him, although he couldn't be sure for what. Abruptly, she saw the line of the amber necklace where it lay concealed under his linen tunic.

Reproof vanished. She brushed a finger along the ridge the string of amber made under the soft fabric, then flushed.

"You gave this to me, didn't you?" he asked, lifting it on his fingers to display it.

She smiled and replied in a tone half caressing and half flirtatious.

"Ai, God, I wish I could understand you," he exclaimed, frustrated.” Is it true I'm to be your husband? Are we to come to the marriage knowing so little of each other? Yet I knew nothing of Tallia on the day we were taken to the wedding bed. Ai, Lady, so little did I know of her!" He could still feel the nail in his hand, proof of her willingness to deceive.

Mistaking his cry, or responding to it, Adica took hold of his hand and pulled him to his feet. For an instant, he thought she would kiss him, but she did not. In silence, she led him back to the village. The clasp of her hand made his thoughts swim dizzyingly until they drifted up at last to the centaur shaman's last words.

Who were the Cursed Ones? What were the looms? And how could he tell Adica, when they had no language in common?

dCXME, up, to morning sun!" Kel prodded Alain awake.” To work!" He made an expansive gesture that included himself, Tosti, and Alain.” We go to work."

Three more days had passed in the village. It was a prosperous place, twelve houses and perhaps a hundred people in all. They had about a fourth of the outer palisade raised and today headed back to the forest to fell trees. Work made the day pass swiftly.

During one leisurely break, Kel finished carving a stout staff out of oak, ornamenting each end with the face of a snarling dog. When next Beor hoisted his ax near Alain with a surly and threatening grimace, Kel made a great show of presenting the newly carved staff to Alain and even got Tosti to stand in for a demonstration of how the snarling dogs could "nip" at a man's most delicate parts.

The men's laughter came at the expense of Beor this time, and he grunted and bore it, since to stalk off into the forest would have made him look even more ridiculous. Grudgingly, he let Alain work in peace as the afternoon wore on.

But that evening they returned home to a somber scene. During the day, a child had died. By the stoic look on the faces of the dead child's relative, they'd known it was coming. Alain watched as women wrapped the tiny body in a roughly-woven blanket, then handed the limp corpse to the father. He laid it in a log split in half and gouged out to make a coffin. After the mother placed a few trinkets, beads, feathers, and a carved wooden spoon beside its tattooed wrist, other adults sealed the lid. Together, they chanted a singsong verse that sounded like prayer.

A strange half-human creature emerged from Adica's house, clothed in power, with gold antlers and a gleaming torso. It took him two breaths to recognize Adica, dressed in the garments of power she had been wearing when he had first arrived.

She blessed the coffin with a sprinkling of scented water and a complicated series of gestures and chants. Four men carried it out of the village as Adica sealed their path, behind them, with more charms and chants. The entire village walked in silent procession to the graveyard, a rugged field marked by small mounds of earth, some fresh, some overgrown with nettles and hops. Male relatives laid the coffin in a hole. The mother cut off her braid and threw it on top of the coffin, then scratched her cheeks until blood ran. The wailing of the other women had a kind of ritual sound to it, expected, practiced; the mother did not weep, only sighed. She looked drained and yet, in a way, relieved.

Maybe the child had been sick a long time. Certainly Alain had never seen this one among the children who ran and played and did chores in the village all day.

The grave was filled in and the steady work of piling and shaping a mound over the dead child commenced. In pairs and trios, people returned to the village, which lay out of sight beyond a bend in the river. Alain remained because Adica had not yet left. Sorrow and Rage flopped down, resigned to a long wait.

Twilight lay heavily over them. Even in the five days he had been here, he noticed how it got darker earlier every night as the sun swept away from midsummer and toward its midwinter sleep. By the harvest and the weather, he guessed it was late summer or early autumn.

A few men worked steadily, bringing sod in a wheelbarrow shaped all of wood, axle, wheel, supports, and plank base. He pitched in to help them while Adica stood by, arms raised, silently watching the heavens or praying in supplication.

In her hallowing garb she seemed as much alarming as wondrous, a spirit risen out of the earth to bring help, or harm, to her petitioners.

Dusk blurred the landscape to gray. Other men brought torches and set them up on stout poles so the work could continue, as it did steadily as night fell and the moon rose, full and splendid. Adica shone under its rays, a woman half deer and half human, a shape changer who might at any moment spring away four-footed into the dark forest and run him a merry chase.

He saw them, suddenly, as starlight pricked holes in the blindness that protects mortal kind: he saw the ghosts and the fey spirits, half-seen apparitions clustering around the living people who sought to inter the dead. Was that the child's soul, clamoring for release, or return? Sobbing for its mother, or screaming that it had been betrayed into death?

Yet the spirits could not touch the living, because Adica in her garb of power had thrown up a net, as fine as spider's silk, to keep them away. It shone under the moonlight as though touched with dew fallen from the fiery stars. No hungry spirit could pass through that net. Inside its invisible protection, the men labored on, a little nervous in the darkness in the graveyard, but trusting. They understood her power, and no doubt they feared her for it.

Sorrow whined.

That fast, the vision faded, but her lips continued to move as she chanted her spells. The moon rose higher and began to sink. Very late the mound was finished, a little thing, lonesome and forlorn in the deathly-still night. The father wiped his eyes. They gathered their tools and headed back toward the village, not without apprehensive looks behind them.

But Alain lingered, waiting. Adica paced an oval around the tiny mound. Her golden antlers cut the heavens as she strode. Now and again she tapped her spiraling bronze waistband with her copper bracelets. The sound sang into the night like the flight of angels.

Yet what could Adica know of angels? None here wore the Circle of Unity. He had seen their altars and offerings, reminding him of customs done away with by the fraters and deacons but which certain stubborn souls still clung to. Her rituals did not seem like the work of the Enemy, although perhaps he ought to believe they were.

She fell silent as she came to a halt on the west side of the fresh mound. That quickly, she was simply Adica, with her frightfully scarred cheek, the woman whom he had heard in a dream ask the centaur shaman if Alain was to be her husband. She had spoken the words with such an honest heart, with such simple longing.

"Alain!" She looked surprised to see him. With practiced movements she took off her sorcerer's garb and wrapped them up with staff and mirror into a leather skin, not neglecting certain charms and a prayer as if to seal in their magical power.

Slinging the bundle over her back, she began walking back to the village. He fell in beside her, finding room on the path as the hounds ambled along behind. His staff measured out the ground as they walked. The moon marked their way straight and bright.

They passed through a narrow belt of forest and emerged west of the village.

The moon's light made silver of the river. Beyond the village rose the tumulus.

Nearer, the sentry's watch fire burned red by the village gates. Closer still lay the birthing house, and from within its confines he heard a baby cry fretfully. A nightingale sang, and ceased. The thin glow heralding dawn rimmed the eastern sky as the moon sank toward the horizon in the west. Birds woke, trilling, and a flock of ducks settled in a rash in the shallows of the river. In the distance, a wolf howled.

Adica took his hand. She leaned into him, and kissed him. Her lips were sweet and moist. Where her body pressed against his, his

own body woke hungrily. His hand tangled in the strings of her skirt, and beneath the wool cording he touched her skin.

A small voice woke in the back of his head. Hadn't he made vows? Hadn't he promised celibacy to Tallia, to honor God? Oughtn't he to remember his foster father's promise that he would cleave to the church and its strictures?

He let the oak staff fal to the ground as he tightened his arms around Adica.

Her warmth and eagerness enveloped him. He'd given all that away when he had come into this country. Now he could do as he pleased, and what he pleased right now was to embrace this woman who desired him.

Once, perhaps, in those long ago days when he had been joined to Stronghand in his dreams, Alain would have heard the shouting first. Now, because he was lost in the urgency of her embrace, the blat of a horn startled him so badly he jumped. Sorrow and Rage began barking. Adica pulled away and threw back her head to listen.

The sun hadn't yet risen, but light glinted at the height of the tumulus, lying to the east. Distant thunder rolled and faded.

She exclaimed out loud, words he could not understand. As she bent to grab her leather bundle off the ground, an arrow passed over her back, right where she had just been standing up straight. He dove and knocked her down. A flight of arrows whistled harmlessly past, pale shafts skittering to a halt on the ground beyond.

Figures sprang out of the forest. The horn sounded again, and a third time, shrill and urgent.

The masked attackers who rushed out of the forest swarmed toward the birthing house, where Weiwara sheltered with her infant twins. Adica was already up, staff in hand, leaving her bundle behind. Sorrow and Rage bolted forward in her wake, and Alain, fumbling, got hold of his staff and raced after her.

But no matter how fast they ran, the bandits got to the birthing house first even as he heard Adica scream out Weiwara's name. Too late.

Weiwara shouted from the house. There came a shriek of anger, followed by the solid thunk of a heavy weight hitting wood. Two figures darted from the house, each carrying a small bundle. Adica got near enough to strike at one with her staff, hitting him forcefully enough at the knees so he stumbled. The other raced on, back i to the forest, as the first turned and, with the child tucked under one arm, thrust out his sword. Dawn made fire of the metal as he cut. Adica danced aside. The rising light played over the man's face, since he, unlike the other two, wasn't masked. Nor was he human: he had a dark complexion, with black hair and striking features that reminded Alain of Prince Sanglant.

Another Aoi warrior emerged from the birthing hut, this one a young woman clad, like the others, in a bronze breastplate fitted over a short tunic. The feathers woven into her hair gave her a startling crest, and her mask had been carved into a peregrine's hooked beak. She carried a small round shield and a short spear.

Alain struck with his staff. She barely had time to parry. Her companion, hampered by the infant, contented himself with thrusting again, but Adica's reflexes were too good. She sprang back and swung her staff hard around, aiming for the woman instead of the man, and caught the Aoi warrior a glancing blow to the jaw. Blood dribbled out from the young warrior's neck as she bit back a yelp of pain. Alain circled right to close the two against the wall of the birthing house. He heard shouts from behind, Kel's voice, and suddenly Kel and his brother came running with their spears ready.

The Aoi man dropped the infant and bolted for the trees, following his companion; Alain clipped the woman as she tried to follow, and she fell heavily.

Adica stepped back. Kel and Tosti shrieked with glee as the Aoi woman rolled over, lifting her shield to protect herself.

"No!" cried Alain, for truly, she was helpless before them, and it would be more merciful to take her captive. But they hated her kind too much. He winced as they pinned her to the ground with angry spear thrusts. Her blood ran over the dirt.

The baby wailed.

"Weiwara!" cried Adica, dashing inside.

He looked away from the dying warrior thrashing on the ground. Tosti had run inside after Adica. Kel wrenched his spear free and grabbed Alain by the shoulder.

He shouted a word, indicating the woman. Beyond, fire sparked and caught in the thatched roof of one of the village houses.

"Come! Come!" Kel stooped to pick up the screaming baby.

About ten Aoi warriors fitted in bronze armor and wielding i

weapons forged of metal emerged from the last bend in the earthworks.

"Come!" cried Kel with more urgency, gesturing toward the village and its closed gates. A man lay prone by the outer ditch. Farther out, five of the enemy clustered behind the shield of a ruined hut. From this shelter they shot flaming arrows toward the village, an easy target over the low stockade.

Adica and Tosti appeared at the door with Weiwara's limp body between them.

Blood ran down the side of her face, and a nasty bruise discolored her left cheek, but she breathed.

"The other baby!" cried Alain. He pointed to the shrieking infant and then to the forest.

"No!" said Adica, indicating the threat to the village.

The horn rang out again. Armed adults sallied out from the village, yelling defiantly. Beor led them; Alain recognized him by his height and his shoulders, and by the bronze spear he carried. A half dozen split off from the main group to hurry toward the birthing house, among them Weiwara's husband and Urtan.

"Go!" said Alain, because it was a word he knew, and because help was coming.” I go get baby."

Kel shrieked with glee and shoved the infant into Tosti's arms. He grabbed the dead woman's bronze spear from the ground.” I go!" He struck his own chest with a closed fist, and then Alain's.” We go!"

There wasn't time to argue. The ones they sought had already gotten a head start, and Alain wasn't going to let that baby be stolen, not when God had welcomed him to this village by granting it the blessing of living twins on the day he had arrived.

He grabbed the shield off the corpse and ran for the forest as the sun split the horizon behind them. Adica called after him, but the clamor of battle drowned out her voice. They hit the shadow of the trees, and he raised a hand for silence as he and Kel and the hounds came to a halt. They heard the headlong flight of the other two as cracks and rustles in the forest ahead. Rage bounded away, so they followed her trail as she pelted through the trees.

Alain saw the two Aoi when he burst out of the woods at the border of the burial field. Sorrow and Rage loped after them, big bodies closing the gap. They hit the man limping behind without losing momentum and he tumbled to the ground beneath them. Kel reached him first. Before Alain could shout for mercy, Kel stuck him through the back. As the bronze leaf-blade parted the man's skin, Kel screamed in triumph.

The sound shook Alain to his bones, made bile rise in his throat. He had known for a long time that he couldn't serve the Lady of Battles by killing. But he could save the child.

The hounds matched him stride for stride as he ran after the third warrior, the one who carried the crying infant under his arm. The warrior cut left, and then right, as if expecting to dodge arrows. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Alain and the hounds and that made him run harder, although he seemed to be grinning like a madman, caught in an ecstacy of flight and fury. But Alain knew fury, too, rising in his heart, goaded by the memory of a tiny body coming to life beneath his hands.

By now they had moved well away from the river, but a stream cut down from a hill on the eastern side of the burial field. When the other man tried to head up the stream, he found himself boxed in by the hillside and by a cliff down which a cataract fell, not more than twice a man's height but too rugged to climb without both hands.

The warrior was no fool. He kept hold of the baby and brandished his spear threateningly as he sprang back to put the rock wall behind him. The baby hiccupped in infant despair, exhausted by its own screaming, and fell silent. Far behind, Kel shouted Alain's name.

He threw down shield and staff as Sorrow and Rage stalked forward on either side of him.” Give me the child, or strike me down, I care not which you choose."

The warrior's eyes widened in fear or anger, flaring white, all that could be seen of his face behind the grinning dog mask he wore.

Alain took another step forward, showing his empty hands but keeping his gaze fixed on his opponent.” Just give me back the child. I want nothing else from you."

The warrior shied nervously, keeping his spear raised, and he made a testing thrust toward Alain, who did not step back but instead came forward once again.

"As you see, I do not fear dying, because I am already dead.

Nothing you can do to me frightens me. I pray you, give me the child."

Maybe it was Kel, shouting as he came up from behind. Maybe it was the silent hounds. Maybe the warrior had simply had enough.

He set down the child, turned, and scrambled as well as he could up the cliff face. Alain sprang forward to grab the infant just as the warrior lost hold of his spear and it sailed down to land in the cataract with a splash. The haft spun, rode the cascade, and lodged up between two rocks as water roared over it.

With an oath, the man vanished over the lip. Pebbles spattered down the cliff face, then all trace of him ceased.

Kel whooped as he came up behind Alain. The baby whimpered, more a croak than a cry. Kel waded out to fetch the spear and offered it to Alain.

"Nay, I won't take it!" Alain snapped. Kel flinched back, looking shaken.” Here,"

said Alain more gently, giving him the man's shield. With a hand free again, he took up his oak staff.

They went swiftly back, but cautiously, skirting the corpse sprawled in the burial field and taking a deer trail through the forest, not knowing what they might find at the village or if they would need to fight when they got there. Luckily, the newborn fell into an exhausted sleep.

Easing out from the forest cover, they saw the village with the first slant of morning sun streaming across it and figures moving like ants, in haste, scurrying here and there. As they watched, trying to understand what they saw, a cloud covered the sun and the light changed. Thunder rumbled softly. Rain shaded the southeastern hills.

"Beor!" said Kel softly, pointing.

Alain saw Beor walking down through the earthworks with a spear in his hand, his posture taut with battle anger. At least fifteen adults accompanied him, al armed, some limping. Smoke striped the sky, rising from the vil age, but it had the cloudy vigor of a newly doused fire. A few corpses lay evident, some clad in bronze and one, alas, the body of a villager. It seemed strange that these people would strike with such determined ferocity and swiftness only to retreat again, like a thunderstorm opening up overhead with fury and noise that, as suddenly, blows through to leave fresh puddles and cracked or fallen branches in its wake.

Halfway between the river path and the birthing house, Alain saw a lump on the ground. Fear caught in his throat. He ran, only to find, as he feared, Adica's leather bundle bulging open on the ground right where she'd dropped it when she first ran for Wei-wara's house. It seemed wrong that rain should fall on the gold antlers. As he wrapped up the bundle, he found her polished mirror lying beneath.

Adica never went anywhere without her mirror. At that moment, the same choking helplessness gripped him that had strangled hope on the night when Lavastine had been trapped by Bloodheart's revenge behind a locked door.

Voices called from the village. He slung the bundle over his shoulder and rose just as Kel hurried up with a scared look on his face.

"No. No," he repeated, over and over, pointing to the bundle. Alain ignored him and hurried on. He had to find Adica.

Weiwara had been taken to the council house and settled upon furs there together with the other wounded folk, not more than six, although six was too many. When Alain gave the lost infant into her arms, she burst into tears. Both Urtan and Tosti were among the wounded. Urtan had taken a blow to the head and he lay unconscious, with his young daughter Urta moistening his mouth with a damp cloth. Tosti drifted in and out of awareness, moaning; he had two nasty wounds in his right shoulder and left hip. Kel dropped down beside him, keening, scratching his chest until it bled.

Mother Orla shuffled in, leaning heavily on her walking stick as she surveyed the injured. She called for her daughter, Agda, who brought potions and poultices.

Exhaustion swept Alain, but as he tried to make his way to the door, to find Adica, Mother Orla stopped him, her expression grim. He heard voices outside, but it was Beor who entered, not Adica.

The moment Beor saw Alain, he spat on the floor. It took Mother Orla herself, raising her walking stick, to restrain him from charging through the crowd and attacking. The hounds, waiting outside, barked threateningly.

Although Beor was almost beside himself with a warrior's hot anger, he contented himself with a hard glance at Alain before launching into an involved and desperate tale. Certainly something far more serious than a man's jealousy had afflicted the village this day. As Beor spoke. Mother Orla's stern features showed not one sign of weakness even as those around her and the ones who crowded outside set up a moan in response to his words.

Thunder cracked and rolled, bringing a moment's silence in its wake. It began to rain.

"Where be Adica?" Alain demanded, swinging down the bundle containing her holy garments so that they all could see that he had recovered it for her.

Beor roared like a wounded bear, overcome by fury. The others wailed and cried out. Although they had few words in common, it didn't take Alain long to understand.

Adica was gone, stolen by the raiders.

VI OF THISTLES

ON the roads traveling north from the Alfar Mountains, following the trail of the prince, Zacharias found it easy enough to ask innocuous questions when opportunity arose and to make himself inconspicuous when necessary. After an unfortunate detour to escape a pack of hungry wolves, in the course of which he lost one of his two goats and picked up a nagging infection in his left eye, he found himself among a trickle of petitioners and pilgrims walking north to see the king. Some of these humble souls had heard tell of a noble fighter who had single-handedly vanquished a pack of bloodthirsty bandits.

"Truly, he must have been a prince among men," he said more than once to the folk he met, trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice. At last one fellow agreed that he had heard from a steward riding south that indeed Prince Sanglant had returned to the king's progress.

When he came to the palace complex at Angenheim and found the court in the throes of making ready to leave, he hoped to press forward among the many plaintiffs come to beg alms or healing or justice from the king. He didn't look that different from the filthy

beggars and poor farmers camped out in the fields and woodland outside of the palace fortifications. Most people liked to gossip. Surely no one would take any special notice of a few innocent questions put to the guards.

But after seven years as a slave among the Quman nomads and a year traveling as an outcast through the lands of his own people, Zacharias had forgotten that his ragged clothing, disreputable appearance, and easterner's accent might cause people to distrust rather than simply dismiss him.

In this way, he found himself hauled up past the impressive fortifications and into the palace grounds themselves. Once they had taken away his goat and searched his battered leather pack for weapons, guards marched him through the handsomely carved doors of one of the noble residences. By prodding him with the butts of their spears, they tried to make him kneel before an elderly lord seated on a bench with a cup of wine in one hand and a robust and handsome young woman next to him.

The old lord handed the cup to her and looked Zacharias over with a frown as he tapped his fingers on a knee.” He refuses to kneel." He had a touch of the east about his voice, blurred by the hard stops and starts characteristic of the central duchies.

"I mean no offense, my lord," said Zacharias quickly.” I am a frater and sworn to kneel before none but God."

"Are you, then?" As the lord sat back, a slender, middle-aged servant circled around to whisper in his ear. When the guardsman had finished, the lord shifted forward.” Do you know who I am?"

"Nay, I do not, my lord, but I can hear by your speech that you've spent time in the east."

The lord laughed, although not as loudly as his young companion, who gestured toward the embroidered banner hung on the wall behind a table laden with gold and silver platters and bowls. The profusion of food made Zacharias' mouth water—apples, pears, bread, cheese, leeks, and parsley—but the sigil on the banner made his blood run cold and his mouth go dry with fear. It was only then that he noticed that the lord had only one arm; one sleeve had been pinned back so that it wouldn't get in his way.

"The silver tree is the sign of the house of Villain, my lord," he said, cursing himself silently. That had been his mistake among the Pechanek tribe: he had let those in power notice him, because in those days he had still believed in the God of the Unities and thought it his duty to bring their worship to the benighted, those who dwelt in the darkness of ignorance.” Can it be that you are Margrave Villam? I crave your pardon, my lord, for truly he was an old man in my youth, so it was said, and I thought the old margrave must be dead by now and the margraviate gone to his heirs."

"I pray to God you are not dead yet," said the woman boldly.” I trust you have enough youth in you to play your part on our wed-. ding night."

Villam had an honest smile.” They say a horse may die if ridden too hard."

She was, thank God, not a giggler, but she laughed in a way that made Zacharias uncomfortable because it reminded him of what Bulkezu had cut from him.” I hope I have not chosen a mount that will founder easily."

"Nay, fear not on my account, for I'm not in my dotage yet." He took the cup of wine from her and gestured to a servant to refill it.” I pray you, beloved, let me speak to this man alone."

"Is this intrigue? Do you fear I will carry tales to Theophanu?"

If her youthful teasing irritated him, he did not show it.” I do not wish the king disturbed on any account, since he means to leave in the morning. If I am the only man to hear this tale, then I can assure myself that it will go no farther than me."

She did not retreat easily from the field.” This frater—as he calls himself—may carry tales farther than I ever would, Helmut. He has a tongue."

The horrible fear that they, who had the power, would take from him the one thing he prized above all else caught Zacharias like a vise. His legs gave out and he sank to his knees. It was hard not to start begging for mercy.

"So have we all a tongue, Leoba," replied Villam patiently.” But I will have solitude in which to interview him."

Although clearly a woman of noble station, Leoba was young enough to be Villam's granddaughter and therefore, whatever equality in their stations in life, had to bow to the authority that age granted him. She rose graciously enough, kissed him modestly on the cheek, and left. The old man watched her go.

Zacharias recognized the gleam in his eyes. The sin of concupiscence, a weakness for the pleasures of the flesh, afflicted high- and lowborn alike: I

Once she was gone, the old margrave returned immediately to the matter at hand.” I do not wish to know your name, but it has been brought to my attention that you have been asking questions of the guards regarding the whereabouts of Prince Sanglant."

"You seem to me a reasonable man, my lord. Now that I am thrown into the lion's den, I may as well make no secret of my quest. I seek Prince Sanglant. Is he here?"

"Nay, he is not. He has as good as declared open revolt against King Henry's authority. I feel sure that a man of your learning understands what a serious offense that is."

"Ah," said Zacharias, for a moment at a loss for words. But he had always had a glib tongue, and he knew how to phrase a question to protect himself while, perhaps, gaining information.” Yet a man, even a prince, cannot revolt alone."

"Truly, he cannot." Villam knew this ploy as well.” Do you mean to join his retinue, such as it is?"

"Nay, my lord. I have not followed him with any such intention, nor have I at any time known of any plan to revolt. My interests lie not in earthly struggles but with the composition of the heavens and the glory of creation. In truth, my lord, I have never spoken with the prince."

"Then why did you come to Angenheim asking about his whereabouts?"

"I merely come to ask a boon of him."

Villam laughed delightedly.” I am smothered in words. Yet you trouble me, frater, with your talk of the heavens. Do you know what manner of man Prince Sanglant is?"

"What do you mean, my lord?"

"I pray you, do not play the innocent with me. You look rather less artless and more disreputable, and you speak with a cunning tongue. Prince Sanglant is no man at all but a half blood, born of a human father and an Aoi mother. What manner of aid might you wish to ask from such a creature?"

This struck Zacharias as dangerous ground. Nor had Villam betrayed any knowledge of Kansi-a-lari's whereabouts, even though Zacharias knew she had walked north with her son.

"Very well," he said after a long silence.” I shall tell you the truth. I walked east to bring the word of God to the Quman tribes, but instead they made me a slave.

I dwelt among them for seven years and at long last escaped. This is the tale I bring to you: the Quman are massing an army under the leadership of the Pechanek begh, Bulkezu, and they mean to strike deep into Wendish territory.

Already raiding parties burn villages and murder and mutilate our countryfolk.

You know how the Quman treat their victims. I have seen many a corpse without a head. Your own lands in the east are at risk, my lord."

"Princess Sapientia was sent east with an army together with that of her new husband, Prince Bayan of Ungria."

"That I had not heard, my lord."

"Yet we've had no news from them, so perhaps it goes ill with their campaign, although I pray that is not the case. This chieftain, Bulkezu, has plagued Wendish lands before. Yet why seek Prince Sanglant? Here is the king and his court. Surely your plea is best voiced before the king."

"Truly, it is," said Zacharias, thinking fast.” But I have heard much talk during my travels about the king's ambitions in Aosta. The king cannot march both south and east. At the same time, I have heard many stories about Prince Sanglant's prowess in battle. Is the regnant's bastard firstborn not raised to be captain of the King's Dragons? If the king himself cannot take the field against the Quman, then it would take such an army, commanded by a man second only to the king in courage and reputation, to defeat them."

"A fine tale. It is true that you speak with the accent of the eastern border, and certainly you look as if you've walked a long way with nothing more than the clothes on your back and, so I hear, a goat. But a fine tale may be nothing more than a brightly woven tapestry thrown up on the wall to conceal an ugly scar which lies hidden behind it. The Quman brand their slaves with a mark."

Shaking, Zacharias stood. He turned, pulling the torn shoulder of the robe down to reveal his right shoulder blade and the brand, healed badly enough that skin still puckered around it, marking him as slave of the Pechanek begh. Releasing the cloth, he turned back to confront the margrave.” So stands the mark of the snow leopard's claw, my lord."

"A desperate man can have himself cut to lend credence to his story," remarked Villam pleasantly.

"Would a man cut himself in this manner, merely to lend credence to his tale?"

Zacharias demanded, boldly lifting his robe.

At the sight of Zacharias' mutilated genitals, Villain actually gasped out loud, lost color, and groped for his wine cup. He gulped it down, and then signaled to his steward, the slender man who had stationed himself at the door.” Bring wine for this man, if you please. He must be desperately thirsty."

Zacharias drank deeply. The wine was very good, and he saw no reason to waste it. Perhaps the shock of his mutilation would throw Villam off the scent.

But the margrave was top old and too crafty, he had played the game for too long, to be thrown off his attack even by such a vicious strike. Once he had taken a second cup of wine, he gestured to his servant.” Humbert, bring me the man's pack."

Resigned, Zacharias watched as Villam emptied the pouch and, of course, picked up the one thing that would condemn any man. He displayed, for Zacharias' edification, the parchment scrap covered with Liath's writing, the scribblings of a mathematici.

Zacharias drained the last of his wine, wondering what he would get to drink when he languished in the skopos' prison damned as a heretic.” You're holding it upside down, my lord," he observed after Villam said nothing.

Villam turned the scrap over and studied it again.” It means even less to me this way." He looked up with the sharp gaze of a man who has seen a great deal of grief and laughter and trouble in his time. He was getting impatient.” Are you a sorcerer?"

No such interrogation could end happily, but Zacharias refused to collapse in fear as long as his tongue seemed safe.” Nay, my lord, I am not."

"Truly, you do not resemble one, for I have always heard it said that a sorcerer has such magnificent powers that she will always appear sleek and prosperous, and you, my friend, do not appear to be either. Why are you seeking the prince?"

"To find out where that parchment came from, my lord. I have reason to believe that he knows who made those marks on that parchment. That person must know some portion of the secret language of the stars. I have no wish to be a sorcerer, my lord. But I was vouchsafed a vision of the cosmos." He could not keep his voice from trembling. The memory of what he had seen in the palace of coils still tormented him; he dreamed at night of that billowing cosmos, rent by clouds of dust and illuminated by resplenCHILD or FLAME dent stars so bright that, like angels, they had halos. His loss of faith in the God of Unities no longer troubled his sleep, because the desire to understand the workings of the universe, a dazzling spiral wheel of stars hanging suspended in the midst of a vast emptiness, had engulfed his spirit and consumed his mind.” That is all that I fear now, my lord: that I might die before I understand the architecture of the universe."

That I might die before I see another dragon. But that thought he dared not voice out loud.

Villam stared at him for a long time. Zacharias could not interpret his expression, and he began to fidget nervously, waiting for the margrave's reply.

He had told the truth at last. He had no further to retreat except to reveal the one thing which would damn him most: that he had traveled as a servant with the Aoi sorcerer and witnessed her humbling and frightening power. Once they discovered that, they would not care that she had, in the end, discarded him as thoughtlessly as she would a walking stick she had no further use for.

"I am at your mercy, my lord margrave," he said finally, when he could bear the silence no longer.

"So we come to her again," murmured Villam.” Can it be true, what the prince said of her ancestry? Is it not said of the Emperor Tail efer that 'God revealed to him the secrets of the universe?' The virtues of the parent often pass to the child."

"I do not understand you, my lord," he stammered, temporizing. Villam would mention Kansi-a-lari's name in the next sentence, and the trap would be sprung.

"Do you not?" asked Villam, looking honestly surprised.” Did Prince Sanglant not marry the woman named Liathano?"

Relief hit like a fist to his gut.” I do not know her, my lord."

Villam smiled wryly.” Had you seen her, you would not so easily forget her."

"That one! Was she young and beautiful, my lord, not in the common way of beauty but like a foreign woman with skin of a creamy dark shade? Had she a child in her or newly born?"

"That one." Villam sighed, considered his wine cup, and took a hank of bread to chew on.” What became of her?"

"You do not know? Angels took her up into the heavens."

"Angels?"

i o

"We might also call them daimones, my lord."

"I do not know what to make of these tidings," said Villam thoughtfully, looking troubled.” Is she an agent of the Enemy, or that of God? Is she of humble origins, or of the noblest birth? Did she bewitch the prince, or is her favor, bestowed upon him, a mark of his fitness to rule?"

"My lord margrave," said the servant Humbert so sharply that Villam blinked, thrown out of his reverie by those words.” The King's Eagle waits outside. She bears a message for you."

Villam said nothing for a while, although as he mused he drew his fingers caressingly over the curve of an apple.” I will need a rider to carry a message to my daughter," he said at last, "a trustworthy and loyal man, one from the home estates. Waldhar, perhaps. His father and uncle served me well against the Rederii, and his mother is a good steward of the Arvi holdings. Let him make ready to leave and then come to me."

The servant nodded. He had a tidy manner, efficient and brisk.” Will you need a cleric, my lord margrave, to set the message down on parchment?"

"Nay. It is to go to my daughter's ears alone. Give him an escort of three riders as well."

"I would recommend six, my lord margrave, given the news of Quman raids."

"Yes." Villam had been margrave for many years, with the habit of command and the expectation that his servants would run to do his bidding at once, and effectively.” See that this frater is given food and drink and then send him on his way. Best that it be done quietly."

"So will it be done, my lord margrave." Humbert looked Zacharias over with a look compounded half of curiosity and half of disdain.” Would you prefer that those who serve him are like to gossip or to remain silent about which direction the prince rode out in three days ago?"

"Alas, people are so wont to chatter. That is why I keep a discreet man like yourself as my steward, Humbert."

"Yes, my lord margrave." Humbert gestured to Zacharias. He did not have a kindly face, but he looked fair.” Come, Brother. You will not want to linger long here at the king's court, for it will go hard with you, I am sure, should your quest become generally known."

"I thank you for your hospitality, my lord," said Zacharias, but Villam had already forgotten him as the doors opened and a woman strode in. She wore fine clothing and, over it, a cloak trimmed with red and pinned at one shoulder with a brass brooch shaped as an eagle.

Zacharias knew her at once, that familiar, fierce expression, her hawk's nose, and the way she had of sauntering with a little hitch in her stride, noticeable only because he knew to look for it, that she had developed after falling frojn an apple tree when she was a child.

He hurriedly stepped sideways into shadow, hoping his hood would obscure his face. She had the habit of a good messenger, looking around swiftly to mark the chamber and its inhabitants. When she saw him, she faltered, puzzling over his shadowed face. He knew her well enough to interpret her expression, for it was one she'd worn as a child: seeing something that she knew was familiar but could not quite put her finger on.

Annoyance and curiosity tightened her mouth, and she seemed about to speak when Villam spoke instead.

"Eagle, you bring me a message from the king?"

"Yes, Margrave Villam," said Hathui, her well-loved voice deepened by maturity and altered by a woman's confidence and pride. At once, she turned her attention to the margrave.

How different their fates had turned out to be, the admired elder brother and the doting young sister. She had become a respected Eagle, standing beside the king's chair, while he had been marked forever as a slave, hunted and desperate.

He slipped out the doors before her attention drifted back to him. He was so ashamed. He didn't want her to recognize him, to see what a poor wretch he had become, no longer a man at all, used and discarded many times over. He remembered the pride shining in her face on that day years ago when he had left their village to walk as a missionary into the east. She must never know what had really happened to him. Better that she believe he was dead.

He took the food and drink offered to him, took his goat and his worn pack and left the palace complex as quickly as he could in

case she should come looking, to assuage her curiosity. West, Humbert told him, the road toward Bederbor.

So he walked, alone, nursing his despair. What he had seen, what had been done to him, what he had himself acquiesced to, had opened a chasm between him and his family that could never be bridged. All that was left him was the secret language of the stars, the clouds of black dust and the brilliant lights, the silver-gold ribbon that twisted through the heavenly spheres, the beauty of an ineffable cosmos in whose heart, perhaps, he could lose himself if only he could come to understand its mysteries.

Determined and despondent, he trudged west on the trail of the prince.

USING a stout stick as his sword, Sanglant beheaded thistles one by one, an entire company hewn down by savage whacks.

"You're in a foul mood," observed Heribert. The slender cleric sat on a fallen log whittling the finishing touches into the butt of a staff. He had carved the tip into the likeness of a fortress tower surmounted by a Circle of Unity. Behind them, half concealed by a copse of alder. Captain Fulk supervised the setup of a makeshift camp among the stones of an ancient Dariyan fort long since fallen into ruin.

"The king was right." Sanglant kept decapitating thistles as he spoke. He could not bear to sit still, not now, with frustration burning through him. He felt as helpless as the thistles that fell beneath his sharp strokes.” How can I support a retinue without lands of my own?"

"Duke Conrad's chatelaine made no protest. She put us up in the hall at Bederbor for a full five days."

"And Conrad did not return, nor would she tell us where he had gone or when she expected him back. Thus leaving us to go on our

way. We're dependent on the generosity of other nobles. Or on their fear."

"Or their respect for your reputation, my lord prince," said Heribert quietly.

Sanglant lifted his free hand in a gesture of dismissal. He did not stop whacking.

The thistles made good enemies, plentiful and easy to defeat.” Nevertheless, my reputation cannot feed my retinue forever. Nor will my cousins and peers feed me forever, knowing it may bring my father's wrath down upon them. He could accuse them of harboring a rebel and call them to account for disloyalty."

"Then it will only bring his anger down on them twofold if they listen to your words. What are you speaking if not of rebellion, my friend?"

These words brought his hand to a halt. Battered thistles swayed and stilled.

What, indeed? He turned to consider Heribert.

"What is it you want?" Heribert continued.” What is it you intend? You know I will follow you no matter where your path leads you, but it seems to me that you had better know in your own mind where you are going before you walk any farther down this road."

Just in this way, a wineskin ful to bursting could be emptied with a single precise hole stabbed into its side. He sank down onto the log beside Heribert.”

Thus am I reminded of the burdens of ruling," he remarked bitterly as Heribert continued his carving.” It was easier to do what I was told, back when I was captain of the Dragons."

"It's always easier just to do what you're told," murmured Heribert. His hands stilled as he lifted his eyes to regard the distant trees, looking at a scene hidden to everyone but himself.

Sanglant hadn't the patience to wallow in self-pity. It made him too restless. He jumped up and began pacing.” If Eagles came with a report of a great invasion, and my father did not believe them, it would be left to me to counter that invasion, would it not?"

Heribert's gaze shifted abruptly back to the prince.” Would it? If you could find safety for yourself and your people—

Sanglant beheaded seven thistles with one blow. Then he laughed.” Nay, friend, you know me better than that. How can I rest if Wendar is in danger? I swore to guard the realm and every soul who lives under my family's rule."

Heribert's smile was soft, but he did not reply.

"But I also have a duty to my mother's people. My mother claims the Aoi who were exiled will all die if they do not return to Earth. Yet Sister Anne wants to deny them their rightful return."

"Sister Anne claimed that the Aoi would bring in their wake a great cataclysm."

"Sister Anne claimed many things, but she also would have let Blessing starve to death. She spent years hunting down her own husband, and in the end she killed him because she wanted to get her daughter back. No one has ever explained to my satisfaction why a man like Bernard would run away with Liath in the first place, or hide her so desperately. What if he knew something we do not? Nay, Sister Anne may say many things, and twist the truth to serve her own purposes, and in the end we cannot know what is truth and what is falsehood, only that she is heartless when it comes to those she would use to advance her own objectives."

"You'll hear no argument from me on that score," murmured Heribert.” I built her a fine hall, yet I do not doubt that she would have disposed of me without a second thought once I was of no further use to her." He sighed suddenly and sheathed his knife. Running his fingers over the finely carved tower which now crowned his oak staff, a crenellation, arrow slits, a suggestion of stonework etched into the wood, and the Circle of Unity rising from the center, he spoke softly, his voice shifting in tone.” All ruined, so you said."

"Everything. The hall burned like kindling." He lowered his stick and set a companionable hand on Heribert's shoulder.” You can't imagine their power."

"The power of Anne and her sorcerers?"

"Nay, although truly Sister Anne commands powers greater than anything I can understand or have ever seen before. I spoke of the fire daimones who stole Liath away. Everything their gaze touched burst into flame. Even the mountains burned." Just as his anger burned, deep in his heart, fueled by helplessness and frustration. The words came unbidden.” I could do nothing to stop them." Grief made his voice hoarse, but then, after the wound to the throat he'd taken in battle five years ago, his voice always sounded like that.

A breeze had come up in the trees. He listened but could not make words out of their rustling: they were not spirits of air, such as Anne had commanded, but only the wind. Yet that sound of wind through autumn leaves reminded him that he still had hope. In the palace at Angenheim, he had seen a gateway opening onto a place veiled by power and distance and the mysteries hidden in the architecture of the universe as Liath would have said. He had heard Liath's voice.” She's still alive," he whispered.

"It is amazing anyone survived."

Sanglant hefted the stick in his hand, weighed it, eyed the ragged thistles and, choosing mercy, lowered the stick again.” I know Sister Anne survived the maelstrom. How many of her companions did as well, I don't know."

"Sister Venia survived," said Heribert grimly.

"How can you know?"

"She's the type who does survive, no matter what."

"You would know that better than I. She was your mother, and the one who raised you."

"Like a dog on a leash," muttered Heribert. Sanglant watched with interest as that smooth cleric's amiability peeled off to reveal an ancient resentment, nurtured secretly for many years. But, like a dog, the young cleric shook himself after a moment and put the veil back on. His expression cleared, and he glanced up at Sanglant with a cool smile.” Where might such sorcerers go, burned out of their home? Would they try to rebuild at Verna?"

"I wouldn't stay there, not after daimones of such power had come calling.

There's a mystery here, Heribert. Those daimones were looking for Liath.

Bernard fled from Anne and her company because he feared that the Seven Sleepers might twist Liath to their purpose. But maybe he also feared the daimones. Nay, there is much I cannot explain. What I know is this: Anne will not rest. She will look for Liath, and even if she cannot find her, she will still try to stop the exiles from returning. She hoped that Liath would prevent the Aoi from returning, but just because Liath is gone, Anne won't give up. I have to stop Sister Anne and her companions. I have to make sure the exiles can return."

"Well," said Heribert, gesturing toward the camp rising among the ruins.” You, and a cleric under ban, and seventy men, and a baby, and one aery sprite.

That's a weak army to take against a sorcerer as powerful as Sister Anne."

iS

"So it is." He bent to pick up one of the thistle heads, cut off raggedly just below the crown. It prickled and stung his palm, but at least pain muted the anger and bitterness swelling in his heart.” I suppose this is how a loyal hound must feel when its mistress abandons it at the side of the road. I actually thought my mother— He cursed, shaking off the thistle as his skin pulsed from its bite.” I actually thought—"

He could not go on and had to just stand there, struggling to control himself, while Heribert watched compassionately. Distantly he heard the baa of the goat, and then a goatish reply in a higher pitch. The voices in the trees seemed to mock him, even if it was only the wind.

"The more fool I. Did she ever treat me any differently than she did the pony who carried her pack?"

Heribert seemed about to object but thought better of it.

"Once I was of no more use to her, she abandoned me again, just as she did when I was an infant."

"Nay, Sanglant, don't judge her harshly yet. Perhaps the king detained her."

"The king could not detain a sorcerer with her powers. She could have followed us if she had chosen to. But she did not. I no longer serve any useful purpose in her plotting, now that I am, as you say, as good as a rebel against my father's authority. That was | all she cared for."

"Nay, friend, I am sure there is a greater part for you to play if these prophecies come true."

"But will I play the part they wish me to play? I'm not captain of the King's Dragons anymore, a piece to be moved about in their chess game." He frowned abruptly, shading his eyes as he stared westward at the camp. A commotion had arisen. He heard voices but couldn't quite make out the words. Was that two goats complaining, when they only had one? Yet Captain Fulk could deal with it.

He had other battles to fight.

Resolve came swiftly, and with all its sweet savor. Knowing that he knew what had to be done and that he was the one to do it cleared his mind of doubts and despairs. A man who doubted fared poorly in battle, so he had long ago trained himself not to doubt.

"The Seven Sleepers must be stopped, Heribert. If my father won't believe me, and won't act, then I must act." He knew he was right, just as he knew in battle when it was time to turn a flank or call the charge. He'd only been wrong once, defeated by Bloodheart's illusions. He didn't intend to be wrong again.” Consider what my mother did, and why I am here at all. She never cared for Henry. She didn't become his lover out of lust or passion or love. She did so in order to give birth to me, so that I would be a bridge between his people and hers. We walked for twelve days together, fleeing Verna, and during that time when she spoke at all she told me about the Aoi council and how it is broken into factions. Some of them hate humankind still and hope to conquer all human realms, while some seek compromise and alliance."

"Alas, not even the fabled Aoi are immune from intrigue."

"Even animals mark their territories and who comes first and who last in their herds. If that faction of the Aoi who still hate humankind comes to power after the return, then some prince born of human blood must prepare for war. If my father will not do so, then I must."

Heribert coughed lightly.” My lord prince. My good friend. If you did not trouble Anne, and let her work her sorcery, then the Aoi would not return at all. And Wendar would remain at peace."

Sanglant looked away.” And all my kin would be dead. Nay. I cannot. I can't turn my back on my mother's people. I will not let them all die."

"Will you instead be the unwitting tool by which they conquer humankind? You said yourself that they showed little enough interest in you. In truth, Sanglant, you might be better served to ask your father's forgiveness and help him restore the Aostan throne to Queen Adelheid. With Aosta in his grasp, he has power enough to be crowned Holy Dariyan Emperor, like Taillefer before him. Such power would give him the strength to meet any Aoi threat, should the events you speak of come to pass."

The image of Bloodheart's chains rose in his mind's eye. Those chains still weighed on him. They always would.” I won't ask for my father's forgiveness because I did nothing wrong except marry against his wishes."

"Had you married Queen Adelheid, as your father wished you to, you would have been king in Aosta and heir to your father.

Then you would have had the strength to do what needed to be done."

Sanglant turned, stung into fury, only to see Heribert jump to his feet, half laughing, in the way of folk who seek to appease an armed man whom they have inadvertently insulted. He knew the look well enough. The cleric held his staff out before him, as if to protect himself, although he hadn't any skill with arms.

"I only speak the truth, Sanglant. I would offer you nothing less."

Sanglant swore vigorously. But following the strong words came a harsh laugh.”

So you do, and so you do well to remind me. But I won't seek my father's forgiveness."

"So be it," agreed Heribert, lowering the staff.” I know what it is to be unable to forgive. But it is well to understand the road you walk on, and what brought you to it."

"Hush." Sanglant lifted a hand, hearing his name spoken in the camp.” Come."

Heribert hastened to follow him as he strode toward the ruins. He had gotten about halfway when the youth Matto came jogging toward them.

"You see there, Heribert, a lesson to you. I need counselors who are not blinded by their admiration for my many fine qualities."

Heribert laughed.” You mean by your ability to fight. Forgive him, my lord, for he is young."

"I fear that if he persists in following me, he will not get much older."

"Do not say so, may God forgive you!" scolded Heribert.” We cannot know the future."

Sanglant did not reply because the youth ran up then. His broken arm still hung in a sling, but it didn't pain him much anymore. His cheeks were flushed now with excitement, and he still seemed likely to cast himself on the ground at Sanglant's feet, hoping for a chance to kiss his boots. Luckily, he had learned from the example of Fulk and his soldiers. Drawing himself up smartly, he announced his message as proudly as if he were a royal Eagle.

"Your Highness! Captain Fulk begs you to come at once. A frater's come into camp seeking you."

Entering camp, Sanglant sought out Blessing first; she was safely asleep in a sling tied between an old stone pillar and a fresh wooden post, rocking gently in a breeze made by Jerna. As the baby took more and more solid food and less of the daimone's milk, Jerna's substance had thinned as well. He could barely make out her womanly shape as a watery shimmer where the late afternoon sun splashed light over the pillar. Just as well. Those womanly curves increasingly bothered him in his dreams, or when he woke at night, or when he had any reason to pause and let his mind wander. Better that he not be able to see her at all than be tempted in this unseemly way.

It was a relief to have distraction. He turned his attention to the stranger. It took him a moment to recognize the ragged man dressed in robes that had once, perhaps, been those of a frater. The man came attended by a fractious goat which was at this moment trying to crowd the other goat out of a particularly lush patch of thistles. A dozen of Fulk's men, as well as Fulk himself, watched over him, not standing too close.

"You're the man who traveled with my mother," said Sanglant, looking the man up and down. He was an unprepossessing sight, dirty, with an infected eye. He stank impressively.” She said you were dead."

"Perhaps she thought I was," said the man.

"Address Prince Sanglant properly," said Captain Fulk sharply.” Your Highness, he is to you. He's a prince of the realm, son of King Henry."

"Your Highness," said the ragged frater ironically.” I am called Brother Zacharias." He glanced at the prince's entourage, the soldiers now come to stand around and watch since there was nothing of greater interest this fine evening to attract their attention. What he thought of this makeshift retinue he did not say, nor could Sanglant make sense of his expression. Finally, the man met his gaze again. He had a stubborn stare, tempered with weariness.” I followed you, Your Highness."

"Which is more than my mother did," said Sanglant in an undertone, glancing at Heribert before gesturing to the frater.” So you did, Brother. Is there something you want of me?"

Zacharias drew a smudged roll of parchment out of a battered cook pot that dangled from his belt, held there by a well-worn string of leather. He unrolled the battered parchment tenderly, with the greatest solicitude, to reveal a torn scrap marked with numbers

and ciphers and diagrams, eccentricities, epicycles, and equant points, and pinpricks representing stars.

Sanglant recognized that impatient scrawl at once. He took the paper from the frater without asking permission, nor did the man protest with more than a mild blurt of surprise, quickly cut off as he eyed the soldiers surrounding him.

"Liath." Sanglant pressed the scrap to his cheek as if some essence of her might reside in those hastily scrawled numbers and circles, a lingering tincture of her soul and heart that he could absorb through his skin.

"Know you who wrote these calculations, Your Highness?" asked the frater, with rising excitement. His cheeks flushed, and he blinked his infected eye so rapidly that tears oozed along the swollen lids.

After a long silence, Sanglant lowered the parchment. They were only markings, after all. He knew the names she had called them, but he didn't really know what they meant.” My wife."

"Then she is the one I seek!" cried the frater triumphantly. He extended a hand, trembling a little, wanting the scrap back.

With some reluctance, Sanglant handed it over.” You saw what became of her, surely. She was stolen by fire daimones."

The soldiers had heard the story before, but they murmured among themselves, hearing the words spoken so baldly. At times, it amazed Sanglant that they rode with him despite his defiance of his father and regnant, despite the reputation of his wife, who had been excommunicated by a church council for the crime of sorcery and had vanished under mysterious circumstances from Earth itself.

Despite the inhuman daimone who attended him as nursemaid to his daughter.

"Ah." Zacharias considered the goats, who had resolved their dispute by pulling to the limits of their ropes where they had found satisfaction in a bramble. His profile seemed vaguely familiar to Sanglant, but he couldn't place him. Had he seen him before? He did not think so, yet something about the man rang a resonance in his heart. The frater had a bold nose, a hawk's nose, as some would have been wont to say, and a vaguely womanlike jawline, more full than sharp. He had the thinness of a man who has eaten poorly for a long time, and a shock of dark hair tied back at his neck. Like a good churchman, he had no beard. But his gaze was clear and unafraid.” Do you believe she is lost to you, Your Highness?"

"I will find her."

Zacharias considered the words, and the tone, and final y nodded.” May I travel with you, then, my lord?"

Oddly, the question irritated Sanglant.” Why do you seek her?"

"So that she may explain to me these calculations. She, too, seeks an understanding of the architecture of the universe, just as I do. She must know something of the secret language of the stars—

"Enough." The man spoke so like Liath that Sanglant could not bear to hear more of it. Ai, God, it reminded him of the conversation he had overheard between Liath and Sister Venia: Hugh could read, could navigate the night sky, could plot the course of the moon; Hugh had a passion for knowledge, and Sanglant did not. Would Liath like Zacharias' company better than his? She lived at times so much in her mind that he wondered if she ever noticed that with each step her feet touched the ground. Maybe her feet no longer touched Earth at all, not now. Perhaps all the secrets of the stars had been revealed to her on some distant sphere, and she need never return to the Earth he understood and lived on.”

Heribert coughed slightly, and Sanglant realized that every man there was waiting for him.” You may travel with us, Brother, as long as you abide by my orders and make no trouble."

"I have a wretched tongue, Your Highness," said the frater, "and it has gotten me into trouble before." He spoke bitterly, and made a kind of gesture with his hand, toward his hips, quickly cut off, as though he hadn't meant to make any such gesture at all.

"A little honest gossip is common to men accustomed to the soldiering life, Brother, but I don't tolerate lies or betrayal. Nor do I punish men for speaking the truth."

"Then you are an unusual prince, my lord."

"So he is," interposed Fulk. The good captain regarded the dirty frater with suspicion.” You'll do your share of the camp work, I trust?"

"I'm humbly born, Captain," retorted the frater tartly.” I do not fear hard work, and have done my share, and more than my share, in the past. I survived seven years as a slave among the Quman."

The soldiers murmured on hearing this boast.

"Is that so?" demanded Sanglant.” What tribe took you as a slave, and what was their chieftain's name?"

The frater's grin had the beauty of a hawk's flight, swiftly seen and swiftly vanished.” I walked into the east to bring the light of God to their lost souls. But the Kirakit tribe, whose mark is the curve of an antelope's horn, scorned me.

They traded me to the Pechanek tribe as part of a marriage agreement. You can see it on my back, if you will: the rake of a snow leopard's claw, to-mark me as the slave of their begh Bulkezu."

"Bulkezu," echoed Sanglant.

Zacharias shuddered. Even spoken so softly, and at such a distance, names had power.

Sanglant touched his throat, felt the scar of the wound that ought to have killed him, but had not.” I fought against him once, and neither of us won in that encounter." He smiled grimly.” I will take you gladly, Brother, for it seems to me that a man who can survive seven years as a slave of the Quman will not falter easily."

"Nor will I," agreed the frater, "although I was hoping for a wash."

"Who's on water duty, Captain?"

Fulk had been regarding the frater with surprised admiration. Now he turned to the prince.” I had meant to bring the matter to your attention, Your Highness.

The ruins make a good defense, but there is no nearby water source. I've got the men carrying in buckets, enough for the night. Brother Zacharias may go down to the stream, if he wishes."

"Nay, wait a moment, Captain." Heribert stepped forward.” This is a Dariyan fort, is it not?" He surveyed the ruins with the eye of a man familiar with ancient buildings.

Sanglant had camped in old Dariyan forts before. Well built, they had usually weathered time and war so well that their walls still provided a good defensive position, and Sanglant had fought for too many years to pitch camp even in peaceful territory without an eye to defense. This fort, like all the others, had square walls and two avenues, one crossing the other, that split the cramped interior into four quarters, with four gates. Fulk had posted sentries along the outer walls and had placed the camp in the central square, itself ringed by a low wall. Heribert crossed to that inner wall and began a circuit, bending now and again to brush accumulated dust from the reliefs of eagle-headed soldiers and women with the muzzles of jackals that adorned the walls, a parade etched into stone that ringed the entire square.

Abruptly, Heribert struck at the ground with his staff, then called over a soldier.

With a spear's haft and a shovel, they dug and levered and, that suddenly, got a stone lifted. A cloud of moisture billowed up.

"Sorcery!" murmured one of the soldiers.

"A miracle!" said a second.

Heribert returned in time to hear this comment.” Nay, there's no sorcery or miracles involved," he said, somewhat disgustedly.” All Dariyan forts were built to the same plan. One cistern always lies in the central square, marked by a woman dressed in a skirt hung all around with lightning bolts and carrying a water lily. Usually, in forts that were inhabited for a lengthy period, an entire network of rain spouts and channels leads rainwater into that central cistern, and—

Because he seemed ready to go on indefinitely, caught up by his passion, Sanglant interrupted him.” Let me taste the water first."

A rope and bucket were found. When a soldier brought him the half-full bucket, Sanglant dipped a hand in the cool water, sipped, and let the taste of it wash over him. No taint of poison or foulness burned him. The water smelled fresh, and had been covered for so long and so tightly that no animal had fallen in to poison it.” I judge it safe to use, Captain."

"Truly, that will save us labor, Brother," said Fulk, eyeing Heribert with new respect. Captain and cleric went aside, and Heribert began pointing out to him certain features of the fort. Zacharias left camp to wash himself in privacy.

Blessing stirred and woke from her nap, and Sanglant unwound her from the sling as the soldiers built up a good fire and brought out their .equipment for mending torn cloaks and tunics. The cooks roasted the six deer they'd shot in the course of their march that day.

In this manner, they settled down for the night. Sanglant fed Blessing a paste made of pulses and goat's milk, sweetened with honey that the soldier Sibold had stolen from a bee's nest two days ago, although the poor man still had swollen fingers, the price he'd paid for this prize.

"Da da!" Blessing said in her emphatic way.” Da ma ba! Wa!

CHILD OF ELAME Ge! Ge!" She wriggled out of his lap and grabbed his fingers, wanting to walk. In the past ten days she'd gotten so steady on her legs that she could now run, and did, whenever he wasn't holding on to her or she wasn't in her sling. She was so used to the soldiers that she would run, screaming with excitement, to any one of them, as her father chased her, and hide behind their legs. This had become part of the nightly ritual of the war band. Once she had exhausted them in this way, she presided, from her father's lap, over the singing that followed dinner. Every man there knew a dozen tunes or twenty or a hundred. Blessing babbled along enthusiastically, and although she couldn't quite clap her hands together to keep time, she waved them vigorously.

When she finally slumped into her father's chest, eyes half closed, he called Brother Zacharias over to him and questioned him closely about Bulkezu and the Quman. The frater had managed to wash the worst of the dirt off him, although his clothing still stank. He had the accent of a man born and bred in the east among the free farmers, those who had settled in the marchlands in exchange for land of their own and the protection of the king. Of the Quman, Zacharias had a slave's knowledge, incomplete and sketchy, but he noticed details and he knew how to talk.

"Maybe it's best we ride east," said Sanglant finally as Fulk and Heribert listened.” Sapientia will not like this news of our father's marriage to Queen Adelheid."

"It's a long road to the east," observed Heribert.” All roads are long roads."

Blessing had fallen asleep on his chest. He bundled her up in the sling, off the ground so no crawling creature could bite her. The others rolled themselves up in their blankets. From farther off he heard sentries pacing on their rounds, their footfalls light on packed earth. He could not sleep. His hand still smarted from the prick of the thistle.

Jerna's aetherical form fluttered down beside him, rippling like water. She curled herself as a veil of protection around the sleeping bundle that was Blessing.

Perhaps, like an amulet, she did protect the baby. Blessing had not taken sick for even one day since Jerna began suckling her, nor was the baby troubled by fly or mosquito bites like the rest of them. Hot sun did not make her dusky skin break out in a rash, nor did she seem to mind the cold.

She was growing so fast that every man there knew it was uncanny and abnormal, although none spoke a word out loud.

Maybe he was a fool for letting an abomination nurse her. Perhaps it wasn't wise. But what else could he have done? He had made the only choice open to him.

So be it.

AS King Henry's army lurched and toiled up the pass, Rosvita found herself for the fifth time that day at a standstill behind a wagon. This one had gotten stuck where its wheels had broken through an icy crust to bog down in mud beneath.

Fortunatus reined his mule up beside hers, and sighed.” Do you think it was wise of King Henry to cross the mountains this late in the year?"

"Speak no ill of the king, I pray you, Brother. He marches at God's bidding. You see, the sun still shines."

So it did, however bleak and wan its light seemed against a backdrop of dark clouds, cold mountainside, and a cutting wind. Soldiers and servants hurried forward with planks and sticks to coax the wagon out of its mire. Soon a dozen of them had gathered around the stricken wagon, arguing with each other in the tone of men who have had their endurance tested to the limit.

"Shall I speak to them, Sister?"

"Nay, let them be unless it comes to a fistfight. But you may take the reins of my mule, if you please." As she had done the other times they had halted in this manner, she dismounted from her mule to give a few words of comfort to a wagon's load of soldiers so stricken with the flux that they were too weak to walk.

"Let us pray, friends," she said as she approached the wagon, although in truth most of the soldiers were too delirious with fever to hear her words. The wagon stank of their illness, for these were

the poor souls who no longer had the strength to hoist themselves off the wagon and stagger off the path before voiding their bowels.

It took her perhaps four steps to walk from her mule to the wagon. Only for that long did she turn her back to the pass up which the army struggled.

The wagon driver had a cloth tied over most of his face to mask the stench of sickness, but even so, she saw his eyes widen in terror as he looked past her.

She heard it first as a rumble, a crackling thrumming roar that obliterated distant shrieks and warning calls.

"Sister!" cried Fortunatus.” Ai, God, we are overtaken!"

She turned back. She hadn't turned away for longer than it would take to count to ten, but in that brief span the sun had vanished under a curtain of white descending off the mountains. For an instant, the sight so disoriented her that she imagined them overwhelmed by a deluge of white flower petals.

The blizzard hit without warning. She had time only to grab at the wagon's side, to brace herself. Fortunatus flung himself down from his mount and yanked on the reins of her mule. Then the storm swallowed him, and smashed into her.

She could not even hear the moans of the ill soldiers. Wind lashed her and snow blasted her. Pebbles caught up by the wind peppered her back as though a giant was hurling them against its enemies. She groped her way along the wagon until she shouldered up against the protecting bulk of the oxen. Luckily, she wore gloves, but even so her fingers stiffened where they clutched at wood and harness. She had to keep her back to the wind in order to breathe.

For an endless time, as the warmth ebbed out of her, she just held on.

By the time the wind slackened enough that she dared look up, snow drifted knee-deep around her legs and her feet had gone numb. Through the furious snow she could barely make out shapes staggering along the road. They were no longer marching south, up the pass toward Aosta. Now they fled north, down the pass, back the way they had come.

"Ai, God!" swore the driver, shouting to be heard above the screaming wind.”

I've got to turn around now or the wheels'll be stuck in the snow!"

She waved down a trio of soldiers retreating with their backs to the storm. With their help they wrenched the wagon around, although it was a tricky business on the narrow road, with the land falling away steeply on one side and rising precipitously on the other. There was nothing she could do to help the wagon ahead of them, still stuck in the mud.

"Sister!" Fortunatus had miraculously kept hold of both mules, although he had been forced very close to the edge. He laboriously tied the reins of the mules to the back of the wagon, his fingers clumsy with cold. By walking beside and clinging onto their mules, they followed the wagon back down the pass.

The storm made white of the world. Shapes stumbled past them, and sometimes they passed knots of soldiers stopped to help a fallen comrade. The wagon ground down the old road with fresh snow squeaking under its wheels.

The wind pressed them along as though it were glad to be rid of them. She stumbled on rocks and found she'd drifted off the road. Fortunatus hauled her back, and with her lips set tight and her energy flagging, she hung onto her stirrup and concentrated on taking one step at a time.

Faintly, above the howl of the wind, horns signaled the passage of the king.

Soon enough, the king's party overtook them. Henry had by sheer strength of will managed to stay mounted on his sturdy warhorse. Queen Adelheid rode bravely beside him, swathed in a fur cloak coated with so much snow that she looked dusted with ice. As he passed, he shouted encouragement to the soldiers staggering along.

Despite the storm, he recognized Rosvita and hailed her.” Sister Rosvita! Need you a wagon?"

"Nay, Your Majesty. These ill soldiers need it more than I."

He nodded.” We'll come soon enough to the hostel where we quartered last night."

He moved on, vanishing quickly into the streaming snow. After an interminable while in which she only knew she was walking because her legs moved, they came to a thrusting ridge that cut off the worst of the wind. Snow still swirled all around them, soft and abundant as it blanketed the ground.

The hostel had a main hall, crudely built but adequate enough for a sizable party of merchants, stables enough for some forty beasts, and a half dozen outbuildings and sheds. But it couldn't I

house a king's army. Last night they had staked out their camp under the open sky in balmy autumn weather, with not a finger of snow on the ground, confident that the weather would hold for the five days it would take them to pass over the summit and begin their descent into Aosta.

The wagon driver was barely able to maneuver his team in beside a dozen others, crowded together just off the road. Hunching his shoulders against the cold, he swung down from the seat. A Lion hurried up and helped him cover the oxen's backs with a blanket. Then, with some of his fellows, he hunkered down in the lee of the wagon. There was nowhere else for the servants to go. Soldiers and clerics moved among the sick, helping those who could still walk into the stables. Of the dozen men languishing in the back of the wagon, three were already dead. She murmured a brief prayer over them through lips stiff with cold.

"Alas," murmured Fortunatus where he huddled beside her.” I fear none of these sick men can survive the cold."

"If God will it, these poor souls will survive. If not, they'll gain a just reward."

"Truly, so shall it be," echoed Fortunatus.

When all was said and done, there was nothing she could do.” Come," she said to Fortunatus.” Let us attend the king."

Henry and his nobles had taken refuge in the hall. The press of bodies made the place warm, although there were only two fires going in the hearths built into either end of the structure. Smoke raked her throat raw. So many people had crushed into the hall to escape from the storm that it was difficult to make her way to the king.

Henry had given pride of place in front of each of the hearths to certain captains and nobles who had taken sick with the flux and to a few common soldiers known to him, Lions or members of his personal guard. With a ring of advisers he stood in the center of the hall holding court, discussing their desperate situation together with the wizened nun who was mother of the order who ran the hostel. As he drank ale straight out of a pitcher, he listened to the old woman, whose words were translated by a second nun.

"Nay, Your Majesty, when a storm comes sudden-like this time of year, it's not likely it'll clear up soon. When it does in a day or three, you'll find the snow too deep to cross."

Helmut Villam stood beside the king. He looked exhausted, worn through by the struggle to get out of the storm. Just a week ago he had shone with youth at the betrothal feast celebrated for him and his bride, young Leoba. Now he looked as old as he was, a full sixty years, as though the youthful vigor that had always before animated him had been sucked out of him by the bitter cold.

"But there was so little snow here this morning," he protested.” Surely if we wait this out, we can make one more attempt to cross the pass before winter descends in earnest."

"That you may," agreed the nun.” That you may. But I've served in these parts for well on thirty years, my lord. I know these storms. You'll not get across now until late spring. If you try, it'll go hard on your army, Your Majesty."

Henry took another quaff of ale as he considered these tidings. Abruptly Rosvita's feet began to hurt so horribly, as though a thousand tiny knives were cutting into her soles, that she staggered and would have fallen had Fortunatus not caught her.

Henry saw her. He sent one of his Lions to open up a stool for her to sit on. Ale was brought, and she drank gratefully. For a while, as the murmur and flow of disparate conversations swirled around her as thickly as the snow had done outside, she sat with her head bowed, catching her breath and gritting her teeth as pain flared and subsided in her feet.

After a while, a servant unwrapped her leggings and uncovered her feet. Her toes felt frozen through. Fortunatus knelt before her and chafed her feet between his hands until tears ran down her cheeks.

Through the haze of pain, she heard Henry speaking.

"Nay, we can't risk it. The season is late. To be defeated by the mountains is no dishonor to us. We can't stay here since there isn't shelter enough for everyone.

We must retreat to Bederbor and live off Conrad's bounty for the winter."

"He'll give that grudgingly," remarked Villam.

"So he will," agreed Henry.” We'll make good use of his hospitality to remind him of the loyalty that is due to his regnant. But this way we can keep the army strong. When the passes clear next year, we'll march south and catch Ironhead unawares. Yet surely, Helmut, you'll be glad of one more winter in the north.

We'll send for your bride, and she can keep your bed warm!"

Laughter followed this sally, and the mood in the hall lightened considerably.

Such was the king's power.

Her feet prickled mightily, as though stung by a hundred bees.” I pray you, Brother, that is enough!"

Fortunatus regarded her with a grim smile.” Better than losing your toes, Sister, is it not? Can you ride?"

She flexed her feet and found that although they still hurt, she could move them and even set her weight upon them without undue pain.

"This is ill news," she said to him, "that we must wait until next year to march to Aosta. Where is the queen?"

Henry had moved away toward the door to direct his captains to start an orderly retreat toward Bederbor. Rosvita got to her feet and tested them gingerly, but found them sound enough. Through the milling crowd she caught sight of Adelheid in a corner, sitting on one of the beds built in under the rafters. She was vomiting into a basin held by a serving woman.

"Your Majesty!" Rosvita hastened forward, alarmed. Just in this way did the flux first afflict its victims. But as she reached Adel-heid's side, the young queen straightened up with a wan smile and allowed a servant to wipe her face.

"Nay, it's nothing dangerous." The queen reached out to grasp Rosvita's hands.

Adelheid's hands were warm despite the cruel storm raging outside which she had so recently escaped. Her grip had unusual strength, and her eyes held a gleam of triumph as she glanced past Rosvita toward her husband, whose head could be seen above the others in the crowd.” I believe that I am pregnant."

ONE ruined Dariyan fort looked much like any other. Sanglant led his men north through Wayland following the ancient trail of the Dariyan invasion, laid down hundreds of years ago. The forts had lasted far longer than the empire.

This night, as every night, after he made sure Blessing slept, he walked the perimeter to greet each soldier standing sentry on first watch. A jest exchanged with Sibold, a comment on the weather by Everwin, an astute observation about the landscape from Wracwulf, and he moved on. By the time he returned to the camp-fire, both Zacharias and Heribert were asleep, rolled up tightly in their cloaks under cover of a half fallen roof. Heribert had shoved aside broken tiles to make space for Sanglant, but the prince was, as usual, too restless to sleep. He sat brooding by the fire.

A quiet wind brushed all the clouds away. Under the clear sky cold crept in, chasing away the dregs of summer. The bitter stars reminded him of Liath, for she would have loved a night such as this, so clear and cold that the stars seemed twice as bright and a hundred times more numerous than usual. The three jewels, Diamond, Citrine, and Sapphire, burned overhead as the Queen drove the Guivre down into the western horizon. The River of Souls streamed across the zenith. Did Liath walk there now? Could she see him? But when he spoke her name softly onto the breeze, he heard no answer.

They kept their secrets well.

After a while the waning moon rose to wash the sky with silver light. He heard them before the sentries did: a muffled yip, softly signaling, and the brush of fur against dry leaves, perhaps a tail dragged along a bush. He jumped up to his feet just as Jerna unwound herself from Blessing's sling and shot away into the air. With sword in hand, he followed the aery daimones' form, a shimmering streak against the night sky, to the fort's wall, which stood chest-high. Wracwulf greeted him briefly, alert enough to notice how Sanglant's gaze ranged over the forest cover. The soldier, too, turned to survey the woodland.

Three wolves emerged from the undergrowth in that silence known only to wild things. The sentry hissed, but Sanglant laid a stilling hand on the soldier's arm. A fourth wolf ghosted out of the trees a stone's throw to the left. They came no closer, only watched. Their amber eyes gleamed in moonlight.

Wracwulf raised his spear. A bowstring creaked from farther down the wall, where Sibold stood watch.

"Don't shoot!" cried Sanglant.

Shouts and the alarm broke out in camp. The wolves vanished O

into the trees. Sanglant spun and, drawing his sword, sprinted back to camp to find the soldiers risen in agitation, whispering like troubled bees. They had gathered near Blessing's sling, but the commotion had not troubled her; she slept soundly.

"Your Highness!" Captain Fulk leveled his spear at a dark figure which stood next to the sleeping baby.

"Who's this?" demanded Sanglant, really angry now, because fear always fueled anger.

The man stepped out of the shadows. His hair had the same silvery tone as the moonlight that bathed him in its soft light.” When I realized it was you, Prince Sanglant, I had to see the child "

"Wolfhere!"

The old Eagle looked tired, and he walked with a pronounced limp. His cloak and clothing were neat enough, but his boots were scuffed and dirty. An overstuffed pack lay on its side on the ground behind him.

"Your Highness." He examined the soldiers surrounding him with a smile so thin that Sanglant could not tell whether he were amused or on the point of collapse.” I feel as welcome as if I'd jumped into a bed of thistles."

Fulk did not lower his spear. The point hovered restlessly near the Eagle's unprotected belly.” This man is under the regnant's ban."

"Is that so?" asked Sanglant amiably.

"Alas, so it is," Wolfhere admitted cheerfully enough.” I left court without the king's permission. When my horse went lame, I was unable to commandeer another."

"Sit down." Now that any immediate danger to Blessing was past, Sanglant could enjoy the irony of the situation.” I would be pleased to hear your tale. In any case it seems you are now in my custody. It is well for you, I suppose, that I do not currently rest in the king's favor either."

"Nay, so you do not. That much gossip, at least, I heard on the road here."

Wolfhere's mask of sage detachment vanished as he spoke again, a remarkable blend of anxiety and agitation flowering on that usually closed face.” Where is Liath?"

"Captain Fulk," said Sanglant, "have a fire built over by the well.-I would speak with the Eagle alone. Set a double guard over my daughter."

Most of the soldiers went back to their rest. The prince led Wolfhere over to a freshly built fire, snapping brightly in a niche laid into the stone wall that had once, perhaps, held an idol, or weapons set ready for battle.

Wolfhere sighed sharply as he sat down, grateful for a cup of ale and a hunk of bread.” I'm not accustomed to walking," he said, to no one in particular.” My feet hurt."

As Sanglant settled down on a fallen stone, opposite Wolfhere, Heribert hurried up, rubbing his eyes. Wolfhere glanced at him, seeing only the robe, and then looked again, a broad double take that would have been comical had he not leaped up with an oath and tipped over the precious ale.

"How came he here?" he demanded.

"He's my counselor, and my friend." Sanglant gestured to Heribert to sit beside him. Because Wolfhere did not sit, Heribert did not either, hovering beside Sanglant rather like a nervous bird about to flap away.

"You're aware of what manner of man this is?" Wolfhere asked.

"Very much so. I would trust him with my life. And with my daughter's life, for that matter."

"Condemned by a church council for complicity in acts of black sorcery! The bastard son of Biscop Antonia!"

"Then, truly, I would be first to condemn him, being a bastard myself." Sanglant grinned sharply but, glancing at Heribert, he saw that the cleric had gone as stiff as a man who expects in the next instant to receive a mortal blow.” That argument holds no water for me, Wolfhere. Heribert has long since honored me with the truth about his birth and upbringing, although I admit that he's never known who his father was." Wolfhere began to speak, but Sanglant lifted a hand.” Don't try to turn me against him. I know far more of Heribert's inner heart and loyalties than I do of yours!"

Wolfhere's usually calm facade cracked even further to reveal indignation and a glimpse of wrenching pain.” Is it true that Biscop Antonia has gone to Anne and been taken into the Seven Sleepers?"

"So I swear by Our Lady and Lord," murmured Heribert, "for I was with Biscop Antonia when we escaped your custody, Eagle, as you well remember. When we came to Verna by various complicated paths, Anne took my mother's pledge to serve as—" He

broke off to stifle a giggle as a child might when it came to laughing over a much-hated adult's discomfiture.” —as seventh and least of her order."

Distantly, a wolf howled. Jerna whispered above the prince, sluicing down on the breeze to curl protectively around his shoulders. Her touch was soft and cool.

Two sentries bantered over by the outer wall as they changed watch.

At that moment, Sanglant understood the whole. As if sensing his growing anger, Jerna slipped away into the air. He rose slowly, using his height to intimidate.” You know them, then, Anne and the others." He didn't need to make it a question.” You've been one of them all along, and never loyal to my father, or to his father before him. Never loyal to your Eagle's oath."

This was too much for Wolfhere.” Don't mock what you don't understand, my lord prince! King Arnulf trusted me, and I served him until the day he died. I never betrayed Wendar." Agitated, he continued in a choked voice as he sank down onto the stone block with the weariness of a man who has walked many leagues only to find his beloved home burned to the ground.” Ai, Lady! That it should come to this! That Anne should be willing to use evil tools in a good cause. Have I misjudged her all this time?"

"Does this surprise you?" demanded Sanglant.” Liath and I were her prisoners for many months. It does not surprise me."

"You were not her prisoners! Liath was—" Here Wolfhere halted, breaking off with an anguished grimace.

Sanglant finished for him.” Her tool. Even her daughter was only a tool to her.

Did Anne ever love her?"

Wolfhere covered his eyes with a hand. The pain in his voice was easy to hear.”

Nay, Anne never loved her. Bernard was the one who loved her."

"Anne killed him in order to get Liath back." "Bernard took what wasn't his to have! It may even be possible he meant well, but he was horribly and dangerously misguided and full of himself, never listening to any voice but his own. He damaged Liath by hiding her from those who understood what she is and the power that is her birthright. We had no choice but to do what we did to get her back!"

Hands in fists, he rose and paced to the fire, staring into it as though he could see memories within the flames. At last he looked up.” Liath isn't here, is she?"

The old Eagle seemed ready to strangle on the words.” Verna lay abandoned when I reached it, everything in ruins, and Anne had left already with the survivors."

"You did not follow her?"

"Crossing the mountains on foot at this time of year? I haven't the skills to travel as Anne may, walking the stones. God's mercy, Prince Sanglant, where is Liath?"

Sanglant had to close his eyes to shut away the memory. He could not speak of it; the pain still burned too deep and if he spoke he knew he would break down into sobs.

Heribert touched him, briefly, on the arm before stepping forward.” I had already left," he said softly, "so I did not witness the conflagration myself, but my lord prince has told me that unearthly creatures with wings of flame walked into the valley through the stone circle and took Liath away with them."

"Even the stone burned," whispered Sanglant hoarsely. The sight of the mountains washed in flame had stamped itself into his mind, so that even with his eyes shut he gained no respite. Splendid and terrible, the creatures had destroyed Verna without seeming even to notice that it was there.

"Ai, God." Wolfhere's sigh cut the silence. He simply collapsed like a puppet whose strings have gone lax, folding down to sit cross-legged on the dirt with the fire casting shadow and light over his lined face and pale hair.

Sanglant waited a long time, but Wolfhere still did not speak. After a bit, the prince called to Matto and had the boy fill the empty cup with ale. Wolfhere took the cup gratefully and drained it before devouring a second wedge of bread and a corner of cheese. After Matto retreated, Heribert finally sat down. His movement released the words that Wolfhere had clearly been holding back.

"All those years, Anne and I, raised together in the service of a common goal. I was taken from my parents as a child of six to serve her. I thought I knew her better than any other could, even Sister Clothilde, who was never privy to all of Anne's youthful dreams and wishes, not like I was. Anne was always more pure and exalted than the rest of us. I never thought she would league herself with a maleficus like Antonia, who raised galla out of the stones with the blood of innocents, fed living men to a guivre, and

did not scruple to sacrifice her own loyal clerics to further her selfish aims."

Heribert winced at these words but said nothing, and Wolfhere—who wasn't looking at him—went on.” We were not raised to use such means and to league ourselves with the minions of the Enemy! How can Anne have taken such a person into her confidence, and given her even greater powers?"

"Such are the chains binding those who rule," retorted Sanglant.” The great princes use whatever sword comes to hand. Isn't this merely quibbling? If your plan succeeds, then all of the Aoi will die anyway. What matters it what tools you use, when killing is your goal?"

"It matters that the cause be just. It matters that our enemies are wicked. It matters that our efforts be honorable and that our hearts do not turn away from holiness."

"Drowning an infant is honorable and holy? You've never denied that you tried to murder me when I was just a suckling baby."

"I did what I thought was right at the time."

Sanglant laughed angrily.” It gladdens my heart to hear you say so! Why, then, do you suppose that I will let you dwell even one night near my daughter, whom you might feel called upon to attempt to murder in her turn! Anne would have let her starve to death. How are you any better than that? You are welcome to leave, and return to Anne who, I am sure, will be glad enough to see you."

The moonlight washed Wolfhere's face to a striking pallor.” It was easy enough to drown an infant before I knew what it was to love one. You must believe me, my lord prince. I cared for Liath as much as I was allowed to, when she was a child. But Anne did not think it right that we love her, that we weaken ourselves or her in such a manner. Only Bernard did not heed her. Bernard never heeded her." He turned his head sharply to one side as though he had just been slapped.” I gave Anne everything, my life, my loyalty. I never married or sired children. I never saw my family again. What did faithless Bernard care for all that? He stole everything I loved."

Examining Wolfhere's face, Sanglant simply could not tell whether he was acting, like a poet declaiming a role, or sincere. Did the outer seeming match the inner heart?

"This is a touching confession, but I am neither cleric nor frater to grant you absolution." Sanglant let the irony linger in his voice as Wolfhere regarded him, calmer now that the flood of words had abated but still agitated.” Many things have been said of you, but I have never heard it said that you are gullible, or naive."

"Nay, I was most gullible of all. It troubled me that Anne made no effort to love the child, but I refused to let myself think on what it might mean about her heart. But now I fear my doubts were justified. Anne is not the person I thought she was."

The prince lifted both hands in disgust, crying surrender as he began to laugh.”

I am defenseless against these thrusts. Either you are the most shameless liar I've ever encountered or you have come to your senses at last and can see that Anne cannot be trusted. What she plans is wrong. She is the wicked one. How can you or I know what the Lost Ones intend? Do they want peace, or war?

Have they plotted long years to get their revenge, or were they the victims of human sorcery long ago, as my mother claimed? Anne intends some spell to defeat them. Tell me what she means to do."

For a long time Wolfhere regarded the moon. Its light bathed the wall behind them until the stone shone like marble, revealing flecks of paint, red, blue, and gold, and the malformed figures common to old Dariyan forts: creatures with the bodies of women and the heads of hawks or snakes or lions. A wolf howled in the distance, as a companion might call out advice to one in need.” I cannot. My gifts are few. Nor have I ever been privy to the deepest councils, or understood the full measure of the mathematici's art. I am not nobly born as you are, my lord prince." Was that sarcasm, or only the cutting blade of truth? "I was raised to serve, not to rule."

"Then why follow me instead of Anne, after you saw what transpired at Verna?

What do you want from me?"

Wolfhere considered the question in silence. It was a mark of his sagacity that he could not be hurried, although by now Sanglant felt the urge to pace itch up and down his legs. Finally he gave in to it, taking two strides to the wall and tracing the attractive curve of a woman's carven body with a finger. He had reached such a pitch of excitement that each grain of stone seemed alive under his touch. He noticed what he was doing, that his fingers rested on the bulge of a breast, and quickly pulled back his hand and trapped it under his other arm.

At last, Wolfhere shook himself as a wolf might, emerging from water.” I don't know. I want to find Liath, my lord prince."

"As do I. But what do you mean to do with her, should you find her? Take her back to Anne? Is that what Anne commanded you to do?"

"Nay. I was meant to follow Anne and the others from Verna, but I could not bring myself to, not after what I had seen there. So much destruction! The monks at the hostel had seen a man fitting your description walking north. It was easy enough to follow you and your mother, although not so easy to avoid the notice of the king's soldiers as King Henry and his army marched south."

"Where did Anne go?"

Wolfhere hesitated.

The prince took a half step forward. An arm's length was all that separated the two men now: the old Eagle, and the young prince who had once been a Dragon.” Tell me the truth, Wolfhere, and I'll let you travel with me if that's your wish. I'll let you help me look for Liath, for you must know that there is nothing I want more than to find her."

Wolfhere examined him. The firelight played over his expression, brushing light and dark across his features as if one never quite overpowered the other.” How do you mean to look for Liath, my lord prince, when it took eight years for Anne and me to find her before? With what magic do you intend to seek out a woman stolen away by unearthly creatures who fly on wings of flame?"

"If she loves me and the child," said Sanglant grimly, "she'll find a way back to us. Won't she? Isn't that the test of love and loyalty?"

"Perhaps. But what do you intend to do meanwhile? You didn't ride south with your father's army. Had you done so, you would discover soon enough that Anne and the others traveled south to Darre."

"Ah! Is that why Anne sent you? To spy on me? Very well. I'll take up her challenge, because I mean to defeat her now that I understand what she is and what she means to do to my mother's kin." As usual, now that Sanglant knew what his objective was, a plan unfolded before him.” I'll need griffin feathers and sorcerers to combat her magic. And an army."

"All of which will be useless, my lord prince." Wolfhere was far too old and wily to be won over by the excitement of such a bold plan; no doubt he expected a full-grown eagle, not just a fledgling.” You do not understand her power. She is Taillefer's granddaughter, and a mathematicus of unequaled strength and mastery."

"I respect her power. But you forget that I am married to her daughter, and that her granddaughter bides in my care. Blessing is half of my making. I am not without rank and power in my own right."

"You no longer wear the gold torque that marks your royal lineage."

"Liath wears the torque that once was mine, as is her right. My daughter wears one."

"But will you wear one again? Or have you turned your back on what Henry gave you, as was his right as your father?"

The cool words irritated him.” I will take what I need and deserve when I am ready, not before! My father does not own me." But irritation could be turned into something useful, just as anger makes splitting wood go faster.” Help me restore Taillefer's line to its rightful place, Wolfhere, in preparation for the return of the Aoi, so that we can face them from a position of strength. Help me find Liath. Help me defeat Anne. In truth, your experience would prove valuable to me."

"You would risk your precious daughter so near to me, my lord prince?" Yet was there a glimmer of vulnerability in the old Eagle's expression as he leaned forward to stir the fire with a stick? Sparks drifted lazily up into the night, flicking out abruptly where they brushed against the stone.

"I can't trust you, it's true. This might all be a ruse on your part. But my daughter is well guarded by a creature that never sleeps, and who will soon know what manner of threat you pose. And it seems to me, my friend, that when we first met this night you had snuck into my camp without being seen. You were close enough to my daughter to kill her, had that been your intent. A knife in the dark offers a quick death. Yet she lives, despite my carelessness."

Was that a tear on Wolfhere's cheek? Hard to tell, and the heat of the fire wicked away all moisture.

Sanglant smiled softly and glanced at Heribert, who only shrugged to show that, in this case, he had no advice to offer.” Travel with me and my company of thistles, Wolfhere. What better option do you have? You don't trust Anne. King Henry has pronounced you under ban. At least I can protect you from the king's wrath."

Wolfhere smiled mockingly.” It isn't the king's wrath I fear," he said, but he raised no further objection.

VII A DEATH SENTENCE

STRONGOAND had seen in his dreams that it was the habit of humankind to make their festivals an interlude of excess and self-gratification. They let fermented drink addle their minds. They ate too much. Often they became noisy, contentious, and undisciplined, and they spent their resources extravagantly and as though their cup of plenty ran bottomless.

Even the chieftains of his own kind had grown into the habit of celebration after each victory. They might command their warriors to parade treasure before them, or they might lay bets on fights staged between slaves and beasts. By such means, and in the company of their rivals, they boasted of their power.

He had no need of such displays. The ships of his dead rivals lay beached on his shores and now swelled the numbers of his fleet. Weapons he hoarded in plenty, and the ironsmiths of twenty or more tribes hammered and forged at his order.

The chieftains of twenty tribes had come to Rikin Fjord at his command to lay their staffs of authority at his feet. They had accepted him—some willingly—as ruler over all the tribes: first among equals, as the humans styled the regnant who reigned over those who called

themselves princes and lords. He had named himself Stronghand, by the right of naming given by the OldMother of his tribe. He was, after all, the first chieftain to unite all the tribes of the RockChildren under one hand.

But he felt no thrill of triumph, no ecstacy of power. He had no wish to celebrate. He nursed in his heart and mind only the chill knife of ambition and the cold emptiness that marked the absence of the one whom he had known as a brother in his heart: Alain, son of Henri, now vanished utterly from mortal lands.

Stronghand no longer dreamed. This lack was a nagging source of bitterness and sorrow.

But dreams were not all of his life. He did not need his dreams. He had thought through his desires with all due calculation. Not even the loss of his heart would divert him from his purpose. After all, ambition and will serve best the one who is heartless.

From his chair, staff in hand, he surveyed the assembly gathered before him: a host of RockChildren spread out on the gently sloping land that descended toward the strand that marked the water's edge. Twenty-two staffs lay at his feet, and the chieftains who had surrendered their staffs to his authority stood at a respectful distance. The warriors of Rikin tribe stood behind them, intermingling with those warriors who had sailed to Rikin with their war leaders.

Beached on the strand and anchored farther up and down the fjord lay at least eighty ships, each one manned with no less than fifty warriors. Yet even this large assembly represented only a portion of the army he could call on now.

They were many, and more waited in the fjords that were home to the other tribes. But the humans still had greater numbers in their own country than all of the RockChildren leagued together.

That was what Bloodheart and the old chieftains had always failed to understand. The humans might be weaker in body, but they had the implacable strength of numbers.

The assembly waited. Distantly, wind sang down from the fjall, where the WiseMothers conferred in the silence that is the privilege of stone. Behind, the SwiftDaughters shifted restlessly. They did not have the patience of their mothers and grandmothers. Not for them the slow measure of eternity. Like their brothers and cousins, they would tread the Earth for no more than forty or so winters before dissolving under the press of time.

Rikin's OldMother stood at the entrance to her hall, witnessing, as was her right and obligation. He felt her respiration on his neck, although she neither spoke nor made any sign.

This was his day. After all, even when she relinquished the knife of authority to the YoungMother and began her slow trek up to the fjall, she would live far longer than any of her children. His great endeavor must seem to her like the sport of young ones, briefly fought and briefly won.

Yet he intended to make of it as much as he could.

Hakonin's chief came forward, last of all, and laid his staff atop the careful pile, last to come because Hakonin's OldMother had been first to understand the scope of Stronghand's ambition and to offer alliance. Then Hakonin's chief, too, stepped back to wait at the fore of the assembly, beside Tenth Son of the Fifth Litter, Stronghand's helmsman and captain, his own litter mate.

Stronghand rose. First, he cut into the haft of each staff the doubled circle that signified his rale. He stained these cuts with ocher to make each incision clearly visible. None spoke as he confirmed his authority in this manner: the staffs of these chieftains would be permanently marked with the sigil of Stronghand's overlordship.

When he had finished, after each chieftain had come forward to receive his staff, he stared out over the fjord. The waters ran cold and still. Nothing broke that calm surface.

Nothing broke the hush cast over the assembly.

Let them wonder at his lack of expression. Let them fear him because he did not howl in triumph, as any of them would have. What need had he for howling and shrieking, yammering and outcry? Let those he struck against cry and wail.

Silence was his ally, not his enemy.

While they watched, he walked through their ranks down to the shoreline. From the water's edge, he threw a stone into the water. The stone, like any action, created ripples. What his allies did not know was that he had prearranged this signal.

They burst from the quiet waters all at once, more than he could count. Arching upward, thrust there by the pumping strength of their hindquarters, the merfolk twisted in the air and spun down. Those waiting up by the hall saw only silvery bodies, a brief glimpse of fearsome heads and hair that slithered and twined in the air, then the massive splash as the heavy bodies of the merfolk hit the water. With a resounding slap of their tails, the merfolk vanished. Water churned, stilled, and lay as calm as a mirror again. On that surface he saw the reflection of trees and a single, circling hawk. A thread of smoke streaked the sky: the watchfire set on the bluff that guarded the mouth of Rikin Fjord.

A murmur swept the ranks of the assembly, and died away. They all knew how his last enemy, the powerful Nokvi, had met his end. After losing his hands and his victory, he was thrown into the sea to be devoured by the merfolk. It was not a glorious death.

Stronghand walked back to his chair and hoisted his staff. He had no need to shout: let the wind carry his words as far as it was able and let those in the back strain to hear him.

"Hear my words. Now we will act. Already my ships hunt down those of our kind who refuse to stand with us. Yet none of us can rest while others do this work.

We must build and make ready."

Along the high slopes of the valley, scars in the forest cover marked where his human slaves had opened up new land for farming. Not much, truly, but enough to give plots to each one of the slave families that were part of his original slave-holding. He had plans for them as well. War was not the only way to create an empire.

Tenth Son of the Fifth Litter called out the necessary question.” For what do we make ready?"

"Can it be that we will turn our backs on the tree sorcerers of Alba, who thought to make one of our own chieftains into their puppet and slave?" Stronghand let his gaze span the crowd.” They made a fool and a corpse of the one who called himself Nokvi. Are we to let these tree sorcerers believe that we are no better than Nokvi and his followers? Or will we take revenge for the insult?"

They roared out their answer in a thousand voices. He let it die away until silence reigned again. At his back, the steady presence of Rikin's OldMother weighed on his shoulders.

"Go home to your valleys. During this autumn and winter, fit out your ships and forge your weapons. When the winter storms have blown out their fury, we will strike at the island of Alba. In the summer to come, I ask this of you: strike hard and strike often. Hit where you can. Take what you want. One sixth of your plunder deliver to me, and bring me word when you meet the tree sorcerers. I will find them and root them out, and when that time comes, the island of Alba and its riches will belong to our people. This is how it begins."

They hailed him loudly and enthusiastically, with the howls and shouts appropriate to a ready and dangerous host. Best of all, they dispersed swiftly and with an efficiency brought about by anticipation and forethought. Already they moved less like a bestial horde intent on momentary satisfaction and more like thinking beings who could plan, act, and triumph.

He turned, to approach the OldMother, but she had gone back inside her hall.

Her door was shut. She had no need to interfere, after all. She had already made her pronouncement on the day she had allowed him to take a name:

"Stronghand will rise or fall by his own efforts."

He gestured, and Tenth Son came forward.” When our allies have all left the fjord, let the ones assigned as reavers go forth to harry in Moerin's lands. Let them make sure that none of those who once gave allegiance to Nokvi still live.

But let a few skiffs patrol the coast, and let some of our brothers, the quiet and wily ones, travel where they can. They must listen. It may even be that some who claim to be our allies now will talk against us. I must know who they are."

"It will be done." Tenth Son beckoned, and certain of his trusted lieutenants hurried forward to carry away Stronghand's chair.” Are there any you trust less than the others?"

Stronghand considered.” Isa. Ardaneka's chief, because he came only when he saw that all the others had allied with me. A Moerin pup will need to be found, to groom as chieftain over what remains of that tribe. But send on this expedition those who can walk with their eyes open." A thought occurred, and he turned it over and around, examining it, before he spoke it out loud.” Let them take slaves with them, ones who are both strong and clever. There may be much that can be discovered from among the slaves of the other tribes."

Of all his people, only Tenth Son had ceased being surprised when Stronghand made use of his slaves in unexpected ways. Tenth Son canted his head to one side, in the way of a dog listening, and looked thoughtful.” It will be done," he agreed.” There is another way to look for the tree sorcerers. News of them must surely come to the merchants who sail from port to port. Although Bloodheart lost the city of Hundse—" What the humans called Gent.” —much treasure still came to our tribe by his efforts. Some of these treasures we could trade, and the ones who trade could listen and seek news in that way."

The words afflicted him as mightily as would the sun's brightness, shorn of cloud cover. He had not expected his brother to think so cleverly.” I must consider what you say."

The SwiftDaughters moved away about their own errands, those things that mattered most: the continuation of the life of the tribe. No wonder that they left him to work alone, unremarked. In their eyes, such enterprises as raiding and plunder, fighting and conquest, were insignificant and trivial. In a thousand winters the rock would remain much as it always had, while his bones, and his efforts, would have long since been ground into dust.

With chieftain's staff in hand, he took the long walk up to the fjall. Long halls gave way to abandoned slave pens, empty except for a few ragged slaves too stupid to leave their confines. Always, as he passed, he would first smell and then see a half dozen or more scraping mindlessly at the dirt or rocking from side to side in the ruins of their old shelters. The decrepit lean-to barracks in which the slaves had once wintered had been torn down and the wood and stone reused to build decent halls. Deacon Ursuline and her people had been industrious in the weeks since he had taken the chieftainship of Rikin.

Fields spread everywhere along the lower slopes, fenced in by low rock walls.

The human slaves once owned by his vanquished brothers had been given a measure of freedom under the strict supervision of his own warriors and those of his slaves whom he trusted. Now they toiled to grow crops where crops were suited to the soil and drainage. Higher up, half-grown children shepherded flocks of sheep and goats and the herds of cattle on which the RockChildren depended.

Slaves at work in field and pasture noticed him pass, but none were foolish enough to stop working or to stare.

Fields gave way to meadow and meadowlands to a sparse forest of spruce, pine, and birch. As the path banked higher, the forest opened up, shedding the other trees until only birch grew with a scattering of scrub and heather shorn flat by wind. The last of the stunted trees fell away as he emerged onto the high fjall, the land of rock and moss and scouring wind. The wind whipped at his staff, making the bones and iron rods tied to the crosspiece clack alarmingly. His braided hair rustled and twined along one shoulder, as if it retained a memory of the living hair grown by the mer-folk.

A rime of frost covered the ground. The youngest WiseMother had made some progress on the trail since he had last come this way. He brought her an offering, as he always did: this day, a dried portion of the afterbirth from a slave.

Let it serve as a symbol of life's transience, and his impatience. He did not stay to speak with her, since even a brief exchange might take hours. Instead, he walked on along the trail toward the ring of WiseMothers. At first they appeared like stout pillars but as he closed in, careful to avoid stepping on the snaking lines of silvery sand that marked the trails made by the deadly ice wyrms, the WiseMothers' shapes came into focus. Although they had all but stiffened entirely into stone, the curve of limbs and heads remained apparent, a vestige of their time among the mobile.

The WiseMothers congregated in a circle at the rim of the nesting grounds. Here he paused, checking the stones gathered into his pouch, watching the smooth hollow of sand that lay before him. Only the WiseMothers knew what they were incubating under that expanse of silver sand.

One stone at a time, he made his careful way out to the hummock that bulged up in the center of the hollow. The smooth, rounded dome radiated warmth and smelled faintly of sulfur, but once he was standing on it, he was safe from the ice wyrms that inhabited the glimmering hollow around which the WiseMothers gathered. There, in the solitude afforded him by the perilousness of his surroundings, he contemplated the path he had walked so far, the place he stood now, and the journey that still lay before him.

A stray leaf fluttered over the hollow and came to rest, so lightly, on the sand. A gleaming, translucent claw thrust up from beneath the sands, hooked the leaf, and yanked it under. All was still again. The wind sighed around his body. He heard a distant rockfall as a low rumble, so far away that it might have been a dream. But when he closed his eyes to slide into the resting trance, the same blank emptiness met him, dull and gray.

Alain was still gone, their link shattered.

He was utterly alone.

Night fell. Standing as still as any ancient stone lost under the canopy of stars, he heard the WiseMothers speaking.

Move. South. Press. East. Shift. The. Fire. River's. Flow. Westward. Ten.

Lengths.

The. Sea. Waters. Will. Rise.

Listen.

Earth. Cries. For. Earth.

What. Was. Torn. Asunder. Returns.

Make. Room.

His were not the only new ideas. Others among his people were learning to think. The words of Tenth Son rose in his memory: "We could trade. We could seek news in the ports of humankind."

In the old days, before the rise of the warring chieftains in the time of Bloodheart's own sire, the RockChildren had traded with the human tribes and, of course, with the fisherfolk. The wars for supremacy had changed all that. The rich harvest brought by slaving, the ease of plunder, and the joy of raiding had altered the old ways. What need to trade for what you could take for nothing?

Yet every stone thrown into calm water casts ripples. Just as tribes that warred incessantly among themselves could never truly grow strong, no clan which built its power solely on plunder had any hope of long-lasting success. The store of riches Bloodheart had amassed would serve Stronghand, but by themselves these treasures were just objects. They had only what worth others set on them.

Of course that was a kind of worth he could exploit. War had its uses, yet it alone could not achieve all things.

He stood in the center of the nesting grounds and listened to the waking "awks"

of gulls. The horizon paled toward dawn. Any one life span mattered little in the long unwinding of the world's life, whose span was measured by the conversations of the WiseMothers and not the transitory and quickly forgotten struggles, as brief as those of the mayflies, of mortal creatures. That he thought and planned did not make him any more consequential than the least of Earth's creatures. But maybe it gave him more freedom to act.

A ruler who controls trade controls the passage of goods, controls taxes laid upon those goods, controls who gets what and what goes where. There was more than one way to stretch the hand of rulership over the ruled.

With dawn, the WiseMothers settled into their daylight stupor. One stone at a time, he made his way back across the sands of the nesting grounds. The day, shortening as autumn overtook them, was half gone by the time he reached the safety of solid ground. He retrieved his staff from its hiding place in the crack of a towering rock and started down the path that led off the fjall and into the valley. Passing the youngest WiseMother, he laid a sprig of moss in her rough grasp, and walked on.

An arrow of honking geese passed overhead. A kestrel skimmed a distant rise.

Stronghand crossed from fjall to birch forest and down into the denser pine and spruce woodlands. In the distance ax blows rang to a steady rhythm. The chopping ceased, and a man called a warning. The sound of a tree cracking and falling splintered the air. The thud of its impact shuddered along the wind, and that same voice shouted orders.

Curious, he took the side path that led to the upper meadows. In a clearing, his slaves were building their church.

It was rising fast. One among them had devised a cunning way of working with northern trees, many of which were too slender to be split into planks. Log-built, the structure had a squat, ungainly look. A few half-grown slaves, lackwits by the look of them, hung around at the clearing's edge and stared, jabbering in bestial cries. These weak-minded beasts even got in the way of the laborers trimming branches from downed trees or scraping off bark or planing logs with stone adzes and axes.

Deacon Ursuline saw him and hurried over, followed by the male who acted as chieftain among the slaves, although he only called himself Papa Otto. A gull circled above the clearing, no doubt searching for scraps of food. Its "awk" was harsh and nagging, and soon a second gull coasted into view, hanging back along the tree line.

"My lord." Ursuline used terms familiar to humankind, and he accepted them from her. Even though she was only human and therefore very like to the beasts, she was still owed some measure of the authority and respect granted to OldMother. Because she alone of all his slaves was no longer afraid of him, she spoke frankly.” You have treated fairly .with us, my lord, as we both know.

Although God enjoin that none should be held as slaves, both you and I know that slaves exist both among the Eika and among humankind. Because of that, we who were made captive

still live captive to your will. But let me ask you this: Was it your will that some among us were taken away this morning with Rikin war parties?"

"So it was." Although Alain no longer inhabited his dreams, he retained the fluent speech he had learned in that dreaming.” A few of your kind who are strong and clever have been taken to act as spies. They will travel with my own warriors to see if any of my new allies speak with a different voice when I do not stand before them. Those of your kind can speak with the human slaves among the other tribes, for it may be that the slaves those who have wit will have heard things that would otherwise remain concealed from us."

"Why should the slaves of other tribes tell the truth?" demanded Papa Otto.

"Surely in this way word will spread," observed Stronghand.” They will have hope of gaining such freedom as you have earned, as long as the Eika remain under my rule."

"There is truth in what you say," said Ursuline. She glanced at Otto, and an unspoken message—unreadable to any creature except another human—passed between them.

"Who are these working here?" Stronghand indicated the folk who, having paused in their labors to stare when he entered the clearing, had now selfconsciously gone back to work.

"Have you any complaints of our labor?" asked Ursuline gently.” Has any task been left undone that you or your captains have requested? Is any animal untended? Are any fields left to the wild? Is there not firewood enough for the winter, and charcoal for the forges?"

"You are bold," said Stronghand, but he admired her for it.

She smiled, as if she knew his thoughts.” You have no complaint, because we have worked harder now that you have fulfilled your share of the bargain laid between you and me."

"Yet I am still troubled by these among you who roam as do the animals and yet provide neither work nor meat. They are only a burden. With the hardships of winter coming on, they must be disposed of."

"How are we to choose among them, my lord?" asked Papa Otto.

"Kill the ones who remain animals. I see them here and there about the valley, no better than pigs roaming in the forest and quite

a bit filthier. They are vermin. They are of no possible use to me, nor to you."

"None of them are animals, my lord," retorted Otto. He was a strong chief for the human slaves, but weak because he feared killing.” It is only that they have been treated as animals, and bred and raised as animals by your people. They have forgotten the ways of humankind."

"That makes them useless to us, does it not?"

"Nay, my lord," said Ursuline quickly. She laid a hand on Otto's arm, a gesture which served to stop the words in his mouth.” It may be true that those of the slaves born and raised in the slave pens for many generations without benefit of the church's teaching will never be able to work and speak as we do. But they are still of use to you."

"In what way?"

"They can breed. Their children can be raised by those of us who were not crippled by the slave pens, and those children will serve you as well as any of us do. As long as you treat them as you do us. Perhaps those children will serve you better than we can, for they will only know loyalty and service to you. They will not recall another life, as we do."

Truly, she was a clever person. He knew that she used words to coax and cozen. In his dreams—when he had had dreams—he had seen that lying and cheating ran rife among humankind. A knife is a knife, after all, a tool used for cutting or killing. No need to give it pretty words to pretend that it was something other than what it was. Yet perhaps they could not help themselves.

Perhaps, like cattle chewing their cud, they twisted words and flattered and deceived because it was part of their nature.

"What you say may even be true. Yet it seems to me that there are many from the slave pens who will not breed and who can never learn. I have no use for tools that are broken. In two months my men will cull the herds for the winter.

At that time any among the slaves who cannot speak true words to me will be culled along with the rest of the animals."

"Two months is not very long," objected Otto.” Even in our own lands a child will not speak for two years or even three, and truly five or six years must pass before any child can speak like to an adult." Otto had fire in him, a passion for life and what humankind

called justice. That was what had brought him to Stronghand's attention in the first place.” Surely if we must teach them to speak as we do, as well as to obey the simple commands they already know, we need as much time as it would take to teach a child of our own people to speak."

"I weary of this debate. Now you will listen to what I command." He stretched his claws, letting them ease out of their sheaths, sharp tips grazing the air.” Rikin tribe will not carry useless burdens. We have far to go, and everything we carry must be useful. I will allow no argument on this matter."

He paused, but neither of them replied. Otto's age lay heavily on him. Deep lines scored his face. The harsh winter wind and bright summer sun had weathered his skin. Even his hair had turned color, washing brown to white, so that in a way he seemed to be mimicking the coloring of his Eika masters, even though Stronghand understood that this happened to be the way age marked humankind. Deacon Ursuline simply listened, face composed and silent.

"In two months, the herds will be culled. If you cannot or do not choose among the slaves, then I will. My choice will fall heavier than yours would, so accept now the responsibility or give it back to me and abide by my decision."

Ursuline was as persistent as she was patient.” Let me ask one boon of you, then, my lord."

He was tired of bargaining. He was tired of the sight of mewling, whimpering, dirty slaves, who were of less use to him than the scrawniest of his goats and cattle because their flesh was too sour to eat. He cut off her words with a sharp gesture. Turning, he lifted a foot to walk away—

Confined within white walls, it pushes restlessly against its prison, but it is too weak to do more than nudge up against its prison wall before the bath of warm liquid in which it floats soothes it back into lassitude. Awareness flickers dimly.

Hunger smolders. Shapes, or thoughts, spin and twirl in its mind before dissolving. It remembers ancient fire, and a great burning. Is it not the child of flame, that all creatures fear? Voices whisper, but it cannot understand the meaning behind such sounds, and within moments it has forgotten what a voice is. Memory dies. The waters offorgetfulness rock beneath it. It sleeps.

Stronghand's foot hit the ground, jolting him back to himself.

He had to blink, because the weak autumn sun seemed so strong that his eyes could not adjust. Stark terror flooded him, surging like a tide through his body.

In the spawning pools of every tribe, the nests of the RockChildren ripened.